Empire of Light
Sam Mendes
(director and writer), Roger Deakins (cinematography), Lee Smith (editor)
Olivia Colman, Micheal Ward, Tom Brooke, Tanya Moodie, Hannah Onslow, Crystal
Clarke, Toby Jones, Colin Firth (cast)
Content warning: Sexual assault, racism, racist violence
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| Image credit: Courtesy of TIFF |
In Empire
of Light, the Empire theatre was once a glorious cinema, but it’s fallen on
hard times and is just making do. The front of house is expertly managed by
Hilary (Olivia Colman), who maintains a tight ship. The sparse staff is
friendly and boisterous, but their exuberance is often thwarted by their
curmudgeonly manager played by Colin Firth.
Life is
dull and boring for Hilary till one day, Stephen (Micheal Ward) arrives as a
new recruit. She is captivated by him—his youth, his beauty, and his kindly attitude
towards her. The two of them connect, but it’s not long before external forces drive
them apart.
Director
Sam Mendes’ latest film is an homage to the theatre experience, to film, a look
at mental health, racial tensions and violence, love, loss, aging, sexual
assault, office dynamics, romance, and 1980s politics in England. Yes, it’s
about all that, and it tries to fit all of that into two hours. As one can
imagine, the film can’t handle it, yet somehow, the script incorporates five
endings and feels like it’s at least half an hour too long. Watching Empire
of Light, I really wished it had picked a couple of lanes and stuck with
them instead of trying to be everything at once. While all the aspects are
interesting and arresting, they are mostly threads left hanging. Under the
weight of so many plotlines, Mendes isn’t able to do justice to any of it.
The 2022
Toronto International Film Festival screening I attended was followed by a
Q&A with Mendes and some of the cast, and Mendes mentioned that with this
film he wanted to make something “personal without being biographical.” The
personal element is the protagonist, Hilary, a woman suffering from mental
illness, and it’s something that she must work with and through to maintain a
semblance of normal life. Hilary is loosely based on Mendes’ mother, who also
struggled with her mental health and he would see her go through the cycle of
mental disintegration.
The film
tries to do too much but never has a focus. What starts off as a sensitive
portrayal of a woman desperate to keep it together, soon becomes an absolute spectacle.
The racial tensions seem to have been included as a way to parallel Stephen’s
struggles with Hilary’s but only act as traumatization for the sole Black
character in the film.
I’m also unconvinced
by why Steven is invested in his relationship with Hilary. Hilary falling for
him is understandable, but she does nothing to make herself appealing to
him—and I don’t mean that in the ‘pretty herself’ style of appealing. She isn’t
likeable in her few interactions with Stephen. She yells at him, and then is
quiet and in awe, and then she does something without consent. And voila,
they’re together. Stephen isn’t a character, he’s a dream. That’s till his character
has to face racism, of course.
Everyone
loves Olivia Colman because she’s always convincing in every role she plays. I
think she has a very distinctive way of speaking and emoting that draws you in
but also makes her performance feel familiar.
Micheal
Ward is so charming and sweet and will make you fall in love with him. He’s a
sweetheart in the film and perfectly cast. We don’t see enough people of
colour in the main roles set in the past, but I do wish he’d been cast to enhance
the diversity of the film, not simply because there’s a racial violence angle
to the story because that’s really what it seems like. Would Ward have been
considered if racial trauma wasn’t part of the script?
The rest
of the cast has some delightful moments, but why was the Colin Firth character
in this film? Hilary’s arc would have worked just as well without him.
Hollywood
loves films about films, and since the start of the pandemic, there’s a general
obsession with the importance of the cinematic experience and going to theatres.
I mean, it’s a pandemic, let it rest, but no. I feel like that’s the kind of
atmosphere that’s inspired Empire of Light. There’s this nostalgia about
the good ol’ days of analogue, and community, which feels more contrived than a
necessary part of the story. The cinematography is beautiful—and the Empire
theatre is stunning to look at, even the parts that have fallen into disarray.
But the theatre could simply have been unique set dressing. Instead, the film
got super saccharine in the final part and that seemed so unnecessary. It felt
very Cinema Paradiso, without any of the charm.
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