BFI Flare 2022 Film Review - Long Live My Happy Head (2022)

Gordon Shaw sits in front of a pink background, talking straight to the camera – and straight to you. It takes less than ten seconds in his virtual company for you to be captivated by a warmth that could melt an iceberg, one that keeps a smile on your face for the first half of Long Live My Happy Head. To use the words of his devoted partner Shawn, “How can you meet Gordon and not want to be part of his journey?”

That journey forms the story of the documentary, one of coming to with mortality and finding a way of coping with an inoperable brain tumour, diagnosed eight years ago. Gordon’s approach is creative and engaging. A talented illustrator, he uses comic books to examine his feelings and analyse his fears and it’s all permeated by a down to earth humour towards the disease itself and everything – and everybody – involved in his journey. Rather like Dennis Potter who named his cancer Rupert (after Rupert Murdoch, who he hated), Gordon christens his Rick (although there’s no association with somebody he doesn’t like) and turns him into a cynical, malevolent presence in his comics. Partner Shawn is the other essential in this journey. Theirs is a long-distance relationship – he’s in Virginia, USA, while Gordon is in Edinburgh – and, when COVID strikes, it’s not just the miles that keep them apart.

It’s breath taking how quickly you become invested in Gordon’s story – another testament to his personal appeal – and his seemingly endless creativity, such as creating techno music based on the sounds made by an MRI scanner, never ceases to amaze. But it also means that when the news is bad, you’re struck with the frustration of being powerless to help. The film’s unfussy style plays a part in this as well. It has no truck with sentiment, concentrating on the reality of the situation, both the profoundly difficult and the joyously uplifting, and frequently using the simplest of images to tell its story. We witness the devastating arrival of COVID through a solitary person wearing a face mask and bags of shopping outside Gordon’s front door. With his illness, he’s clinically vulnerable and confined to his flat, he has just a 20 minute walk each day within its four walls as his only exercise.

The love story between the two men serves as a sub-plot, but is still an essential part of the story: Shawn’s fears and guilt give a moving insight into the emotional price paid by the millions who are carers, full or part time. Directors Will Hewitt and Austen McCowan use animated versions of Gordon’s cartoons to tell the story, bringing us closer to his work and also giving us an occasional relief when things start to look bleak. And, while the film’s straightforward style is comfortably familiar – yes, even the animation, thanks to Flee – with such a generous and inspiring person at the heart of the film, it’s also a perfect fit. Gordon and Shawn don’t know what’s coming next – do any of us? – and all we’re told at the end is that they’re “living together in uncertainty.” Most importantly, they’re “living” and “together.”