1917: a modern masterpiece of the war genre

SPOILERS AHEAD

Sam Mendes's war epic has all the makings of an excellent film: a fantastic cast, an excellent script, an accomplished director, a legendary cinematographer, and a beautiful soundtrack. It won 7 BAFTAs, 3 Oscars, and 2 Golden Globes, among other awards. It is also, incidentally, one of my favourite films ever.

1917 was recently released on Amazon Prime Video, so I took the opportunity to watch it for a third time. It was still as stunning as it was the first twice - and yes, I did cry (again). Since it is one of my favourite films, and this blog didn't exist when it was released in cinemas, I decided now was the time to give it a proper review. If you haven't watched 1917 yet - go and do so right now. It is, in my humble opinion, a masterpiece. I know it has some mixed reviews concerning the cast and the content, but for me it is an affective, engaging story told through some of the most genius, beautiful cinematography I've ever seen.

Our story begins with Lance Corporals Thomas Blake and William Schofield, played by Dean Charles-Chapman and George Mackay, respectively. Interestingly enough, Mendes chose two fairly unknown actors for the main roles, relegating the better known actors to supporting cameos. The film has been criticised for all of these cameos, with some critics claiming that they were waiting for the next famous face to show up rather than focusing on the story. Personally, I believe this says far more about them than the film itself. I like the fact that the main actors are relatively unknown; unless you are an avid fan of theirs, you won't likely associate them with any other roles on sight. Thus, you are drawn into the story and their characters, without associating them with their back-catalogue. It is nice to see actors that aren't necessarily 'famous' being given leading roles and carrying the film; they both give exceptional performances and are deserving of great praise. As for the cameos, I think they're a nice touch. They bolster the main actors rather than overshadowing them, and add a greater depth and dimension to the film. Everyone involved is extremely talented, bringing grace to their deserved roles. Thus, I don't think criticising the film on the basis of the cast is a particularly solid argument.

Blake and Schofield are sent on an important mission; to deliver a letter to the Second Devons to call off a doomed offensive attack. The stakes are particularly high considering Blake's older brother is a Lieutenant with the Devons. Tensions are running high from the moment the pair set off; Blake's nerves are apparent, especially in contrast with Schofield's level-headedness. Throughout the film, Blake and Schofield are presented almost as antitheses to one another; Blake's innocence and youth versus Schofield's cynicism and experience. The original screenplay confirms that there is only a few years between them (Blake is 19, Schofield is in his early 20s), but their backgrounds seem to differ. Not only that, but Schofield is a veteran of the Somme, so has a wealth of experience over Blake. This is exemplified as the pair prepare to head out into No Man's Land; Schofield goes first, with a quip of "Age before beauty." as he goes. Despite the differences between the pair, they are clearly good friends and care a lot about one another, a fact that becomes apparent later in the film.

Thus begins a sequence in which the pair travel through No Man's Land, towards the abandoned German front line. This scene is extremely tense, and is beautifully soundtracked by a piece titled 'Gehenna'. This is likely in reference to the Kipling poem 'The Winners', quoted earlier by Lieutenant Leslie (played by Andrew Scott): "Down to Gehenna or up to the throne, he travels the fastest who travels alone." Gehenna is believed to be a realm of the afterlife, often akin to Hell. Thus, by using the poem in reference to the journey through No Man's Land and by soundtracking said journey with a piece titled 'Gehenna', the implication is that this mission will be hellish. No Man's Land is Hell, and it is the first of many hurdles for Blake and Schofield. The aforementioned quote is also perhaps foreshadowing of Blake's demise, resulting in Schofield's lone progression.

'Gehenna' is one of the most beautiful pieces from the soundtrack, composed by Thomas Newman. Hildur Guðnadóttir absolutely deserved the Oscar for Joker's score, but Newman came close second in my opinion. 'Gehenna' in particular is exceptional at creating and sustaining tension with the way it rises to a crescendo then drops off suddenly as Blake and Schofield crest the German front line.

Blake and Schofield explore the front line, coming across a dormitory with tins of food that they hasten to take. An unfortunate run in with a rat, however, cuts their exploration short when a trip wire is activated and part of the barrack collapses. Blake is safe, but Schofield ends up buried beneath piles of rubble. In a display of companionship and humanity, Blake hauls Scho out of the rubble and guides him out of the barrack. Scho is blinded by dust and is, by this point, quite understandably irritated. Not only was he buried in the barrack but he cut his hand on barbed wire as they were crossing No Man's Land, and - accidentally - stuck said wounded hand through the rotting torso of a dead German. So, he's not exactly pleased to be on this mission, nor is he pleased with Blake for picking him.

