INK
The Birth of a Tabloid Empire, Painted in Red
Writer: Anya Duncan
From the very first frame, Danny Boyle’s Ink is a kinetic, punk-inflected portrait of Fleet Street at a turning point in British journalism. You are thrown immediately into the action. There is no gentle introduction, no leisurely establishing shot to ease you into the world. Instead, the ink begins to flow, painting a picture of two men who would help reshape British journalism: Rupert Murdoch and Larry Lamb.
Their opening conversation establishes the film's central reason for existing as Larry Lamb asked who, what, when, where and why? Murdoch has acquired The Sun, but transforming it into a newspaper capable of challenging its established rivals requires something more than money. It requires a vision, a willingness to take risks and, perhaps most importantly, an understanding of the people the newspaper hopes to reach.
What follows is a gloriously chaotic journey into the machinery of mass-market journalism, one that is as entertaining in its execution as it is troubling in its implications.
Boyle's directorial fingerprints are evident almost immediately. Even the opening diner conversation is framed diagonally, with Murdoch positioned slightly higher in the composition. It is a choice that establishes the power dynamic between the two men before either has fully articulated it.
Throughout Ink, Boyle demonstrates an extraordinary awareness of what the camera can do. Frames tilt, compositions shift and scenes unfold with a restless energy. The filmmaking refuses to sit still, mirroring the frantic environment of a newspaper operation attempting to reinvent itself.
The editing is equally exuberant. Warm, nostalgic lighting evokes the 1970s, while archival television footage thrusts the audience directly into the period. Punk music crashes against enormous splashes of red iconography, creating a visual language that feels simultaneously historical and aggressively contemporary. There is a blunt, playful quality to the editing that occasionally recalls Guy Ritchie's work. Everything is loud, immediate and slightly unruly.
Yet this is precisely what makes the film's style so effective. A story about disrupting the establishment should hardly feel polite.
Boyle's approach captures the sensation of a newspaper being made under pressure.
At the heart of Ink is Larry Lamb, whose ambition to establish The Sun as a serious contender in British journalism becomes the film's driving force. He is a man caught between professional aspiration and the increasingly questionable methods required to achieve it.
Murdoch, meanwhile, is presented as a figure capable of recognising opportunity where others see only chaos. Their partnership is compelling precisely because it is not built on a shared moral vision, but on overlapping ambitions.
The film's supporting characters are equally important. Rather than allowing the story to revolve exclusively around powerful men in expensive suits, Boyle gives considerable attention to the working-class newspaper staff who help bring The Sun to life. Their energy, instincts and irreverence become central to the paper's identity.
It is a clever narrative decision. The newspaper's distinctive voice emerges not simply from the people who own or edit it, but from the collective culture of those who produce it.
The film's central narrative includes a kidnapped wife and a ransom dilemma, placing Murdoch in a position associated with justice while Lamb becomes increasingly consumed by his desire to defeat the Daily Mail and establish The Sun as a serious journalistic force. As the pressure mounts, the pursuit of a scoop begins to threaten the very principles journalism is supposed to uphold.
There is an uncomfortable irony here. Knowing what Murdoch's media empire would eventually become, watching him occupy the moral high ground can feel distinctly strange. The film invites us to consider the distance between the scrappy beginnings of an institution and the cultural power it ultimately acquires.
For all its historical intrigue, Ink is, above all, tremendously entertaining. It is gritty but stylish, fast-paced without becoming entirely weightless, and exuberant without losing sight of the seriousness of its subject.
That last quality is particularly impressive. Films that embrace this kind of crash-bang-wallop energy can struggle when the time comes to slow down and confront the consequences of their characters' actions. Boyle, however, finds moments of genuine gravity amid the visual noise. It is a stylish and compelling reminder that the stories we tell about the birth of powerful institutions can be as revealing as the institutions themselves. It captures the thrill of creation while leaving us to contemplate the legacy of what was created.
Because while Ink may eventually dry, its marks have a habit of lasting.
