‘Dunkirk’ a cinematic triumph

It is no exaggeration to say that, if the 350,000 soldiers evacuated from the beaches of Dunkirk - in France, in late May of 1940 - had instead been killed or captured by the German forces that all but surrounded them, the Western World might easily have fallen to Hitler. The Americans had not yet entered the war. All that held back the German army were the Brits, the French, Belgians and the Dutch, and those last three were about to see their countries invaded. If those hundreds of thousands of soldiers – the vast majority of what England had to offer - were removed from the chessboard, what chance had England of avoiding their fate?

And after that, the rest of the world?

This is the historical set-up for Christopher Nolan’s “Dunkirk,” that rarest of cinematic anomalies: a non-comic book blockbuster (number one at the box-office last weekend) that is as much an art film as it is a summertime hit packed with explosions. In this one, though, those bombs bursting in air are more than just entertainment and visceral excitement.

In this one, every bomb matters. Every bomb hurts.

Because with each explosion, with every bullet, every fallen soldier and falling plane, the stakes grown exponentially higher. That “Dunkirk” is a story about an evacuation - in other words, a massive military retreat - instead of a rousing offensive success (which is what 97 percent of all war movies ultimately are), makes Nolan’s masterpiece no less moving, intense, or satisfying. Somehow, that it’s a movie about men sitting around hoping to be saved (“Waiting for Godot,” but with the threat of imminent death), makes it all the more thrilling.

It’s not, ultimately, a film about heroics, or killing, or conquering.

“Dunkirk” is about surviving.

Many films have tried to present survival as the only true glory of war. “Dunkirk” actually succeeds. It does so by putting us right in the shoes and the cockpits and the tiny ocean-tossed boats of unexceptional men, all desperate to survive at all costs, occasionally (almost impulsively) willing to risk their lives to save others, while clearly showing us the utter randomness of the battles that kill some and spare others.

The film, told as three overlapping narratives, begins on the ground, as a young English soldier (Fionn Whitehead) is permanently separated from his regiment (they are all killed by snipers in a matter of seconds). For the rest of the film, he wanders about, sometimes joining with other lost men, as hundreds of thousands of others line-up on the beach waiting for rescue. Occasionally, German planes strife the beach, or drop bombs on the massive carriers attempting to reach the men and take them to freedom. It’s a living nightmare, and for all its seriousness, there is a comic absurdity to it as well.

In another narrative, beginning in England, a soft-spoken civilian (Mark Rylance) - who just happens to own a boat - decides not to hand his vessel over to the military, instead heading out across the English Channel, with his son and a local boy, to try and reach Dunkirk and bring back as many stranded men as his boat will carry. The other takes place in the air, as a pilot (Tom Hardy) attempts to protect the vessels on the ocean from the persistent bombs and bullets of enemy aircraft.

The way these stories overlap, repeat themselves from different vantage points, intersect and separate, is the “artsy” part of Nolan’s storytelling. But it works, giving a strong sense of how one person’s actions, or inactions, can affect the outcome of countless other actions.

There are so many extraordinary things about “Dunkirk,” it is difficult to give a full account. One of the most surprising, for a war movie in which the tension is nearly unbearably relentless for the films entire 1 hour-45-minute run time, is the film’s lack of blood. People die, dropped by bullets, blown through the air by bombs, drowned in the hulls of sinking ships. But except for one devastating head wound - still supremely benign, compared to films like last year’s war-porn epic “Hacksaw Ridge” - there is almost no actual blood in “Dunkirk.”

And it’s still one of the most nerve-wracking war films ever made.

Because through all of Nolan’s cinematic genius and massive set-pieces and bravura tracking shots and coordinated fighting on land, sea and air, this remains a remarkably humane film. One of its most powerful and shocking moments isn’t even a violent one. It’s a simple act of kindness shown to a shell-shocked soldier (Cillian Murphy) who arguably, because of his own actions, does not particularly deserve kindness at that specific moment.

It’s a beautiful moment, and reminder that surviving, in the end, is not really the only glory of war. It’s surviving with one’s humanity and kindness still intact. To accomplish that, as “Dunkirk” shows us from numerous heart-stopping perspectives, is truly and surely the most heroic act possible at a time when human life becomes cheap, expendable, and short.

(Contact David at david.templeton@arguscourier.com)