### A World Contained in Blue
There are some films you watch, and others you experience, that seem to bypass the usual pathways of narrative consumption and embed themselves somewhere deeper, resonating long after the screen fades to black. Derek Jarman's Blue (1993) isn't just a film; it's an immersion, a confrontation, a final, blazing testament from an artist facing the end. I remember encountering the VHS, likely a Channel 4 Films release, tucked away in the less-visited corner of the rental shop. It looked unassuming, minimalist. Nothing could have prepared me for the hour and seventeen minutes that followed. Forget explosions or car chases; the most radical act here was the screen itself – a single, unwavering shot of International Klein Blue.
### The Colour of Absence, The Sound of Presence
For the entire duration of Blue, the screen remains saturated in this specific, vibrant blue. It's a colour Jarman chose deliberately, reflecting the encroaching blindness he suffered due to AIDS-related complications – cytomegalovirus retinitis – which sometimes caused him to see flashes or fields of blue. This wasn't a gimmick; it was a profound artistic decision born from devastating reality. In stripping away the visual clutter of conventional cinema, Jarman forces us, the viewers, to listen. The film exists almost entirely in its soundtrack – a meticulously crafted collage of sound that paints a world far richer and more complex than any single image could convey.
We hear Derek Jarman's own voice, sometimes frail, sometimes defiant, sharing diary entries, memories, and reflections on his illness, his lovers, his art, and the political climate surrounding the AIDS crisis. His words are interwoven with readings by actors John Quentin, Nigel Terry, and Tilda Swinton (a longtime collaborator, though sometimes uncredited depending on the source listing), bringing different textures to his prose and poetry. Layered over this is the haunting, evocative score by Simon Fisher Turner, another frequent Jarman collaborator, mixed with ambient sounds – hospital corridors, city streets, the sea. The effect is hypnotic. Denied changing images, the mind projects its own onto that infinite blue canvas, guided by the sonic landscape. What does this radical choice achieve? It demands focus, empathy, and imagination in a way few films ever do.
### Facing the Void with Open Ears
The themes are raw, unflinching: the physical decay and indignities of illness, the loss of friends and lovers to the plague years, the anger at societal indifference, but also moments of startling beauty, defiant humour, and enduring love. Jarman doesn't shy away from the visceral realities of his condition ("The virus raged"), yet the film is never solely bleak. There's a resilience, a commitment to life and art even in the face of obliteration. The blue screen becomes a space for meditation – sometimes serene like the sky or sea Jarman loved, other times intense, claustrophobic, representing the limits of his own vision and, perhaps, the void itself.
Interestingly, Blue was conceived as a multi-platform piece. On its UK premiere date, September 19, 1993, it was broadcast simultaneously on Channel 4 television and BBC Radio 3, allowing audiences to experience it purely as sound or as the intended audiovisual piece. It was Jarman’s final feature film, completed just months before his death in February 1994, making it an incredibly poignant and courageous farewell statement. It reportedly cost around £300,000 to make, largely funded by Channel 4 and the Arts Council, a modest sum for a work of such profound artistic ambition.
### Not Just a Tape, But a Testament
Watching Blue on a chunky CRT television back in the day was its own unique experience. That glowing blue rectangle seemed almost radioactive, dominating the room, the hum of the television adding another layer to the soundscape. It wasn't the kind of tape you'd casually put on with friends expecting escapism. It demanded attention, quiet contemplation. It was the sort of film that might have baffled some renters, returned quickly with a shrug, but for others, it was a revelation – a reminder of cinema's potential beyond conventional storytelling. It challenged what a film could be. Does a film need moving pictures to move its audience? Jarman proved it doesn't.
The performances, solely through voice, are extraordinary. Jarman's own delivery is heartbreakingly direct, while Terry and Quentin lend gravity and nuance to his words. The sound design itself functions as a character, shifting moods, evoking spaces, guiding our internal gaze. It's a masterclass in the power of audio storytelling.
***
Rating: 9/10
Blue earns this high score for its sheer audacity, its profound emotional honesty, and its unique power as a work of art. It transforms limitation into strength, using the absence of image to create an intensely focused and moving cinematic experience. It's not an easy watch, and its experimental nature demands patience and engagement, preventing a perfect score only because its radical form inherently limits its accessibility compared to narrative features. However, its artistic integrity and emotional depth are undeniable.
It remains a singular, unforgettable piece – a final, vibrant flare from one of Britain's most vital and challenging filmmakers. What lingers most is not just the blue, but the resonance of a voice confronting darkness with unwavering artistry and humanity.