In early May and late June of 1940, hundreds of thousands of Allied soldiers became trapped on the beaches of Dunkirk, France, encircled by German forces. The tale of the harrowing evacuation across the English Channel—and the civilian “little boats” that helped make it possible—has been dramatized before, but the story has never been portrayed as it is in Christopher Nolan’s new film, Dunkirk. Indeed, the director’s latest feature is quite unlike any other war picture ever made.
Dunkirk is a recognizably Nolan-style film. It breathlessly cuts between subplots on the beach, on the open water, and in the air, compressing and dilating time in a way that recalls the director’s science fiction mind-bender Inception. This unconventional approach to structure and viewpoint is no gimmick, though. Nolan’s methods permit two outwardly contradictory perspectives to coexist. Dunkirk’s overarching vantage point is sweeping and multifaceted, illustrating how small flashes of heroism and luck added up to a seemingly miraculous evacuation. Yet moment to moment, the film is a chilling exercise in tunnel vision, in which all priorities fall away except pure animal survival.
Pointedly, the grime and uniforms on the Allied forces have an anonymizing effect on the characters. There are a few immediately recognizable faces, such as Kenneth Branagh as a naval officer and Tom Hardy as a Royal Air Force fighter pilot, but no backstories. Dunkirk isn’t about the drama of battle—the Germans are barely seen—but the raw terror of impending doom, as well as the uncanny relief of an improbable escape. It’s a story of pitiless water, sand, fire, oil, and steel. In this, it has more in common with thrillers like Gravity than other war features, but Nolan maintains a battlefield sensibility of mortal desolation. Dunkirk is not “entertaining” in the traditional sense, but it’s a unique, essential experience.
The film opens this Friday, July 21, in wide release.
