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| 'Maria Ninguém é um dom que muito homem não tem' ('Maria Ninguem' comp: Carlos Lyra) |
Filmmaker Carol Morley’s haunting and imaginative docu-drama ‘Dreams of A Life’ tries to make sense of the story of enigmatic Joyce Carol Vincent, who was found dead in front of her television-still switched on- in a North London bedsit in early 2006. She had lain there undiscovered for nearly three years. Her death only came to light whilst officials were attempting to execute a repossession order. Vincent had no history of substance abuse. She was asthmatic and was known not to be conscientious about taking her medication. She had had an operation a few weeks prior to her death. The inquest returned an open verdict with no foul play suspected.
Her macabre story caught Morley’s attention, her fascination piqued all the more given that the two women share a number of things in common. How could anyone be dead for so long without being missed? Carol started seeking information on Vincent from anyone who might have known her. An online and hard copy campaign for information was launched. Gradually Morley was able to piece together some of the mystery of this once bright young thing.
Let it be said at the outset that neither the local authorities nor Joyce’s relatives were of much use to the quest. When approached by Vincent’s local MP Lynne Featherstone as to how a dead woman’s council tax, TV licence and utility bills could go unpaid for so long without further enquiry the relevant bodies refused to cooperate (maybe an anonymous donor had been paying money into Joyce’s account unaware of her demise?). Perhaps even less surprisingly the surviving members of Joyce’s immediate family, a few of whom had attended the inquest, chose not to be involved in the film.
Through various accounts from ex-boyfriends, former flatmates, work colleagues and diverse other acquaintances an outline of Joyce’s life takes shape. The testimonials are interspersed with snippets of Morley's research notes and reconstructions of significant as well as everyday aspects of Vincent’s life. She is depicted by ubiquitous Renaissance woman Zawe Ashton.
Born in Hammersmith, West London the autumn of 1965 to Asian-Caribbean Lyris and Afro-Caribbean Lawrence, Joyce was the youngest of five girls. Her childhood came to an abrupt end aged just 11 when her beloved mother died suddenly following an operation. It's a trauma from which Joyce, understandably, appeared to have never fully recovered. Lawrence Vincent cuts an emotionally distant figure; a product of his generation, more concerned with being the neighbourhood lothario than a doting dad. Some of those who knew Joyce speculate she might have even been abused by a relative as a child, judging from certain behavioural patterns.
Joyce was effectively raised by her older sisters. By all accounts she was a very pretty, vivacious and articulate young lady who turned heads wherever she went. Despite not having any qualifications she landed very good jobs. In her youth she also enjoyed a buoyant social life, admired and envied by those around her. Whilst dating a producer Alistair Abrahams in the late 1980s she found herself mixing in rather illustrious circles. She rubbed shoulders with legends such as Gil Scott-Heron and Stevie Wonder, chinwagged with Betty Wright and Isaac Hayes and shook hands with Nelson Mandela at an event held in his honour.
However according to ‘Dreams...’ Vincent’s exciting life might have just been an illusion. Former lovers Martin Lister and Abrahams amongst others observed how Joyce didn’t seem to have an identity or interests of her own. She stumbled Forrest Gump-style upon great opportunities but lacked solid ambition. She tended to absorb the lifestyle and social set of whomever she was with. Those who attended her 21st birthday bash for instance, noticed that all the guests were invited by Lister. There was no trace of Vincent’s family or friends.
Her acquaintances knew Joyce had her fair share of secrets and lies. She lived a peripatetic existence, often moving around London, staying with friends and even switching jobs a few times when attention from certain male co-workers apparently overwhelmed her. Her colleagues, who have especially fond memories of her, noted that she kept her relationships on a surface level. Any deeper anguish was buried under her supposed joie-de-vivre. Alistair believes she died alone partly because that’s how she wanted it. She had isolated herself from anyone who might care about her. On a pre-operation hospital form she put her bank manager as the next of kin despite having been in touch with Alistair in the not-too-distant past and having stayed at Martin’s residence as recently as the previous year.
