Prior to the start of the First World War, a boy named Albert (Jeremy Irvine) is playing with his horse Joey on an open field, until it is taken away to be sold on the markets. Albert's father Ted (Peter Mullan) bids on the horse at an auction and buys it back, even though he can't afford it. This is to the distress of his wife Rose (Emily Watson), who is worried they won't be able to keep their land. They can keep their property only if Albert can train Joey to till the soil for them. When the First World War outbreaks, the horse is sold to the military and travels across the battlefields. It also manages to find its way onto the property of a Frenchman (Niels Arestrup) and his granddaughter Emilie (Celine Buckens). As he initially too young to enlist, Albert must wait a few years to try to recapture his horse.
There are some scenes in War Horse that I will never forget and a few I'd like to. In two hours and twenty minutes, it summaries everything we've come to know about Spielberg's career: it's beautiful, moving and intense but also embarrassingly corny and sentimental. He's adapted the story from a play, which itself was based on a children's novel by Michael Morpurgo. Yet too often here does Spielberg compromise his own cinematic vision of hell. Spielberg is forever fixated on the idea of 'the lost child'. Children in danger, separated from their families, have formed the staples of each of his narratives. It regularly leads him into narcissistic traps of cheap sentiment and emotion. Why is one of the most distinguishable filmmakers in history incapable of taking a risk? It is a frustrating question because there are few directors who are as knowledgeable about cinematic formalism as Spielberg. Watching this film on the silver screen for the scale alone is a pleasure. Spielberg reuses a lot of the same aesthetic techniques from Saving Private Ryan (1998) to stunning effect. The early scenes are widely shot on open green hills and reflect the freedom of childhood and stability. Yet the interior of Albert's house, where his parents have discussions about their future, are dark and moody, with faint light pouring in through the windows. There is a separation between the adult and child life. These two worlds collide when Spielberg contrasts the high saturation of the early scenes with the thick, heavy mud of the battlefield, showing that is no safe ground here for man or child.
Spielberg is also fascinated by modernity and invention as an extension of the unknown and its crippling effect on the natural world. These are interesting themes and the film soars when it finds clear, interesting visual ways of addressing them. This includes one of the most extraordinary battle scenes I can remember since Saving Private Ryan. Soldiers rise up from their trenches, attempting to cross into 'No Man's Land', as they are rapidly cut down by machine gun fire. It is a familiar scenario but rarely has it been captured with this much realism or authenticity. Also distinctive is that we have never seen machine gun batteries, soldiers and tanks, photographed like they are here. It is an alienating experience because these instruments of war are framed with such tight close-ups that they seem foreign to us. There is a shot after Albert crosses the lines that has haunted me. He sees a soldier lying dead on the ground and his face is covered by a heavy gas mask that makes him appear alien-like. Equally moving is when we see the British cavalry charging towards enemy lines and the horses pulling huge artillery cannons up the hills. These scenes are reflective of the stranglehold modern inventions have over all that is natural in contemporary warfare.
For many of these touching qualities Spielberg's narrative is surprisingly undisciplined. Characters disappear for long stretches, or in the case of two brothers, they never return at all. I was pleased that Spielberg touched on a German perspective but there's a lack of balance in how much time some characters have and an impatience to draw the threads together through a contrived deus ex machina. For every soul crushing scene there is one that is overly sentimental. Spielberg's technique is to play with tone so he can make us smile at one moment and then maximise our wincing. There are 'nice', 'pleasant' scenes here of geese chasing men by the ankles and the little French girl Emilie trying to train Joey. These are harmless alone and sometimes funny but it spoils the opportunity for something darker, more cautionary and truthful. The film is often flat-out cringing when it focuses on Albert because he doesn't seem like a real boy, with real problems but more of an avenue for Spielberg to channel forced emotions. He runs along hills, whispering to his horse that they'll be together. His whole performance is artificial, existing more on a cue with John Williams rising score, than a natural embodiment. Watson is far more believable, terrific as the hard, long-suffering mother. After seeing War Horse, I thought back to Peter Weir's WWI film Gallipoli (1981) and its troubling mid-frame conclusion. Comparing the two films, one is restrained, moderate and in touch with the reality of war. The other is, at its end, another Hollywood fantasy.
