Control is filmed in stark, shadowy black and white. This might seem like a no-brainer; as director Anton Corbijn points out in the commentary, Joy Division’s career - from album covers to magazine photos - was mostly captured that way to begin with. But it’s incredibly effective at evoking not only the sound of Joy Division’s music, but also the Ian’s detachment from the world around him. As a result, the film feels cold and removed and I’ve heard others cite this as a criticism of the film. But I believe that feeling to be a fair approximation of Ian’s own. Adding a colorization, warmth or closeness to the proceedings would’ve almost certainly felt forced and insincere.

Relative newcomer Sam Riley is simply stunning in the role of Ian. Since outside of the performance arena, Ian was a soft-spoken individual, much of Riley’s performance is physical. The most notable part of his portrayal rests in his eyes, which convey a mounting sadness off-stage and a wild possession on. His performance is also punctuated by sudden outbursts of contortions - both in the form of epileptic fits and his awkward, energetic style of dancing, which Riley absolutely nails (reportedly, on-stage, the former often evolved into the latter, much to the horror of the audience). As usual, Samantha Morton (Minority Report, Morvern Callar) is equally terrific as Ian’s wife, Debbie. It’s a bit of a thankless role, as was Debbie’s in life. But Morton somehow manages to make sense of her character’s ongoing love for her husband, despite his transgressions and an increasing absence from his family, as a result of the band and his affair. He’s a terrible husband and father, but like her, we develop a fondness for Ian that resembles that we have for children. And most impressively, she conveys it in such a way that has us understanding, rather than shouting at the screen for her to leave him.

I don’t bother providing a spoiler alert prior to mention’s of Ian’s suicide because sadly, he’s as much remembered for his premature demise as he is for his music. But this film is clearly obsessed with presenting Ian in life, which is admirable. However, as with any story of this sort, there’s a sense of impending dread that builds as the film marches on towards the inevitable ending. And the movie isn’t just sad, it’s also fairly long; it’s very deliberate in displaying the details of the important moments in Ian’s life. So quite frankly, when Ian finally ends his life just after the two-hour mark, there’s almost a sense of release for us as viewers… a sense for which I imagine Ian was searching as well.

The DVD version of the film is loaded with about as many extras as I’d imagine could fit on a single disc. Along with the usual director commentary, we’re also treated to two thoughtful featurettes - one that focuses on Corbijn and another that concerns all those involved with making the movie. They both highlight the noble, non-exploitative intentions of everyone. There are also some intriguing, extended live performances from the film and a few great music videos - one of which Corbijn actually directed in 1988, well after Ian’s death. But in order to really get the full story, I’d highly recommend picking up the simply-titled Joy Division, an excellent documentary also being released on DVD this month by The Weinstein Company. Whereas Control is most certainly the story of Ian Curtis, this film expands that story to fill in the edges of the complete Joy Division picture. Through a series of very candid interviews with his bandmates, friends, Tony Wilson, producer Martin Hannett and others, mixed with gripping live footage and photos of their dismal Manchester surroundings, it tells us more about the other crucial characters and factors that led to the phenomenon. Video interviews with Ian don’t exist, so other than his voice, he’s mostly absent from the film. But that feels appropriate, when viewed alongside Control, which is singularly-minded in its exploration of Curtis. Together, you’ve got a nearly complete compendium of the Joy Division experience, including Ian’s cursed talent for using his own suffering to alter pop music forever.