By fateful coincidence, the Cannes debut of director Anton Corbijn’s cinematic homage to the doomed Joy Division singer Ian Curtis fell just one day short of the anniversary of his suicide, 27 years ago.

Starring first-time leading man Sam Riley as Curtis and Samantha Morton as his wife Debbie, Corbijn’s portrait of the troubled post-punk icon was well attended and loudly applauded at its first ever public screening.

Globally renowned as a photographer and image-maker to superstar bands like Depeche Mode and U2, Corbijn acquits himself well with his first feature. He and his cinematographer Martin Ruhe frame Control in stark monochrome, a bold but appropriate choice, complementing both the angular modernism of Joy Division’s music and the northern social-realist tradition echoed in the film’s austere style.

A troubled young father who suffered from epileptic seizures, Curtis was one of Corbijn’s earliest photographic subjects on relocating from Holland to Britain in 1979. He continues to pay homage in Control, which is based on Touching from a Distance, the memoir written by the singer’s widow Debbie. Matt Greenhalgh’s screenplay is crisp and chronological, foregrounding the tortured love triangle between Curtis, his wife and his Belgian girlfriend Annik (Anna Maria Lara) over the rise of Joy Division in late 1970s Manchester.

A sometime singer himself, Riley possesses the brooding charisma to be a rock frontman. He holds his own well alongside the older and more experienced Morton, especially as the part calls for much of his emotional conflict to be internalised. Some of the lesser roles are a little underwritten, but there is a pleasing amount of deadpan Mancunian wit to leaven all the ominous gloom.

Most rock biopics fail to convey the mixture of exhilaration and tedium that band life entails. But Corbijn has done his research during 30 years as a photographer, striking a realistic balance between farce and tragedy. Crucially, Control feels authentic in its concert footage, a detail very few music films get right.

That said, some of the performance scenes feel a little sedate compared to Joy Division at their intense, highly charged peak. For non-initiates, the film-makers might also have included more context about the band’s working class roots, liberation through punk rock, and enduring significance as timeless post-punk legends.

Overall, Control treats Curtis and his legacy with respect but not stifling reverence. Corbijn’s economic style is rooted in the European auteur tradition, favouring cool understatement over the ripe melodrama seen in most rock biopics. Which may limit his film’s appeal in America and elsewhere, but it makes for a handsome and lyrical drama. A case in point being the suicide scene, mostly shot at a tasteful distance, a moving reminder that this story was a private tragedy more than a rock martyrdom.

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