Towards the end there is evidence that Joyce had escaped a violent relationship. She eventually sought refuge at a battered women’s home. She eked out a menial living. This vibrant young lady with the magnetic persona somehow never made good on the great potential and the promising contacts she once had. Old classmates and boyfriends burst into tears during the film. They can’t square Vincent’s lonely death with the convivial young woman they once knew. This isn’t how it was meant to be. Shallow it is but we don’t expect the young and gorgeous to die alone in their prime. As MP Featherstone put it...
Joyce appeared to live the dream. In the end it brought her nothing. A former colleague remarks that Joyce's life ended as if she never existed at all; a mere figment of their collective imagination.
As with any second hand account, one has to question the authenticity of some of the testimonials. It would be impossible to know how much is exaggerated; how much of what is said is fuelled by guilt or shame or a tendency to eulogise the dead. There are times when certain themes recur again and again from different sources; Joyce’s secrecy, her propensity to shut people off emotionally once they got too close. There are other moments when the accounts contradict each other. Several acquaintances claim Vincent was an accomplished vocalist for example. Professional music maker Abrahams begs to differ.
Alistair gives the most elliptical account of all. Unlike Martin, no explanation is proffered as to how his romance with Joyce ended. You get the impression he knows a lot more about her life and background than he will let on, perhaps out of respect for Vincent's memory. Or simply because we don’t have the right to know everything about her; not without her there to give permission. His claim that her loneliness at the time of her death was partially self-imposed might indeed be true. It still doesn’t explain why almost three years elapsed without anyone looking for her; how her skeleton might have turned to dust if she wasn’t discovered by bailiffs; how her immediate neighbour didn't wonder why she had not seen Joyce for such a long time; why out of four sisters not a one relentlessly sought her whereabouts; how nobody thought to find and inform her of her father’s death in 2004 no matter how estranged they might have been; why there was an apparently systematic boycott of Joyce by her immediate relations. This in itself is very unusual for someone from an African/Caribbean background.
There’s much talk in the wake of tragic tales such as Joyce’s about the disconnected nature of industrialised society. It’s hard to deny that despite major developments in communication technology making it easier to stay in touch, there’s something about modern living that isn’t always conducive to establishing deep, long term bonds. More so if you live in a big city as did Joyce. You can't get away from the fact either that certain people deliberately keep others at arm's length. Some cynically state that it’s a wonder these types of cases do not happen more often. Such an assertion is far too glib. Vincent's story is unique. It is deservedly shocking that a young person who once lived such a full life could decompose in her own house without an alarm being raised much sooner about her absence, not least by a relative. It is alleged on one online forum that Vincent’s family hired a private detective to find her. If so then how far were the lines of enquiry taken?
Friendships are sometimes strange, nebulous entities. Non-relations can be very close yet circumstance dictates that they see and speak to each other infrequently. Besides, popularity-which Joyce clearly enjoyed-is not necessarily synonymous with friendship. In the film ‘Mon Meilleur Ami’ when it is suggested that affable Bruno (Dany Boon) is friends with everyone, he replies ‘Everybody is the same as nobody’.
Nevertheless family members have obligations, regardless of how relationships might have soured. Joyce was said to have been fond of her young nieces and nephews. Even if she pulled away from the family, contact should not have been severed to the point no one knew whether she was dead or alive.
As little or as much as one can form an idea of what a person is like from an hour and a half of second hand accounts, Joyce appears to have been an individual of many contradictions. Aren’t we all? She was a social butterfly that fiercely guarded her privacy, coquettish but at once naive about her sensuality; had emotions of steel and yet was incredibly fragile; she wanted to settle down and have a family but stability eluded her (or she eluded it?).
Morley’s film is a frank but respectful and sympathetic attempt to flesh out the details of this mysterious woman. It gives dignity to her heartbreaking death. The attention she needed alas comes too late. Ashton does a creditable job of capturing the many colours of Vincent’s personality as presented by those who claim to have known her. ‘Dreams Of A Life’ offers a public service more than mere diversion. There is something so disturbing about Joyce’s story, greater than the sum of its parts. Thus the film lingers like an admonishing presence, shadowing the viewer night and day. Morley’s documentary gives the lie to the notion that good fences make good neighbours. For that reason alone it demands to be seen.
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