1917 begins and ends at a tree. In the middle is war and death and hell; in the middle is also heroism and sacrifice and courage. Which wins? The latter one, the victorious one, the one that speaks of hope and a future.
But as one character says near the end: ‘Hope is a dangerous thing.’
Sam Mendes’ Oscar-winning 1917 is about the futility and fragility of hope in a fallen world, particularly in the midst of war. It follows – in the truest sense of the word – two soldiers for a few hours. They’re on a mission, passed down from above. They must get to Colonel Mackenzie, and they must tell him to halt a scheduled attack. And they must all this before it’s too late, before 1,600 soldiers’ lives are in jeopardy.
The story is straightforward, and you’ve probably heard how Mendes and his cinematographer, the inimitable Roger Deakins, elected to tell it. They employ long takes, or what’s called ‘oners’. What’s a ‘oner’? It’s when the camera doesn’t cut, when there are no edits – for several minutes, sometimes even for the entire movie.
1917 is comprised of long takes, giving the film the illusion that it’s all happening in real time. Forty-five minutes of real time equals 45 minutes of life for our characters. It’s immersive, even when it is occasionally ponderous. If you watch closely, you’ll notice a few times when the film actually does cut away, but these moments are intentionally inconspicuous. Furthermore, don’t be that guy who stares so intently at the seams that they fail to appreciate the tapestry.
This film-making choice is equal parts inspired and obtrusive. It’s inspired insofar as it grounds us in the real horror and slow-moving tediousness of war. It’s inspired insofar as it allows Deakins to exert his mastery over the craft; there are specific shots in this movie I will never forget because their patient build-up and execution work perfectly in concert. I’ve seen versions of 1917 that cut from drama to drama to drama. While these films might be more ‘exciting’, I remember nothing about them.
And yet the filmmaking is also obtrusive, insofar as it forced Mendes to make storytelling choices that are at odds with the patience and precision established in the film’s first half. I’m loathe to highlight them, but the greatest offender involves – spoiler alert? – a conveniently-situated waterfall.
In sum, 1917 left me with a heightened sense of ambivalence. It’s weighed down by the insistence to frame the events in ‘real time’. What begins as aesthetic simplicity eventually sacrifices too much, opening the door for one-too-many deus ex machinas.
But I’ve hardly seen a film with a clearer-eyed vision of not only the futility of war, but also the futility of hope for wartime heroes. It’s sobering, especially as a Christian, to reflect on this. I’ve not told you the main characters’ names – Will Schofield and Tom Blake – because both their names and their heroism are swallowed up in the horror of history.
As a Christian, I kept thinking about those trees – the ones of the beginning and the end of 1917. They signalled hope; they offered shade and solace for a mission accomplished … at least for now. But there’s a better tree – one that signals hope imperishable, one that offers shade for all the nations, one that is proof of a mission accomplished on behalf of war-torn men and women.
Possible questions for discussion with non-Christian friends
Would it even be right to call Schofield and Blake’s mission a ‘success’? Why, or why not?
How does 1917 view hope in the midst of war? How does this interact with the Christian world view’s understanding of hope?
1917
Director: Sam Mendes
Cert. 15 119 mins
