A no-punches-pulled meditation on the futility of war, All Quiet On The Western Front delivers a perpetual feeling of unease from start to finish as the youth and patriotism of its main characters is stripped away by the cold, unforgiving reality of World War One. In spite of that, brief moments touching on themes of brotherhood and masculinity give the film some much needed heart, lest it become too absorbed in its unrelenting misery, and the addition of excellent performances and expert cinematography elevates it to an unforgettable experience.

I wouldn’t say I have any particular inclination for or against war movies, nor do I consider myself particularly fascinated by history, but my enthusiasm for both exists to a degree sufficient enough to put All Quiet On The Western Front on my entertainment radar. World War I was a recurring subject in history lessons for much of my time in secondary school, and whether exploring it through the lens of advances in medicine, or how it shaped the consciousness of the German people during the rise of Adolf Hitler, it was a chapter of history I found to be both incredibly interesting and unquestionably terrifying. Naturally I’d seen a handful of movies making use of The Great War as a setting (and played my fair share of Battlefield 1), but I’d neither read the book nor seen any earlier film adaptations of All Quiet. Nevertheless, I was interested by what it had to offer as a story from the perspective of Imperial Germany; a point of view not often explored in entertainment, and a high-budget Netflix adaptation seemed like an interesting place to start. While the words “Netflix adaptation” can be a red flag in some instances, I’m glad to say that the film exceeded expectations.

Spoilers ahead!

All Quiet‘s opening scene clashes the serenity of nature with a brief battle sequence and it’s grisly aftermath, and although I can see its place in the story – it does somewhat undercut the building of tension in the first act that was done so meticulously. That which I refer to comes from the film’s central plot, as we meet 17 year old Paul Bäumer and his three friends Ludwig, Franz and Albert. The boys are all enthused at the prospect of joining the ongoing war effort, and they help Paul to go against his parent’s wishes and forge a signature allowing him to enlist in the Imperial Army too. Paul and his friends are chock full of optimism and patriotic fervour, seemingly cultivated by the propaganda of the media and government officials, but their dreams of heroism and adventure are quickly shot down. Lockstep marching in song quickly devolves into a weary trek across foreign lands, marred by the falling of shells and fear of gas attacks, but reality hits hard when an attack comes on their first night in the trenches; killing Ludwig and crushing the boys’ spirit. The opening is arguably the weakest part of the film – it’s fast-paced and sporadic, and it kicks the can down the road for the character writing – but it also provides sufficient groundwork for the story to build on, and the contrast of the enlistees’ optimism with the encroaching truth of the war creates a spectacularly haunting atmosphere from the get-go. The bulk of the story follows Paul and his friends – new and old – as they carry out their orders both on and behind the battlefields of the Western Front, while a subplot examining the political cogs behind the war machine is weaved in at various intervals. There’s something to be gained from nearly every beat of the story, with plenty of shocking battle scenes to hammer home the sheer terror of trench warfare, but many quieter moments too, delivering some much-needed characterisation and levity through the brotherhood between the main cast, which makes it all the more heartfelt as they die off one-by-one. In fact, by the end it’s only Paul left standing in an fruitless final battle orchestrated by a prideful general, and he too is killed mere seconds before the fighting ends, delivering a poignant message about the futility of the war before the final screens of text even appear.

Paul’s arc is practically soaking in the film’s anti-war rhetoric, but manages to deliver this in a way that never feels obtuse or inorganic. Where he starts out young, fresh-faced and full of life; he ends his story weathered, cold and mechanical, rushing into the final moments of his life alone and emotionless. The film’s most heartbreaking moment comes when Paul rushes to kill an enemy combatant in a crater, and finally snaps under the despair of his circumstances; frantically trying to help the dying man before breaking down into his lifeless body, and it’s ultimately Paul’s doubts as a result of this encounter that allow for a French soldier to run him through with a bayonet in the final battle. Tragic as it is, there’s a sweetness to Paul’s end in how he manages to reclaim a small shred of his humanity in spite of all he’s been through, which is arguably a far less depressing end than many of his compatriots face. Ludwig’s death quickly shows us that nobody is safe in the thralls of war, and it’s predicated by his frantic cries of doubt and regret moments before their dug-out is shelled. From being burned alive to gruesome suicide-by-fork, the other men all have equally harrowing fates, but it’s their unresolved hang-ups the characters all the more real – and make their deaths all the more tragic. Ludwig never gets to go home, Franz never meets his French girl again, Albert never falls in love, Tjaden never gets to be a Ranger, Kat never gets to live a life free of war, and Paul never even has a chance to decide his future. We learn their hopes, fears and dreams in those quiet moments of camaraderie and brotherhood, only for everything that brings them to life to be cut short in their unceremonious deaths. It’s not only saddening in the context of the film, but weighs even heavier on the heart when you consider the scale of life lost in the War itself; every unfinished story and unfulfilled dream on every side, and it speaks to the gravity of the war that even the microcosm of that tragedy which is portrayed through All Quiet‘s characters can be enough to leave you melancholic.

