Review: "1917" Explodes with Brilliant Ingenuity

Scene from 1917 (2019)

Over the past 100 years, there hasn't been a filmmaker that understood the immersive, claustrophobic experience of being placed into trench warfare quite like director Sam Mendes. Audiences have likely spent hours inside these narrow rows of safety, but not quite like 1917. A masterclass in the film could be taught in the first 10 minutes of this film, showing the navigation of two soldiers through these endless, winding passages as they pass around soldiers on their way to combat. What starts at ground level slowly drops the audience further into the trenches until all peripherals are surrounded by soldiers and dirt. Even with this, there is a sense of geography that could be followed. It's a story through action, and one that slowly unveils details in casual asides, presenting a vision of World War I that is sparing in the conventional plot in favor of an immersive experience.

Part of that immersive experience is owed to Mendes' desire to shoot the entire film in the gimmicky long take. The audience is a third party to Lance Corporals Blake (Dean-Charles Chapman) and Schofield (George Mackay), experiencing the same winding paths that they do as they deliver a message from base to a distant party, walking through no man's land and various other obstacles in a quest to prevent further war. It's one thing if that was the story, but Mendes insists on presenting constant obstacles on some of the most breathtaking set designs of the century, once again slowly placing the viewer into a world so large that they too will become exhausted by the time that Blake and Schofield have walked miles through an eerie quietness, still fearing the gunfire of enemy soldiers. It's easily among the best WWI movies in that it recreates the harrowing experience better than any comparable film, and it does so with a visual accomplishment that's even more of a bragging right. For what 1917 lacks in great storytelling, it makes up for in overall scale and atmosphere. 

One of the most fascinating things about 1917 is how masterful every moment is composed. Beyond the ongoing action, Mendes has crafted a film meant to embody the power of a long take, forcing the viewer to meditate on a moment and feel the expansiveness of the universe these characters inhabit. To watch them walk through the trenches is to see a bustling economy of figures, all purposely placed. To see the no man's land is to see a field that is convincingly staged to look like a half-dozen wars have happened, with corpses of horses and soldier's ligaments scattered everywhere. This is a world that has been seen in WWI cinema before, but not quite like this. Usually, there's an edit to allow the viewer a moment to look away, for an actor to rest and prepare for the next heart-racing scene. Mendes doesn't want that. He wants the scenery to entice the viewers, every footstep to feel like your ankle is growing sore, and wonder as to how a camera could even shoot that long of a distance.

With exception to one blatant edit, Mendes commits to the bit beautifully and in the process calls on cinematographer Roger Deakins to turn a war zone into a work of art. Nowhere is it more beautiful than when shooting fields, abandoned and destroyed, underneath magnificent lighting. Time and again, Deakins turns war into a portrait of beautiful violence, capturing a sense of how the world could recover as humanity dies. There are tender moments of beauty throughout, but it's the claustrophobic ones that Mendes and Deakins capture so expertly that it feels like Mendes bought a small European country and molded it just for this film. Every clod of dirt feels intentionally placed and every corpse feels like it has been lying there for weeks. By the time that the night scenes come, Deakins has all but clinched his Oscar, with violent lights clashing with beautiful architecture, again creating rich tapestries of war only made more impressive by the feeling that the camera cannot pull away. There is no moment to manipulate with a reshoot. This is go time.

Along with these two masters of the film is composer Thomas Newman. If Mendes is the brains and Deakins is the eyes, then Newman is the heart. This film would fail to beat as overwhelmingly as it does without the score pounding through the scenes like a beautiful song echoing through the canyons. In moments of peril, it recalls the manic tension of Hans Zimmer's Dunkirk, ticking away as the soldiers find their own way to survive. The music is atmospheric, tight, and chokes the sound design that comes from uncertain distances and doom, asking audiences to be just as alert. When the film is meditative, it recalls John Williams' Saving Private Ryan, capturing a sweeping beauty of peace, finding humanity in figures just trying to do their jobs. It's a powerful score and one that expertly comes and goes based on how tense the scene winds up being. WWI has never sounded this magnificently balanced before, finding the terror with the peace in every last beautiful note.

The film works like a miracle because of its long-take format, in some ways asking the audience to guess how Mendes pulled it off. Unlike Birdman, the seams feel less obvious this time around, and that makes some moments all the more incredible. Whether it's finding a way to fit the camera into the back of a jeep or follow a soldier through a mine that's caving in, it all feels so challenging in the most thrilling of ways. The uncertainty becomes richer when second-act plot twists prove how dangerous war is and that these characters are as prone to risk as anyone else. It's a curious affair because this is a maze that Mendes has crafted from the ground up, finding a way to fit a camera into every crevice and light areas with different textures so effortlessly that this feels like more than cinema. It's an immersive experience that takes a lot of energy to pull off, and he thankfully does it so perfectly that it becomes effective. The long-take creates a sense of immersion that is hard to duplicate in quick cuts, and as a result, makes the film all the more powerful.

It should be noted that the cast is just as brilliant as the technical team who made the film pop with life. Special credit should be given to Chapman and Mackay, who serves as the grunts in the film and thus have the hardest work to do. Not only do they have to memorize lines, but they have to do so while crossing large terrains, falling into rivers, and running from explosions. There is a need to be focused and downright buff to pull off a performance like this, and Mackay deserves some medal for being the most convincing. By the end, there is a sense that he is as weary, muscles sore and exasperated as his character. This has been a journey trekking across massive landscapes and facing such insane peril that Mendes' ability to focus on the humanity in these two characters especially makes everything stronger. For the first time, a camera isn't just showing what a lowly soldier does, it's creating how he feels as well, especially when faced with such disgusting and disturbing obstacles. 

1917 feels like it was created to illuminate the sense of being in WWI. In that respect, it was a rather powerful experience. For what the story lacks in complexity and memorable dialogue, it makes up for in its aesthetic. This is an atmospheric film that uses a long-take to convey struggle and monotony in ways that are essential to understanding the plight of war. Everything about the film feels so meticulously placed that one can't help but want to pause the film at any one moment and get a masterclass in how to compose a shot as detailed and beautiful as that. This is a miracle of a film and one that overwhelms with power. For the first time, the audience is doing more than seeing what trench warfare is like. They're dropping themselves into it, passing by colleagues on the way to receive their mission. Mendes has made war feel interactive and human in ways that no other filmmaker has, and in the process created the perfect tribute to a war often overlooked.