War – AFTERFILM

In a Few Words (1)

actioners, old and new & a classic murder mystery

Death on the Nile (1978) / The Sea Wolves (1980) / The Day of the Jackal (1973) / 6 Underground (2019)

Death on the Nile (1978)

Death on the Nile (about; trailer) is one of those classic, star-studded movies, of the kind so few are made nowadays, to our misfortune. Let us just look at the cast, in this case: Peter Ustinov, David Niven, Mia Farrow, Bette Davis (!), Maggie Smith, Angela Lansbury, George Kennedy, Olivia Hussey (of Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet fame) etc.

One thing that I did not remember about the movie, is how funny it is – firstly, in the way in which Ustinov plays Poirot – but also through other characters, interactions, and specific scenes – e.g. the somewhat campy, perpetually falling apart character of Angela Lansbury; the brutal repartees between Bette Davis and her “assistant”, Maggie Smith; the characters dancing the tango; Poirot harassing every single passenger, in the aftermath of the crime etc. I also forgot just how bloody Agatha Christie’s stories are. And one can be but thrilled about, and enjoy, the Egyptian locations featured in the movie. I also remarked and liked the muted scene at the Temple in Karnak – with the characters wandering about, in the sunny, dusty, quiet midday – until something happens… Finally, I should also note how much more engaging and thrilling – how much more sanguine – this movie was, compared to the most recent Murder on the Orient Express (2017), which was Kenneth Branagh’s laudable attempt at putting together an all-star type Agatha Christie movie, but which (although I was very favorably inclined toward it) ended up being rather forgettable.

The Sea Wolves (1980)

The Sea Wolves 2 Speaking of all-star casts and “classic movie types”, The Sea Wolves (about; trailer) is a delightful exemplar from another subgenre: the war movie showcasing the heroic actions of a small group of misfits (played by a group of major Hollywood actors) during World War II. Movies like Where Eagles Dare or The Guns of Navarone come to mind, as other top-notch examples of this subgenre. In the case of The Sea Wolves, the cast includes Gregory Peck, David Niven (again), Roger Moore, Trevor Howard etc. And what a pleasurable romp it is, this movie – the enjoyment being but amplified by the fact that the misfits in this story are the “retired” English gentlemen (veterans of the… Boer Wars!) of the “Calcutta Light Horse” territorial defense unit in India (who are deeply dissatisfied with their current roles, and are itching to make their own significant contribution to defeating the Nazis). Yes, this film has it all: the colonial atmosphere, the British fighting spirit, the humor, and quite some action. I have seen the movie, therefore, many times, and (allowing for enough time between successive screenings) it never fails to entertain. Although the spy story within the movie (featuring Roger Moore, mainly, but also Peck) has its own charms, I am always more attracted to, and entertained by, the adventures, the fighting spirit, and the amusing peccadilloes of the gentlemen of the Calcutta Light Horse. Moreover, the fact that this movie is actually based on a true WWII story gives it additional, beneficial weight, making its heroes even more endearing.

The Day of the Jackal (1973)

The Day of the Jackal 1 If you watch the movie shortly after reading Frederick Forsyth’s bestseller book, the film (about; trailer) will probably come across as a bit of a disappointment; what the impression will be, if you have not read the book, that I would not know (at least, not at this point). And this is not about the usual and necessary differences between a book and a movie – differences with which I am well familiar, and that I take into account, implicitly. In fact, when it comes to the thriller genre, I would say that movies based on such books usually turn out better than their original source material (think of movies based on Grisham or Crichton books). It is also true that the slight disappointment with the movie, in this case, might just point to the fact that Forsyth is a much superior writer (within the genre), compared to the aforementioned ones; perhaps. In any case, I can only refer to this movie in implicit comparison with the book – and to the fact that, in that light, it is something of a letdown; so let us count the reasons why:

