It was me, waiting for me Hoping for something more Me, seeing me this time Hoping for something else
The biopic offers borderline too much for actors in terms of direct inspiration. Pictures, video, audio, family, friends. Research can be conducted on a scale nearing thesis, nailing a formerly complex human down to the way they drank milk or smoked cigarettes. And thus rendering the creative act a mere slipping on of a skinsuit, a full recreation of the image given by the subject at hand. While the actual truth is unknown — and immaterial — in Control, Riley's performance has nominal interest in that truth. He eats up the stories found not in image, but in third party thought. Were there pangs of empathy from the frontman while working at an employment agency? Towards the end, when split apart by his two lives, was he wearing that pain on his face during moments of solitude? I'd say Riley does well in his guessing.
Possibly that's too abstract and there are direct evidences for all the choices he made, I don't know. But the point is that these scenes and moments feel personal and they feel real, which is about all you can ask out of an actor. That also isn't to say the concerts and performances are lesser due to their mimicry, either. Quite the opposite; they are the engine of the film. Their purpose, as weaved by Corbijn and Ruhe, is slightly different though. Where most biographic tales of musician build towards the glory of shouting crowds and platinum records, this eschews spectacle. Biding its time in service of emotion and preparation for disaster. The ignored crowds, the framing of Curtis (just in general one of my favorite framed films like, ever), the rawness of the actual imitation. Corbijn overlaps Riley's recitings with Ruhe's images to find these emotions. In the streets of Manchester, in the simplicity of small clubs, in happiness, and in despair.
It does build, but not to eminence. When Hooky's bass kicks in on "Disorder", the pain and desperation on Riley's face has redlined. Searching for answers he won't find, for a hand to guide him away from it all. So he runs from the stage. And keeps running. Away from everyone. A lost gig, or everyone involved unaccepting of the unspoken truth about it all? Unprepared for what was to come.
The above was taken from my Letterboxd review.