In 1987, British filmmaker John Boorman made Hope and Glory. It was nominated for five Oscars, and now, 27 years later, Boorman continues the story with Queen and Country.
The director's resume includes Deliverance, Excalibur and Point Blank, so he knows how to get rough. But he also has a graceful, lyrical side, which comes out beautifully in Queen and Country. The film offers a tribute to the creativity of youth and romance.
The earlier film, Hope and Glory, takes place in London during the German blitz bombing in World War II. Each night with his mother and sister, 9-year-old Bill Rohan endures the pounding of the bombs, and they go out each morning to view the destruction. The horror and dislocation drive Rohan's mother into an affair while her husband is away and his teenaged sister gets pregnant by an American G.I. Finally, when the Rohan house is obliterated by a bomb, the family leaves the city for the gracious home of his grandparents, which sits on a tiny island in the middle of the River Thames.
Boorman opens Queen and Country with a quick sequence from Hope and Glory. A bomb has destroyed young Bill's school. No one is hurt; the children dance joyously around the rubble, and a young Bill is so deliriously happy that there can be no school that he whispers a quick "Thank you, Adolph" to Hitler. It sets the tone of the film. Then, young Bill's face dissolves to Bill Rohan in 1952.
Bill (Callum Turner) swims in the Thames by his grandparents' home, which is close to the famed Shepperton movie studio. From the water, Bill watches a crew filming a scene for a movie.
John Boorman has always loved river scenes. He finds life and energy and imagination, and right there is the image of the careers both the character of Bill and the actual John Boorman will discover for themselves. There's no "aha" moment in the picture, no shouts of recognition or discovery. Boorman makes you feel the ecstasy of the water, but the meaning of the event only comes clear over the course of the movie. Like the rest of Queen and Country, the scene is at the same time thrilling and also understated.
Very few films are so quietly confident and comfortable within themselves.
The Rohan family home in the middle of the Thames is green and lush and wonderful. It's full of ease and privilege. But then Bill is drafted, and he walks into an army camp where a tall wire gate closes behind him and his fellow trainees. In front of them stand rows of grim Quonset huts.
World War II has ended, but in 1952 another war rages – in Korea. These young men could easily wind up there. But Bill is not sent to fight in Korea; he's assigned to teach typing to even newer recruits – another of the fortunate oddities in Bill's life.
Bill and his friend go to concerts, pick up sweet, playful young women, pine for those who are too remote and do their best to confound the stifling military. Queen and Country is a languid, playful version of things Boorman has looked at over his career -- the conflict between social regimentation and freedom, the importance of nature, the camaraderie of young men, and, of course, the power of love.
In its way, Queen and Country describes how Boorman came to care about these things and understand them. It's a quieter movie than Hope and Glory. No bombs go off; there's no war. It's deceptive because Boorman builds the film out of small gestures and events that can seem superficial and unimportant.
But Queen and Country still cuts deep. That's a person's life and character taking shape up on that screen, done with tremendous, unassuming skill.
