THE STORY – Inspired by true events, in the early days of the Iraq War, a U.S. Marine’s split-second decision during a firefight devastates an Iraqi family. Years later, aided by a New Yorker journalist, he seeks to reconcile with the woman and her family who survived.
THE CAST – Boyd Holbrook, Hiam Abbass, Kenneth Branagh & Gheed
THE TEAM – Reed Van Dyk (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 118 minutes
There have been many films that try to pass themselves off as “anti-war” films, most notably in the late 2000s and early 2010s, following the Iraq War and the success of “The Hurt Locker,” which emphasized the horrors of combat, placing us firmly in the perspective of the American troops but never seen through the eyes of the innocent civilians who were impacted by the war. But sometimes, and now, over twenty years removed from the war, more frequently there are anti-war films that force audiences to sit with the destruction we left behind, asking us to finally take accountability for our actions. Reed Van Dyk’s directorial debut, “Atonement,” belongs in the latter category. Inspired by true events, this effective drama asks challenging questions that many war films rarely dare to confront: What can ever truly be done after an irreversible act of violence? Who deserves forgiveness? What does forgiveness even look like? And who even has the right to grant it?
Set in Baghdad in 2003, during the early days of the Iraq War, “Atonement” opens by introducing us to the Khachaturian family and the simple peace they are trying to preserve amid the destruction around them. Though temporarily displaced from their home due to nearby military activity, Mariam Khachaturian (Hiam Abbass) and her family continue to try to maintain some sense of normalcy. But in a split second, everything changes. After another bombing erupts nearby, the family decides to return home, driving through Baghdad’s war-torn streets. At an intersection engulfed in violence, American soldiers are under heavy enemy fire. Positioned on a rooftop overlooking the area, U.S. Marines have been ordered to fire upon approaching vehicles that may pose a threat. Confused and unable to understand where the gunfire is coming from, the Khachaturians continue driving forward. U.S. Marine Lou D’Alessandro (Boyd Holbrook) opens fire, and within moments, Mariam’s husband and two sons are dead. From that instant onward, every life connected to this event is permanently altered.
The opening sequence is the film’s only explosive setpiece, and Van Dyk stages it with intense, terrifying clarity. But what’s most impressive about “Atonement” is not the incident itself, but the emotional aftershocks that continue to resonate with these people all these years later on both sides of the action. In what could be seen as a more mature and demanding subject for film, “Atonement” is less concerned with violence than with the impossible burden carried by those in the aftermath.
At first, New York Times journalist Michael Reid (Kenneth Branagh) attempts to tell the story but receives little cooperation from either Lou or the military. Initially, Lou believes he was justified in his actions. He did what he was trained to do, and even if it was an accident, it’s what he feels he had to do had it been anyone else other than armless civilians in the cars that day. As Lou explains later in the film, the army grants permission to kill during war and often moves forward without ever fully accounting for what happens when mistakes occur. Like the mafia, the military can operate under its own codes where ordinary rules of humanity no longer seem to apply. But time has a way of rotting away at that self-assured certainty. More than a decade later, Lou is a broken man. After eight deployments and a dishonorable discharge, he struggles to hold jobs, suffers through sleepless nights, suffers from mood swings, physical tremors, and carries crushing self-hatred for what happened that day. Men from his own unit have died by suicide while wrestling with similar guilt and trauma, and the same thing looks to be heading for Lou if he cannot figure out how to forgive himself for that fateful day properly. This is where “Atonement” becomes something far more emotionally complex than a simple story of guilt or redemption. Lou reaches back out to Michael in the hope that he can broker a meeting between himself, Mariam, and her surviving daughter, Nora (Gheed). He wants forgiveness. Or perhaps more accurately, he wants absolution. Yet even Lou himself seems uncertain what that would accomplish or whether he even deserves it.
Boyd Holbrook delivers one of the best performances of his career here, revealing a level of vulnerability and emotional torment rarely seen from him before. Lou is selfish in his pursuit of absolution because, in some ways, this journey is still centered around his pain. Yet Holbrook and Van Dyk never ask the audience to excuse them. Instead, he portrays a man consumed by grief and guilt, and is on the verge of psychological collapse that even Mariam can recognize and have sympathy for. Lou’s suffering is deeply real, but the film wisely never misconstrues his sorrow for innocence.
That distinction is important because Reed Van Dyk understands what many American war films have historically not: While countless stories have heavily prioritized the American viewpoint, often reducing Iraqi civilians to nothing other than background casualties, “Atonement” refuses to repeat that mistake. If anything, the film places equal, if not greater, emotional importance on Mariam and the unimaginable devastation inflicted upon her family. Such emphasis allows Hiam Abbass to truly shine here in a monumental performance that brings a quiet strength to Mariam’s devastating grief and pain. Her performance does not rely on grand speeches or emotional outbursts. Instead, every nuanced glance, pause, and expression from Abbass communicates years of unimaginable pain for Mariam that we do not see due to the 10-year time jump, but we most definitely feel. No apology can bring back what was taken from her. No punishment can make things right. And so, the film circles back to the central question hanging over all of this: What can ever truly be said or done? We may not know, but one of the best elements of being human during moments such as this is that we try to do the right thing even when we don’t know what that looks like.
Outside of its opening firefight, which feels like it could come out of any war film you’ve seen before, “Atonement” is a deeply universal experience that aims for something far more specific than other war films have attempted. Van Dyk clearly recognizes the moral and emotional complexity of each character and asks us to reckon with a war that many still have thorny views on all these years later. Meanwhile, Branagh provides a reassuring, tender presence as Michael, acting as a bridge between Lou and Mariam. His warmth and empathy help guide the film through its most fragile moments, ensuring that there are no easy villains because there are simply no easy answers here, and certainly no clean resolution, no matter how hard the characters try to put on their best face for it.
“Atonement” is a powerful human drama about the often elusive nature of forgiveness. Sometimes there is nothing that can be said or done to erase the weight of one’s actions, but perhaps there are steps that can be taken toward absolution. Not to move on, but to simply carry on as best we can. But who grants that absolution? The victim’s loved ones? God? Yourself? Van Dyk seems to suggest the answer may be all three, and even then, it may still not be enough. This is very complicated, delicate material handled with great care.
