Everyone loves a good scandal – there’s something about learning about the sordid lives of the rich and famous (or even the poor and obscure, if the story is good enough) that draws our attention, even if we should know better. This is the reason we exist in the media landscape we do now, where morals are considered only optional if it means there is something that can make some wealthy person even richer. One person who benefitted immensely from the unscrupulous tendencies of the media landscape is Rupert Murdoch, a business mogul who has been one of the formative figures behind the development of a new version of the news industry, where controversy is a priority, and anyone willing to sacrifice their morals for the sake of bringing to light certain potentially scintillating stories is rewarded handsomely. His rise to power has been an ongoing topic of fascination, particularly by James Graham, who dramatises Murdoch’s early career in Ink, his provocative and daring psychological drama written for the stage, in which we see a lengthy conversation conducted between Murdoch and Larry Lamb, another figure who is essential to understanding how we found ourselves in such a shocking position as far as media coverage tends to go. The play has now been adapted to the screen, directed by Danny Boyle, who takes a challenging approach to this already very provocative play by reworking its core themes into a daring exploration of the media landscape and its often deeply unsettling roots, which tend to be obscured by the fact that the global population is either completely unaware of the unscrupulous methods taken by these people, or simply tends to ignore them. Ink is a complex and unsettling examination of two men whose pursuit of wealth, fame and power ultimately had an irreversible impact on the world, leading to some genuinely terrifying results that are brilliantly portrayed in this dark and insidious satire that is as disconcerting as it is wickedly entertaining in the way that only someone with the off-kilter sensibility of Boyle can effectively achieve.

Anyone who has ever worked in the media, or even simply been in proximity to it, will undoubtedly know the very harsh realities faced by those who choose this as their vocation. At a glance, it seems like a noble profession: a life dedicated to the pursuit of truth, providing information to the world and allowing it to be a far more transparent place. This is the idealistic version, and ultimately the fundamental reason why it has remained such a powerful industry: in the simplest terms, it’s a profitable vocation, because there will always be those who blindly accept any information, granted it is delivered under a recognisable label. The Sun is considered one of the bestselling publications in history (at one point, it was the most read newspaper in the world) – but there was a time when it was considered nothing but a meaningless rag, peddling false information and provoking just for the sake of getting a reaction. It has since lost its credibility, but the period in which it was wildly popular is the foundation for Ink, which explores Lamb’s efforts to turn this newspaper into a global source of information, by any means necessary, even if it means sacrificing every ounce of journalistic integrity that is supposed to guide the profession. The premise spans roughly a decade and shows Lamb and Murdoch as they grapple with the radical changes to the media landscape, reckoning with the realisation that they are responsible for a large part of why the industry has taken on this form. The original play explores this moral dilemma in detail, and the adaptation honours a lot of the same ideas with an abundance of complexity, finding new ways to comment on a very familiar topic, while also never pushing too far into the details so that it becomes overly didactic. The attention to the smaller details, when combined with the wider and more expansive ideas, leads to a film that is deeply provocative but also incredibly insightful about the lengths to which some truly unscrupulous people will go to get a scoop, which is both fascinating and utterly terrifying in many different and compelling ways.

There is always a tendency with films like Ink (especially those based on existing texts) to veer towards being akin to a history lesson – and when handling a story that is essentially built around the idea of a pair of media moguls who shaped a large part of 20th-century culture, it’s difficult not to resort to those same techniques. Boyle is a much smarter filmmaker than many seem to give him credit for (although some of his recent output has been a bit less inspired, he thankfully seems to be back in the saddle, between this and the revival of his 28 Days Later series), so he’s most certainly going to put in the time and effort to create something that feels memorable. There was initially a bit of concern when this film was announced, since the original play was almost entirely based around a lengthy conversation between Lamb and Murdoch, taking place in a single location and being very much based around the dialogue. On stage this can be compelling, but it doesn’t always translate well to film, so Boyle certainly did have his work cut out for him with this story. His directorial approach is exceptionally strong, and he finds fascinating ways to develop this material so that it is not just a series of conversations, but instead takes place over a longer period, introduces dozens of new characters that are previously only mentioned in the play, and generally takes on a very different style that elevates it to the cinematic medium, proving that the idea of being faithful to the text is often just a fallacy designed to justify laziness. Surprisingly, Ink turns out to be the closest Boyle has returned to the filmmaking present in his masterful Trainspotting – fast-paced editing, the creative use of montage, stylish direction that emphasises tone and atmosphere just as much as the narrative and its themes – and it proves to be surprisingly captivating in a way that is very difficult to overlook, immediately making it something worth our time.

