Save one life, save the entire world.
Until this moment, it’s safe to assume that London stockbroker Nicholas “Nicky” Winton was unknown, here in the States, notwithstanding the 2014 publication of If It’s Not Impossible by his daughter, Barbara Winton.
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| In London, Nicholas "Nicky" Winton (Johnny Flynn) awaits the arrival of a train carrying a very special set of passengers. |
There’s no indication of the miracle Winton orchestrated, as Hawes’ film opens. It’s 1988, and an elderly Nicky (Anthony Hopkins) has retired to a lovely countryside home that he shares with his wife, Grete (Lena Olin). He’s at loose ends, but she’s at wit’s end; Nicky’s lifetime of humanitarian work is catalogued in mountains of boxes that have taken over several rooms; there’s no space for them to enjoy the grandchild that their daughter and son-in-law soon will add to the family.
Of particular note: the contents of a battered brown suitcase, which rests inside a lower desk drawer.
Nicky’s malaise goes deeper. He’s deeply troubled by something that has haunted him for a very long time; Hopkins conveys all this via posture, a weary gaze, and an aura of regret that enshrouds him like a cloak.
We then flash back to December 1938, as young Nicky (Johnny Flynn) abruptly cancels a skiing holiday after receiving a telephone request for help from Doreen Warriner (Romola Garai) and Trevor Chadwick (Alex Sharp). They’re in Prague, helping refugees who’ve fled persecution from Austria and Germany, into Czechoslovakia’s Sudetenland.
Nicky hastily travels to Prague, where he’s stunned by the magnitude of the crisis. The streets are filled with homeless people and families; food and shelter are scarce, and the cruel bite of winter has just begun. Most particularly, he’s appalled by the huge number of children in such a state: particularly vulnerable little bodies unlikely to survive the upcoming months of brutal weather.
Hawes doesn’t dwell on this misery, but cinematographer Zac Nicholson’s tracking shot pauses at key moments, highlighting forlorn individuals who establish the magnitude of this crisis.
Nicky impulsively insists that something must be done, which initially exasperates Doreen and Trevor, who gently scoff at Nicky’s naïvete. He’s a posh London stockbroker with virtually no experience in such matters; what could he possibly do, that boots-on-the-ground crisis workers haven’t been able to achieve?
Garai’s Doreen has the bearing of experience and authority; she’s a tireless champion for these refugees. Sharp’s equally credible Trevor is eager to assist: perhaps more hopeful, and willing to believe in miracles. They’re joined by the younger Hana Hejdukova (Juliana Moska): also a hard worker, but clearly frightened.
Nicky is adamant; he’ll find a way. Flynn’s expression is so earnest and insistent, that we almost pity him for being so foolish. Indeed, what Nicky proposes — hope — could be considered cruel. The very thought is impossible; for starters, such travelers would require British passports, or else they’d be stopped at the border and sent back to their point of departure.
Ah, but aside from a belief in his ability to somehow move large mountains, Nicky has a secret weapon: his mother Babi (Helena Bonham Carter). He calls and asks her for a massive favor — warning that it will be difficult — and extends his one-week stay in Prague.
Back in London, Babi bluffs and bullies her way through London’s immigration offices, ultimately securing what initially threatens to become a very brief meeting with a mid-level bureaucrat named Leadbetter (Michael Gould). He’s initially dismissive, but she’s having none of that.
(Seriously, who could withstand Helena Bonham Carter’s withering gaze and disapproving school marm frown, when her character goes into full-blown Don’t Be Obdurate And Tiresome mode?)
Babi eventually triumphs, but with concessions. As she relates to Nicky, during another phone call, each child must provide identification and a photograph for passport purposes; must have a willing foster family in place prior to departure; and must be “warranted” with a £50 deposit for eventual return to their own country.
(That was a huge sum at the time: the equivalent of £3,397 in 2021.)
Each of these demands amplifies Nicky’s rash promise. Time is critical, with Hitler’s expanding its invasion of Czechoslovakia. How can so much money be raised, and foster families found, so quickly? More crucially, Czech parents are wary of anybody requesting personal information, fearing such individuals might be Nazi spies.
Nicky returns to London, and what happens next ... ah, but that would be telling.
The unfolding drama is richly enhanced by Volker Bertelmann’s deeply moving score: a blend of poignant orchestral touches and somber solo piano.
This is a 110-minute film; scripters Lucinda Coxon and Nick Drake, in adapting Barbara Winton’s book, have compressed events and characters, out of both necessity and the cinematic demands of dramatic impact.
Doreen and Trevor — both historical figures, like Nicky and his mother — are the faces of the many brave members of the British Committee for Refugees in Czechoslovakia, established in October 1938. (Hana is a fictitious composite character.) Leadbetter stands in for London’s entire House of Commons, which one month later approved a measure to allow entry into Britain of refugees younger than 17 (albeit with the stipulations cited above).
Coxon and Drake have a sensitive touch with dialogue; the younger Nicky’s conversation with a wary rabbi (Samuel Finzi) is particularly moving.
Hawes and his scripters also employ a device identical to Steven Spielberg’s red-dressed little girl, in the otherwise monochromatic “Schindler’s List.” In this case, it’s a 10-year-girl with a haunted gaze, cradling an infant of unknown parentage, whom Nicky spots during his initial horrified walk through Prague’s streets. She becomes the catalyst that drives his mission.
Events continue to bounce back and forth between 1938 and 1988; increasing our anxiety each time, as the situation becomes more dire in Prague. The reason for the older Nicky’s malaise eventually becomes clear, as conveyed with such delicately nuanced touches by Hopkins.
This, too, hearkens back to Schindler’s List, and Liam Neeson’s heartbreaking belief that “I could have done more” (a truly shattering scene, in a film laden with them).
But it’s more than that. The elderly Nicky also worries that, half a century later, nobody remembers what he accomplished, back in 1938 and ’39. How can that legacy be properly preserved and publicized. (In the real world, Spielberg’s film — which would have provided one possible solution — was five years away.)
The actual answer is a stunner: another case of truth being far more amazing than fiction.
It’s also as deeply emotional — a true gut-punch — as the outcome of events in Prague, as 1938 gives way to ’39.
One Life clearly was made, and operates, on a much smaller and more intimate scale than Schindler’s List. But this new film is just as powerful, and deserves to be placed alongside its 1993 predecessor. I defy anybody to remain unmoved, as Hawes’ film concludes.
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