David O'ConnellA deep and astonishing Hunger
November 17th 2008 05:16
Young British director Steve McQueen has burst onto the scene with one of the most stunning debuts in years. His fact-based drama Hunger, set in Belfast’s Maze prison in 1981, is one of the most traumatic, gut-wrenching film experiences you’ll ever have.
With devestating visceral force, McQueen has pried open the wounds of Bobby Sands (Michael Fassbender) - a symbol of the Irish Republican Army movement - with the rusty scalpel of history, and in doing so announced to the world an extraordinary, uncompromising artistic vision of the darkest side of the human condition.
The film is separated into three sections: firstly, a brutal insight into the appalling conditions faced by the inmates, whom the Thatcher government refused to negotiate with, denying them their ‘political’ prisoner tags. We see life behind the bars through the eyes of one of the prison officers as well, and the danger posed to his kind outside their hours of duty, from loyalists seeking retribution for the incarcerated.
McQueen layers these scenes with mostly silence, barely a word of dialogue spoken - relying on the overpowering visuals, juxtaposing mundane scenes of the desolate bleakness of the cells with the stomach-churning brutality used to mark these men with lessons of subordination, whilst mirroring the extremes of their own inhumanity as seen through the rest of the world's eyes.
A 20 minute, static, one-take centerpiece follows, a conversation between Sands and Father Moran (Liam Cunningham), in which he exhorts the fundamental objectives of his cause and the reasons for his planned hunger strike. This brilliantly executed exchange sees the priest attempting to dissuade Sands from his course of action, to convince him of the futility of any strike and the damage it will cause to the prisoners’ families - but to no avail.
The film's final section is the most grueling, akin to descending into a vortex of horror as the gradually diminishing form of Sands recedes through the torturous physical transformation of his hunger strike; like a meltdown in slow-fade we watch as his body and soul distill into a shadow of his former self, fading memories of his childhood and a final refrain that might be construed as regret for leading himself into the dead-end of a final black forest from which there can be no miraculous escape.
Again, despite the graphic and harrowing images, McQueen somehow turns these scenes - with barely an uttered word of dialogue once more - into visual poetry of the most macabre sort, a mesmerizing portrait of one man's starkest, compelling desire to both fight and, if need be, die for his cause.
Perhaps it's an absurd one - life sacrificed without hope of renewal for his fellow prisoners and the people of Northern Ireland; the reverberations still being felt today speak bluntly of the trauma of the continuous lessons lost on the millions that followed in his footsteps.
Regardless, too, of how much artistic license McQueen and his co-screenwriter, Enda Walsh, have taken with Sands’ doomed plight, the final result, Hunger, is a film destined to be regarded in time as a landmark cinematic achievement - a magnificent, dark, soul-crushing journey into Maze prison that will echo in your consciousness for hours afterwards, before finally nestling into nightmares to come.
With devestating visceral force, McQueen has pried open the wounds of Bobby Sands (Michael Fassbender) - a symbol of the Irish Republican Army movement - with the rusty scalpel of history, and in doing so announced to the world an extraordinary, uncompromising artistic vision of the darkest side of the human condition.
The film is separated into three sections: firstly, a brutal insight into the appalling conditions faced by the inmates, whom the Thatcher government refused to negotiate with, denying them their ‘political’ prisoner tags. We see life behind the bars through the eyes of one of the prison officers as well, and the danger posed to his kind outside their hours of duty, from loyalists seeking retribution for the incarcerated.
McQueen layers these scenes with mostly silence, barely a word of dialogue spoken - relying on the overpowering visuals, juxtaposing mundane scenes of the desolate bleakness of the cells with the stomach-churning brutality used to mark these men with lessons of subordination, whilst mirroring the extremes of their own inhumanity as seen through the rest of the world's eyes.
The amazing Michael Fassbender as Bobby Sands
A 20 minute, static, one-take centerpiece follows, a conversation between Sands and Father Moran (Liam Cunningham), in which he exhorts the fundamental objectives of his cause and the reasons for his planned hunger strike. This brilliantly executed exchange sees the priest attempting to dissuade Sands from his course of action, to convince him of the futility of any strike and the damage it will cause to the prisoners’ families - but to no avail.
The film's final section is the most grueling, akin to descending into a vortex of horror as the gradually diminishing form of Sands recedes through the torturous physical transformation of his hunger strike; like a meltdown in slow-fade we watch as his body and soul distill into a shadow of his former self, fading memories of his childhood and a final refrain that might be construed as regret for leading himself into the dead-end of a final black forest from which there can be no miraculous escape.
The brutality begins for the newest inmates
Again, despite the graphic and harrowing images, McQueen somehow turns these scenes - with barely an uttered word of dialogue once more - into visual poetry of the most macabre sort, a mesmerizing portrait of one man's starkest, compelling desire to both fight and, if need be, die for his cause.
Perhaps it's an absurd one - life sacrificed without hope of renewal for his fellow prisoners and the people of Northern Ireland; the reverberations still being felt today speak bluntly of the trauma of the continuous lessons lost on the millions that followed in his footsteps.
The centrepiece conversation between Bobby Sands and Father Moran (Liam Cunningham)
Regardless, too, of how much artistic license McQueen and his co-screenwriter, Enda Walsh, have taken with Sands’ doomed plight, the final result, Hunger, is a film destined to be regarded in time as a landmark cinematic achievement - a magnificent, dark, soul-crushing journey into Maze prison that will echo in your consciousness for hours afterwards, before finally nestling into nightmares to come.
One of cinema's great debuts: director and co-writer Steve McQueen
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Comment by MelGee
Comment by Cibbuano
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Comment by Raquelle
Comment by David O'Connell
Screen Fanatic
I liked the single shot conversation - it's definitely a contrivance but it's such an unusual scene in modern films with so many over-edited images that I admired it and thought it was riveting by the end.
Overall, I do think it's one of the more remarkable films I've seen in recent times, quite overwhelming for a lot of it. I hope more people go and see it.
And thanks MelGee and Cib too!!
Comment by Raquelle
Comment by David O'Connell
Screen Fanatic