Crowe’s film in many ways tells a very traditional morality
story: deep down, despite all the ways we’re different, we are all the same,
and the biggest part of coming to terms with anything is taking the decision to
move forward and put it behind you. The film bravely attempts to engage with
this national trauma, that saw tens of thousands of ANZAC troops ruthlessly
(and arguably pointlessly) sacrificed in an ill-planned Turkish campaign. Rather
than just presenting the ANZACs as victims, it builds sympathy and empathy with
the Turkish side and points out violence and crimes on both sides, from
executing prisoners to equivalent casualty lists (including pointing out that
the Turks were defending their home from invasion).
It brings this home by filtering this experience through one
personal story. Connor is a man who has lost everything to this campaign, who
has sacrificed his sons and has every reason to blame the Turks for his loss.
But, bar one moment of provoked rage, his natural decency and quiet humility cause
him to quickly see these former enemies as people as scarred by war as him.
It’s a note the film repeats constantly. The characters we are intended to
relate to – such as Connor and Lt Colonel Hodges – frequently treat the Turks
with respect (which is returned), while more bitter figures are shown as blinkered
and misguided.
Of course, the film can’t resist capturing this détente in a
personal relationship, showing the growing intimacy between Connor and Turkish
war widow Ayshe. It’s a gentle, but not at all surprising romance – a shame
that there is such an age gap between Crowe and Kurylenko – but it does at
times feel like a slightly on-the-nose personal reflection of growing
understanding between Turks and Aussies.
It’s arguably unnecessary anyway, since a more engaging
relationship develops between Connor and Yılmaz Erdoğan’s honourable and
slightly world-weary Major Hasan. The very image of the worthy opponent, Hasan
is practically human decency made flesh, a man who goes out of his way to help
Connor’s quest and becomes the human face of a Turkish army that suffered as
many losses as the ANZAC forces. The warmth between these two characters is
really the emotional heart of the film, for all it tries to interest us in a
will-they-won’t-they romantic relationship elsewhere.
The film is not without flaws. It’s been pointed out that it
makes no reference to the Turks’ atrocious actions during the war towards
Armenians and Greeks (indeed some dirty Greek vagabonds make an entry late on
as final-act baddies). While this isn’t a film trying to tell that story, a
single line of acknowledgement – even if it was dismissed by a Turkish
character – would have gone a long way. To speed up the search for his sons’ bodies,
Connor is given some sort of loosely defined Shamanic power connected to his
ability to find water (later he has vision in his dreams) – it’s a bit of magic
that the film could do without. The film introduces several clumsy obstructive
Brit officer characters (because nothing brings Aussie and Turk together like a
loathing for arrogant Brits!), that serve as script-required roadblocks, either
uninterested or fanatically intent on stopping Connor as the scene requires.
But fundamentally this is a very earnest and straightforward
plea for understanding and forgiveness that doesn’t reinvent the wheel, but is
a decent piece of storytelling. Crowe directs the thing with assurance (helped
by some beautiful if slightly chocolate-box photography from Andrew Lesnie),
contributing a low-key, reserved performance of quiet emotion. There are decent
performances throughout: it’s great to see Jai Courtenay get a proper acting
role, while Erdoğan is the stand out as Major Hasan. As a gentle Sunday
afternoon would-be-epic it more or less fits the bill exactly.
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