This bleak, bittersweet biopic into the demise of Joy Division – and most importantly, Ian Curtis’ life – is as stunning as it is eventually devastating.

Shot entirely in black and white (it was actually reverted to black and white after being filmed originally in colour), not only does it allow the mind to revert to a retrospective gaze, but it also captures the bleak, dour times that surrounded the early seventies into 1980, where the film tragically ends.

Following Ian Curtis’ final seven years as Joy Division formed, exploded, and eventually imploded, it gives a heart-stopping and engrossing account of events, as originally told by Curtis’ wife Deborah in her previously released book of memoirs, Touching From A Distance, and by Tony Curtis, who gave JD their break.

Curtis, played by Sam Riley – who previously fronted 10,000 Things – does a stunning job at representing him in not only physicality, but in voice too. The live performances by the band are as near to accurate as possible without actual overdubs, whilst Curtis’ epileptic seizures are incredibly frightening. They happen with infrequent regularity, but are never overplayed.

His moments with infidelity, fatherhood, medication and Joy Division, who are on the eve of their first U.S. tour on May 18, 1980, are only carried off with stunning results due to the rest of the cast. Long-suffering wife Deborah (Samantha Morton), loudmouth manager Rob Gretton (Tony Kebbell) and band members Peter Hook (Joe Anderson), Bernard Sumner (James Anthony Pearson) and Stephen Morris (Harry Treadaway) are all instantly recognisable.

As they live, breathe (and smoke) during the punk era of the 1970s, it becomes incredibly surreal to see them markedly unimpressed by watching the like of the Sex Pistols in concert, as well as the starry eyed wonderment in Curtis as he takes Deborah to see David Bowie, who is quickly established alongside Iggy Pop and Lou Reed as his musical (and cultural) idols.

Unfortunately, the whirlwind romance that was to come from his and Deborah’s relationship soon became a distant memory, as first his job at the employment exchange, and then the band itself started to unravel.

The regular, isolated and quiet life represented in the film that had surrounded Curtis thus far was steadily replaced by expectation, experimental medication, stress and finally temptation, in the guise of Belgian Annik Honoré.

The often maverick, punk attitude that the band used to great affect in their early days to get noticed soon started to backfire, although throughout the film the bands dark humour continues to bring plenty of laughter. As well as messing with Tony Wilson at the television studios, one notable joke happens after Curtis suffers a seizure onstage.

Manager Gretton looks over at Curtis after a pause for thought and mentions how it could be worse, as he could be the singer in The Fall. It is doubtful that the irony was lost on director Anton Corbijn, as Mark E. Smith still continues on in The Fall today – whether that’s a good thing or not is down to personal preference.
With the inevitable outcome looming, the slow and steady downward spiral of the vocalist and lyricist is as captivating as it is horrifying.

As the oft-pictured drying line, on which Curtis hung himself is spied for one last harrowing time, the willingness for a fairytale ending is as far removed as it ever could be.

And even with the ending being known in advance of viewing, it still detracts nothing from the deeply powerful and humbling finish. No hype is needed here; Control really is incredible from start to finish.