Nolan’s latest time-bending feat
IT a little surprising that World War II would grab the cinematic fancy of Christopher Nolan, given the dystopias, demimondes and dreamscapes that have sprung from his fertile mind.
He has conjured underworlds peopled by tattooed amnesiacs and broody superheroes; he has plunged audiences into Escherian dreams within dreams within dreams; he has tested their grasp of wormholes and gravitational singularity. The yoke of reality never seemed to be his thing.
But with his new movie, Dunkirk, Nolan ventures into the harsh world of a real war, which outwardly seems like well-worn terrain, except that he has never tackled anything like it before.
“It’s the first time I’ve taken on any kind of real subject matter, any kind of historical truth, and that was very daunting,” Nolan said in an interview at his sundappled offices on the Warner Bros lot in Burbank. “I don’t want to sound too precious about it at all, but, you know, I wanted to do something that frightened me a bit.”
Nolan’s film is about the astounding rescue of 338,000 Allied troops from the beaches of Dunkirk, France, in 1940. Hemmed in by German forces, the Allies were trapped as German aircraft strafed and bombed the sands, with the only way out across the English Channel. Shallow waters prevented British destroyers from coming close to the beaches, so the call went out to private boat Dunkirk. owners in England to help ferry the soldiers to safety.
A flotilla of hundreds of pleasure boats, barges, yachts, ferries and fishing boats set out, many piloted by civilians, and, under bombardment from the Luftwaffe, helped pull the rescue off. Had they not, the war could have taken a much different course.
In person, Nolan, 46, exudes the intelligence and focus that inform his meticulously plotted films. His blistering success has also meant that he is now an old hand at sit-down interviews. While he was not at all perfunctory in our chat, there was a faint air of, “Right, let’s get on with things.” He is also, not surprisingly, a rather serious man, and did not exhibit a shred of the British ten- dency to self-deprecate.
Nolan did allow that the run up to the release of Dunkirk had left him somewhat of a nervous wreck.
“It’s terrifying, it’s the worst, yeah, I hate it, I hate it,” he said. “You make the film for an audience, you want to get it out there in the widest way possible, and the broadest way possible, but it never gets any easier.”
On several fronts, Dunkirk breaks from form.
Its running time is just one hour and 47 minutes, which makes it an hour leaner than Interstellar. He wanted Dunkirk to be a tight, taut film that plunged into the action without preamble, like the third act of one of his previous films.
Nolan also did not want to make a typical war movie, and instead built it as a nail biter. To avoid alienating the audience, he also kept out nearly all traces of blood – “it’s not the button we wanted to push,” he said.
“We wanted an intensity not based on horror or gore. It’s an intensity based on rhythm, and accelerating tension, and overlapping suspense scenarios,” he said. “Dunkirk to me is one of the most suspenseful tickingclock scenarios of all time.”
In preparation, Nolan spent a few days driving with Levine around England talking to veterans, though the characters he created were composites. Much of the production happened on the actual beaches of Dunkirk, with key cast members spending weeks training on the beaches and in the ocean.
The film interweaves perspec- tives from people on land, in air and at sea, through the eyes of, among others, a naval officer (Kenneth Branagh), a civilian boat captain (Mark Rylance), a shellshocked officer (Cillian Murphy), Royal Air Force pilots (Tom Hardy and Jack Lowden), and the central character, a painfully young British soldier played by a relative newcomer, Fionn Whitehead.
There is something of an Everyman quality to Whitehead, and, in an interview, he said his greenness helped him land the part, because Nolan was seeking an actor whose uneasiness in a big budget, star-studded film would translate to vulnerability onscreen. “It was very, very daunting,” Whitehead said. “But he wanted someone who had to adapt quickly to a new situation, which is obviously evident with the soldier, and true to me.”
As much as a departure as Dunkirk is for Nolan, it bears his signature hallmark of dancing around linearity and time. The film jumps forward a few hours or days, then back, and takes repeated runs at harrowing incidents from different vantages, as when Hardy’s pilot desperately tries to ward off a German air attack, or when soldiers frantically swim from spilled oil that is about to ignite.
The effect is impressionistic, almost painterly, with each new shot a brush stroke that fills in the picture, but also a little disorienting. “It’s, ‘We know you’re as clever as us, and we know you can keep up,’” said Murphy, who has worked with Nolan twice before.