Guest Post: Bullet Catchers
My friend Maggie Moore explains how 1917's device recalled the intimacy of war
In a group text chat, my friend Maggie Moore observed that Sam Mendes’ 1917 got the intimacy of war right. I asked her what she meant, and this was her answer:
I rarely see all the Best Picture nominees. It’s not for lack of effort. They just don’t do anything for me because I don’t need another movie claiming to be a neutral character study on Something Important™ from the male perspective. Which is why you may be surprised to hear that I had such a profoundly moving experience watching 1917, so much so that it inspired me to return to my work as a writer and producer.
I was skeptical of 1917. It seemed like the kind of movie you would take your granddad to see. Here we go, another string-swelling love letter to how sexy it is to live and die on the battlefield. You know the kind I’m talking about, I call them “rah-rah” movies: macho men, making dramatic sacrifices for their country, fulfilling some kind of sacred duty and looking incredibly cool while doing it. Think American Sniper, Hacksaw Ridge, and the absurdly titled 13 hours: The Secret Soldiers of Benghazi.
So when I heard it was designed to look like it was all done in one take, I was even more nervous. But it was that device that brought me back to the most important lesson I’ve learned as an artist, that evoking your audience’s emotions is art’s essential ambition. Or at least the art that sticks around, anyway. Director Sam Mendes has meticulously crafted this story of a single mission over a 24 hour period so the stakes are clear from jump, and the story never lets up — not unlike a real combat situation.
And that — the way the one-continuous-shot device evokes the intimacy of combat — is what sets 1917 apart from its band of rah-ray brethren. The landscape of 1917 unfurls before the viewer just as it does for the soldiers. These young men have no idea what awaits them over the next ridge, and neither do you. There is no relief, no cutaway scene to a second setting or a safer group of characters. There is only the mission. For Lance Corporal Blake, Lance Corporal Schofield and the audience, the only choice is to move forward or die.
The intimate imperative in 1917 reminded me of my experience staging a combat play because that relentless drive onward, the old adage of “the show must go on'' is a central tenet of theatre. Once you start, the only way to maintain the magic is to plow ahead. The second you stop, the spell is broken. Theatre performances rely on magic. Not just the necessary suspension of disbelief but the magic of the uniqueness of what you’re seeing.
When my best friend had the idea of taking the policy issue of women in combat to the stage, I jumped at the opportunity . We worked on the project for two years, and the result was 2017’s Bullet Catchers, a play about women serving in combat in the US military.
All together, we conducted over 20 interviews with current and former service members, from every branch, in conflicts from the Gulf War to Operation Iraqi Freedom. The personal stories, experiences, and opinions about women serving in the military that were shared with us were the ultimate gift. These interviews are what allowed us to move away from realism and sink our teeth into what really happens when you ask people to go to war. Small stories from real vets that you would never see explored in a rah-rah film were brought to the stage, placing the audience directly into the lives of our characters.
One veteran told me how she learned of her impending deployment. She was at work, waitressing, when her mom called. She had just gotten a call from the Army, saying they were looking for her, and that they would call the restaurant. When they did, she learned she was being cross levelled, plucked out of her Reserve unit at home and quickly deployed to Iraq with a unit she didn’t know and hadn’t trained with. She went to the parking lot, cried, and then returned to work.
We recreated this isolating and emotional moment by having the character, Joan, walk through an empty stage, serving chorus members in masks. As she serves coffee, a phone cord trails behind her, functionally trapping her by the time the scene is over. A disembodied voice relays the army side of the phone call, telling Joan she’s been cross levelled. As Joan serves the coffee, the audience watches the news land on her. She starts to crumble and cry and when she realizes she’s trapped in the phone cord, she calls out for her mom.
Moments like this are so intimate because normally we wouldn’t be allowed to see them. That soldier hid that moment from everyone around her. I think it’s why the grocery store scene in The Hurt Locker is so effective — it’s an intimate moment of true vulnerability that war movies aren’t often allowed to have.
With war, the stakes are impossibly high. It’s easy for the audience to go numb. It’s why the rah-rah movies are so annoying — they want you to think that they’re forcing you to stare death in the face by showing you a lot of it, and in the most spectacular fashion. The explosions are cathartic distractions.
