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academy award nominees reviews

1917

War movies are rarely at the top of my “to-watch” list. I loved Dunkirk, but I struggle to think of another film about war that I’d include in a list of my favorites. Yes, these films capture real experiences that have changed thousands of lives, but I don’t love immersing myself in the horror of war and calling it entertainment. As a result, I almost skipped 1917–but I’m glad I didn’t.

Discussions about 1917 have centered on the “one-shot” cinematography, with some hailing it as the greatest technical achievement of the year and others deriding it as a gimmick that attempts to mask the film’s other weaknesses. I fall squarely in the former camp. Many modern action films are dominated by quick cuts and dozens of sliced-together angles, so it’s refreshing to be able to follow the characters so clearly and to be so fully immersed in each scene that it feels like we’re living it. Roger Deakins always produces glorious images, even when the story he’s capturing is subpar, but his work here is stellar. The stunning images of Schofield running through the burning village of Écoust, lit only by the flames and the flare of falling bombs, feel like they were crafted by a magician. I don’t fully understand how the production team was able to create these incredible long takes–and I refuse to watch any behind-the-scenes documentaries that will reveal the mechanism behind the magic. 

Setting aside the technical achievement and the immense work that must have gone into choreographing each shot, the one-take style beautifully supports the story Sam Mendes is telling. It allows us to experience the world of the film from the main characters’ perspective: we only get to see what they see, as if we were reading a book written from a first-person point of view. With them, we wonder what lies over the next hill, if the brother we’re searching for is still alive, if the enemy has already won and we just haven’t heard. It’s a uniquely isolating and often overwhelming view of war, never relieved by another storyline or even another angle of the events taking place. We can’t escape the horrors right in front of us, no matter how much we may wish to.

As it shows us the misery of World War I, 1917 is more interested in the experience and emotions of its characters than in the military tactics of the opposing sides. It captures the hopelessness of soldiers unsure if their actions will make any difference in the larger war, the numb despair that sets in after watching countless comrades die before their eyes, the inability to escape from the destruction that has ravaged every inch of the countryside. And, most importantly, it helps us see the courage and perseverance of the young soldiers at the center of the film. Under great pressure, facing a seemingly insurmountable task, confronted with the fallibility of their leaders, and growing in their understanding of the enemy’s ability, they refuse to turn back. When Blake dies, it would have been easy for Schofield to abandon the mission he’d never wanted to undertake, that had nearly killed him already. But instead he plunges on, accepting help when he can and bravely walking forward alone when he must. Though his mission is often solitary, Schofield is always propelled forward by his commitments to others–to Blake’s brother and to the family at home for whom he must survive. He looks outward, rather than focusing on his own suffering, and finds the strength to keep pressing forward.

Exhausted, wounded, wet, hungry, and nearly at the end of his strength, Schofield finally stumbles into what seems like heaven. He hears an old folk song echoing through the trees, well-worn lyrics that could have been written to describe his own experience: “I’m just a poor, wayfaring stranger traveling through this world of woe.” For the first time, though, the song helps us see beyond the misery of Schofield’s journey to the goal that drives him: “There is no sickness, toil, nor danger in that bright land to which I go. I’m going there to see my father, and all my loved ones who’ve gone on. I’m only going over Jordan, I’m only going over home.” In the midst of danger, pain, and loss, these words give us a glimpse of the beauty and rest that await. And finally, after accomplishing his mission and finding Blake’s brother to give him what comfort he can from his own broken heart, Schofield gets to experience that rest for a moment. In a moment that poignantly echoes the opening shot of the film, he leans back against a broad tree trunk to look at the photo of his family that he’s carried safely through danger. He’s not home yet, but he has accomplished his mission and come one step closer to seeing them again.

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academy award nominees reviews

little women

Growing up, I probably read Little Women more than any other book; every time I didn’t know what to read, I picked it up again. As the oldest of nine girls, it was easy for me to relate to the March sisters and the challenges they faced. I saw pieces of myself in Jo, especially as I got older and realized that I could express myself best through writing. My sisters and I quote the 1994 film constantly, and it inspired two of them to include “For the Beauty of the Earth” in their weddings. So, though I was thrilled to see a new adaptation of this precious story, I was also worried that it wouldn’t do justice to the characters I love.

