Make sure you work hard, whispers Mendes so-not-arrogantly. It has to melt you down. I mean, it even took those brave souls down.
The co-writer and director Sam Mendes is an authentic filmmaker. More practical than cinematic. More simple than complex. More mythological than political. And to drive all that authenticity, you need something pure enough to communicate with your audience. Mendes just decides to go through all of that. Himself. For a film that arguably is split into two shots that are spread across the film for two straight hours, the real hero has to be the director of the film. To be in control of your film and be in command of your audience. And maybe because I crave for one-shot sequences, I find 1917 to be incredibly open and welcoming, but even if considered through filmmaking perspective, each beat hits all the correct notes that it should. And it remains to be an open wound for every one of us. But that historical incident actually factors in less than you’d imagine or expect. Mendes rubs everything off and works on a clean slate. And that is what helps him create this world and by the end makes us care for it. Maybe because I have recently got a job, so I am connecting this with it. But this feels like hard work is done right. Responsibility carried right. Determination determined right. The film is also surprisingly poetic. From breaking mythological elements like food, water, dust and wood, Mendes has all his best moments wrapped in rhyming words, lullabies, petals and heartwarming gestures. 1917 starts from Point A and has to reach at Point B. Mendes gathers all that you can, in that route and plots a vibrating track for us to dash across. Hell, by the time, if our hero can, after what he has been through, so can we.