Five stars. Rated R, for considerable war violence, dramatic intensity and profanity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 1.10.20
Oh.
My.
Goodness.
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| Having made it through the harrowing horrors of No Man's Land, Lance Cpl. Schofield (George MacKay, left) and Lance Cpl. Blake (Dean-Charles Chapman) marvel at the artillery weapons and shells that have been abandoned on the German side of the front. |
Director/co-writer Sam Mendes’ war drama isn’t merely a crackling suspenser that’ll keep you at the edge of your seat — hand at mouth — for every single moment of its 119-minute run.
It’s also one of the most visually audacious films ever made: a degree of stunning cinematic technical advancement on par with the dinosaurs that knocked our socks off, back in 1993’s Jurassic Park.
Everything you’ve heard about Mendes’ film is true; it’s that awesome.
The simple, pressure-cooker plot begins on April 6, 1917, deep within the Allied trenches in Northern France. The “Great War” has been raging since late July 1914, and will continue until November 1918; American forces have yet to arrive in Western Europe (although the United States officially declared war on Germany on this very day).
German forces have unexpectedly pulled back overnight, encouraging the Allies to mount an offensive and follow. But aerial photos have revealed this to be a ruse; the Germans have feigned this retreat to the Hindenburg Line, in order to ambush the pursuing Devonshire Regiment’s 1,600-man 2nd Battalion.
Processing this from miles away, the 8th Battalion’s Gen. Erinmore (Colin Firth, in a brief appearance) realizes the result will be a slaughter. Phone lines are down; the only hope is to send messengers — on foot — through No Man’s Land and past the original German front, in order to alert the 2nd Battalion’s commanding officer, and call off the Allied attack … which is scheduled for the very next morning.
The mission falls to two young soldiers: Lance Cpl. Schofield (George MacKay, well remembered as the beleaguered eldest son in 2016’s Captain Fantastic) and Lance Cpl. Blake (Dean-Charles Chapman, a frequent face on HBO’s Game of Thrones). They have less than 24 hours to cover many dangerous miles.
Blake has an additional incentive: His older brother Joseph is a member of the 2nd Battalion.
After hastily grabbing only the weapons and supplies they can easily carry, Blake hurries the more wary Schofield along. The contrasting personalities are evident; Schofield already has seen grim warfare, and wonders aloud whether it would make more sense to wait until dark, when they’re less likely to be seen by the enemy soldiers he’s certain are waiting to ambush them.
Blake, obviously not battle-hardened, implicitly trusts that Gen. Erinmore hasn’t sent them on a suicide mission.
It’s not quite a Mutt ’n’ Jeff dynamic; these two are instinctive comrades, obviously determined to protect each other. But Chapman’s Blake is something of a gung-ho chatterbox, eager to talk about family and what-not, probably as a means of calming his nerves; MacKay’s Schofield keeps closer counsel, deflecting personal questions, having learned — the hard way — that it’s emotionally unwise to get to know the man next to him too well.
At about this point, mere minutes into the film, perceptive viewers will realize that Mendes and cinematographer Roger Deakins have orchestrated this plot-establishing preamble as a single tracking shot: from Blake and Schofield crossing the external Allied encampment, descending into the trenches and then Gen. Erinmore’s war room, and finally bulling their way past scores of muck-encrusted soldiers via the best route out of the trenches, and into No Man’s Land.
It’s not just this prologue. The entire film takes place as what seems a single tracking shot; at no time does the lens leave our young heroes. Deakins’ camera frequently retreats while Blake and Schofield stride toward it, never missing a line of naturalistic dialog; then the camera will pause and move to one side, allowing the two men to pass, subsequently following them from behind, as the action — and their conversation — proceeds uninterrupted.
Alfred Hitchcock experimented with this method in 1948’s Rope, limited to 10-minute takes (the length of a film camera magazine) stitched into a supposed single long sequence via “invisible” edits made against a hanging jacket, the back of a piece of furniture, and so forth. The result was interesting but clumsy, and rather distracting.
Technology has come a long way. Nothing done by Mendes, Deakins and editor Lee Smith feels the slightest bit contrived or artificial. Their efforts aren’t mere gimmick; the impact — regardless of your clocking the technique involved — is visceral. We feel part of the action, as if we’re striding, running, hiding and battling alongside these soldiers.
Because — rest assured — this becomes a true nightmare journey of the soul, replete with shocking tableaus and disturbing, even heartbreaking encounters on par with similarly powerful sequences from modern war epics such as Apocalypse Now, Full Metal Jacket and Saving Private Ryan.
Massive crowd scenes are flat-out stunning; Blake and Schofield’s initial trot through the Allied trenches is a masterpiece of editing, timing and choreography, not to mention the well-rehearsed behavior of hundreds of extras, and production designer Dennis Gassner’s grimly authentic setting. The ghastly, unsanitary, moment-by-moment yuckiness of trench deployment is conveyed quite persuasively.
But that’s merely the beginning. Our young heroes’ wary advance topside, skirting the barbed wire and long-abandoned bodies — men and horses — of No Man’s Land, gains even greater heart-stopping intensity from Thomas Newman’s impeccably applied orchestral score. Rarely have war’s horrors been suggested more effectively than during a ghastly incident taking place just after Schofield punctures one palm on barbed wire.
Quieter moments are almost poetic, particularly when Blake and Schofield stroll through the outlying cherry orchard of an abandoned farm, white blossoms slowly drifting through the breeze like snowflakes (an image that will recur later under decidedly different circumstances).
Later, the tableau becomes surreal as we enter the bombed-out village of Écoust-Saint-Mein. The now-nighttime setting is punctuated by raging fires that cast eerie shadows — Deakins truly shines here — amid buildings reduced to little more than rubble. Every dark corner could conceal a waiting German assassin.
Much as I’d love to sing the praises of many, many more sequences — particularly a climactic third-act sprint — doing so would spoil the suspense and surprise that Mendes and co-scripter Krysty Wilson-Cairns orchestrate so brilliantly. And so I shall not.
Although the film belongs to MacKay and Chapman, familiar faces appear in brief roles. Mark Strong is a welcome breath of compassion and intelligence as the captain of a passing British contingent; Nabhaan Rizwan exudes dignity as a Sikh private in that same group. Andrew Scott (Moriarty, in TV’s Sherlock) pops up early as the cynical, war-weary lieutenant who sees Blake and Schofield out of the Allied trenches.
And then there’s … but no, that also would be telling.
Everything comes together perfectly; this is bravura filmmaking on a truly epic scale. It’s also deeply personal; Mendes was inspired by anecdotes heard from his grandfather, who — as a 5-foot-4 lance corporal in the Great War — ran as a messenger from Allied post to post, concealed beneath the No Man’s Land mist that hung at roughly five and a half feet. (The mind doth boggle.)
That intimate connection is acknowledged when the screen finally darkens, and a pre-credits text block honors the late Alfred H. Mendes. By which point, we’re all exhausted and emotionally spent.
And very, very impressed.
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