Control

Although I was a fairly cognizant music fan in the late seventies, I was completely unaware of the band Joy Division. They are a band, like The Velvet Underground or The Pixies, that didn't sell a lot of records but made an impact on the music scene for the influence they had on future musicians. They also, sadly, have entered into the realm of myth due to the suicide of their lead singer, Ian Curtis.

The story of Curtis has been the subject of two films--first as a subplot of 24 Hour Party People, a film that was about Tony Wilson, who owned the record company that first signed them (he signed the contract in his blood), and Control, a 2007 film directed by Anton Corbijn that is a straight bio of Curtis. It's somewhat reassuring to know that no matter the art form, the showbiz bio is handled in pretty much the same way, even when it deals with punk rock.

Curtis was a typical teen in a suburb of Manchester in the 1970s. He liked David Bowie and could quote Wordsworth. He married early, to Deborah (played endearingly by Samantha Morton) and had a job in an employment agency. He attended a concert by the Sex Pistols in Manchester (an event also covered in 24 Hour Party People) and joined a band that needed a lead singer. His lyrics, which plumbed the depths of despair and confusion, quickly made the band a local hit. They made some appearances on British TV, toured Europe, and were about to travel to the U.S. when Curtis, who was battling depression and epilepsy, committed suicide. He was 23.

Corbijn, known as a photographer of the rock and roll scene and a video director (the distinctive video for Nirvana's "Heart-Shaped Box" was his) makes an effective debut. He shot it in a crisp black and white, both to suggest the grayness of the north of England and his recollection of the band, who were mostly photographed in black and white. The story is linear, beginning with Curtis as a moony teen and ending with his suicide, discreetly off-screen, and then the smoke from the crematorium.

The film is also unsentimental, and doesn't treat Curtis as some sort of rock and roll god. He's a pretty average bloke, with a gift for phrase and a hypnotic stage presence. His wife is firmly of his bleak hometown, while he has an affair with a Belgian journalist (Alexandra Maria Lara), who promises a more worldly outlook (although both women are passive and docile).

The best thing about the film is the mesmerizing performance by Sam Riley as Curtis. He resembles the man, and also does his own singing, capturing Curtis' somewhat spooky drone, which recalls both Jim Morrison and Bryan Ferry. This is one of the better films I've ever seen about a rock musician.