Let’s return back to 13 Hours, shall we? Don’t watch the whole movie, just the trailer. We’re not even a minute in when a hunky white guy gruffs “How willing are you to die for your country? I’m willing to go right here, right now.” Everyone’s bicep is thicker than my neck! The men have thick, luscious beards! Rippling forearms cling tightly to guns with spotty trigger awareness at best. And the title cards say it all “When everything went wrong, six men had the courage to do what was right. This is a true story.” Oh please. It’s not like I expect subtlety and nuance from Michael Bay of all people. But when movies like this are made over and over again, it glosses over any real complexity in warfare and lets the audience off the hook: War is noble, and virtues are clear.
But there was nothing noble about WWI. An estimated 40 million people died (both civilian and military), most of the 32 countries involved suffered crippling famine and economic ruin, three empires collapsed, and the political upheaval brought fascism, communism, and genocide to Europe. How do you even begin to wrap your arms around it? You can’t. But what you can do is find a small speck of truth, and keep focusing on that. Mendes did it with what seemed like one, long tracking shot, and I did it with staging real stories veterans told me.
There’s a scene in 1917 that caught my breath. After fishing himself out of a pool of bloated corpses, Schofield is defeated and can barely stand. Then as if in a fairy tale, a distant song is carried on the wind. He follows the mournful sound, a beautiful rendition of The Wayfaring Stranger, and stumbles upon a large company of soldiers, sitting in a huddled group. The camera makes it way through the crowd towards the singer and as the camera turns around, you see a group of frightened young men, looking as if they know they’re about to die.
Watching this scene, I thought about Joan from Bullet Catchers, contemplating her own death all alone in that diner. It’s how I knew I wasn’t done with that show. I’m remounting the show in 2021 because I believe in telling the stories of women on the battlefield, in telling stories of people who rarely see themselves depicted on stage, and in reaching for my audience to grab them, urgently, and not letting go until the curtain falls.
Maggie Moore is a storyteller and organizer currently living in New York. She will never forget that she comes from the Pacific Northwest and frequently reminds others that she didn’t own an umbrella until she was 23.
What Maggie’s reading: If this post has you saying “what I really need in my life right now is WWI content”, then look no further. I just finished reading the incredible book Wasteland by W. Scott Poole. I’m not usually a fan of horror movies, but I Poole’s meticulously researched book has me second guessing myself. From the back of the book itself “W. Scott Poole traces the confluence of military history, technology, and art in the wake of World War I to show how overwhelming carnage gave birth to a wholly new art form: modern horror films and literature.” Need I say more?
What Maggie’s watching: Not all content needs to be highbrow. Vanderpump Rules is back and I have to say, this season is delivering. For the uninitiated, Vanderpump Rules is the perfect reality show, airing on Bravo on Tuesdays at 9pm. There isa lotto sayabout it, but please give yourself the gift of watching adults make poor choices with zero consequences.
What Maggie’s listening to: I have never been able to study or work to music with lyrics. I am also incredibly picky about the kind of background music I will listen to. Which is why my Spotify roundup is always so embarrassing: it’s the same damn songs, over and over. I am constantly listening and adding to my ultimate playlist: Songs You Can Write To. Go ahead and listen! If you have favorites, please send them to me.
What I’m reading
Here’s why nominating extremist candidates doesn’t work: Science. It motivates the opposing partisans disproportionately, whereas nominating someone perceived as a moderate does not incite one’s enemies to vote in greater numbers.
When you know that Grand Budapest Hotel was looooooooosely based on Stefan Zweig’s memoir, it really changes how you watch that movie. Here’s a good place to start if that name is new to you.
The oral history of Prince’s Super Bowl halftime show is my favorite thing I’ve read recently.
Last Word: Who has the happiest marriages? Gay dudes.
What I’m watching
What have we learned about Ann Hornaday, people? When she says a movie is good, we see it. Queen & Slim is not a perfect movie, but it’s a stunning achievement. Queen & Slim might be the best movie that wasn’t nominated for anything.
What I’m listening to
Really enjoyed my friends R.H. and A.L. having a conversation on Texas Monthly’s podcast, especially the bit about kindness starting around the :46 mark.
A mariachi version of A-Ha’s “Take On Me”? Yes, please.
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