Empire of Light is a movie that has a lot of reverence for the more granular details of cinema. Yes, it takes place in a movie house and you often see the marquee lit up with classic titles like All That Jazz and Being There, films that have stood the test of time and are transportive in a way that only films can be. But Empire of Light‘s true admiration stands in the smaller stuff, the flicker of light that runs through the individual frames, the stillness that becomes movement, the act of creation that is film projection. To the characters in this film, it’s small things that makes the movies so restorative. Stories change with each passing film, but the act of watching, the communal experience, stays the same. I must admit that I have a soft spot for things like this. You see, I too am a hopeless romantic when it comes to the movies.
This is the first Sam Mendes film in which he is the sole writer-director. If that surprises you then you may not realize how, despite his stature within the industry, he’s seemed to allude any attempt at being an auteur. What is the Sam Mendes style? It’s quite hard to pinpoint. He started with American Beauty, an Oscar-winning sensation that has aged like milk, and then has bounced between prestige awards bait like Road to Perdition and Revolutionary Road to more caustic films like the Iraq War drama Jarhead and the mellow comedy-drama Away We Go. He made two Bond films, Skyfall and Spectre, before making 1917, a massively-scaled technical exercise that nearly scored him a second Best Director Oscar. All of these films succeed on some level, though some are much better than others, but none of them possess a calling card that reminds you of his presence. What is the Mendes touch?
Given the critical and commercial smash that was 1917, it would seem curious that he would follow that up with Empire of Light, a film as opposed to 1917 as one can be. It certainly took me by surprise. With the exception of Away We Go, I’m not sure he’s ever made a film on such small a scale. Even more surprising, this might be the best film he’s ever made. If that seems like a histrionic thing to say, I should then mention that I am mostly immune to Mendes’ charms, which usually look astonishing while failing on a character level most of the time. Empire of Light‘s slimness is ever present as you’re watching, and it takes easy solutions to solve rather complicated issues, but it’s the first time in a Mendes movie that I felt truly captivated by the people on the screen, and didn’t have to make a moral compromise with myself to do so.
Perhaps the reason is Olivia Colman, an actress whose last five years has been on one of the best acting runs in recent memory. Her brilliance between genres has made her one of the few character actors to graduate into a leading performer, courted by directors across a wide spectrum. In Empire of Light, she plays Hilary Small, a manager at a palatial movie house on the South Shore of England called Empire Cinema. The Empire has two giant screens, ample seating with a balcony included, and a velvet curtain that rolls back dramatically before the movie starts. As the 1970’s turn into the 1980’s, the drastic conservatism of the Thatcher administration creeps over the country, but in Empire, only the movies matter. Behind the grandness of it all, is a staff that’s more blue collar than the lush setting would lead you to believe.
The theater is owned by Donald Ellis (Colin Firth), who frequently invites Hilary into his office for quick, dehumanizing rounds of sex. Just another indignity that magnifies Hilary’s depressive episodes. Things begin to change when Empire brings on new hire, Stephen (Michael Ward). Rejected from multiple colleges (as a Black man, entry proves more difficult), he has decided instead to get a job. His youth and charisma quickly win over the staff, especially Hilary who can’t help but be attracted to his boyish beauty. A charming, if far-fetched, May-December romance blooms between them, Hilary astounded by his good looks and sensitivity, and Stephen drawn toward Hilary’s somber melancholy. The relationship puts her in such good spirits, that Hilary decides to stop taking her doctor-prescribed Lithium, a choice that leads to the re-emergence of some demons from her past.
Empire of Light is probably about too many things. It takes long detours involving Hilary’s mental health, which proves to be a much deeper issue than initially suggested. It also has occasional passages detailing the barbarity of England’s racism, as Stephen becomes the victim of thoughtless verbal and physical attacks. The dialogue draws direct correlation between Thatcher’s administration and the rise in racial harassment, an accurate (if oversimplified) observation. For all its dot-connecting and trauma-fronting, Mendes rarely gets below the surface of these issues. And yet, I still found every moment of this film eminently watchable, its performances aching with sincerity, and the script dripping with a tenderness that feels foreign to prior Mendes pictures.
It could just be that I’m a sucker for the movies, and Empire‘s romantic appeals toward the majesty of cinema will always do their worst on me as a viewer. But I do think there’s something to be said for Mendes’ approach to the treacly material, to his dabbling of darkness in an otherwise sentimental venture. Hilary’s erratic behavior is said to be based on his own mother’s mental health struggle, and in the hands of Olivia Colman, Hilary becomes a triumphant heroine. This has been said plenty but it must be repeated: there simply isn’t anyone doing it quite like Colman at the moment. Empire of Light does have a lot to say, and it could do with being more careful with how it says it, but this is still an emotionally successful film, led by an actress doing some of her very best work.
Written and Directed by Sam Mendes