Dunkirk? Loved Harry (and the jumpers)

We all think we know what the Dunkirk spirit means. But do we? Writer- director Christopher Nolan’s new film Dunkirk takes a fresh look at the mass evacuation of allied troops from the beaches of Northern France in the early summer of 1940.

Yes, it brims with heroism, as one might expect. Yet it also depicts the blunders, the terrible loss of life, the haphazard, ramshackle nature of the operation. What was going on? What was going to happen next? No one, not even Commander Bolton (Kenneth Branagh), has much of a clue.

Watching the film this week was a visceral, emotional experience, so immersive that I felt there must be clods of wet sand in my hair when I left the cinema. There is not much dialogue, and some complain that Dunkirk lacks an emotional core.

Yet, perhaps, in this instance, we don’t need any backstories. For we know who these young soldiers, are: these bits of boys who were boiled alive in flaming oil, or shot, blown up and drowned on a beach far from home.

We know them, and thousands like them. The longed-for and much-loved sons; the husbands, fathers and brothers — the snaggle-toothed Tommies who went off to war with a whistle on their lips.

In Nolan’s Dunkirk, they became their most elemental selves: soldiers on a beach struggling to survive; men who, in the moment, had forgotten their past and could only pray for a future. I wept, I applauded Harry Styles’ indubitable acting skills and (speaking as a knitter) admired the excellent jumper action in this excellent film. Go see!