Scho, for all his displeasure, doesn't hold a grudge against Blake for long. They continue on their journey, and Blake tells the story of another man in their regiment, Wilcox, whose ear was chewed off by a rat. This story - and the accompanying laughter - offers some levity in what is otherwise a heavy situation. Not only that, but it gives a sense of the camaraderie that exists among soldiers in war, and is suggestive of a humanity that is often forgotten. Blake is overwhelmingly human; he is shown to be sensitive, caring, and trusting. He is also the character with the most backstory, as is expanded upon when the pair come to an abandoned farmhouse.

The farmhouse has - or had - an orchard outside, which the pair walk through on their way to the house. It is filled with cherry blossom trees, which have been chopped down. As they travel through the blossoms, Blake shares his knowledge of the trees and the fruits they will bear. His mother has her own orchard, and he and his brother would pick the cherries from the trees together. This little piece of backstory, however insignificant, creates a further emotional connection between us and Blake, one that doesn't quite exist with Schofield yet. Speaking of Schofield, he is uncomfortable at the farmhouse, telling Blake: "I don't like this place." His words and his discomfort foreshadow what will happen there within the next few minutes.

There is a dogfight, between two British planes and a German one. The Brits are victorious, sending the German plane crashing into the barn attached to the farmhouse. It goes up in flames, and Blake and Scho pull the pilot from the wreckage. Scho wishes to put the pilot out of his misery - he is badly burned - but Blake refuses, deciding they should get him water first. It is this misplaced trust and empathy that will be Blake's undoing: the German pilot stabs him while Scho's back is turned.

Scho deals with the pilot swiftly - two shots and he is dead - before rushing to Blake's side. They are both quite clearly terrified, Blake more so than Scho. The following scene is heartbreaking; Blake's pain is so visceral and affecting. He deteriorates fairly quickly, given the amount of blood that he is losing, and dies in Scho's arms with their hands entwined. It is horrifically sad; Charles-Chapman and Mackay do an excellent job in this scene in portraying pain, fear, and quiet grief. What appears on screen, though heartbreaking, is beautiful, as is what is written. The original screenplay is available online, and I have read it a few times. This scene in particular has one of my favourite lines, despite how sad it is:

Schofield heaves Blake’s torso up - the endeavour entirely different now Blake is dead. Nothing is heavier than the dead body of someone you loved.

There is a comparison to be drawn between the way that Schofield tries to lift Blake, with the way that Blake pulled him out of the rubble previously. Both trying to sustain the life of the other - one in success, the other in vain. This scene is accompanied by music that stops with Blake's breath; another layered indication that he is dead. Schofield is viscerally affected; his desperation is written all across his face as he tries to drag Blake's body to the grass. He can't take Blake's body with him, he must be left behind; unburied, his story unfinished.

Another regiment arrive at the farmhouse, and two Privates help Scho carry Blake's body to a relatively better location. Scho himself is then approached by Captain Smith (Mark Strong), and told that he can ride in their trucks as far as Ecoust. Ecoust is an abandoned town not far from where the Second Devons are; a key point on Scho's journey. He gets into the truck with a group of chattering soldiers, but he does not engage with them. The screenplay puts it beautifully:

The men are getting rowdier. We watch Schofield as they grate on his quiet grief.

His expression is closed off and impassive, but we can tell that more lies beneath. A grief that he cannot even begin to express is palpable as Schofield turns to look at the farmhouse, Blake's body abandoned in the backyard with that of the German pilot that killed him. It weighs heavily on Schofield, expressed through his newfound determination to complete the mission. He has to make it - for Blake.

Scho makes it to Ecoust, and has a run in with a sniper which results in him losing consciousness for a while. When he wakes, darkness has fallen. Ecoust is ruined, possessed by the Germans, and at this moment lit up with flares. It is eerily beautiful, especially when overlaid with Newman's stunning piece titled 'The Night Window'.

Scho stumbles out of the building that he has spent the last few hours unconscious in and begins to navigate through the ruins, which act as a sort of maze. This sequence is almost dreamlike, as though Scho has died and woken up in an entirely new world. He is pursued relentlessly by Germans that catch sight of him when Ecoust is lit up by the flares. There is one particular moment where Scho comes to a burning building, in an empty courtyard. A figure begins to approach him, backlit by the flames. Scho cannot tell whether he is friend or foe, so begins to approach. He soon realises, however, that this man is the latter, and is once again pursued through the labyrinth of ruins.

He eventually ducks into a coal cellar, where he finds a small room lit by candles. It is there that he finds Lauri, a young Frenchwoman looking after a baby that is not her own. This scene is quiet and contemplative; here we see the toll that Scho's journey has taken on him thus far, both physically and mentally. He is exhausted, and the back of his head is bloodied from his earlier encounter with the sniper. He is allowed a moment of respite; he rests, albeit momentarily, and talks with Lauri in a stilted mixture of French and English. He gives her all of his supplies for herself and the baby, and even rhymes off a poem - 'The Jumblies' - in a calm, practiced manner. His familiarity with the child suggests that he has done this before; perhaps he has children of his own? We know little about Schofield, despite the fact that we have spent the entire film with him thus far. This scene shows us how human he is. Not only that, but his recital of 'The Jumblies' is the most he has spoken at one time thus far. He is a contemplative character; his expressions often say more than he does, and George Mackay plays him with such quiet grace and elegance.

