War Is Hell (Again)

Both the beauty and the aggravation of Sam Mendes’s 1917 can be summarized in its opening and closing shots. The film opens with an image of a picturesque meadow, in which are camped a battalion of British soldiers; the camera sweeps over the encampment and focuses on one soldier resting against a tree in the full bloom of spring. In the final shot of the film, a soldier is also seen resting against a tree, only this tree is dead and barren. The symbolism is obvious and self-important.

And that is the problem with 1917. There is no doubt that 1917 is a beautifully shot, well-acted, and compelling movie. It will undoubtedly win multiple Oscars of the ten for which it has been nominated, and deservedly so. It provides two hours of first-rate film-going entertainment. But for the cinematically literate, 1917 is a poser – an exercise in imitation of other great war films (Apocalypse Now, Saving Private Ryan, and Platoon, to name three), and an example of directorial self-consciousness, most notably in the decision to use a single camera deftly edited to give the film the appearance of being shot in one long continuous take.

The story follows two British soldiers, Lance Corporals Blake and Schofield, who are sent on an urgent mission, crossing enemy lines to deliver a message that could save 1600 soldiers from a German trap. (How the two battalions got behind the lines is unexplained.) It is an original screenplay inspired by stories Mendes was told by his grandfather, a Lance Corporal in WWI, to whom the film is dedicated. There is little in the way of character development – the mission is the focus – and at times devolves to caricature (is every British field commander arrogant and self-obsessed?). It takes advantage of war film conventions that stretch credulity (are all Germans such terrible shots?) and on multiple occasions, makes narrative choices and adds contrived coincidences that caused me to shake my head.

Relative unknowns Dean Charles Strong (Blake) and George MacKay (Schofield) both give strong, grounded performances as the two leads, with a naturalness that avoids melodrama. A few, more familiar, faces appear in smaller roles (Colin Firth, Benedict Cumberbatch). 

But the real star of the film is Roger Deakins’s Oscar-worthy cinematography, which offers truly memorable images that require no dialogue to tell the story. Deakins, whose previous work with Mendes on Skyfall won him an Oscar, makes the most of Mendes’s decision to use the “continuous take,” shifting the point of view of the camera so that it moves like a pesky fly behind, before, and above the characters. This provides some relief from what could become visual monotony and allows Deakins a somewhat broader range for his camerawork.

The single-take approach, famously employed in Hitchcock’s Rope and Iñárritu’s Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance), is effective in creating an immersive experience and a bond between the viewer and the main characters of the film. But it also has some unfortunate effects. The first is that at times it draws attention to itself and not to the story and feels gimmicky. A second is the issue of time. The film compresses roughly 20 hours of chronological time into two hours of screen time, so that the sensation of time is manipulated – at times compressed, at other time dilated. (Can a soldier emerge soaking wet from a river and then have his uniform completely dry in five minutes?). Additionally,the single-shot technique has the linear effect of a theme park attraction, taking the viewer on a ride through a sequence of set pieces. I can’t recall a recent film in which the storyboarding was more obvious.

1917 functions more as a suspense film than a war film. It is limited in scope and focuses on the fate of the two messengers. And while it has some action sequences, they lack the immediacy and intensity of Saving Private Ryan or the epic sweep of Patton. It lacks the patriotic swell of Dunkirk or the social commentary of Apocalypse Now or Full Metal Jacket. On the positive side, Thomas Newman’s score is first-rate and Lee Smith’s editing moves the film briskly along.

War is hell, we are told; and to an extent all war films are an exercise in katabasis – going “to hell and back” – rehearsing the ancient myth of Orpheus and the underworld journey of Odysseus. (Coppola’s Apocalypse Now, borrowing from Josef Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, took this literally). Directors therefore are often tempted to reach for higher meaning through symbols and metaphors to give mythic heft to the narrative. Not handled well, it can lend an aura of preachiness or self-importance to the film. Trees are the symbol Mendes employs, to varying degrees of success. It is no surprise that the most moving scene in the film takes place in a stand of trees. At other times, however, it seems forced, as in the closing shot.

