Not quite hitting a home run with any of its plots or themes, this movie still beguiles with its sensitive treatment of the chaos bipolar can cause, together with some heartrending performances by Olivia Coleman and Michael Ward.
Premise
Hilary (Olivia Colman) is medicated on lithium for bipolar disorder and leads a symptom-free life as the sub-manager of a declining cinema on England’s South Coast. She is manipulated by her boss (Colin Firth) into a torrid and unfulfilling tryst but soon finds solace in a meaningful love affair with Stephen (Michael Ward) which finds its physical expression in the eaves of a disused and pigeon-infested decommissioned cinema.
Feeling a million dollars because of her new romance, she closes the cupboard door on her medication, and soon the inevitable happens with heartrending results.
Opinion
To his credit, Sam Mendez realizes that a script that unrelentingly dealt with the subject of mental illness would be too heavy-handed and not at all an enjoyable experience.
His solution is to inject other themes and sub-plots into the narrative, presumably as semi-light relief. There is the pigeon with the broken wing plot, the Room 101# racism plot, the decaying cinema of a bygone age subplot, and of course the permeating Olivia Colman – Michael Ward love plot.
For me, as someone with bipolar whose symptoms are well under control with moderate medication, I was all too disturbed when the loved-up Colman closed the cupboard door on her pills because her affair with Ward was making her so happy. Such an unwise moment will chime with many afflicted with mental health conditions.
Certainly, it was a relief that Colman was beginning successfully to extricate herself from her torrid and unfulfilling physical affair with Colin Firth. But from the moment Colman stopped popping her pills, the outcome was inevitable, and the scene towards the end of the film when the mental health nurse, flanked by police, breaks the door down to have Colman readmitted to hospital, was all too poignant.
Rightly, the love affair between Colman and Ward tries to take centre stage, but it is diluted by other plot waves that never seem satisfactorily resolved. I yearned for a more Cinema Paradiso approach to the story of the run-down cinema, and Toby Jones’ projectionist’s story was alluring, but not satisfactorily followed through.
Equally, it seemed as though the racism story pertinent to the 1980s when the film is set, was merely a thin veneer of convenience and not explored in sufficient depth.
Three performances rescue this film from mediocrity. The first is Olivia Colman’s performance as the sometimes sane, sometimes manic, middle-aged woman lost to the tragic twists and turns of her life.
The Second is Michael Ward’s performance as an unconventional romantic male lead. Although not as standout as Colman’s, his performance keeps up with hers overall, and it lays the groundwork for an excellent future.
The third stand-out performance is that of Roger Deakins, the cinematographer. The photography is not quite British Realism writ large, but it is satisfyingly grainy with dumbed-down colours and a lot of flat light. It’s a tour de force.
Sam Mendez may not have produced a masterpiece here, and it would be condescending to say that it was merely a homage to his mother who had mental health difficulties. But it is nevertheless a poignant film that leaves a needy disturbance in the gut.
For one thing, it raises awareness of mental health, which can only be good. Those who know my film reviews will know that it’s my view that most movies that spill much over two hours should have a ruthless red-crayon editing job done to them. With Empire of Light, the opposite is true.
If Mendez had made the movie twenty minutes longer and explored the cinema and racism themes in more depth, my sense is he might indeed have had a masterpiece on his hands. In particular, as already alluded to, the enigmatic Toby Jones projectionist character, who was the potentially rich link in the film to the riches of a Cinema Paradiso-esque exploration, was really only given credence right at the end, when it was far too late for anything meaningful to transpire.
It's certainly not a popcorn movie, so be sure to bring your hankie; and if you have the wherewithal, then dare to fill in the blanks where the brilliance might be hiding.
Rating
Four stars from me for the film’s sensitive portrayal of debilitating mental illness.
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