4.5 stars. Rated PG-13, for dramatic intensity and war sequences
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 12.29.17
Even knowing the outcome, thanks
to the obvious historical record and ongoing pop culture reminders, director
Joe Wright and scripter Anthony McCarten maintain a remarkable level of
stomach-clenching suspense during every moment of this enthralling drama.
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| As Elizabeth Layton (Lily James) pauses attentively, Winston Churchill (Gary Oldman) parses words in order to place the desired emphasis on what will be one of the most important speeches of his career. |
Scene by scene, amid political
clashes and confrontations, we endure palpable panic: Are our memories faulty?
Will it all go wrong?
No, of course not. But the total,
we-are-there immersion is quite impressive.
Darkest Hour takes place during a tempestuous
several weeks in the spring of 1940: from May 10, when 65-year-old,
hard-drinking Winston Churchill is named to replace Neville Chamberlain as the
British Prime Minister; to June 4, in the aftermath of the Dunkirk miracle that
gave additional weight to Churchill’s “We shall fight on the beaches” speech in
the House of Commons.
Fans of this period in British
history are enjoying an embarrassment of riches; we’ve now experienced these
events from strikingly different points of view, thanks to summer’s Dunkirk, television’s The Crown and now Wright’s Darkest Hour.
As depicted by McCarten — a
double Oscar nominee, as scripter and producer of 2014’s The Theory of Everything — Churchill’s rise to that galvanic speech
was anything but assured, and Chamberlain was far from disgraced and impotent,
after being shunted aside. He and Viscount Halifax (née Edward Frederick
Lindley Wood) remained relentless in their quest for appeasement by offering a
treaty to Hitler, even as — particularly
as — Western Europe’s countries fell, like a row of dominoes, against the Nazi
assault.
And Chamberlain’s influence was
considerable, as he still controlled the Conservative half of the House of Commons,
all of the members fully prepared — in blinkered, knee-jerk fashion — to vote
party over conscience, thereby stripping Churchill of his new position. (And
boy, doesn’t that resonate these
days, on this side of the pond!)
The political infighting is both
fascinating and horrifying, but the film’s true power comes from Gary Oldman’s
sublime portrayal of Churchill: one of those rare performances that is so
thorough, so all-consuming, that it ceases to be acting. As far as I’m
concerned, Wright and McCarten somehow found the means to resurrect Churchill,
so he could star in his own story.
Oldman’s impersonation is beyond extraordinary:
from the corpulent frame; to the waspish temper so much at odds with the era’s
tweedy British lisp; to the impatient mumbling while dictating, as he frets
over the precise wording of each speech; to — most crucially — the piercing
gaze that could drill holes through steel. At the same time, McCarten’s script
allows Churchill plenty of snarky asides and pointed slow burns, all delivered
via Oldman’s impeccable timing.
It is, without question, the
transformative performance of the year.
McCarten builds the film around
three speeches that Churchill delivered between May 10 and June 4, and three of
his closest relationships: with Clementine (Kristin Scott Thomas), his wife of
31 years; with his newly hired, steadfastly loyal secretary, Elizabeth Layton
(Lily James); and with King George VI (Ben Mendelsohn).
(Although McCarten drew from
Layton’s memoirs while fashioning this character and her intimate, ringside
presence at Churchill’s side, liberties were taken with the time frame; she
didn’t actually become Churchill’s secretary until 1941.)
So: sharp, intelligent scripting
and enthralling performances. They’re matched by Valerio Bonelli’s deft editing
and the bravura visual pizzazz that have been Wright’s signature since 2005’s Pride & Prejudice and 2007’s Atonement: the long tracking shots that
weave in, out, and through walls; the overhead panoramas from impossible
heights; the tightly focused close-ups that occupy only the center of an
otherwise wholly darkened screen.
These and many more of
cinematographer Bruno Delbonnel’s imaginatively framed and staged sequences
can’t help calling attention to themselves, but they never pull us out of the
narrative; indeed, they enhance the
drama, particularly during moments of distress and crisis. One slow pan is
particularly breathtaking, revealing the overhead bombardment of French
countryside by Nazi warplanes, the tableau unexpectedly morphing into a tight
close-up of cheek and the dead, staring eyes of a victim on the ground. Utterly
chilling.
For that matter, newsreel clips
of Hitler’s forces also never lose their power to horrify.
McCarten’s major narrative
fabrication is that Layton begins her job just as Churchill is named prime
minister. James, still well remembered as Downton
Abbey’s Lady Rose MacClare, plays her as intimidated, cowed and even
terrified by this initial encounter. But her impulse to quit on the spot is set
aside by destiny’s call; it’s a fleeting moment, but we see the change in
James’ eyes, as she returns to accept her place in what quickly becomes an
historic turning point.
She becomes our “accessible”
conduit to Churchill: the civilian companion who humanizes him for us, by being
present at times both dire and amusing (as with his tendency to stride through
his home starkers, or clad in a barely concealing robe).
Layton also is quite intelligent,
and wholly aware of implications concealed within the telegrams, letters and
documents she types. James’ best scene with Oldman comes when Churchill gravely
dictates the telegram that will seal the fate of the small British garrison
holed up at France’s Calais Citadel: doing its best, during three critical
days, to distract the Germans from the unfolding crisis at Dunkirk.
Scott Thomas is delightful as the
pragmatic and wholly devoted Clementine. She pays no mind to her husband’s
tirades; she has seen and heard it all, and he long ago ceased to ruffle her
feathers. Scott Thomas makes clear that Clementine can give as good as she
gets, her own imperious tone used only when necessary, with an immediately
calming effect.
It’s an endearing portrait of a
long-married couple wholly accustomed to each other’s strengths and weaknesses.
Mendelsohn’s portrayal of King
George VI is equally fascinating, at a much calmer level. Although technically
not in a position to influence such things, the king clearly doesn’t like the
initial decision to appoint Churchill, who still is held responsible for
earlier military blunders such as the World War I disaster at Gallipoli. But
Mendelsohn layers the king’s regal formality with a touch of ambiguity that
grows during the weekly Monday lunch meetings that the two men share:
marvelously subtle scenes that depict a growing bond.
The most tensely dramatic
sequences take place in the underground War Room, where McCarten takes much of
his dialog directly from the various meetings’ minutes, and where Churchill’s
gut hatred and mistrust of Hitler are under constant assault by Chamberlain
(Ronald Pickup) and Halifax (Stephen Dillane). The former is depicted as an
obliviously stubborn aristocrat who nonetheless wields great influence; the
latter as a reptilian political creature who, we can’t help feeling, cares more
for his potential future, than that
of his country.
It’s not really fair to suggest
that Halifax is the villain of this piece — all points of view definitely need
airing — but Dillane certainly plays him that way.
Sarah Greenwood’s production
design is meticulous and thoroughly period, placing us inside the cavernous War
Room facilities, Churchill’s home, and even a London Underground train: the
latter at a climactic moment that has the artifice of Capra-esque fantasy, but
which succeeds because Wright and McCarten have, by this point, built up so
much narrative good will.
Dario Marianelli’s orchestral
underscore superbly complements the drama; Jacqueline Durran’s costume design
is impeccable.
Although obviously a drama, the
carefully crafted atmosphere of authenticity frequently makes this film feel
like a documentary. It is, without question, a cinematic document for the ages.
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