First of all, the casting choices, more specifically with regards to the title character of The Jackal; as Edward Fox comes across more as a Bond-type figure, instead of the silent, grey and inconspicuous (when he wants), yet somewhat attractive (when he so wants), but, deep down, “dead inside” character – that Forsyth constructs (so nicely) in his book. In addition, Fox’s interpretation fluctuates throughout the movie, somewhat inordinately. Second, the plot of the book is wisely constructed on the tension and conflict between poles – between two people who never meet, but are engaged in a cat-and-mouse game, right until the bloody end: The Jackal, and Deputy Commissioner Lebel. Well, this tension between two distinct yet so similar poles never really comes alive in the movie, as Lebel is depicted somewhat passingly, thus never acquiring the necessary “weight” needed in order to constitute a real counterpoint to Le Chacal. Third, the murder scenes in the book are much more life-like, chilling, and therefore gruesome – which is not the case with the murder scenes from the movie, which either came across as a bit clumsy, or were not actually shown on the screen (this, of course, might have to do with the accepted film aesthetics of the time, especially with regards to blockbusters – to movies made for general consumption). Finally, in the movie the story feels rushed, boxes being quickly checked and then passed over, in a hurry toward the finish; this, notwithstanding the movie’s runtime of almost two and a half hours. This, of course, can be written off as simply a limitation of the medium, especially in comparison with the complexity of a book; yes, one could suggest that, but I do not think that that is where the problem lies. Instead, I think that a wiser choice in terms of where to put the emphases – on certain moments, on certain characters (two or three) – that is, choosing wisely the “gravitational points” of the story – might have resulted in a different final impression – and in a more balanced, clearer, and better delineated story (without this feeling of trying to cram too many things in too small a space).

One of the things that I did like in this movie (a lot) was them using the real Bastille Day celebrations – with parades and all, police presence, and actual Parisian crowds – as the setting for what in the story would be the Liberation Day celebrations in Paris. This provided such a feeling of authenticity and immersion that, for me, it turned out to be the stand-out experience within this movie.

As said, you might come to slightly different conclusions, if you do not happen to read (or to listen to) the book right before watching this movie; perhaps, but I am not sure of that – because I think that these aspects, which I just mentioned, represent dramatic and filmmaking weak points whose effect one will feel (even if one will not be able to pinpoint them, specifically) whether or not one is familiar with the source material. Speaking of the source material, the original story, in all its details, is superb and gripping; a thriller that immerses us in a real historical moment (France under de Gaulle, at the moment of the Algerian civil war, and on the brink of an internal civil war) and in the universe of the political and of the law enforcement institutions of France (and of the UK).

6 Underground (2019)

I must confess that I found it quite irritating to see how many of those end-of-the-year, “worst movies of 2019” lists included 6 Underground (about; trailer) in their selection – doing it with a certain glee, as well. And no, I did not find this irritating because I consider 6 Underground some sort of a masterpiece – but because this kind of choice and this kind of attitude illustrate, for me, a type of snobbishness that is in fact an obstruction to a real engagement with movies, and with the art form as such.

With regards to Michael Bay, there are, generally speaking, two opposite approaches – one being a hasty dismissal of him and of his work, or (at the other end, and often to spite the opposite position) proposing him as a sort of visionary genius. Although both positions have a gram of truth in them, I would argue that neither represents a healthy approach to movies and to the art form. On the one hand, Bay does have a style and an aesthetics that he has developed, and that are truly his own (best exemplified by the Bad Boys movie of 1995) – and that many have started to copy (because of its success). On the other hand, he is also the tremendously successful (financially, that is) maker of those empty, noise-and-light spectacles that are, for example, the Transformer movies. My point, therefore, is that a balanced approach, of one who actually likes movies, filmmakers, and filmgoers, should be able to appreciate and to consider both these aspects, simultaneously; that is, admitting both the fact that Bay has created an original aesthetic style (which has both its good aspects, e.g. his ability to cut down everything, images, sound and action, to their most impactful essentials, to their most striking “barebones” – with the directness of, say, a rollercoaster, and with the shamelessness of Las Vegas aesthetic) – and also that he is the money-making mastermind behind mind-numbing and ear-shattering thrill-rides like the said Transformers series. The Transformers movies, which I would liken to a ride at a country fair: not everybody hops on, and yet sometimes you yourself will choose to hop on, and even to add some greasy food to it, just because you are at a country fair.

