Screenwriter Juliet Towhidi’s confident adaptation of Vera Brittain’s classic first world war memoir Testament of Youth, directed by James Kent, has won golden opinions since it arrived at last year’s London film festival, and certainly anyone can appreciate how decently intentioned it is, and how respectfully performed. But for me it remains worryingly close to the inertia of heritage cinema, replete with emotional solemnity. The drama shows a dreamy and slightly torpid drift towards pathos and tastefully contoured commemoration: all the rage and agony of war never quite come into focus.
Alicia Vikander has beauty and poise in the role of Vera, a brilliant young feminist who in 1914 is stricken by an unbearable paradox. For too long, women had been expected to sacrifice their lives and identities to men. But men were now rushing to sacrifice themselves on the altar of combat; to compete with them at this key moment, Vera too must sacrifice herself, and she also wants to cauterise her romantic agony in the flame of war. After the heavy weather of sadness, however, there seems no real thunderstorm of anger at the futility and the waste. There are intelligent performances here, but the movie is veiled with piety.
