Atonement

Sep 7 2007 By The Journal

SINCE opening the Venice Film Festival, Joe Wright’s immaculately crafted film has been hailed as the first genuine Oscar contender of the year.

Atonement certainly looks the part. It’s a visually stunning adaptation of Ian McEwan’s haunting love story set against a backdrop of Second World War Europe.

The performances are excellent and Wright, who treated us to a magnificent version of Pride & Prejudice two years ago, confirms his status as a virtuoso director, conjuring scenes of breathtaking beauty. However, despite flawless production design and film-making brio, Atonement doesn’t quite stir the heart as deeply as McEwan’s novel.

It opens in the hot summer of 1935.

Precocious 13-year-old Briony Tallis (Saoirse Ronan) is far removed from impending conflict with her wealthy family at their Victorian mansion.

Blessed with an overactive imagination, the aspiring writer prepares to stage her first play in honour of older brother Leon.

The youngster senses tension between her willowy sister Cecilia (Keira Knightley) and the housekeeper’s son, Robbie Turner (James McAvoy).

“Why don’t you talk to Robbie any more?” asks Briony.

“I do, we just move in different circles,” snaps Cecilia.

A terrible misunderstanding leads Briony to accuse Robbie of abuse and he is removed from the house. Cecilia implores him: “Come back to me!”

Four years later, Robbie has been released from prison to serve his country, prowling northern France with a pair of fellow squaddies.

But he cannot forget Cecilia and his promise: “I will return, find you, love you, marry you and live without shame.”

Meanwhile, Briony (now played by Romola Garai) struggles to come to terms with her guilt. She promises to make amends by telling “the absolute truth, no rhymes, no embellishments, no adjectives”.

Atonement sags in the middle but, on the whole, it sustains dramatic momentum for two hours, powered by McAvoy’s stunning portrayal of a wronged man.

The scene in which his soldier stands forlornly over a field strewn with the dead will melt a million female hearts.

Knightley’s portrayal of icy Cecilia treads a fine line between unsympathetic and emotionally repressed.

Wright’s boldness behind the camera is impressive, particularly in one audacious sequence.

He shoots Robbie’s arrival at Dunkirk in a single, elaborate shot, the camera slowly gliding between injured soldiers and a huge beached boat, before encircling a bandstand where a choir sings Keep The Home Fires Burning.