Empire of Light
Empire of Light
Starring Olivia Colman, Michael Ward, Colin Firth, Toby Jones
Directed by Sam Mendes
In December of 1980, Hilary Small (Olivia Colman) is working as a duty manager at the esteemed Empire Cinema in Margate, but it's clear that she's not happy with her life. She spends her days and nights alone, struggles to mingle with her much-younger co-workers, and is having an affair with the theater's married manager Donald Ellis (Colin Firth) and struggles with bipolar disorder. One day Stephen (Micheal Ward) joins the team, and the two form an instant companionship that slowly turns romantic. While she worries that the relationship won't last due to their age difference, Stephen struggles with being an African American man living in a racist society, as Hilary is also concerned that her mental health could give way at any moment - culminating in explosive drama that threatens both of their well-being.
While "Empire of Light" seemed like a good idea, there were so many different plots that didn't seem to coalesce until the end, traveling down their own parallel trajectories that would've been fine as different movies, but combined turns jumbled at places, while characters aren't fully flushed out and seem more like plot devices than well-rounded individuals. Still, the anchor that holds the entire mixed-bag boat together is Olivia Colman, the ever-wonderful, ever-talented actress who shoulders the brunt of the responsibility on her shoulders, and whom - alongside Deakins - is the only other one in this project who should've earned an Academy nomination.
One story is a somewhat loosely based true story of director Sam Mendes's life (if that sounds familiar in 2022, think back to Steven Spielberg's "The Fabelmans" or James Gray's "Armageddon Time") with his mother, which is (almost) always a surefire Oscar hit (again, it worked for "The Fabelmans," not so much for "Armageddon Time"). This portion of the film highlights the cinema itself, and how the magic of movies brings people together to forget their troubles for a time, and the clog that makes this wheel turn is Toby Jones's Norman the projectionist, who shows Stephen how the projectors work and call the film wheels "precious cargo." There's no denying that movies have a certain magic to them, but when you have to announce it, it somehow looses a little bit of that magic.
Then there's Stephen's struggle with racial prejudices, and how it's affected his world. Here, as with everything else in the film, the story is very formulaic and something we've seen in countless movies before. He encounters a gang of skinhead youth on the street. He is verbally talked down to by an elderly white man. He lives alone with his workaholic single mother. Everything about his life is a caricature of what a white man believes an African American man's life was like back then - and it might not be far from the truth. Newcomer Micheal Ward performs more than admirably in the role, even going toe-to-toe with the Oscar great Colman, but not even he could save his character from the stereotypical pitfalls.
The third, and most interesting, story centers around Hilary herself and her struggles not just with bipolar disorder, but with the fear of being old and alone. The film starts off from her perspective as she closes up shop alone, walks home alone, eats dinner alone, sleeps alone, and takes a bath alone complete with the hallmark of a suicidal nature in film when she dunks her head under the water. You feel for her character from the offset, and Colman already has you in her talented clutches. Her relationship with Stephen is a cautious one, because we all know that this relationship is doomed from the start for many reasons: their age difference, race difference (even though it doesn't bother either of them), the sneaking behind the backs of their employees (if working at a job filled with other people has taught me anything, it's that no secret is ever kept for long), or her mental illness, everything seems to point to disaster for this lovelorn couple. It's only a matter of time before it breaks and Hilary breaks as well, but, again, Colman sells us on it hook, line, and sinker - and we don't mind one bit.
The marvel of the film lies with the impeccable cinematography of Oscar-winning cinematographer Roger Deakins, who won for his exemplary work in both "Blade Runner 2049" as well as "1917" (which was also directed by Mendes). While he's best known for the lavish, grandiose films, Deakins also knows how to dial it down for a more intimate, passionate film such as this. The film is shot in panoramic style with the set pieces overshadowing the performers, making them look like ants in comparison, and further illuminating one of the central themes of the film about the need for community. He uses natural light and a more diminished feel to further expound on the characters on screen, giving a sense of natural beauty that's very hard to imitate. It's simple in the most complex way, and shows why the seventy-three-year-old cinematographer is one of the best in the business both today and throughout cinematic history.
Through the muddied stories, there seems to be one central theme that holds it all together: the need for someone else. Hilary obviously needs people in her life because she wanders the streets alone, and seeing her so detached from others is heartbreaking to see - but there's still a difference between being alone and feeling alone. One can be totally alone and totally fine with it, but others - when they're alone - feel completely isolated, and that's how Hilary felt. Maybe it's because of her illness, or maybe her own choices, but when she connects with Stephen, there's a whole new light to her. Likewise, Stephen needs someone to confide in during the tumultuous time, and finds that in Hilary. We can't go through life feeling alone, and we all need someone...as the song goes...to lean on.
The Score: A
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