And this movie, 6 Underground, fits right between those ends – between certain aesthetic skills, and sensory overload – and, truth be said, with not much to set it apart, as a movie, in any extra-ordinary way. In other words, if approached with the required levelheadedness, and with an awareness of Bay’s style and portfolio, there is no specific reason to include it in a “worst of” yearly list (lists that, as we know, are both entertaining, and also, in effect, disingenuous – as it is pretty obvious that they do not contain the actual ten worst movies of the year, as selected from all the movies made in the world, at all the levels of the movie industry). Thus, it is the lack of artistic discernment and the cheap snobbishness that (often) lie behind the choice of including this movie on such a worst-of-the-year list, that I find most irritating – because they reflect an artistic lack of earnestness and superficiality that are not unlike what they are accusing Michael Bay of.

Because, if you want a real “worst of” movie from the Bay catalogue, you have to go no further than Pearl Harbor (2001); now that, indeed, is some offensive cinema-making, as it takes something that is deeply meaningful and tremendously rich (in historical, emotional, cultural, and general human content), and debases it and vulgarizes it, replacing all that real meaning with sensory noise, empty action, and superficial emotions. In other words, the offensiveness of that movie comes from the egregious and off-putting dissonance between what its subject would require, and what its content should be – and the completely inadequate, and ultimately disrespectful, treatment that it received from its director. But a similar dissonance between content and form does not emerge when you take, say, raw chewing gum (that is, some inessential content, whose only purpose is momentary enjoyment), and you give it a coat of artificial coloring (which simply enhances its entertainment-focused purpose). And 6 Underground probably could be characterized as such a “purely entertainment-focused” fare, which has no deeper meaning, and does not really intend to have such a meaning; but which does what it actually sets out to do – namely, to entertain, in the moment, in typical Michael Bay fashion. (The only thing really standing out about this movie is the number and variety of exotic locations, which point to the large sums of money probably put at Bay’s disposal by Netflix; which, by the way, is neither my nor anyone else’s business.).

In fact, for me the only distinct artistic takeaway from watching 6 Underground is related to a ongoing qualm that I have with so many moviemakers of our day (especially from the genre of action movies); that is, the fact that so many of them do not seem to understand (or, if they do, that they do not act based on that understanding) how essential the presence of real actors – who are able to create tridimensional, flesh-and-bones characters – is, even in a silly action movie. Compare, in this movie, the screen presence of Ryan Reynolds (who is a real actor), with the presence of – well, all the other actors, whose main distinguishing trait is (a common mistake among these filmmakers) that they are either athletic, or attractive, or both – but not real character actors, and thus never becoming “real persons” on the screen. In other words, my problem with so many filmmakers is that they do not seem to understand that what audiences connect with are human beings, with their human stories – yes, even (!) when there is some outrageous action happening all around. And to conclude I will mention one of the best examples of how to do such a thing well: the first Die Hard movie, in which, while the action is relentless and often spectacular, what draws us in, and the reason why that movie remains a favorite of many, is that we care deeply about, and are invested with, what happens to the very sympathetic, emotionally raw and physically vulnerable, and funny – in other words, the very human – character of John McClane, as portrayed excellently by Bruce Willis.

Dead Snow (2009) & Dead Snow 2: Red vs. Dead (2014)

“reckless, hilarious, and violent camp / a double feature”

Dead Snow large Tommy Wirkola’s two movies, Dead Snow (synopsis, trailer, cast & crew, rating), and Dead Snow 2: Red vs. Dead (synopsis, trailer, cast & crew, rating), stand out as some of the most entertaining films (funniest, and most fun) that I have seen in the last two decades; and what truly sets these movies apart is the unbound creativity and wild sense of humor that drive them. From the filmmaker’s perspective, the quest at the heart of these movies seems to have been, how to find the comedic in a horror-type movie (a genre, by the way, that does not really interest me); well, it takes a particular kind of imagination, kind of like the one at play in Sam Raimi’s (and Bruce Campbell’s) Evil Dead movies (especially 2 & 3).

Dead Snow 2 large It is not by chance, then, that Dead Snow makes reference, both textually and filmically, to those movies. However, these are not some Evil Dead “wannabes”; no, these are original works, while also being fully aware of the cinematic universe that preceded and that surrounds them (and not only within the genre; thus, in DS 1 one of the characters is a cinephile who often references or quotes from other movies; while in DS 2 the clash between the Nazi zombies and the Soviet ones is informed, visually, by the choreography of the battle scenes from Braveheart – for example).

