Hunger Shakes

to escape my feeling really ill today, i went to the cinema, because it usually makes me feel a lot better to be in a dark room and concentrating on something. for once, this was not the case...

hunger is the renowned war artist steve mcqueen's debut film, which chronicles the weeks leading up to infamous hunger strike led by IRA activist bobby sands, which was motivated by the desire for the status of 'political prisoner', rather than the term 'criminal' which was demanded by thatcher. when i left the theatre this afternoon, my hands were shaking, i was practically retching and my mind was in oblivion. never before have i been so moved by a motion-picture. i prefer to use this term because that, in effect, was what the majority of the film was. a 'motion picture'. apart from a twenty-minute section in the middle, in which bobby and his priest have a conversation which, although short, enlightens us to some of what is going on in his head, the rest of the film is pictures in motion. the sound is more often that of battons against shields or nervous breathing than actual speaking, and yet, to use a cliche, actions said everything louder than words.

in my opinion, it was difficult to criticise mcqueen of portraying a sympathetic view of the political prisoner, or equally, for attaching any amount pity for him. the film was so silent in that respect that it was left up to you to make up your mind on how you wanted to feel towards bobby sands and the rest of the prisoners, or the officers whose job it was to deter them from their protest by using force. it was honest. it showed nothing except what happened: the prisoners did use different forms of protest in their time in the prison, they did get beaten, bobby sands and nine more did die.

the symmetrical photography, synchronised beating and lack of words creates a film so brutal, and yet so mesmerising, that it is almost impossible to not see hunger as an artistic masterpiece. we are not invited to empathise with any character or any situation, which, in turn, instils a stronger impression of the landscape of the whole piece. just as in mcqueen's art, he cuts you off from the conventional feelings associated with war, and in no way comes between you and the art, that you are left begging for the answers which you yourself held the whole time.

in conclusion, this film is nothing except unmissible.

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