Feeling heavily enlightened and emotionally shattered during Sir Peter Jackson's They Shall Not Grow Old, I grew to realise a potential double meaning behind the film's title.
It's a line from Robert Laurence Binyon's poem For the Fallen which, when used here, reflects the colossal restoration and colouring efforts put
in place to house the memories of those who gave their lives to World War I. It's also a stark reminder of the youth that was stolen from these men.
The beginning spends a solid chunk of time re-establishing early 20th-century Britain with hardly any visual touches. It's a clever framing device that successfully settles the audience into the era they think they know, only to overwhelm with colour and size once the soldiers enter the battlefield.
This digitalised revamping is unlike anything I've seen before — certainly not as simple as clicking a "turn on the colour" button. Rather, it takes on a semi-surreal painting-in-motion look, very faintly reminiscent of last year's Loving Vincent where every frame was literally a painting.
Through this method, the life in the faces and bodies of these men truly stand out, especially in contrast to the bleakness of their mudbound, ironclad, bloodstained environment. There's no detailed footage of men dying on the battlefield — only stills of their corpses — as if to grimly remind you that when a man dies, his whole world stops. It truly strains the heart.