Schofield cannot stay with Lauri and the baby long, and he is soon on his way. He is once again pursued through Ecoust, racing through the ruins and away from relentless gunfire. This is one of many instances in which I take my hat off to Roger Deakins, the crew behind the camera, and the editor(s); it must have been extremely difficult to keep the pace fluid and consistent, while also making it seem like a one-shot scene. Especially here, when Schofield is moving so quickly through the maze-like ruins.

Eventually - finally - Scho escapes to the river, which Lauri told him will carry him to the forest. He is swept away, relinquishing control to the water. It carries him along until the momentum finally slows, and Scho is clearly exhausted. He floats along on his back, eventually floating through a section of river that is littered with cherry blossom petals. These give him a stark reminder of the other time he has seen such things, and who he saw them with - Blake. Scho's emotion is clear, and when he makes it onto the river bank he breaks down and cries:

He drags himself across the grass, and collapses to his knees. He cries. Big racking sobs - for the river, for life, for Blake, for the baby.

Scho's harried journey through Ecoust and down the river is undercut by the scene that follows; one in which a young soldier stands amid his comrades and sings a song before they head to the front line. The song in particular is 'The Wayfaring Stranger', sung beautifully by Jos Slovick. It is haunting and sad, but also offers a quiet moment of introspection, and a chance for Schofield to rest.

He cannot rest for long, however. These are the Devons. They are the second wave; the first are preparing to go over the top. Scho then makes a harried, frenzied journey down the line, peppered with aerial shots that show how long the trench is, and just how many soldiers are in Scho's way. It seems as though he won't make it in time; everyone is preparing to go over, and Scho can't find Colonel Mackenzie. At this point, we've followed Scho through so much, and we need him to succeed. For himself, for Blake, for the 1600 men about to be sent to their deaths.

Scho makes the decision to go over the top and to run down the field parallel to the trench. This scene is extremely powerful; Schofield runs through crowds of soldiers as the first wave are sent over. He crashes into a few of them (one of these collisions is actually accidental - the extra that Mackay hits doesn't get back up), falling but always stumbling to his feet again. He is backgrounded by explosions and injuries, but the determination on his face is clear. He will deliver the letter, no matter what, at whatever cost.

When he does finally reach Colonel Mackenzie, he is held back from being allowed to enter the dugout. Scho is emotional; he is screaming to be let through and fighting against the soldiers holding him back. At this point, I too was screaming for him to be let through. Like I said, we've come so far with him and we just need to see him succeed.

Finally, Scho gets through and is able to deliver the letter. Mackenzie (Benedict Cumberbatch) calls off the remainder of the attack, albeit begrudgingly, and Scho is able to save however many soldiers from a certain demise. He is praised for his delivery of the letter, but such praise clearly doesn't matter to him. As we've seen a few times, Schofield is cynical; he doesn't rely on validation, doesn't see the need for it. It is, in his eyes, empty. What does a medal matter in the grand scheme of things?

Scho heads through the trench towards the medical tent, his eyes flitting over everyone that he passes in search of Blake's brother, Joe. Blake had told him earlier that his brother is "like me...a bit older", so Scho analyses everyone for any similarity to his friend. The longer it takes, the more desperate he becomes: he has lost one Blake, he cannot lose both. Finally, however, he finds Joseph Blake (Richard Madden), and explains the situation to him. He relinquishes young Blake's rings that Scho had taken from his body, and he and Joe clearly have a mutual appreciation and respect for one another. Once that is handled, Schofield is able to finally get some rest; he sits against a lone tree in the middle of the field, bathed in sunlight, and closes his eyes. His position mirrors the one he is in at the start of the film, suggesting the cyclical, routine nature of war.

I'm sure it's quite obvious by now that I love everything about this film. It is so beautifully shot and put together; the one-shot construction is genius and extremely immersive, allowing us the chance to forge an emotional connection to our main characters. The screenplay is a joy to read; it is amazing to see how the words were brought to life on screen. I'd recommend reading it if you're interested - just google '1917 Screenplay' and you'll find it easily.

Have you seen 1917? What do you think? How do you think it holds up against 'classic' war films, such as Saving Private Ryan? Personally, I think it holds well due to its innovative cinematography and stellar cast. I'd love to know your thoughts, however, as I know there have been some mixed reviews. Don't be afraid to get in touch and let me know!