An honest and unflinching exploration of sex addiction, Shame is far from the usual Hollywood fare.

Steve McQueen’s rendering of a sex addict’s world has a fragile yet sinister beauty: beneath his ordered life, depicted through the protagonist’s success at work and showroom apartment, lies an insatiable appetite for the carnal.

Sex in Shame is destructive, desperate, devoid of pleasure, and, inevitably, the primary force which leads to the downfall of our protagonist. (pictured here with Steve McQueen)

The movie begins with Brandon Sullivan, played by Michael Fassbender, managing his sex addiction through sense and order. Fassbender’s addict bares it all; for him, pornography and prostitutes are part of his secret double life. The other half enjoys success at work and admiration from colleagues and women alike. Fassbender is well cast in this role – his cool sex appeal is entirely convincing.

As his regimented life slowly unravels (a virus on his work computer suggests early on that his addiction can no longer be confined to his personal life), so does Brandon’s ability to connect with others. An awkward date with a work colleague, heightened by an inexperienced waiter, reveals much of his psyche.

Brandon has not had a relationship that has lasted beyond four months; he does not see the point in monogamy. To say he has commitment issues would be an oversimplification. Without his sister Sissy, Brandon is unable to express more than cursory politeness – the date has all the intimacy of a business meeting. (scene below)

Sissy (Carey Mulligan) is unseen for the first third of the film. It is only her voice we hear, initially teasing – then later tinged with desperation. A voicemail left on the phone, ignored by Brandon, pleas for him to pick up. She is dying of cancer, Sissy claims. Although her tone is unconvincing, I was left wondering: why wouldn’t he pick up? What was Brandon avoiding?

This is revealed soon enough when Sissy arrives, an unwelcome guest in his catalogue-like lifestyle. She is confrontational and needy; a veritable well of emotions, the foil to Brandon’s controlled exterior. Sissy’s role is not so much the catalyst that unravels Brandon’s life than the parallel story of self-destruction.

McQueen’s use of the extreme close up has the effect of making the audience feel as though we are prying into another’s life: it is unsettling, voyeuristic and hypnotic all at the same time. In one such scene, we are staring straight into Sissy’s eyes as she sings, plaintively – “I want to wake up, in a city that never sleeps. And find I’m top of the heap, king of the hill..”.

We never once believe that she would make it there, or make it anywhere. Brandon watches her and we see a tear slip from the corner of his eye. It was as though her fate were sealed. Looking back now, it is clear that Brandon is deeply affected, or likely, in a similar state of mind.

An affair between Sissy and Brandon’s boss demonstrates Sissy’s almost unquenchable need for assurance and acceptance through the physical act of sex. Through this, McQueen also deftly poses a question: does a sex addict have any fewer morals than a married man who engages in extramarital affairs?

Sex addiction, like any other addiction, is an ugly business. The climax of the film shows Brandon’s final act of depravity as he stumbles from one location to the next in search of human contact – in any form. From the force of a punch dealt to him after he taunts a jealous boyfriend, to the fumbling of strangers in a gay club (there is nothing in the earlier sequences to suggest Brandon may be more than heterosexual, which only heightens the sense of desperation and longing) and a final ménage à trois with two prostitutes; these are the actions of a man whose demon has finally burst forth.

Depicted with little eroticism, Brandon’s downward spiral is filmed in a dream-like sequence to a haunting score. This is a humanizing act: while his lust is at its most uncontrollable, the audience feels the greatest sympathy for him.

If nothing else, McQueen’s masterpiece challenges preconceived notions of sex addiction: bleaker than I had thought, but no less human.

* Danielle Yong is a 20-something living in Singapore, has worked as a political lobbyist and is always seeking the right cause to champion.