Control

ian curtis wasn’t a perfect person, but he was oh so human. i teared up within the first two minutes of the film, watching ian as a teenage boy in eyeliner and a fur coat laying on his bed listening to bowie. i don’t exactly know why. maybe it’s because he was so young there, and so unlike the vision of ian curtis that most people first think of. maybe it’s because i knew his fate. i think i was holding my breath through the whole film, waiting for it to happen.  i cried when he learned the girl, corinne, had died because of her epilepsy. because i knew his fate. i cried when rob gretton first announced to the band they would be touring america. because i knew his fate. i cried when he put the iggy pop record on in his apartment after the argument with debbie. because i knew his fate. i sobbed during the last few minutes of the movie, and it’s hardly worth explaining why. i knew his fate, but in my head i was still chanting, “don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it.” he was twenty three. still so young, barely older than the fur coat-wearing teen boy laying on his bed at the start of the film. he came and was gone so quickly, too soon.  i would call myself well-versed in the joy division lore. anyone as obsessed with british bands as i am kind of has to be. almost no story told in this film was new to me, but seeing them in black and white with direction so clearly intended to make you feel as bleak as possible made it more real. it cut deeper than it already did. that being said, no biopic is able to capture reality perfectly. actors have their actor-like beauty that real people may not have had, every shot is methodically planned, there’s a general air of airbrushed-ness over the whole thing. but i think that’s inevitable. it’s impossible for someone who is not ian curtis to capture that look (i know you know what look i’m talking about) in his eyes. that haunted, haunting look that i can picture sometimes when i close my own eyes. his face doesn’t leave you. he was singular.  recently, i saw pictures of him smiling. they were taken with his coworkers at his office. my stomach lurched instantly. it made me physically sick. it was somehow even more haunting than his sadness, probably because i’d never really considered how in his life, there was happiness. he may have been forcing his smile for a photo like anyone else does, but he certainly smiled, genuinely smiled, at other times. it does him such a disservice to flatten him to a brilliant, tortured artist who lost control of his life and killed himself.  ian curtis was human. he had flaws just like anyone else, maybe more flaws than most. he was an absent husband and father; he could get aggressive. he was a man. he wrote songs about pain and destruction that touched countless lives. my parents love joy division, my dad especially (i asked him once if he’d seen this film, and he said, “no, i don’t think i could.” it would be far too painful for him). my dad passed down his love to me and now it’s something special we share. ian curtis did that.  ian curtis was human and he lived and loved and had people who loved him despite everything. which we all deserve. rest in peace ian. your voice will never leave me. your eyes will never leave me. your music will live on forever, in perfect immortality. i only wish you could be here to see that.