Review by Eoin O’Faolain If there is one thing hat war has produced that is in any way commendable, it is cinema. Indeed, it’s a testament to the poignancy of setting (and the singular lack of imagination of Academy members), that films concern WWII and concentration camps feature heavily in yearly Oscar nominations. For
Hunger tells the tale of the “dirty protests” and hunger strikes that occurred in
Directed by Steve McQueen (no, not THAT one, obviously), this directorial debut has all the hallmarks of an artist’s installation and all the problems of a visual artist unable to handle cinematic narrative. It takes almost 30 minutes to be fully acquainted with Sands, and once that happens, Davey and the warden are cast aside. One could argue that the film attempts to introduce several facets of the situation to ensure a less-blinkered perspective on the situation. This does indeed work for the warden, for by starting with him, we instantly associate, and thus his acts of brutality to Sands and co later in the film feel less unnecessary, less antagonistic, and indeed makes the bold statement that there were no enemies, only victims. Davey’s presence in the film, however, only acts as an introduction to the prison lifestyle and the protests, and the film barely attempts to understand him as a character.
Visually, the film is far more impressive. McQueen displays bursts of brilliance in his focus on harsh events (the wardens forcing a bath and haircut on the protestors), and contrast them with rare moments of relief, such as snow falling. But while there’s a photographer’s eye there, at times the pace plods. At one stage, the protestors build mounds of food so they can pour their urine under the cell door and into the jail’s corridors. Later, we see a warden in a plastic suit slowly sweep the liquid from the corridor. This lasts for over a minute, going beyond the required time to emphasise how the protests took the toll on everyone, on how everybody suffered.
The film’s best scene is a 20-minute segment in the middle, and where the only real dialogue exists. Written by talented Irish playwright Enda Walsh (who will write his way into quality cinema eventually), the scene involves Sands and a priest verbally sparring about the ultimate purpose of making a hunger protest. The priest calls it suicide, Sands calls it political resolve. The performances are electric, and the dialogue is full of depth and convincing quirks of dialect. It’s a pity the final act of the film turns into a bore, as we see the grotesque images of Sands’ body slowly decaying, dreaming of his past (and using, I might add, some terribly clichéd imagery), until he finally wastes away. It’s slow, it’s obvious, and it tells us very little beyond what we could already assume about self-induced starvation.
On a political level, the film attempts to end on a high note. Despite the obvious conclusion, the film seems to claim that Sands’ demise was a brave and worthwhile endeavour. The film closes with an onscreen title claiming that the British government eventually gave in and granted some rights to IRA prisoners. But what the film doesn’t (and probably couldn’t) do was note that this did not contribute to political stability and peace in
Hunger deals with a disturbing issue - but the problem is that it does little in exploring anything beyond what a basic synopsis suggests. However, what it does do is showcase the potential for two excellent film-makers, Steve McQueen as a director willing to make visual experiments, and Enda Walsh as a writer of intelligent and engaging dialogue.
3 / 5 stars
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