Your Feature Spoiler Free Zone
Trigger Warnings: War, Gory Images, Death
Spoiler Free Zone: Fin
Director Sam Mendes’s 1917, co-written by Krysty Wilson-Cairns, was top of my list for Oscar contenders that I had to fit in before the big night. After squeezing it in merely days before, I was far from disappointed. Between mastery of the feigned two-shot experience, the entrancing score by legendary Thomas Newman, and the heartbreakingly honest story and symbolism, Mendes and Wilson-Cairns brought us a film that tragically emulates the definition of beauty in cinema.
Opening with a shot on Schofield napping under a tree, a brief moment of relaxation is casually interrupted by a potential mission. The beginning of the fake two-shot has already begun, yet without reading so much about it, one might have hardly noticed. It sinks so seamlessly into the tone of the film, despite being vital to the anticipatory pace of this story.
What is so fitting about the two-shot idea for this film is the suspense and empathy necessary to truly feel the peril of this journey. Cinema and filmmaking is an art that breathes empathy, but this two-shot experience carries us with the protagonists like few other films. It makes us part of the story, because should you blink, should you look away, you abandon your comrades in action. You’re right there with them, in what is so close to real time, you can’t help but sweat.
Now combine that with Newman’s once again genius score that gently walks the line between tense ambience and heart pounding drama, and you’ve got a damn good piece of anticipatory cinema.
Beyond the cinematography and music, you’ve got honest remarks on the brutality of war. One thing that stood out to me was the relationship between all the exhausted men. Throughout the entirety of the film, we see young, dirty, numb men who are constantly sharing with each other – offering and, more importantly, taking various gestures of small kindness. With scarce supplies and little hesitation. There is such a clear, yet silent, understanding amongst the men as to the allegiance between them. No one deserves the hardship any more, or the pleasure any less. Even when they’ve only just met.
There is a certain indescribable, unbreakable brotherhood that so beautifully arises amongst the blood, and what an elegant way to put such a thing. Such silent offers of peace prevail throughout the film, including between Schofield and Blake.
And as our story moves along, we begin to see the numbness these men have adopted after their intimate exposure to some of humanity’s greatest horrors. Even when the men see the planes chasing each other in the air, they happily watch like it’s some sort of dogfight. It’s only when they realize what the audiences has anticipated all along, that the planes are headed right for them, that the scale of the situation sinks in.
And in this scene, among others, we see these acts of “behind the scenes” heroics – and betrayals. Which absolutely includes Blake’s death. When that plane went down, nearly taking out all three of the men, Blake and Schofield took no hesitation in trying to rescue the enemy.
The only debate over a tragic fate was in putting him out of his misery. And in return, Blake was attacked and murdered. How can this be an act of war when they clearly wanted nothing more than to help him?
And this is when part of the truest commentary on war begins: some men, for a variety of reasons, live for this – or have come to. They will kill and torture because that has become their job, and humanity is for the weak. So, Blake, in his charisma, his optimism, his loyal, determined, brotherly mission, must face his final moments in the arms of a comrade, not knowing If his brother will soon reach a similar fate.
A shock in the first act of the film, that reminds us not only how brutal war is, but that this film isn’t going to gloss it over with sparkly, Hollywood sugar. And because we feel like we’re right there with them, more than ever, we can’t help but try to think of how to fix this, how to make it better. Surely, Blake can’t die so suddenly, and so quickly.
With the barn freshly burning behind them and a wedge of wood falling as Schofield looks up, I was so certain that he would use it to burn Blake’s wound closed, preventing any more bleeding, and he could be okay. Alas, no attempt was made, and his injuries were likely internal.
Seemingly out of nowhere, he is greeted by an entire division of men. While Schofield rides with this division, we further see the bond of these troops. This is also when Captain Smith warns Schofield of Colonel Mackenzie’s unmerciful ways – our first moment to process that there are people on “our side” who feel no different than the man who killed Blake. That, should we get there in time, we may not be able to stop the powers that be.