1917 won the Golden Globes for best dramatic film and best director and has been nominated for ten Academy Awards. There have certainly been less-deserving winners in recent years. Despite its flaws, it is a well-made film worth seeing, but it is far from a masterpiece.  3.0 stars out of 4.0.

A Parable of Grace

One of the most famous – and surprising – friendships in the history of the U.S. Supreme Court was between Ruth Bader Ginsburg and her high-court nemesis Antonin Scalia. Despite their hard-fought ideological battles, they managed to look past their differences to appreciate the humanity in each other. A similar odd-coupling is portrayed in the recent Netflix release, The Two Popes, directed by acclaimed South American filmmaker Fernando Meirelles (City of God, The Constant Gardener). The film imagines an ecclesiastical summit between ideological opposites – conservative Pope Benedict XVI (Anthony Hopkins) and progressive Argentinian cardinal Jorge Borgoglio (Jonathan Pryce) – who would later become Pope Francis I. The film is not only an acting delight – Hopkins and Pryce are magnificent in their craft – but is also one of the most spiritually rich films of the decade, and has been nominated for four Golden Globes, including Best Picture - Drama.

Though portrayed as historical fiction or even a docudrama, the core of the film is a fictional two-day meeting between the “two popes” in the lead-up to Benedict’s decision to resign the papacy in 2013. As with Milos Forman’s Amadeus, which took even greater historical liberties, the point isn’t in the history but in the confrontation of opposites and the theological and personal narratives that result. And what results is a parable of grace as these two aging men, each with their own demons, each with a deep distrust of the other, begin to hear God’s voice through the other – which becomes a means of grace and reconciliation.

The film was originally conceived as “The Pope” (before Hopkins’s agent insisted on the title change) and it is clearly more Francis’s story than Benedict’s. Borgoglio is the popular champion of the poor and advocate for reform, Benedict the lonely academic and defender of tradition who as Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger was the “German rottweiler” of institutional orthodoxy. Borgoglio is given an extensive backstory – his call to the priesthood, his controversial role during the years of military dictatorship in Argentina – that is not given to Ratzinger, who historically may be the more interesting character.

Meirelles is at times unclear as to whether he wants to tell the story of the two men or of the church’s struggle with modernity, power, and abuse. From a filmmaking perspective, the film is strongest when it focuses on the men and weakest when it preaches about the church and society (for example, a debate about “walls” cuts to an anachronistic clip of the construction of the US-Mexico border wall). Matters such as the child sexual abuse scandal or financial corruption in the Vatican are mentioned but not explored. The film has an unnecessary coda celebrating Francis’s papal speeches and a silly ending that detracts from the rest of the film.

But it is not fair to criticize a film for what it isn’t, and these are relatively minor quibbles in a film that is rich in well-acted dialog and spiritual meaning. How does one hear the voice of God? What is the mission of the church? How does one balance purity of purpose with pragmatic obligations? How do we treat our enemies? How do we find forgiveness? These are just some of the issues tackled in the marvelous screenplay (also nominated for a Golden Globe).

The Two Popes is a rich feast for the theologically inclined, perhaps less so for skeptics and cynics – but even they will appreciate the magnificent performances of Pryce and Hopkins, the first-rate writing, and the incredible recreation of the Sistine Chapel. It is rated PG-13, presumably for the few scenes of state-sponsored terrorism in flashback. The film is currently available on Netflix and may be showing theatrically in select cities. 3.5 stars out of 4.0.

P.S. I must confess a personal connection to the theological debates in the film: my essay on “Marriage Equality in the PC(U.S.A.)” is juxtaposed with an opposing essay by Ratzinger in the textbook Readings in Christianity (3^rd edition). I doubt he’s aware of that, though.