Nazi zombies, you say? What, Soviet zombies? What is this? What this is, is camp, and of the best kind; and in these two movies a lot of the entertainment comes from taking these ridiculous premises to their “natural” conclusions, while in the process also allowing for the outrageous violence inherent in the genre (and in these premises) to play out – without inhibitions. Not grimly, mind you; and the best way to explain how this works would be to say that violence (and action), when played in a ruthless and camp manner, results in slapstick; slapstick that has weight (these are real characters, we even care about them – especially in DS 2), but that is also unbridled and wild and unexpected. This is why I mentioned “unbound creativity,” as a defining trait of Wirkola’s work in these films (he both wrote the scripts and directed them) – because while working within a defined genre (“slasher,” maybe – in DS 1), or even “creating a new genre” (as one character says, tongue in cheek, in DS 2), what sets these movies apart is the wild recklessness (and yet, also artfulness) with which violence, gore, accidentally resurrected zombies, evil Nazis, and a possessed arm create a mix of mayhem and humor that plays freely through the realms of camp, kitsch, action, and – even – war.

But here one must make a distinction between Dead Snow, and Dead Snow 2: Red vs. Dead, in the sense that, in the first movie, that aspect that I mentioned as setting these movies apart and making them tremendously enjoyable – namely that wild reckless violent camp – only really kicks in during the last third of the film. Taken as a whole, the first Dead Snow is an enjoyable romp, really in the mold of Evil Dead 2 – a group of students, in a cabin, in the snowy mountains of northern Norway, who accidentally resurrect (or draw the attention of) Nazi zombies. As said, the bulk of the action starts around the middle of that movie, and then really accelerates and devolves into excellent and juicy mayhem, in the last third (or thereabouts). The sequel, however (Dead Snow 2) – which also benefited from a higher budget (not that the first did not have good production values) – takes what was the best from the first one, accelerates it, and starts with that – with a reckless abandon of fun and violence, and then keeps it up throughout (yet never in a monotonous way), culminating in a final, most enjoyable battle between the “Red” and the Nazi (un)dead.

Recklessness is a word that I mentioned several times – and this is, in many ways, where the humor comes from. What do I mean? Well, why are so many comedies or even horror movies actually… boring? Because their humor seems canned and pre-planned; mediocre sit-com like, they say funny (or do scary) things, but none of those words or actions actually takes us by surprise, is unexpected. Well, in the best parts of DS 1, and in most of DS 2, Tommy Wirkola pushes the pedal to the floor exactly in the right spots – because, let’s be honest, this is a ridiculous premise, and zombies are ridiculous in themselves, and gore and mayhem is inherently funny, if played out with ruthlessness both toward the principal characters (some surprises there), and, of course, toward (all) the bystanders. Yes, because nobody is spared; for a long time, in DS 1, I did not even know who was supposed to be the main character, whom I should be rooting for – and who, if anyone, should I expect to survive, at the end of the movie (well, do any?); while in the second – well, nobody, no category of population, is spared – with the most hilarious consequences.

Because where does the hilarity come from, in fact? Where does the humor come from? Well, from the clash between our regular, tame expectations, and what actually happens; from encountering the paradoxical and the contradictory, even the absurd; but, here’s the thing, within the context of these scenarios, none of what happens is actually “absurd” – only that the other movies of the genre do not dare to go “out there” and to swing so wildly (for comedic effect). This is why while watching these movies I have laughed more, and more heartily, than probably at any other movie that I have seen over the past two decades (and this is no exaggeration). In addition, I always find it so very rewarding to encounter a truly creative mind, and freely roaming artistic creativity.

There are some wonderful individual touches, as well. The way the first movie starts with the image of a girl being chased by (what turn out to be) zombies, through the snowy mountains of Norway, on the soundtrack of music from… The Nutcracker (music that keeps accelerating, ever so slightly). The hilariously “aesthetic” framing (positioning) of the zombie Nazis, lined up artistically around their leader, at various moments – for example, while preparing to attack. And how the movie plays on our expectation for the heroes to truly become heroes, and to bring a much deserved comeuppance upon these nasty zombies – with chainsaw and machine gun and so on. And the rewarding scene of the Soviet zombies rising menacingly from the frozen ground, to compose an army for our hero, in order to fight the Nazis! And the relentlessly and unfailingly funny – and continuously amplified – running gag with the “pet zombie,” in DS 2. And DS 2 culminating with that side-splittingly hilarious and truly outrageous scene – with references to Titanic (!), and set on the soundtrack of a famous, kitschy pop ballad; and yet also, somehow, rewarding – because Wirkola also manages to insert, amid all the mayhem and chaos, a central emotional thread, going throughout the second movie, and tying it together, to a degree, and making us care (!) even more for the main character.

