Dreams of a Life

Carol Morley has come up with a really interesting idea.

She's written and directed a documentary about the mysterious death of a beautiful West Indian 39 year old girl (Joyce Vincent) who was a major hit with the lads "People said she was as good looking as Whitney Houston; I thought she was more attractive than that." and had hundreds of friends and admirers and a huge family to boot; four sisters.

The film is not so much about how she died but the fact that it took three years for her body to be discovered. In her flat. Watching her TV which was still on.

No Electricity company shut her utilities off; the council never chased the rent; no one complained about the smell; none of her friends visited; none of doting ex's; none of her family. Nobody.

Carol Morley builds a documentary mixing dramatised re-enactments of her life and "Touching the Void" type real life storytelling to get closer to the truth than the police ever did.

It's a fascinating idea and in places nicely shot with some interesting music (although hardly a career high for ex-Magazine bassist Barry Adamson).

Why then is it so unengaging emotionally? Why do we not really care about poor Joyce Vincent? I think because the story is dragged 30 – 40 minutes past is tell by date. It's just far too long.

It's a shame because I really wanted to like it and applaud almost everything about it; including the fact that it was funded (in part by the Irish Film Board!?) and the incredible detective work that Carol Morley did to unearth so many of the people in Joyce Vincent's life when the police found not one of them.

In the end, it just makes the police look ridiculous.

And poor old Martin, the bachelor who lost the love of his life.

Bless him.

STAR RATING: ***** Saturday Night **** Friday Night *** Friday Morning ** Sunday Night * Monday Morning

Joyce Vincent's skeleton was found in her London bedsit three years after she died, surrounded by wrapped Christmas presents and with the TV still on in the background. Despite once having a fairly active social life, she clearly masked deep rooted insecurities to those around her, some of whom provide talking head perspectives here. These may have driven her to make some bad decisions and mix with the wrong people, drifting apart from those who really cared about her. Film maker Carol Morley attempts to piece together the events leading up to her death, trying to create a picture of who this woman was and how she came to meet such a lonely, desperate end.

It's testament to what a crazy, twenty four hour news world we live in that Joyce Vincent's story, as mind blowing and heart breaking as it is, is the type of thing you could read about in some rag like The Sun and then just put to the back of your mind faster than Jack Robinson. But however much you think about it, the idea of a woman lying dead in her home for three years with not a single friend or family member coming round to check on her or noticing she was gone will always make you wonder what kind of world we're living in, especially with so much more to hand than in years gone by.

As off putting as the thought of it is, the tone of the film should really be as dark and down beat as it can be, since it's such a desperately sad, shaming true life tale, but of course this would make it inaccessible to some, and it works more that Morley balances her work with more soulful, melancholy interludes in between the more dour, desperate moments. We learn of a confident, bubbly woman who could be the life and soul of any party, but who clearly carried deep, dark insecurities around with her and who failed to display much of a personality of her own, preferring to latch on to the close friends and people she had around her.

With the limited amount of material she has to work with, new comer Zawe Ashton brings Joyce to life in as colourful and under stated a way as she can, always at her best in alone, private moments when her passion and talent as a singer really comes to life, only for nothing to come of this. As Robert De Niro once stated in a film of his, there's nothing sadder than wasted talent and while these are very wise words, the film shows how a vulnerable, insecure personality can inadvertently make this so.

Morley has crafted a haunting, desperately sad tale that shows even in the 21st century we still live in more of an atomised, apart society than we'd care to admit and that maybe we don't care about each other as much as we ought to. ***

Newspaper headlines are flashed on screen detailing the strange case of a 38 year old woman found dead in her apartment after three years. Joyce Carol Vincent died a lonesome death, without drawing notice. A pathologist could not determine the cause of death due to its decomposition. Dental records were used for identification. The people who discovered her said that the television was on and Christmas presents were partially wrapped. A reenactment shows a team in hazmat suits decontaminating the flat. A picture of a pretty black woman is shown while interviews with friends and co-workers begin.She is described as well spoken and easy going. Her mother wast Indian and father a black Grenadian carpenter and womanizer. Her mother died when she was eleven and she told those around her that her father had also passed away. Later on it is discovered that he passed away a year after her.

Recordings are played from a studio session when Joyce was aspiring to be a professional singer. A boyfriend, Martin, speaks well of her with fond memories. He is white and overweight and was shocked that such a good looking woman would date him. Another boyfriend remembers living with her and the night she tells him how she met Nelson Mandela. They eventually drift apart and she lives a nomadic lifestyle, rooming with different men and possibly being physically abused by one. A beautiful actress(Zawe Ashton) portrays Joyce in the film and she is very good.

Ironically, the most compelling figure of the story turns out to be Martin, who with introspection, regrets the choices he made because he never stops thinking about Joyce, who he loved very much.

Dreams of A Life is a powerful and moving statement on how little we really know about each other and the inner demons within all of us.

I can't remember which poet said it now, but when questioned on why we create art he responded, "to make our living and dying important again, and the living and dying of others." By this measure, Dreams of a Life is an artistic triumph; it does exactly that. If Carol Morley had not re-invented herself as a private detective who would know about Joyce Vincent's story now? The tenacity and iron will it must have taken to get this project off the ground is evident in the care with which this film has been made. Not only in terms of what it draws out of the people who knew Joyce, but also in the skilled reconstructions and outstanding performances from the cast.

The film is fresh and offers something new to the genre with its blurring of documentary and drama. There are moments in the film to make your heart break but as much as anything the film is a celebration and a remembrance of a life lived.

I remember learning about the discovery of Joyce Vincent's body a few years ago and thinking what a sad and disturbing news story it was, almost beggaring belief in present day civilised society. This superbly and sensitively crafted drama documentary from Carol Morley answers a mere handful of the many questions which inevitably followed while inevitably producing a myriad of others.

It is a salutary reminder that life is both precious and mysterious, things are often not what they seem and how we all think we know our friends but in reality our comprehension is limited to what we are actually permitted to see and understand.

The most refreshing and at the same time most disturbing impression given is that Joyce's friends appear to be genuine, caring people but despite this, she still slipped through the emotional and physical net which binds humanity together.

The power of this film makes the loss almost as tangible to the audience as it must have felt to Martin. It reminds us that although time is often regarded as a great unhurried and invisible healer, it can also be corrosively destructive.

Plenty to contemplate here...