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Broad strokes are so inept that it's not at all hard to believe Shame was co-written by the same person responsible for The Iron Lady; at the same time, though, it works beautifully in isolated patches... McQueen still seems to me a superlative filmmaker in search of something to say; this was probably the worst subject he could have chosen.

Shame is a disturbing film that penetrates our minds and gets beneath our skins as we try to understand its characters. Fassbender confirms his reputation as one of the most courageous and versatile actors to emerge in recent years. His Brandon is a creation of immense complexity, a prisoner trapped in an invisible cage of his own making and rattling the bars.

McQueen’s latest offering finds itself enslaved by natural impulses, painting a fascinating portrait of the inherent sexual desires which most manage to control through self imposed ethics. Also starring Carey Mulligan, Shame is a provocative and intimate drama built around powerful performances.

It’s broader, richer, more accessible and yet subtler than McQueen’s first film, the rarefied Bobby Sands biopic Hunger, and it confirms him and Fassbender (who also starred in Hunger) as a fearsome double act.

With tremendous performances from Fassbender and Mulligan, and such superb technique from McQueen, this is a horrible inferno.

In rendering acting a phenomenological as opposed to a psychological or artistic element, McQueen echoes a well-established art cinema tradition stretching from the Nouvelle Vague to Chantal Akerman, Claire Denis, the Dardennes, Lisandro Alonso, Albert Serra, and any number of other accomplished contemporary filmmakers. But there’s a prevailing feeling of canny appropriation accompanying his particular usage, a sense that he is mimicking certain tried-and-true motifs of art cinema—narrative obliqueness, forced compositions, and especially duration—rather than using them to any purposeful end.

Shame is part of a trend in which talented young filmmakers assume the cinema is a medium where we watch without understanding or sympathy. They have reasons for coming to that conclusion. For decades movies smothered themselves in sympathy and emphatic understanding so alienation has to have its turn. But that’s no justification for such pretty blankness and the hiring of Mr. Fassbender’s penis.

It's smart filmmaking—and also totally duplicitous and self-serving, the arthouse craftsmanship nearly hiding the film's middle-brow triteness..., every scene ladled with big dollops of cinema's most respectable cop-out: ambiguity. When McQueen isn't marking time with exercises in post-slow-cinema aesthetics... he elides and defers. Shame wears its emptiness like a badge of honor; McQueen is trying for banal blankness, and though he succeeds in that respect, you kind of wish that a filmmaker... would aspire to do more than just say nothing.

The film’s supporting cast, especially Nicole Beharie as a co-worker Brandon attempts to strike up a relationship with, James Badge Dale as his boss and Lucy Walters as a wonderfully enigmatic woman glimpsed on a subway, have all risen to the occasion, but it is Mulligan and most especially Fassbender that give the film its power. The desperation, hostility and despair he conveys through the act of sex make “Shame” a film that is difficult to watch but even harder to turn away from.

The structural similarities are such that it would be easy to dismiss Shame as a kind of porn. But I think that would be unfair to porn... We're supposed to condemn his emptiness, obviously—but the condemnation become hollow when you realize that that emptiness is the main thing that keeps the film from being direct-to-video.

Michael Fassbender delivers a bold and brilliantly immersive performance... He is so raw and riveting you won’t be able to take your eyes off him. The thing is, you may want to. Shame, as written and directed by the British conceptual artist Steve McQueen – who teamed triumphantly with Fassbender in 2008’s Irish drama Hunger – is thoroughly drained of eroticism. Despite the NC-rating and copious nude scenes, the movie chills you to the bone. As it should.

In a movie era remarkable for its reluctance to dramatize erotic intimacy, Shame merits praise for the dark energy of its sexual encounters... Filmed in elegant, unrelenting long takes with very few traditional reaction shots, Shame unspools like a documentary on the rutting of feral animals.