By Hermione Silver, Year 12
War films, perhaps more than any other genre, attract intense scrutiny from audiences and critics alike. Filmmakers who decide to make war films walk a fine line between honouring the sacrifices of those who fought, reminding audiences of the grim realities of war and the lives it ruins, presenting a dramatic, engaging story. Striking this balance proves challenging, especially when appealing to an international audience. As a result, these films are often subject to critique, be it warranted or not. Such critiques can take many forms, raising questions about the director’s motives, research, stylistic choices, narrative structure, and the overall intent behind the project. This essay explores the conflict between historical accuracy and creative freedom in war films, and the consequences of filmmakers glorifying war, whether intentionally or not.
Perhaps the most widely discussed issue concerning the ethics involved in war films is the balance the filmmaker seeks to obtain between historical accuracy and their own creative input. In other words, how much artistic freedom should they have and to what extent should they subjugate their creative desires in order to recount historical events factually? What lenience we allow for filmmakers on this issue often boils down to how they are presenting the film. For example, Morten Tyldum’s The Imitation Game (2014) is a biographical thriller film that recounts the story of Alan Turing, who built the “Bombe” machine to decipher the German Enigma code during World War II. Despite its success, this film sparked quite a lot of criticism from historians for the inaccuracies, notably from historian Thomas Haigh who noted how ‘The Imitation Game’ “combines the traditional focus of popular science writing on the lone genius who changes the world with the modern movie superhero narrative of a freak who must overcome his own flaws before he can save the world”. The consensus between historians was that this adaptation took Turing’s very compelling and ultimately tragic life to depict Turing as more of a social outcast, over-simplifying his relationship with Joan Clarke and the critical role that his homosexuality played in his life.
Tyldum later commented on these criticisms, claiming that his aim was never to take a documentative approach but to make the audience reflect on his story, and ask “What does his story feel like? What’d it feel like to be Alan Turing? Can we create the experience of sort of “Alan Turing-ness” for an audience based on his life?”. The obvious criticism with his point being that his “Alan-Turing-ness” was for Tyldum, a version of Turing that exaggerated aspects of his personality, whilst at times over-simplifying his extraordinary life, to create a more dramatic narrative.
Another example of a filmmaker exercising creative licence is Taika Waititi’s Jojo Rabbit (2019). The film tells the story of Johannes “Jojo” Betzler, a ten-year-old boy living in Nazi Germany who discovers his mother is hiding a Jewish girl in their attic. It would be an understatement to say that Waititi allows himself some creative leniency in this picture: the main character’s imaginary friend is Hitler himself, who is reduced to an absurd and cartoonish version of Hitler. Where Waititi applies himself to historical accuracy is in how he portrays the Hitler Youth (excluding the obvious satirical comments and jokes), and the scary way in which the Nazis would indoctrinate German children with Nazi ideology. Unlike Tyldum, Waititi demonstrates that creative liberties can be effective when they serve to critique or highlight the horrors of history without distorting critical facts. What filmmakers have the responsibility to do, is consider the extent to which they bend history, ensuring that the creative choices they make align with the message they wish to convey and do not detract from the real significance of historical events.
Another point for filmmakers to consider is the potential to glorify war in an attempt to render the film exciting and dramatic. A war film’s tone or the subtle implications picked up on by the audience can have such a profound effect, especially on an often young and impressionable audience, that its message must be studied critically. Protagonists in war films are traditionally heroes, brave men who die on the front: a problematic image for an impressionable audience, reminiscent of old values and this idea of “dulce et decorum est”, or pride in dying for one’s country which was used as a tool to manipulate so many young men, particularly in WWI and II.
Lots of older war films and blockbusters are guilty of this glorification of war. Michael Bay’s Pearl Harbour, released in 2001, is arguably quite a blatant offender in this regard. The film pictures a heavily fictionalised narration of the Attack on Pearl Harbour, appealing to Michael Bay’s target audience of teenage boys with American flags, macho soldiers, pretty women, exciting battles, and your classic unrealistically charismatic Hollywood dialogue. While Bay admits that “Pearl Harbour” was not made to be a realistic depiction of war, his portrayal of an Attack of over 2 ‘000 casualties, which although on the smaller side, is certainly not in any way neglectable, and his choices do raise some ethical concerns for many.
On the other hand, a great example of a film depicting the harsh reality of life on the battlefield is Edward Berger’s All Quiet on the Western from the Western Front, released in 2022 as an adaptation of Erich Maria Remarque’s novel. The film narrates the tale of Paul Bäumer, who enlists into the German Army in the First World War with his friends and the hopes of becoming a hero, only to quickly face the true, miserable, cruel and brutal reality of war. Berger does all that he can, and succeeds, to make this film as gut-wrenching and horrific as possible. This is achieved stylistically through the use of shocking music, incredible performances, the choices of colour and cinematography and other means that a casual film-watcher like myself probably fails to catch on to. The final product of Berger’s intricate choices results in a film that is such a harrowing reminder of the futility of war and the horrors and destruction it entails.
It is no secret that films carry weight, they cannot be reduced to a mere form of entertainment, nor can they be mere historical documentation. This means that filmmakers have to assume a certain responsibility when choosing to depict real-life events, particularly when referencing or depicting history that we still consider recent and sensitive. Beyond the balance of historical accuracy and creative input, there are other ethical considerations: is the film exploitative of tragedy? Is it over dramatised? Are there cultural or political biases influencing the narrative? While no film can satisfy everyone’s expectations, and no historical account can be entirely objective, filmmakers must be mindful of the potential consequences of glorifying war or misrepresenting historical events. The impact of these films extends beyond the screen, shaping public perceptions and influencing how we remember and understand the past.