But oh, what a treasure Greta Gerwig has given us! It is so evident that she cares about these characters as much as I do and that she sought to honor the book in every creative decision she made. She and the incredible cast bring the March family to life in a new way, tying the sisters’ childhood to their adult life as no one else has, without ever straying from the soul of Alcott’s book. Just as I hoped, we get the chance to watch these four sisters laugh and stumble and grow as they learn to love each other and the people around them. 

Gerwig understands that the March sisters are the heart of this story, always pointing us back to them. The film is told from Jo’s perspective, but Gerwig refuses to depict any of the sisters as one-dimensional caricatures. Instead, she helps us understand the thoughts and desires that make each of them unique, and we love each sister more as we get to know her better.

Meg gets the least screen time and could easily have been overlooked, but instead we get to see her skill as an actress, her struggle for contentment, and how she sacrifices some dreams in order to pursue what’s most important to her. When Jo doesn’t understand her choice to give up the possibility of fame as an actress in order to marry a poor tutor, Meg gets the chance to explain. She tells Jo, “Just because my dreams are different doesn’t mean they’re less important.” Through Meg, Gerwig helps us see that others may not see the value in our dreams, but that they can still be vitally, deeply important.

Beth has often been defined by her shyness in previous adaptations, loved by her family despite this all-encompassing flaw. Here, though, we get to see the wit and charm that are so endearing to the privileged few who have earned her trust. As invisible members of Beth’s inner circle, we get to smile as she feeds her dolls, talks to horses, and proclaims that purple is the best color for eyes. These quirks make Beth a real person, not merely a suffering angel, and they make us love her more–and make her death a far more painful tragedy.

Amy is beautifully transformed. We see the childhood vanity and impulsiveness that have dominated previous portrayals, but we also witness her confidence, the way she chases her dreams of being an artist, and how she’s hurt by her exclusion from her older sisters’ plans. We understand the weight placed on her shoulders by Aunt March’s declaration that the March family’s future depends on Amy’s advantageous marriage. This scene casts Amy’s later choices in a new light: her mercenary, calculated pursuit of Fred Vaughan suddenly becomes the only way she sees to support her family. And when she finally finds happiness with Laurie, Gerwig shows us how Amy is so desperately worried that choosing love would tear her family apart. When I’m tempted to grumble with Jo that Amy always avoids the hard parts of life, Gerwig reminds me that though Amy’s hardships might look different, they are just as real as others’.

And, of course, we get to see Jo through new eyes. Saoirse Ronan’s exquisite embodiment of Jo captures the tomboy who jumps over fences and scorches her skirts, but it doesn’t stop there. We watch her struggle with the burdens of poverty, wanting to support her family and especially to care for Beth when she’s sick–and see her crumble when the work she’s poured her life into can’t save her sister. We see her grow from a girl who easily gives in to anger to become a woman who has learned to control her temper, and watch her bond with her mother grow as they fight their battles together. We feel her loneliness, her struggle to balance the desire to be loved with the pursuit of artistic success. And, in one of the most moving scenes of the film, we see how she is utterly shattered when Laurie chooses Amy. We suffer with her in that moment, and watch in awe as she chooses to set aside her fantasy of a future with Laurie to support and accept their love even when it feels like it’s costing her everything. And we finally (finally!) get to rejoice with her when doors open to a future better than she could have imagined. More than ever before, we get to see Jo as a full person, shaped but not defined by her choices as a girl and by the memories she carries with her. It’s devastating and beautiful, and I’m so grateful.

I could go on about the exquisite moments that make up this film–about the beautiful cinematography and the lovely costumes and Timothee Chalamet’s stunning, emotional portrayal of Laurie–but they’re never the point of Little Women. At its heart, this film is always about the March sisters’ love for each other, and how that love expands to encompass the people around them. Their overflowing love even has room for us, letting us become a part of their family, if only for two hours. We share so many beautiful moments of exuberant joy with the Marches: Laurie and Jo dancing on the night they meet, all the sisters and their friends running together in the sunshine on the beach, the overflowing laughter when they induct Laurie into their club. And even as those gleeful moments are tempered by maturity, and as Beth’s death sobers the family, we still get to see joy. It’s just a new kind–a family together, listening to beautiful music, doing Jo’s hair and helping her go after the man she loves, coming together to teach and laugh and celebrate and go on loving. What a beautiful world we get to witness and to share. It’s captured my heart, and I can’t wait to rejoin these characters again and again.