Ealing’s penultimate film (and one of its longest, at 130
minutes) is a return to the wartime spirit that energised much of the studio’s
1940s output. Unlike the more propagandist notes struck in a range of films,
from The Big Blockade (1942) and San Demetrio, London (1943) to The Ghost of St Michaels (1941) and The Foreman Went to France (1942), this
is a retrospective look at the early period of the Second World War rather than
one mired in contemporary uncertainty. While it is not entirely successful –
the film does drag in places, much of the dialogue (particularly that given to
Bernard Lee) is declamatory and expositional, while some of the performances
feel perfunctory – it is hardly the valorisation of the British army that
Balcon set out to make. Indeed, its dramatisation of the horrors of Dunkirk is
arguably more effective than the more recent attempt in Atonement (2007), in part because of the length of time the film
spends in that location, and its use of widescreen composition to sell the vast
numbers stranded there.
It still feels strange to see an Ealing film that opens with
the roars of the MGM lion – it is also an ‘Ealing Film’ rather than ‘Ealing
Studios’ because of the move away from its traditional home in Ealing (a studio
taken over by the BBC). It feels like a partial colonisation of Michael
Balcon’s claim that Ealing films existed to project Britishness, if that
Britishness was actually being bankrolled by an American studio. As Sue Harper
and Vincent Porter have noted, MGM hoped to make money from the deal, not
revitalise the flagging fortunes of Balcon, Ealing or British film culture more
widely. (Harper & Porter 2003, 69) While they also describe this film as
‘emotionally frozen,’ I can’t help thinking that’s an unfair assessment of what
can be an impressive piece of filmmaking.
There are moments where the film feels creatively powerful
and distinct: montage sequences at the beginning (clips from contemporary
newsreels being ‘watched’ by members of the British Expeditionary Forces, including
Corporal ‘Tubby’ Bins (John Mills); a compilation of images and scenes that
narrate the German advance over a Flanagan and Allen music hall song), an
impressive use of widescreen throughout, and a strong soundtrack. The use of
widescreen by director of photography Paul Beeson creates often inspired
framing and composition – the lines of soldier wading out into the sea off
Dunkirk beach stretches the full length of the vertical rectangle of the
screen; there are sweeping vistas of the French and Belgian landscapes with
refugees fleeing the German advance (and, later, being mown by Luftwaffe
strafing); and an aerial attack on a British position features a series of
explosions moving left to right across the screen (in many ways reminiscent of
similar scenes in Apocalypse Now). Certain
aspects of the set design also utilise the wider screen: for example, the
cavernous sets that represent the Ministry of Information. Yet this can also
work to the film’s disadvantage, when a shot in the local pub frequented by journalist
Charles Foreman (Bernard Lee) and businessman John Holden (Richard
Attenborough) casts them adrift in an unfeasibly large lounge bar.
So, the film features some stylistically powerful images and
knows how to construct suitably tense sequences: the chaos on the Dunkirk beach
as the Germans attack (featuring some nice mobile camera work through the
dunes), an attack by a German patrol on Bins’ small group of stragglers in a
farmyard, and several aerial bombardments. While some of that visual work sits
alongside elements of the emotional restraint that Harper & Porter refer
to, there are also scenes of men breaking down, arguing, sending others to
their death, confronting their fears. Given the subject matter, and the fact
the film spends around half its running time stranded on the beaches of
Dunkirk, it is perhaps not surprising that its vision of the British armed
forces is more nuanced than the requisite stiff upper lip. With the benefit of
hindsight, the film uses the figure of Foreman to criticise figures in the
Admiralty, Ministry and government, for not being better prepared for a war
with Germany. Yet this work is also clumsily presented – Lee is almost fatally
lumbered with long exposition and enlightened opinion to deliver, so much so
that it is almost a relief when he dies on the Dunkirk beach.