Of course, there are less than successful moments, as well. I think that the “guts” gag is a bit overdone (used too much), in DS 1; also in that movie, I find the mauling scenes somewhat underwhelming, neither scary nor shocking; however, also in DS 1 there are two jump scares (which, by the way, do not abound, thankfully) that are very effective (while there are none, really, in DS 2 – because it does not need them anymore). In DS 2, which is overall most enjoyable, some weaker parts come from the presence of the American characters – mostly because of the characters of the two girls, in fact, which do not feel as realistic and as grounded as the rest of the characters in the movie (Norwegian ones). Perhaps this is because these American actors bring a bit of that canned, clichéd approach to what is otherwise a grounded, dirty, very realistic (!) (within the conventions of this ridiculous plot) Norwegian story. But I think that the American “guy” does a good job, overall – playing it adequately campy, but not unserious.

And this takes me to another aspect that is worthy of being discussed – that in order for humor (or horror) to work, it needs to be played straight; comedy results when we see reality clashing with appearances or with expectations; but for this to happen, we need to feel that the characters are real people, in real situations, acting fairly realistically (as we would, in their stead). If the story and acting feel artificial, then the comedic effect is lost; because that unexpected discovery of the clash between appearances and truth does not take place (and what is “truth” in a given narrative is what corresponds to its premise and conventions, no matter what those might be, and what the genre is – be it fantasy, horror, sci-fi etc.).

For example – speaking of taking the premise to its natural conclusions, and of Wirkola’s free and funny imagination – how about that scene with the Nazi zombie “MASH” unit, “treating” the “wounded” zombies, during the battle with the Soviet undead… I mean, seriously!

All in all, then, a mix of violence, horror, camp, wild imagination, and a wicked sense of humor, recklessly and ruthlessly following the story wherever it takes us, make these movies an exceedingly entertaining double feature. Because I would insist, indeed, that these two movies are best watched as a double feature, as DS 1 truly sets up and grounds DS 2 (while also being, in itself, an entertaining little gem of a movie, within its genre) – and while DS 2 is thereafter an unbridled and free-roaming adventure that hyperdrives the camp and the action, while also constructing a fairly rewarding narrative.

As a side note, I would recommend that you watch DS 1 in the original Norwegian (there is also an unlikable version dubbed into English, which I avoided like the plague); the second movie, however, seems to have been released both in Norwegian, and in a version in which the Norwegian actors dubbed (ADR’d) themselves in English; well, since most Scandinavians speak English well, and since this approach keeps their natural voices and their accents – and also since DS2 has some actual English dialogue, as well, due to the presence of the American characters – I would recommend the “naturally dubbed” DS2, as an authentic and very enjoyable version.

(Speaking of releases and versions, I should also note here that the trailers to these movies do not do them justice, exactly because they do not seem to understand what actually sets these movies apart, and because they try to present them as fitting into the usual horror or slasher clichés – which they do not, and which they are not.) Speaking of genres, I would not even classify these movies – well, at least DS2, as a horror movie; instead, I would rather call it an action-adventure comedy with a horror premise. Because this is how one can best enjoy it – kind of like Evil Dead 3.

1917 (2019)

“beautifully done, but does it work?”

1917 poster

The first thing that catches the eye in 1917 (synopsis, cast & crew, rating, trailer) is the viscerally rendered surroundings – the set design. For example, I don’t think that I have ever seen such realistically looking mud, from so close up. And indeed, the weeks and months spent in freezing, mud- and water-drenched trenches, where one is never dry and always miserable, are a common place of the WWI experience (see the literature of the war poets of WWI).

Then, the next thing that catches the eye is the camera work (cinematography by the great Roger Deakins) – and I am not referring to the much-touted “single, continuing shots,” but to the wonderfully fluid camera movement, that takes the lens along highly improbable and surprising trajectories. One such instant was when it was following the main protagonist (or the one who turned out to be the main protagonist), Schofield, passing the river across the felled bridge – and the camera was floating in parallel with him, hovering, miraculously, fluidly, not too far from the water level – truly a thing of beauty.

