The Ministry of Not Forgetting is an entity led by the Overseer, played by an enigmatic, omniscient Tilda Swinton (“The Room Next Door”). “Broken English” opens with an Ozymandias-esque monologue as Swinton speaks into a digital voice recorder, a preamble concerning what it means to remember and to forget. Remembering and not forgetting, according to the Overseer, are two very distinct functions of cognition. The act of remembering is a probabilistic problem, one that updates likelihoods based on degrees of belief. Not forgetting is an objective application of information, an act only achieved by the recollection and acknowledgement of actual, hard truth.
Regardless of one’s awareness of the film’s subject matter before walking into it, the first act of “Broken English” might lead one to assume it is a sci-fi, avant-garde film rooted in retrofuturism. The Overseer and the Record Keeper (George Mackay, “1917”) speak to each other only through grainy closed-circuit monitors, modern technology notably absent from their persons. The first few minutes are captured cinematically without a break in tone until they introduce their test subject: Marianne Faithfull. The year is 2025, and Faithfull, best known for her folk-pop music career in the ’60s and her romantic relationship with Mick Jagger — a tiresome identifier to which the Overseer says “fuck that” — is 78 years old.
The legacy of Marianne Faithfull has been buried beneath decades of false narratives driven by the viperous, misogynistic press surrounding her “promiscuity” and battles with drug addiction, a precedent case in popular culture echoed by the media’s abuse of Amy Winehouse and Britney Spears. It is this pollution of fact that makes Faithfull not just the ideal candidate, but the only candidate for the Ministry of Not Forgetting. In the Overseer’s words, “We choose Marianne precisely because her data set is broken.” To perfect the art of not forgetting, one must reject the idea that history can be categorized and quantified without feeling or acknowledging bias. This process begins and ends with the human source of intrigue.
“Broken English,” despite being confined to a fictional setting in the presence of fictional characters, is a documentary. These fictional elements, rather than distracting from Marianne, provide us with tunnel vision for her. The figures who facilitate the inquiry into her life are elusive strangers, unable to insert themselves into her story, creating a space where storytelling and investigative journalism meet to serve a shared purpose. The Record Keeper presents Faithfull with archival footage and audio recordings, some unreleased and the existence of some unknown to Faithfull, engaging in a compelling dialogue rather than an unfeeling examination. We are brought close to Faithfull’s face as she admires and contemplates relics of her past, some of them ugly and painful, others visibly moving her stoic countenance. We laugh and grimace with her, hanging onto her every word, inevitably finding ourselves in complete awe of her candor, intellect and wit.
The journey through Faithfull’s past is interplayed with soundscapes formed from the Overseer’s philosophical commentary and narration, a choice that reflects Faithfull’s own tendency to use her art as an avenue for performance and imagination — not just as an expression of reality. Directors Iain Forsyth (“20,000 Days on Earth”) and Jane Pollard (“20,000 Days on Earth”) also treat the audience to performances from Suki Waterhouse, Courtney Love, Jehnny Beth and Beth Orton. Waterhouse’s rendition of “Sister Morphine” and Love’s of “Times Square” being particularly powerful.
Faithfull, who passed away before “Broken English” had finished production, delivers her final performance in this film with long-time friend and collaborator Nick Cave. It is a staggeringly beautiful performance of “Misunderstanding,” the first track of Faithfull’s 2018 album Negative Capability, a song about the pain of being misunderstood in life and in love. It is the first and only time we hear her sing, discovering the final bit of Faithfull’s legacy as she intended it. She is every version of herself in this moment, singing with eyes locked with Cave’s, mourning and begging for understanding and remembrance. It is the perfect coda to Forsyth and Pollard’s endeavor for her truth.
Marianne Faithfull was a poet. She was a young, impressionable girl full of undeniable talent. She was a rockstar and a New Wave champion. She was a deeply moving stage and film actress. She was a voice of rasp, soul, grit and utter, singular beauty. She was honest and kind — brave above all. She rests in the hearts of those who loved her, those who remember her for how she truly was.
How do you remember Marianne Faithfull? How will you?
Daily Arts Writer Maya Ruder can be reached at mayarud@umich.edu.