There are some scenes in War Horse that I will never forget and a few I'd like to. In two hours and twenty minutes, it summaries everything we've come to know about Spielberg's career: it's beautiful, moving and intense but also embarrassingly corny and sentimental. He's adapted the story from a play, which itself was based on a children's novel by Michael Morpurgo. Yet too often here does Spielberg compromise his own cinematic vision of hell. Spielberg is forever fixated on the idea of 'the lost child'. Children in danger, separated from their families, have formed the staples of each of his narratives. It regularly leads him into narcissistic traps of cheap sentiment and emotion. Why is one of the most distinguishable filmmakers in history incapable of taking a risk? It is a frustrating question because there are few directors who are as knowledgeable about cinematic formalism as Spielberg. Watching this film on the silver screen for the scale alone is a pleasure. Spielberg reuses a lot of the same aesthetic techniques from Saving Private Ryan (1998) to stunning effect. The early scenes are widely shot on open green hills and reflect the freedom of childhood and stability. Yet the interior of Albert's house, where his parents have discussions about their future, are dark and moody, with faint light pouring in through the windows. There is a separation between the adult and child life. These two worlds collide when Spielberg contrasts the high saturation of the early scenes with the thick, heavy mud of the battlefield, showing that is no safe ground here for man or child.
Spielberg is also fascinated by modernity and invention as an extension of the unknown and its crippling effect on the natural world. These are interesting themes and the film soars when it finds clear, interesting visual ways of addressing them. This includes one of the most extraordinary battle scenes I can remember since Saving Private Ryan. Soldiers rise up from their trenches, attempting to cross into 'No Man's Land', as they are rapidly cut down by machine gun fire. It is a familiar scenario but rarely has it been captured with this much realism or authenticity. Also distinctive is that we have never seen machine gun batteries, soldiers and tanks, photographed like they are here. It is an alienating experience because these instruments of war are framed with such tight close-ups that they seem foreign to us. There is a shot after Albert crosses the lines that has haunted me. He sees a soldier lying dead on the ground and his face is covered by a heavy gas mask that makes him appear alien-like. Equally moving is when we see the British cavalry charging towards enemy lines and the horses pulling huge artillery cannons up the hills. These scenes are reflective of the stranglehold modern inventions have over all that is natural in contemporary warfare.
For many of these touching qualities Spielberg's narrative is surprisingly undisciplined. Characters disappear for long stretches, or in the case of two brothers, they never return at all. I was pleased that Spielberg touched on a German perspective but there's a lack of balance in how much time some characters have and an impatience to draw the threads together through a contrived deus ex machina. For every soul crushing scene there is one that is overly sentimental. Spielberg's technique is to play with tone so he can make us smile at one moment and then maximise our wincing. There are 'nice', 'pleasant' scenes here of geese chasing men by the ankles and the little French girl Emilie trying to train Joey. These are harmless alone and sometimes funny but it spoils the opportunity for something darker, more cautionary and truthful. The film is often flat-out cringing when it focuses on Albert because he doesn't seem like a real boy, with real problems but more of an avenue for Spielberg to channel forced emotions. He runs along hills, whispering to his horse that they'll be together. His whole performance is artificial, existing more on a cue with John Williams rising score, than a natural embodiment. Watson is far more believable, terrific as the hard, long-suffering mother. After seeing War Horse, I thought back to Peter Weir's WWI film Gallipoli (1981) and its troubling mid-frame conclusion. Comparing the two films, one is restrained, moderate and in touch with the reality of war. The other is, at its end, another Hollywood fantasy.