Darkest Hour (Joe Wright, 2017)

Gary Oldman and Ben Mendelsohn in Darkest Hour 

Winston Churchill: Gary Oldman
Clementine Churchill: Kristin Scott Thomas
King George VI: Ben Mendelsohn
Elizabeth Layton: Lily James
Neville Chamberlain: Ronald Pickup
Viscount Halifax: Stephen Dillane
Sir John Simon: Nicholas Jones
Anthony Eden: Samuel West
Clement Atlee: David Schofield

Director: Joe Wright
Screenplay: Anthony McCarten
Cinematography: Bruno Delbonnel
Production design: Sarah Greenwood
Film editing: Valerio Bonelli
Music: Dario Marianelli

Joe Wright's Darkest Hour starts off well as a story of backstage power plays in the runup to World War II, after Neville Chamberlain's attempts at making peace with Hitler had so notably failed. If it had stayed on this level, we might have had an absorbing drama about the way history gets shaped in secrecy, with backbiting and one-upmanship as the forces that drive the world. But instead, we have to have yet another take on Winston Churchill, and not a particularly novel one at that. Gary Oldman's Oscar-winning performance carries the movie much further than it deserves to be carried after the biopic clichés begin to fly. The most egregiously bogus moment comes near the end, when Churchill decides to ditch the car that's taking him to Westminster to deliver the decisive "never surrender" speech that puts the kibosh on Chamberlain and Halifax's desire to initiate peace talks after the disaster at Calais and the rescue from Dunkirk. So Winston, cigar protruding, descends into the Underground to talk to The British People and to get their advice on whether Britain should talk or fight. It's a badly written scene that even includes Churchill inventing that old joke about how all babies look like him. In addition to the working-class folks, there is a token black man, representing the Empire. They all assure him that they will fight them on the beaches and in the streets, and Churchill is so emboldened that he goes and tells Parliament just that. My objection is not that the scene never happened, but that the filmmakers' imaginations were so constricted that they had to invent this implausible scene to explain Churchill's overcoming his doubts and fears. Churchill was a more complicated man, and the politics surrounding him so much more intricate and fierce, than this feeble fiction suggests.

Fugitive Pieces (Jeremy Podeswa, 2007)

I dislike the phrase "Holocaust film," which often gets used with a hint of condescension, suggesting that there is a genre of film that plays on our established feelings of grief and indignation about a terrible passage in history. It seems to imply that filmmakers who tell stories about the Holocaust and its effects are working with a subject that disarms criticism: that if it's about the Holocaust, a film doesn't have to worry about winning over an audience. That attitude ignores, for example, the controversy that surrounded Roberto Benigni's Life Is Beautiful (1997), which was both celebrated and condemned. The enormity of the Holocaust tends to overwhelm conventional cinematic narrative, so that the best films in which it forms the background are those that focus on the experiences of actual people like Oskar Schindler in Schindler's List (Steven Spielberg, 1993) and Wladyslaw Szpilman in The Pianist (Roman Polanski, 2002), or thinly fictionalized accounts drawn from personal experience, like Louis Malle's in Au Revoir les Enfants (1987). Jeremy Podeswa's Fugitive Pieces, adapted by the director from a novel by Anne Michaels, is one of those films that are almost swamped by the historical actuality of the Holocaust; it takes as its subject the experience of "survivor guilt." Its fictional protagonist, Jakob Beer (played as a child by Robbie Kay and as a man by Stephen Dillane), escapes from the Nazis but loses his family. He is rescued by Athos Roussos (Rade Serbedzija), a Greek archaeologist who was working in Poland on a dig and discovered Jakob hiding in the woods. Somehow -- the film is unclear on exactly how -- Athos smuggles Jakob out of Poland to his home in Greece, and after the war the two emigrate to Canada, where Athos has been invited to teach. Jakob grows up haunted by his childhood trauma, and his first marriage, to a woman named Alex (Rosamund Pike), ends when she reads his journals and discovers what a barrier Jakob's experiences have created between them. Jakob is particularly tormented by the loss of his sister, Bella (Nina Dobrev), a talented musician, who often appears in his dreams. Even after publishing a book about his life, Jakob doesn't fully overcome the past until after the death of Athos, whose wisdom he comes to appreciate with the help of another woman, Michaela (Ayelet Zurer). There is a subplot involving the Jewish couple across the hall from Athos and Jakob in Canada, whose son, Ben (Ed Stoppard), grows up hating his father, a Holocaust survivor, for his harshness: The father, for example, berates Ben for not finishing the apple he has been eating, reminding him how grateful people in the camps would have been for the food. Despite excellent performances from everyone, the film sinks too often into sentimentality and stereotypes: Serbedzija's performance is a standout, but he can't overcome the fact that Athos, though a university professor, is presented as too much the wise and kindly peasant-sage, preaching the value of ties to the earth. There are some major gaps in the narrative, like the journey from Poland to Greece, and some overall shapelessness, and the ending is much too pat.