But it is not all retrospective ‘if only’: Holden is
presented as an ordinary man who doesn’t believe he has a role to play in the
war, and takes openly of the ‘phoney war.’ While the film narrative redresses
his earlier opinion (and seeming cowardice) by having him sail his small boat
to Dunkirk to rescue stranded soldiers (including Mills’ Bins and his men), it
is made clear that Holden’s opinion is by no means an isolated one. Yet the
main difficulty with Holden as a character is that the reasoning behind his
actions is never entirely clear, driven by self-interest, guilt and peer
pressure in varying degrees: the fact he is supposed to be an older, comfortable
man is also undercut slightly by the obviously youthful Attenborough in a fake
moustache and glasses. Of course, by the close, Horden is a hero of Dunkirk,
working alongside Bins in a new spirit of togetherness: as the final voiceover
notes, “no longer were there fighting men and civilians... A nation had been
made whole.”
Of course, women are not really mentioned in that statement,
particularly as the civilians pictured are the male boat owners, not the wives
waiting at home. Balcon famously demanded that female roles were reduced in
this film, to allow the focus to be on the fighting men: a decision that means
only two women are featured (not counting the bathing beauties in one of the
newsreel clips, and the mute French and Belgian women among the refugees).
These women – Diana (Maxine Audley) and Grace (Patricia Plunkett) – are,
respectively, the wives of Foreman and Holden. Their roles are diametrically
opposed however, in that Diana is calm and supportive, while Grace is shrill
and demanding, a new mother who demands that Holden never leaves her and the
baby. This moment, when Holden is asked to make his promise, appears to be the
catalyst that changes Holden from a neutral observer out for his own gain down
the path towards cooperation and togetherness. And because he is ‘made whole’
by Dunkirk and interaction with the fighting men, the film apparently feels no
need to show us his family again.
As for ‘Tubby’ Bins, the film stresses a couple of times
that it the knowledge of his wife back home that drives his desire to return to
Britain, but we learn very little else about Bins’ motivations – perhaps representative
of Balcon’s desire to show the British in a strong and dignified way. However,
that argument falls down again through the behaviour of Bins’ patrol (he
reluctantly takes over when the ranking officer is killed), who at one point
refuse to obey him (‘they’ve gone yellow’), and almost mutiny when he is forced
to leave a wounded man behind to be captured. Mills’ performance also fuels the
more emotional side of Bins’ – a face perpetually caught between youthful
vigour and world weary ennui, expressive even when his dialogue and character
isn’t. His quest is a small odyssey, dragging the remains of his unit through
the countryside, aiming for home and reaching Dunkirk.
For all that Balcon wanted to show the British army in a
good light, the film doesn’t pull its punches: the higher officer class are
shown to be largely ineffective, the Ministry of Information is a faceless
organisation that won’t reveal pertinent information, the Navy pull ships away
from the evacuation (although a stroppy Vice Admiral Ramsay – Nicholas Hannen –
manages to get them back for one final attempt). Yes, the ordinary soldier is
valorised, but they are not simply faceless and undifferentiated: in the chaos
of the Dunkirk beaches, men turn to God and drink, some panic and want to give
up, others debate what should happen next. Most often, while the film wants to
praise togetherness, it is actually individual action that saves the day –
officers sacrificing themselves, Bins’ determination, and Foreman’s guilting of
Holden into action.
As for the Germans, they are rarely seen, but more often
heard. One of the strengths of the film is its soundtrack: the German guns, planes
and bombs are the most dominant noises throughout the film. The harsh bark of
machine gun fire, the low drone of unseen Luftwaffe above, the thunder of
explosions – these are the face of the enemy throughout Dunkirk. German soldiers are seen, but it is the sense of the might
of an unseen force powering through France and Belgium that the film most
effectively dramatises.
Overall, then, this late Ealing effort has issues, but
contains some fascinating stylistic and narrative ideas that make it worth viewing.
Next time, from the tragedy of war to the comedy of Benny Hill in Who Done It? (1956)...
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