In its first act, it seems War Horse is trying to look and feel like a '40s countryside drama in the vein of Lassie Come Home. There are obligatory elements like an animal that can't be kept and a farm that's at risk of being lost. But where a '40s film like The Yearling would've matched glossiness with emotional impact, War Horse is more tonally akin to a '70s Disney feature. It slides in utterly surreal comic relief like a goose that nips at people's heels while it should be fleshing out characters.
The fundamental failing of the film -- aside from the plot being so incidental and uninteresting -- is that it never allows us to forge relationships with the characters. The horse is the only constant in the film. People come and go from his life. Tom Hiddleston has the most thankless role of all as an English officer who dies before we get even the faintest hint of his backstory. Spielberg's inability to contextualize the death of a significant supporting character at the start of a war is disturbing, and he does it at least a couple more times throughout the course of the film.
The only series of scenes not centered around the horse is where Jeremy Irvine, who trained has an unhealthy attachment to him, is his brief stint in the war where he sees a little bit of combat before being blinded by gas. Neither he nor any other human in the film gains insight into the hardship of war. The very final shot has the horse staring off into the sunset after returning home. It's a totally bizarre closing shot, as the lessons of war's cruelty have all been learned by the horse and not the humans. That might be impactful if this was an animated film where the horse can talk and pontificate, but there are enormous battle sequences and lives lost. It's a bit too serious to not articulate any big themes.
The inevitable conclusion where the boy and his horse are reunited is unabashedly contrived and manipulative. Oscar voters are sure to weep at the silly moment, but I was too exhausted from the preceding and present ridiculousness to care.
The cast is, not surprisingly, totally wasted. No one comes close to making an impression except Emily Watson. She's acting in a more serious, involving movie than everybody else.
The crafts are almost shockingly unremarkable. The cinematography is lacking as the film is supposed to have scope, but there's no memorable imagery to be found. John Williams' score is perhaps his most pounding and dreadful. He emphasizes every little aciton and movement, determined to turn this dull film into something exciting through sheer will. It will likely dominate the craft awards at the Oscars, but I've seen Spielberg do these exact same battles on a grander, more effective scale.
No comments:
Post a Comment