Matt says: 

In the sea of biopics, Control is a rarity in that it works as well when not seen as one. Its attitude toward Ian Curtis’ legacy borders on ambivalent; the arc from his adolescence to suicide at 23 isn’t the story of a star because Matt Greenhalgh’s script isn’t interested in such. Similarly, director Anton Corbijn—best known for his photography, and music video work with the likes of Depeche Mode, Echo & the Bunnymen, The Cure, and Joy Division—uses his feature debut to evoke the mind of a depressive without ever romanticizing his decay. Here, Curtis is just another guy (and a very flawed one at that). He’s also one, like many who struggle with mental health, who is processing the death of the body and the loss of the self.

Corbijn and cinematographer Martin Ruhe shot the picture in color but had black and white exhibition prints made. As a result, the contrast overflows; the texture lessens just a bit. In his big screen debut, Sam Riley gives a performance as transparent as his character is enclosed. Beyond him and Samantha Morton as Curtis’ wife, Deborah, Control reveals its true self. The film may take the form of a biopic, but it doesn’t pander to audiences or further mythologize Curtis, and his death (while a known conclusion) isn’t the point. How it tracks his interest in the world around him is.

Corbijn and Ruhe provide the sensations and Curtis wades through them, his physique betraying him and his mind unable to keep up. Ultimately, Control sees this melancholy because it’s in love with faces but terrified of the bodies and brains that threaten them. It doesn’t suppress these attractions and repulsions either. It manages to deconstruct the line between mental and physical health with great empathy—and more importantly, with modesty.