1917

I went to see the Sam Mendes film, 1917, this evening. And I confess that this picture of the chippy on the way home was only to allow me to write what comes next.

Spoiler alert - if you haven't seen 1917 and intend to, go away now.

Oh deary me. I really tried to like it, to give it the benefit of any doubt, but it just wouldn't let me. I admired the Paul Nash blasted-tree landscapes at the beginning, I kept going through the rats and the inadvertent-hands-in-rotting-corpses, not quite as repelled as I felt I was expected to be, until we got to the death-of-hero-1 scene. Well done, you valiant and principled Brits for trying to rescue the dastardly shot-down German. What jolly rotten luck that his sense of morality and human empathy wasn't as refined as yours.

Onwards, through the token Sikh and our exhausted hero-2 somehow urging on fellow soldiers to push a truck out of the mud (fighting fit, no matter that he'd been buried under falling rocks and blinded by dust a scene or two ago), onwards to the dramatically blazing town. Here we entered video-game territory. I claim no expertise but I remember watching, over the shoulders of teenage lads fifteen-odd years ago, snipers in burning ruins, guns blazing, evading death time after unlikely time. I tried not to giggle but I'm sure my eyebrows moved upwards. Then the token female, caring as all females should, for an abandoned baby in the Rembrandt-light of the fire. Would there be romance? No, leave that in the wistfulness of the beholder; duty wins. 

Then the flailing tumble into the turbulent river. Here we seemed to enter Mario territory but perhaps I just don't know my video games well enough. Now, I myself have been caught by whitewater, wearing a lifejacket, not a full, heavy British army uniform, and I know how terrifying it is to be dragged under. I know what it is like to be sure you are going to drown. Hero 2's ordeal lasted considerably longer than mine, and he was capable afterwards of climbing through rotting corpses to the Devon soldiers and join their circle time. Yes he'd lost his gun and countless other soldierly accoutrements but he was, miraculously, dry. Then, once he'd been told where he was, he was capable of running at full pelt through the trenches to the commander. Who, of course initially dismissed his message (keep that tension going) until he read the words of an equivalent upper-class soldier and (apart from some dust-and-smoke-killed foot soldiers - can't let a dramatic piece of cinematography escape) the day was saved. Around this time I spotted the token black man, but I can't quite remember the context. But good work, Sam, on recognising that not everyone who fought for the empire was white, and for offering acting jobs to a couple of non-white men.

And, despite all, I have to admire the 'continuous' filming. That was impressive and made for good watching when the clichés became too much. The gradually paling face of Hero 1 bleeding to death was impressive too: a bit of post-filming computer-work, I assume.

Then to the pub to debrief. I was relieved that my film companion felt as I did, despite the Rotten Tomatoes rating of 89%.