Testament of Youth

When the credits rolled at the end of Testament of Youth, there was a palpable atmosphere in Screen 2 of the Palace Verona cinema in Sydney. It is a sure sign of an effective – and affective – film when the audience takes a moment to reflect on what they have just watched, instead of trampling over spilt popcorn in a dash for the toilets. That moment or two of pure silence in the auditorium was definite and, but I can't help feeling that it was the silence of an audience denied the chance to see a film truly worthy of its source material.

Considered a classic work of twentieth-century literature, not least for its feminist and pacifist leanings, Vera Brittain’s 1933 memoir Testament of Youth is a highly-personal account of the impact of war on middle-class families, the upheaval of British society and the terrible suffering inflicted on those left behind on the outbreak of the First World War. Notable as it is for being one of the first female accounts of the irrevocable damage done to a whole generation, Brittain’s work endures to this day as a compelling account of the domestic impact of total war. Such a vivid and personal work had the potential for an even more affecting film, but one can’t help feeling that the big screen adaptation of Brittain’s early life only scratches the surface of such important issues.

Directed by TV-turned-film director James Kent, Testament of Youth is a very handsome affair. Visually, the film radiates quality, starting with the cinematography which captures the rural beauty of pre-war Britain with an effortless and exquisite sensibility. The camera dances around the characters in early scenes evocative of the world of Evelyn Waugh: a world of public schools, rolling countryside and, when Vera receives an offer to study at Oxford, orderly and scholastically-tranquil cities. The camera is not afraid to focus intimately on the faces of the characters or present Oxford in an idyllic glow. And then there's the cast. Most recognisable is Game of Thrones' Kit Harington as Vera's love interest, Roland. Harington's performance is genial and sincere and will certainly provide some eye-candy for the women in the audience, as he courts Vera (constantly, however, under the watchful eye of a chaperone). 

But it is Harington's opposite, Alicia Vikander, who steals the show. Vikander came to international attention in the superb Danish film A Royal Affair and, whilst it may seem odd to cast a Swedish actress in the role of Vera, Vikander's accent rarely defaults from the cut-glass English accent of Ms Brittain. The hopes and loves of Vera – and their eventual destruction – are intensely and convincingly conveyed by Vikander, as she portrays the journey of Vera from the serene Oxford quad to the suffocating nursing hut on the killing fields of France. Vikander really is fantastic.

Any film version of Testament of Youth was, thanks to its subject matter, always going to be defined by its central subjects of war, friendship and, in particular, grief. It explores the sense of peer pressure felt amongst the young generation of men who felt compelled to enlist, if not for King and country, then for their friends and for the expectations of society. There can be no arguing that the film doesn't pull at the heart strings and there are some individual scenes which are totally devastating (Dominic West's intense expression of a father's private grief in the most public of settings is a notable example). But the sum of individual emotionally-piercing moments does not, I'm afraid, make for a film which works as a whole. 

 

The central problem is that the narrative takes the audience through a plot which is instantly recognisable and which has been seen many times before. From its idyllic beginnings, one knows exactly where the film is headed, and the script seems, on some level, to treat the audience as rather dim. The beginning of war is flagged by the camera focusing on a newspaper headline, the news of a death foreshadowed by an scene of excited anticipation, and the film's moral message summed up in a rather contrived speech towards the end of the film. We've seen this all before, and I can't help but find this to be a rather lazy approach to film-making (made worse by the evident care and detail with which the cinematography, mise-en-sène and acting is approached). In essence, Testament of Youth had such potential to be powerful, intelligent and cautionary, just as its source material was and is. In the end, however, the film's romantic and melodramatic strains overwhelm any incisive commentary on the nature of war, love and the experiences of women in a time of unprecedented struggle. 

 

In the end, I can forgive Testament of Youth for much. It is powerfully-acted, constructed with great care and beauty and contains much to be admired. But, despite its explicit horrors of death, grief and sacrifice, it feels a little inert and I left the cinema moved, but wishing it had been so much more.

Clapperboard Rating: * * * and-a-half!