If it hadn’t been a movie, Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk could have been a painting in
the style of Picasso’s "Guernica" or Goya’s series of prints, "The Disasters of War." It’s also a triptych like Hieronymous Bosch’s The Garden of Earthly Delights, seeing
Dunkirk form the land, the sea and the air. Like a painting it works
sychronistically, giving more a simultaneous feel for the desperation of a
defeated army than introducing some kind of Hollywood style narrative where
dramatic snapshots lead to a romantic conclusion in which everything is tied
together is a neat catharsis. There’s no central character in Dunkirk, no Private Ryan if you will. There’s also something
Shakespearean about the whole set up. Seeing the soldiers on the beach at
Dunkirk, a recurring motif in the movie, is a little like Henry wandering in disguise amongst the knots of soldiers
on the field at Agincourt. Nolan moves effortlessly between high and lo, civilian (Mark Rylance) and
military (Kenneth Branagh). Actually the very first scene sets the tone. A young
British soldier is inundated by broadsides dropped by the Germans. He’s then fired upon.
His fellow soldiers die around him. The scene doesn’t skip a beat. It’s
the way tragedies happen, without explanation or hesitation. It’s similar to
what happens out at sea where in one of the films most unforgettable scenes the
water literally goes on fire. From the
beginning and despite all the action, the movie’s impressionistic style makes
you wonder when the plot is going to begin and that’s just the point. Churchill
famously asked to get back 30,000 men and got 300,000, a huge retreat that
turned into a victory.
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