I wish I could put into words how massive The Smiths are in my existence. Though I am aware that I have found them too late in life for them to be one of those things that shape your whole personality during your teenage years, as I became mystified about their music already in my twenties, the weight of Morrissey's lyrics in my soul is incommensurable.
Actually, it was Morrissey who made way for my curiosity to bloom—and yes, before you mention it, I will try and keep my opinions about him as a person out of the picture for the sake of this article, even though there are not many things I love about him besides his music. I listened to Vauxhall and I (1994) when I was definitely still too young to understand most of the things he sings about, but I loved it so much that it automatically became one of my favourite albums of all time, even though that wasn't much of an achievement for a kid. Ignoring who he was outside of that handful of songs, I grew up and became too busy and depressed to be interested enough to know, but it was precisely that hopelessness and longing for all times past that made me go back to him, to his painfully real lyrics and, even before I knew it, I was listening to Hatful of Hollow (1984) and I was unavoidably in love with The Smiths.
What The Smiths were, what they mean in modern music history and what their ruined legacy is, that's a whole other article on itself, but I'd like to assume that you wouldn't be interested in this movie if you were not at least slightly familiar with this band. I could sit down and write for hours to no end about how The Queen Is Dead (1986) is one of the most delicately crafted albums in the history of the world, how effortlessly talented Johnny Marr is and how I still think no one will ever understand me the way Morrissey did back in the 80s. However, this is not what I am here to tell you about.
As much as I am usually interested in any type of film involving music, whether it is something I am familiar with or something I strongly believe I should be well acquainted with by now, I don't think I wouldn't have watched England Is Mine (Mark Gill, 2017) if I wasn't going through yet another period of my life where nothing seemed to make sense except for The Smiths. Actually, I have been aware of the existence of this movie ever since it came out, but it never occurred to me that I actually really wanted to watch it. However, after reading Morrissey's Autobiography (2013), I realised that it didn't even make sense that there were not at least a dozen movies about his life. Whether he was just a hopeless romantic or a terribly dramatic young man, the way he talks about his early years that led up to the historical moment he met Johnny Marr are more than enough.
Fair warning, though: if you are looking forward to watching a movie about The Smiths, this might not be the one for you. As much as it is impossible to understand the band without Steven's personal experiences, this movie focuses on a time where what came to be one of the most relevant bands in British music history was nothing else than a dream that a depressed Manchester boy didn't even know he had. In fact, and though I have just mentioned how essential it is to know Morrissey's background to understand the singular brilliance of his lyrics, this is a movie that could be about anyone, really. An outcast, a misunderstood boy who never quite fit anywhere in his particular universe, a pop star in the making with the soul of a poet. Whether the music of The Smiths resonates with you or not, I strongly believe this is something most of us music-lovers can relate to.
As previously introduced, England Is Mine tells the story of a young Steven Patrick Morrissey, somewhere in 1970s Manchester, during the time where he was still a New York Dolls enthusiast who would write endless letters to every single newspaper and magazine at his reach. Just as a bit of trivia, Morrissey was the founding member of a British New York Dolls fanclub at some point, and he has remarked time and time again how fundamental the existence of that band in his life was for his growth as an artist—and it was him, back in 2004, who made it possible for the Dolls to reunite, when he was in charge of curating the lineup for Meltdown Festival.
Morrissey is brilliantly played by Scottish actor Jack Lowden, who you might know from movies such as Christopher Nolan's Dunkirk (2017) or Josie Rourke's Mary Queen of Scots (2018). Though he really doesn't resemble Morrissey that much in physical terms—one of the most repeated negative comments I have read—the way he speaks and carries himself throughout the entire movie is uncanny. Whether you appreciate the movie or not, I think no one can deny that he is undoubtedly the best thing about it in terms of performance. Even when he sings, during a scene that shows Morrissey's first time playing with The Nosebleeds, you can easily allow yourself to believe that The Smith's frontman really was that person at some point in time. I genuinely think that a great performance can turn an underwhelming movie into a work of art, and though there is more to this movie than Jack Lowden's performance, I'm quite sure I wouldn't have liked it the way I did if it wasn't for his acting.
One of the most interesting aspects of this movie, besides what I have already mentioned, is the fact that, besides Steven's personal turmoil, it also focuses on those people who happened to cross paths with him and made a significant difference by leading the way to what we know as History with a capital H. Elizabeth, Jackie and Linder, but also Billy Duffy and, of course, John Maher himself. Women particularly, as also commented by the cast, play a central role in Morrissey's life beyond his aspirations as an artist, unsung heroes and links to the real world that just won't listen. There's also the question of Manchester, which could be analysed as a character of its own right. This is the fragmented wasteland where nothing ever seems to be right, a hotbed for the scene that would define a decade of British music and the haunted souls behind it.
Unfortunately, not a single Smiths song is played in the movie, which may be a disappointment for some. Even though it was probably a copyright matter, I personally think that it makes sense, considering that the movie ends before The Smiths are born. Nevertheless, there are at least a dozen references to songs that would come to exist later on such as Still Ill, Frankly, Mr. Shankly or You Got Everything Now. As many other scenes and lines in the movie, though, the verisimilitude of these words is questionable. Even when I believe that this is a beautifully crafted movie and that it really succeeds at portraying Steven as a conflicted young man trying to escape his own ghosts and the weariness of life, it does fail at portraying scenes that most avid fans have almost memorised, as told by the actual people involved. Again, this is just a word of advice. In terms of movies, as much as I love it when I get to enjoy and also learn, I think that changing facts in the name of art is not a sin. We are not watching a documentary, and more than enough has already been said about The Smiths, in case you're curious.
I am aware that I am a rather questionable film critic since I tend to like movies that have been subjected to all sorts of criticism; this one is not any different. As opposed to the most recent Smiths love letter, Stephen Kijak's Shoplifters of the World (2021), reviews for England Is Mine were mixed. I could say that overall I have mixed feelings myself, but I most definitely can't say that I regret watching it. Ironically, that really does summarise my relationship with Morrissey himself, which I feel is quite fitting. I just wished it was longer. But you tell me.
