Hunger - Film Review

Hunger is the feature film debut of director Steve McQueen. This is not, however, the film of a novice. One immediately feels the confident tone of this film, and it doesn’t take long to appreciate that this is a movie made by a visual artist (McQueen is an accomplished artist and the 1999 recipient of Britain’s esteemed Turner Prize.) The film revolves around the 1981 Irish Hunger Strike with a particular focus on the man who organized the strike, IRA soldier Bobby Sands (Michael Fassbender.) This is not a film with the usual trappings of a biopic or historical film, though. We are not inundated with historical context, back-stories, and “significant anecdotes” about the characters’ lives. Instead, the audience is simply asked to bear witness to what occurs on the screen.



The film offers very little dialogue with the exception of one scene, a conversation between Sands and priest Father Moran (Liam Cunningham.) The conversation is almost twenty minutes long, was shot in a single take with no edits, and the camera hardly moves from the two characters sitting across a table from one another. The result is a scene that is at once incredibly indulgent and profoundly restrained. This paradox between indulgence and restraint is the essence of the film, and, perhaps, is also an apt description of using the self-inflicted deterioration of one’s body as a violent political weapon.

"This paradox between indulgence and restraint is the essence of the film, and, perhaps, is also an apt description of using the self-inflicted deterioration of one’s body as a violent political weapon."

In shot after shot, scene after scene, McQueen employs a deliberate patience. The silence in the film and the slow, often static camera somehow manage to become enrapturing rather than boring. The director said in an interview that the silence in Hunger “gives the audience room to be part of the film.” That might not have meant much to me prior to seeing the film, but after viewing I understand what he means. Rather than being told by the director how to feel or what to think, the audience can really explore and interact with the material on screen. The result is a much more personal experience as a viewer, in the same way that reading a novel is a collaboration of sorts between reader and material.

Before I give the impression that this film is simply a quiet meditation on a bygone historical period, I should acknowledge that this particular history is one of violence and suffering. Ninety percent of Hunger takes place in a prison. Almost all interactions between guard and prisoner involve violence, humiliation, and intimidation, all of which are explored in graphic detail on screen. The goal is not to titillate or repulse, however.

"Hunger offers the viewer a more personal experience, in the same way that reading a novel is a collaboration of sorts between reader and material."

Hunger is, in fact, a quiet meditation, but a meditation on very disquieting subjects. This is precisely what lends the movie its power; it invites the audience to thoughtfully contemplate difficult, painful subjects instead of cleverly dictating its own singular point of view. To eschew condescension or, at least, insistence is rare enough in the world of filmmaking, but the humility of Hunger is especially scarce in the realm of historical dramas. Hunger is not a history lesson masquerading as a film. It is an emotional exploration that might inspire those less familiar with its subject matter to want to learn more.