Editor’s Note: England is Mine is currently playing in limited theatrical release.
What’s past is prologue, but sometimes it’s all past, all prologue and nothing else. That’s the impression anyone who ventures into their local arthouse theater will get from writer-director Mark Gill’s loosely structured, slackly focused biopic of Steven Patrick Morrissey (later, like Madonna and Prince, just Morrissey), the once and future king of era-redefining, miserabilist indie-rock. With an essential assistant from guitarist Johnny Marr, Morrissey co-created the Smiths in the early ‘80s, but that band, that plaintive sound that spoke to alienated, lonely outcasts, are almost nowhere to be found in England is Mine. Gill’s downbeat slice-of-Manchester-life ends just as Morrissey and Marr begin their collaboration. Focusing on Morrissey’s pre-Smiths journey of personal self-discovery isn’t necessarily an error in judgment, but in Gill’s deeply flawed, if ambitious, hands, it becomes a near fatal error through the sheer repetition of the brilliant, misunderstood, nearly insufferable Morrissey stumbling from one depressing-inducing episode to another.
Gill’s reductive approach to psychology leaves Morrissey the character stranded for large swaths of England is Mine’s running time, doomed to repeat the same behavioral tics, the same legend-in-his-own-mind pronouncements of his heretofore undiscovered genius over and over.
When we meet Morrissey (Jack Lowden, last scene as Tom Hardy’s fellow sky ace in Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk), he’s an introverted, painfully shy, shaggy-haired teen, a nightclub goer, music reviewer, and journal writer who dreams of starting and leading his own band. His introversion, however, makes it almost impossible for him to take the leap of faith necessary to answer ads looking for band mates at his local record store. Stuck emotionally and physically in a protracted adolescence – he still lives with his soon-to-be-divorced parents – he eventually caves to his parents demand that he get a job and become an adult. For Morrissey, the 9-to-5 life of an office drone all but wrecks him emotionally, but he persists, sneaking away to jot down his latest brilliant thought in his journal when his remarkably tolerant boss isn’t looking.
A not quite chance encounter with another artist, Linder Sterling (Jessica Findlay Brown), finally gives Morrissey the push he needs to join musical forces with a guitarist, Billy Duffy (Adam Lawrence). Together, they start a band, the Nosebleeds and Morrissey’s ego, by turns fragile and overbearing, swells almost to the point of no return. Morrissey’s first turn at the spotlight ends almost as quickly as it begins, sending Morrissey into a familiar depression spiral that basically stops England is Mind for an extended PSA (get help, people, even if you’re not a lyrically gifted singer-songwriter). It’s not until a post-recovery Morrissey crosses paths with Marr (Laurie Kynaston) a second or third time, this time at Marr’s insistence that he begins to see a life in music as a definite possibility again and not just an adolescent, never-to-be-realized dream.
Focusing on Morrissey’s pre-Smiths journey of personal self-discovery isn’t necessarily an error in judgment, but in Gill’s deeply flawed, if ambitious, hands, it becomes a near fatal error.
Twice, Morrissey gets a pep talk straight out of Oscar Wilde, one of his literary heroes: Be yourself because everyone else is taken, first by Linder early in the film and later by his supportive mother, Elizabeth (Simone Kirby, Jimmy’s Hall). Each time it’s meant as a wake-up call, not to mention a call to action for the passive, reactive Morrissey to get on with his creative life. Both times, however, it feels like shallow shorthand for Gill’s attempt at a mission statement or central rationale for why he made England is Mine or why moviegoers should see it, especially since the Morrissey they’re familiar with, the borderline profound, borderline pretentious performer with the instantly recognizable, singular voice only makes a token appearance in the last few minutes of England is Mine. When Morrissey finally turns the proverbial corner, once again accepting the risk of potential failure, and literally knocks on the door to Marr’s apartment, England is Mine fades to black, leaving the creative highs and lows of the Morrissey-Marr collaboration for another film that will never see the dark of a movie theater.
While Gill the co-writer lets down Gill the director, Gill the director also lets down Morrissey the character and Morrissey the human being. Gill’s reductive approach to psychology leaves Morrissey the character stranded for large swaths of England is Mine’s running time, doomed to repeat the same behavioral tics, the same legend-in-his-own-mind pronouncements of his heretofore undiscovered genius over and over. Lowden’s star-making turn almost saves Gill and England is Mine. He captures the infuriating mix of brilliance and arrogance of the real-life Morrissey without turning his performance into simple imitation or caricature. That might bode well for Lowden’s career, but not necessarily Gill’s. A modest budget likely accounts for Gill’s unimaginative over-reliance on gray, lifeless interiors – the better to emphasize what living in post-industrial, pre-Internet Manchester must have been like during the Thatcher Era – but it never feels like more than an obligatory, superficial gloss.
Focusing on Morrissey’s pre-Smiths journey of personal self-discovery isn’t necessarily an error in judgment, but in Gill’s deeply flawed, if ambitious, hands, it becomes a near fatal error.
