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.