Dreams of a Life

Do you ever stop to think about what will happen after you die? What kind of impact your death will have? How you will be remembered? Dreams of a Life, directed by Carol Morley, tells the story of someone who slipped through the cracks.

In 2003, the remains of Joyce Carol Vincent were found in her North London bedsit. Nothing unusual there, perhaps; people die alone all of the time. The strange thing about this was that she wasn't discovered until three years after she had died. Her skeleton was stretched out on the sofa, the television was still on and there were wrapped Christmas presents at her side. Joyce Vincent was not an old woman with no family. She was 38, had siblings, friends and ex-boyfriends. In that time, nobody had called round to see her, nobody had tried to track her down, even the electricity company hadn't shut her power off.  

Part documentary, part drama, part detective story, this intriguing film attempts to solve the mystery behind one young, beautiful, seemingly popular woman's lonely death. Carol Morley conducts interviews - which range from funny to heartbreaking - with friends, colleagues and lovers (traced through personal ads, posters and Internet sites) and uses dramatised sequences (featuring actor Zawe Ashton) to recreate the life of this glamorous and vivacious young woman. 

While Joyce Vincent died a lonely death, this touching, achingly sad film keeps her name and her memory alive and serves as a reminder to us all that, in this increasingly busy and fractured world, it is vital to remain close to the people you care about.

Review by Bobby Townsend. Dreams of a Life plays at the Sydney Film Festival on Weds morning the 13th June. If you are elsewhere, you can buy the DVD or order it on itunes. Visit the official site for links.

(Incidentally, while we're on the subject of the Sydney Film Fest, we've just noticed that one of our all-time faves is playing this year. Don't miss The Dreamers on Sunday 17th June).

Amy Winehouse (1983 - 2011)

I have no time for sensationalism. I don't give a damn what colour Cheryl Cole's hair is or whether she is back with that knobhead footballer. I don't know or care if Lyndsay Lohan is in jail or not. So, to me, Amy Winehouse will always be the woman with the great voice rather than the caricature that appeared in the tabloids. The way that the media and the public in general take such joy in building people up and then knocking them down depresses me, especially when you consider that many of the people who are now mourning her are the same idiots who laughed at pictures of her in the magazines that contributed to this circus. When you take away the sickeningly gleeful and smug reaction to Winehouse's passing, what you are left with is simply another tragic and pointless death of a young person.

The saddest thing about her death at 27 was its inevitability. This was always going to happen - this year, next year, whenever - and yet, despite this knowledge, nobody was able to prevent it. I don't know whether she had an especially dark past or if her descent into drink and drugs was simply down to an addictive and destructive personality, but as her body was carried from her London home yesterday, I couldn't help wondering what shape her life would have taken had she remained clean. Would she have been more successful and more productive, or did her creativity go hand in hand with her unhinged nature?

Whatever, because she allowed herself to become tabloid fodder - the trashed bag of bones that everyone could laugh at in the gossip magazines - it is easy to forget that, back in the day, she was a strangely beautiful, exciting and edgy character with an incredible set of pipes. And that's how I choose to remember her.

Sadly though, if ever there was an example of literally wasted talent, it's Amy Winehouse.


Words by Bobby Townsend