Although director Sam Mendes' Empire of Light opens with lingering shots of the title location, a gorgeous vintage movie theater in a British seaside town, it doesn't really fall into the tradition of the so-called "love letter to cinema." Despite her job as a duty manager at the Empire, main character Hilary Small (Olivia Colman) doesn't seem to care about movies and has never even attended a show at her workplace. It's possible that she's never actually seen a movie, or had any desire to see one, until a late-breaking scene in which she finally opens herself to the power of motion pictures.
That scene is an isolated moment in a movie that has a lot of other, bigger issues on its mind. There are far too many ideas for Mendes — who also wrote the screenplay in his first solo writing credit — to effectively tackle, and the magic of the movies often seems like the least important. The central relationship in Empire of Light is a workplace romance between the middle-aged Hilary and her much younger coworker Stephen (Micheal Ward), both of whom have personal trauma to work through. Hilary seems quiet and reserved at first, but as hinted in an early scene with her doctor, that's partially because she's heavily medicated after a stint in a psychiatric facility.
Hilary's mental health difficulties become more prominent as the movie progresses, as does the racism that the Black, working-class Stephen faces in early 1980s Great Britain. It's more a series of talking points than a detailed depiction of the political situation of the time, when attacks by racist skinhead gangs were on the rise. The portrayal of mental illness is similarly superficial, as Mendes makes his way through a checklist of social injustices in the Margaret Thatcher-era U.K. The anguish that the characters express feels predetermined, rather than a natural response to their individual circumstances.
Colman and Ward have a sweet dynamic, but the relationship between Hilary and Stephen seems more like a vehicle for Mendes to address his thematic concerns than a genuine human connection. As the movie goes on, Mendes burdens Colman with so much emotional heavy lifting that even an actor of her substantial talent buckles under the weight of the movie's self-importance.
For much of the running time, though, Colman's performance is affecting and understated, as Hilary balances her mental health and finds happiness with Stephen. Although they keep their relationship a secret from their co-workers, Stephen treats Hilary better than her condescending married boss (Colin Firth), with whom she's having a desultory affair at the beginning of the movie. It's a treat to see Firth play a completely irredeemable jerk, and he provides the ideal contrast to the sensitive, open Stephen.
Empire of Light is disjointed and unfocused, but it has some tender moments, and when Mendes remembers to pay attention to the setting, he evokes some of the wonder of moviegoing. Toby Jones doesn't get enough screen time as the theater's dedicated projectionist Norman, but he's responsible for the purest tribute to the theatrical viewing experience, when Hilary finally immerses herself in a movie that Norman carefully chooses and projects just for her.
With all the troubles that the characters experience, movies would seem to be a perfect escape for them, but once that scene ends, Mendes returns to the muddled drama. He never quite captures the weight of this pivotal historical period, but he briefly makes the movie theater seem like the most wondrous place in the world, for Hilary and for anyone else who's become overwhelmed by the pressures of everyday life. ♦
The Empire of Light