However, what starts as a visceral experience, receives a hint of the theatrical, of the artificial, even, later – not in the sense of feeling “fake,” but of feeling “staged” – for us. For example, the ruins of the French town (Écoust) “feel” like they were set up on a stage, or in a studio (which they might have been). On the other hand, on the same set the burning building across that town square gives out just the right impression: you can’t see its features clearly, nor what is beyond it, and you feel lost, because your eyes fail you. (So, even on “staged sets” there are things of beauty.) Also, the way the narrative is constructed feels a bit self-conscious – i.e. with visible intent; I am referring to the way in which moments of “misery” alternate with moments of (intended) “beauty,” or the planned insertion of the “human” (civilian) element (the French woman and the baby), or those soldiers listening in silence to a comrade’s “beautiful” singing – all this feels a bit calculated for effect. And yet, this is based on real stories (as the final credits inform us) told by Sam Mendes’s (the director’s) grandfather – and all that is fine, and all that is to be respected; yet, it sometimes happens that, when you want to tell a story that is important, the weight of its relevance takes over, over its simple humanity – and then it becomes a bit artificial. Of course, I do not know if this is what actually took place – but, as said, at times it feels a bit “designed” for effect; and I was most conscious of it, at times.

The performances are somewhat uneven – although all the players do their job and carry their load well. The choice of a doughy, round-faced boy for one of the two main characters (Dean-Charles Chapman as Lance Corporal Blake) was excellent, as this is what they were, those young soldiers of WWI – farm boys or city lads too young and unprepared for the mechanical carnage of that war. Nonetheless, I was not entirely convinced by Chapman’s performance; especially the death scene was quite underwhelming (although clearly it was meant as a major dramatic point in the film). But perhaps the less than poignant impact of that death has to do with another issue affecting this movie, namely that we should have been more invested, perhaps, in the main characters – by knowing them better, individually, and also in terms of their friendship (relationship). At the end of the movie there is a scene in which Lance Corporal Schofield tells Blake’s brother that his deceased sibling “always told funny stories;” but shouldn’t we have known and discovered this by seeing young Blake doing that, rather than by being told so? In a way, I feel that we the viewers don’t really get to know Corporal Blake, or not well enough – so that we can still receive new information about his character, at the end of the movie. And this is also why his death does not have the impact that Mendes probably intended.

On the other hand, George MacKay (as Corporal Schofield) carries the role and the movie well; his performance is even in the way in which it combines a kind of stoicism and war-weariness, with youthfulness and vulnerability. At the same time, (and this is not his fault), the scene with him climbing over rows of water-filled cadavers, trying to get out of the river, again does not have (what I assume to have been) the intended effect – of disgust, revulsion, maybe even horror, in us, the spectators; somehow it feels just a bit flatter than it should be. And, of course, this moment of “misery” is followed immediately by that “peaceful” moment of “angelic” singing – yes, I do feel a bit manipulated.

But I am afraid that these observations sound all too negative – because this is indeed a beautifully made and very likable movie; and one finds it moving both that it was made, and the intent with which it was made; and, as said, it is a beautifully done piece of cinema. And this is also why I found it a bit frustrating that it fell a bit short of the emotional impact that it actually pursued.

There are some moments with genuine emotional charge – for example, the ending scene, with Schofield looking at pictures of his family, and reading the message from his mother: “Come back to us;” but this moment has been set up earlier, when we learned about his previous (terrible) experiences on the front, and of his reluctance to go home to visit (and why). In other words, the moment with the photos and the message had its desired impact because we have already become involved with Schofield’s personal narrative, at least with regard to this aspect; as said, looking at the overall movie, this emotional investment and engagement does not happen at the level and with the intensity needed, and early enough, so that it could grip and carry us throughout the film, thus allowing for the movie to have its (desired) impact.