It’s no secret that this film is actively beholden to the anti-war message of its source material, yet in spite of the entertainment climate we find ourselves in today, it manages to feel human above all else, making next to no attempt to pass along any sort of strong political judgement, and especially not a contemporary one, as so many stories might try to in this day and age. Instead of preaching some tired platitudes at you, All Quiet opts instead to make its point through invoking your empathy, and the most powerful tool at its disposable is undoubtedly the aforementioned humanity of its characters. It’s made all the more dismaying when contrasted with the uncaring and indifferent nature of the politicians and leaders in the face of catastrophic loss of life, sparing Daniel Brühl’s Matthias Erzberger. The ending texts make it all the more clear that the war was fought far more for the egos of it’s leaders than the miniscule give and take of land on the Western Front, which is portrayed ever so clearly through the scenes in the film that demonstrated the obstinance of the Armistice negotiators, or the pride of the generals and their thirst for conflict. If you know the history, you’ll recognise how certain scenes also touch on the sentiment that gave rise to Hitler and the Nazi party; the idea that the fighting men of Germany were being sold down the river by weak and spineless leaders with no value for their people. As taboo as it may be, I think the film understands the harsh reality of how the loss of World War I was a significant reason for the rise of fascism in Germany. It makes for very striking imagery when one scene taking place in the desolate muck and discomfort of the trenches is immediately clashed with the cleanliness, regalia and luxury of the halls of government in the next, and it hammers home that disparity between the politicians and the men they sent to die with very little care or consideration.

The use of visuals is in fact one of the film’s biggest strengths, with the phrase “every frame a painting” coming to mind. From the warmth and bustle of the boys’ home town and the rustic beauty of rural France, to the soulless greys and browns of No Man’s Land and the shadowy halls of political power, the cinematography supplements the emotional direction of the story at every turn. There’s a sort of wholesomeness to many of the scenes set behind the front, not just in the story, but in how they make use of warmer colours and slower paced shots to make you almost forget the unforgiving brutality of the battlefield, so that the return to the fighting is all the more shaking. By far one of the most memorable scenes of the film was the arrival of French tanks into battle, that layered an ominous, blaring soundtrack into a frightening silence as the tanks roll forwards from a thick mist. It’s a terrifying moment of calm before the first shell is fired and all hell breaks loose as they bomb, crush and roll through any obstacle in their way. The whole sequence lends them a deathly kind of reverence that emphasises the impact of the machines on a battle, with the sheer terror in the performances of the actors making the whole nightmare seem all the more real. Truthfully the same could be said of any other moment in the film, with every character brought to life by their respective stars; especially so on the part of Felix Kammerer, who perfectly captured each beat of Paul’s character arc, from his naive optimism at the beginning to his stone cold emotionlessness at the end. Nevertheless, the entire cast give it their all, and every moment of joy, terror, sincerity and pain feels unquestionably genuine, which is all the more impressive for a film that I watched in a language I hardly understand.

Sparing the somewhat shaky construction of the first act, every aspect of this film is masterful in its craft, and rolled together it makes for an incredibly engrossing insight into the First World War from start to finish. Even so, it never once feels tired or overly historical thanks to the added dimensions of its emotionally charged plot, complex characters, and the authentic message at its heart. I’m not quite sure what I expected going into All Quiet On The Western Front, but I came away pretty confident in calling it the best film of 2022 thus far.

9/10