At the heart of Ink, we’ve got two central performances from a pair of actors who’ve been working for a number of years without ever being given the recognition that they deserve. In the role of Larry Lamb, we’ve got Jack O’Connell, who has risen from promising child performer to a brilliant dramatic actor who has shown his range in the number of character-based roles that highlight his incredible versatility and ability to plumb the emotional depths of whatever character he has been given. Lamb is a very complicated character since he is structured as the hero of the story (at least in terms of being the primary perspective), but is also objectively a villain based on the real-world implications of his actions, which the film depicts in detail. A relentless gossipmonger who always saw the value in scandal more than actually respecting the privacy of those who occupied the same society that he was so focused on destroying through his vicious media coverage. There’s an intense irony in casting someone who has been known to play mostly likeable, endearing characters as such a complex antagonist, which has actually become a bit of a trend with O’Connell in several films over the last few years. However, this film showcases his ability to play truly unlikable people in a way that is never anything less than entirely charming, but still has a sense of malice that this film highlights perfectly. The actor accompanying O’Connell in this film is Guy Pearce, another wonderful actor who has been working for decades but who has only recently started to receive the recognition he deserves for his long and illustrious career, being acknowledged as a generational talent. The role of Rupert Murdoch could not be an easy one to play since it required an actor who could walk the very narrow tightrope between villainous and pathetic, often in tandem. The original play emphasises the relationship between Lamb and Murdoch a lot more closely (since the text was primarily a two-hander between the characters), something that this adaptation doesn’t really take into account since it becomes a lot more expansive and therefore cuts down the Murdoch quite a bit, making him a formal supporting character with limited time on screen, but retaining the same function as this sinister figure lingering over the story at all times. Nevertheless, Pearce does manage to find interesting ways to emphasise Murdoch’s sinister actions without becoming too much of a caricature, which is always a threat with a film like this, which could’ve easily resorted to cliché, but instead becomes the basis for a tremendously compelling performance from one of our finest living actors.

Over time, we’ve grown to develop a natural resistance to stage-to-screen adaptations (primarily surrounding plays, since musicals have fared much better in regards to the transition from one medium to another), as being slightly lazy ways of working with particular material. Far too many tend to be overly simplistic works that follow very simple narratives and work mostly from an existing script, making very few changes and essentially just capturing a live version of the text. Boyle was certainly not interested in this, and as made clear by previous adaptations of existing texts (although this is his very first play adaptation since he worked on a stage production of his masterful Trainspotting a few decades ago), he’s more excited by the prospect of playing with form and style, which is exactly why this film is so fascinating, even when it is working with a very common subject. Ink is a very strong film in terms of both concept and execution. The narrative covers a very important topic, one with which we are all undoubtedly familiar for the most part, revealing some of the inner workings of the journalism industry in a way that is vivid and often quite unsettling, with a deep complexity that aims to tell the truth about the often-questionable actions of a few very powerful individuals. It can sometimes become a bit too focused on the details (especially since the film spans many years, so fixating on certain topics for too long can slow down some of the momentum at different parts), but it is all done in favour of saying something about these themes, which is a much more admirable pursuit than a by-the-numbers biographical account that may be more reliable in terms of execution, but wouldn’t have the devil-may-care energy that enshrouds this film. The two central performances are tremendous, elevating the film in some very interesting ways, with both O’Connell and Pearce working closely with Boyle to find the best approach to bringing these complex characters to life on screen. It’s daring, provocative filmmaking that is far more compelling than we’d expect at a cursory glance, being as insightful as it is wholeheartedly entertaining, a rare combination for a historical film, but not one that evidently has something very important to say.