This leads us to a tense shoot off that feels impossible – arguably, too impossible. That said, this high stakes moment leads to a pivotal turnaround – the cut. Schofield is shot and it seems he should be dead. But with the marvelous sound mixing and the water dropping, we recognize that he is alive, and all we want is to wake up and find “our” bearings. Nighttime is here, hours have passed, and the audience grows disoriented. The camera moves through the building and out the window onto Schofield exiting into a city of flames. Using the darkness, beautifully strange lighting, and puddles, it feels as though we are in a strange dream as we desperately try to figure out what is happening – only all we can do is try to be patient and wait for his senses to come as we push through the madness, with no time to spare, having lost so much already. A truly stunning piece of cinema.
Soon enough, in an act of classic filmmaking suspense, the audience is let in on a little secret - a silhouette has just emerged amongst the flames. This leads to an intense action sequence and an endearing encounter with a civilian and infant.
The offering of milk for a baby is an important thing to note. While a small moment, this scene shows how impactful their actions can be. Blake has died, but already the steps they’ve taken have given others a chance to live. Everything that led to the collecting of milk; a baby’s coincidental chance for survival. The war, tragically, could still kill them. But at least starvation won’t. Not yet. It bought them time – which, if this story preaches anything, is of the utmost value.
By the time Schofield finds a moment of peace in the river, he nearly drowns himself from exhaustion. Cherry blossoms fall around him as an eloquent callback to a friend he’s only just lost. Such peace is soon interrupted by dead bodies, a brutal scene with a tedious piece of set/wardrobe design to remind us: war is not just for soldiers. We painstakingly watch Schofield climb over what can only be the bodies of civilians.
Then comes the sound design that may have won you your Oscar bet: the singing. An angelic voice seems to call out from the winds of the trees, and who’s to say if it’s real? We follow the voice through this Wonderland of sorts, only to find that Schofield isn’t the only soldier in need of a tranquil break. Stumbling through an unbothered division, Schofield rests among them – until finally realizing that holy shit! These are the guys! This is it! And it’s so close to too late, we can hardly breathe.
Now we must stop something that has already begun. It’s never been tenser. And then, the money shot arrives. Schofield puts everything on the line because, at this point, what choice does he have? And while I have nothing but praise for the choreography and improvisation in shooting this sprint, what I want to focus on is the meeting with Colonel McKenzie, because this moment brings it all home. Trauma can build up a wall to stop you from processing any more. McKenzie has no interest in calling the attack off until he has no choice, and even then, it’s as though he’s disappointed. “I was hoping today would be a good day.” As if a good day is sending your men into direct danger, to kill others. And yet, here’s where empathy gets the best of us. There’s validity in his numbness after such relentless intimacy with the stench of death. There is a loss of hope that prevails here, in knowing that no matter what choice we make today, people down the line are going to die. Whether it’s today, tomorrow, or a week from now. It will happen. And it will be the only way to end this hell.
But we’ve learned something else from our journey: that each life saved, even if temporarily, can make a difference in saving many more lives. Perhaps the many men saved in this mission will go on to do something miraculous, even after the war. Where the unfortunate genius of this short storyline shines, however, is in the impending reminder that this is but a brief glimpse into their battles.
What follows soon after is not relief, but a desperate search for Blake’s brother. And the beauty in this? The search for Blake’s brother is almost as tense as the previous mission – but only almost.
The brief encounter between the two soldiers brings both relief and dread. An understanding is shared between two strangers once more, though on a much deeper level. Schofield is offered food and medical help, but all he wants is rest. And this is the moment in which we truly understand: this was only the smallest of peaks into this man’s life.
Schofield finds himself under a tree once more, as we see photos of his family – a family that we had no idea he had. And then, finally, we mirror the opening. We have no idea what this man went through before we met him merely hours ago, and we have no idea what he will go through now. Maybe this journey was nothing compared to the last, maybe it was far bigger than anything he will ever experience again. We will never know. And that is the unspoken tragedy of war. Names on a memorial, are often only ever names on a memorial for many of us. Some stories are even buried with the soldiers – whether during the war, or years later. But each and every one of them was real, heartbreaking, and made a difference in the lives of many.
1917 Photos from IMDb
1917 Cinematography by Roger Deakins
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