But back to the actors’ performances, one should also note some excellent secondary casting choices, with major actors playing smaller – but extremely relevant – parts; and Benedict Cumberbatch, (an unrecognizable) Colin Firth, and Mark Strong all invest their characters with the necessary weight and depth that make those moments of the movie relevant. On the other hand, the character of Lieutenant Leslie (the one who directs them where to cross into no man’s land; played by Andrew Scott), and especially his apparent world-weariness and cynicism, comes across as a bit put on… And this takes me to another thought I had, while looking at the faces of these young actors – especially the extras; namely, to what degree are these contemporary young people able to understand and to portray the depth and the impact of the misery and carnage of the First World War? Aren’t those experiences just so remote from their daily experiences, so as to be almost incomprehensible – and thus untranslatable? What is the role of the director, and what can he do, to immerse them into that state of mind and of being, to facilitate that understanding (beyond what is the task and devotion of each individual actor; but what if they don’t or can’t do it)? Because I was looking at them, and at their faces, and I kept seeing them at a club, or browsing on social media, or being taken by their to tennis classes… There is a tremendous gap between the existential level at which a young person’s life happens today, in the West, in an urban / suburban environment – and even life on a farm. today – let alone the experience of World War I. But perhaps all this is only in my head – or is it? After all, isn’t the task of the actor, always and forever, to immerse themselves into lives (and times) that are not their own – and isn’t it part of the very work of the actor to find the ways for doing so? And that takes us back to the question of the role of the director, in facilitating this, in preparing them – as much as he can – for this. But, yet again, these might just reflect my own prejudices regarding these young actors’ life experiences; who knows?

Overall, then, does the movie work? To address this question, at the end of the film I asked myself what was in fact the point (the goal) of the movie. Clearly, it was to relate some stories of personal import for Sam Mendes, stories that originated from the lived experience of those moments and times. From that point of view, the movie is worthy of respect, appreciation, and empathetic response – and it has them all, from me. Then, the movie probably wants to share this experience (these experiences, of those young men – or heroes – of World War I) with us as well. In the UK World War I has a very special place in the public consciousness and (official) memory – and the movie seems to respond and to talk to that shared understanding of the Great War – somewhat like the red poppies worn in Britain by all the public persons on Remembrance Day. But just like that very public gesture, as respect- and note-worthy as it is (and it is indeed), I wonder if the real, human-level impact and experience of the actual events are not a bit lost, or submerged, under the public nature of the gesture. As said, sometimes the outward “importance” of a thing can overwhelm the real, lived, experienced – human – reality of said thing.

The film also works as a sort of road-movie, taking us through slices of the frontline experience; objectively, it does that well; but, again, are we really “touched” by all that we encounter and see in the movie? So, overall, does it work?

The movie that comes to mind immediately, for comparison’s sake, is Gallipoli; in fact, the moment I learned about 1917 and about its plot, my thoughts went immediately to that movie. So, let’s briefly compare the two – although I am well aware of the fact that they are two distinct and self-standing works, worthy of being judged on their own merits; still, we might learn something from this comparison. Well, given the superficial similarity of the story (and of the setting), what sets Gallipoli apart – not only from 1917, but also as one of the most memorable war movies ever made – is its emotional impact, and the way in which it conveys the inherent absurdity of war. The emotional impact of Gallipoli is clearly due to the fact that it spends a lot of time introducing us to the main characters, that we get to know them well, in all their rambunctious and promise-filled youthfulness – and thus, whatever happens to them, touches us personally. Secondarily, the movie chooses its topic very precisely and intently; it is about an especially absurd and tragic moment, so its goal of revealing the senselessness and tragedy of war is perfectly served by its choice of topic. Thus, the impact is double, in Gallipoli – both emotional (personal) and existential (helping us to understand, by experiencing – and thus to grow); and the movie is also carried by some excellent performances, which help to counterpose the inherent naivety and hopefulness of youth, with the senselessness and the death-filled nature of war. Overall, then, Gallipoli has a true impact on the viewer; for example, although I have not seen it in a long time, I have never forgotten it, and I am ready to watch it again.

Let’s conclude by saying that I am somewhat afraid that these thoughts on 1917 might come across as too negative – when it is in fact a beautiful movie, that deserves (and earns from me) empathetic respect and genuine feelings of appreciation. However, I do think that the questions raised above are worthy of being discussed, first of all because they are the ones that dominated my thoughts, after watching the movie (and thus I wanted to answer them, for myself), and secondarily because I think that they might help us better understand what makes a movie work, and why.

In any case, I am thankful and appreciative for having watched 1917 (directed and written by Sam Mendes, and shot by Roger Deakins).