THE STORY – A choral society’s male members enlist in World War I, leaving the demanding Dr. Guthrie to recruit teenagers. Together, they experience the joy of singing while the young boys grapple with their impending conscription into the army.
THE CAST – Ralph Fiennes, Roger Allam, Mark Addy, Alun Armstrong, Robert Emms & Simon Russell Beale
THE TEAM – Nicholas Hytner (Director) & Alan Bennett (Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 113 Minutes
The opening shot of “The Choral” opens with a title card marking the year 1916. Young men crest a mist-draped hill, marching along in ways evocative of the military campaigns taking place over the channel, a kind of no-man’s land to be traversed. Soon, we are made to realize this isn’t Flanders or Ypres, the fog emerging not from the guns but from the Yorkshire factories in the valley below, a calm, bucolic vision of an England at War where the looms still run and the people still cling to a normalcy in whatever form that can take.
Nicholas Hytner’s latest is a patient exploration of the paradoxes of wartime far removed from the front. Baked goods are still being prepared, concerts are being auditioned for, but the simple act of mail delivery often takes on a somber, even macabre normalcy, the “letters from the King,” the almost trivial marker of a young life extinguished.
The story follows the preparations for an annual choral performance, made more challenging given the dearth of young male voices, given just how many have left to serve. Even the group’s pianist is selected to serve, leaving a void for a new musical director to take the reins. Reluctantly, the group, headed by a local mill owner played supremely well by veteran performer Roger Allam, acquiesces to select one Dr. Guthrie (Ralph Fiennes) to take over the task.
Guthrie’s a complicated choice made out of necessity more than anything else. A fine musician, he has spent years in Germany, a factor unfavourable during this time of battling with that nation. His casual dropping of Germanic phrases is distressing to most, but his musical pedigree is unblemished.
The decision is made to perform something a bit more locally grown, Edward Elgar’s “The Dream of Gerontius,” a story of an old man confronting death and purgatory. The Catholic libretto is also a stretch for the audiences of this resolutely Anglican Northern English town, but at least the music isn’t poisoned by the Germanic proclivities from the likes of Bach, Brahms, and Beethoven.
A slew of British legends make up the ensemble, including Mark Addy, Simon Russell Beale, Lyndsey Marsha, and Alan Armstrong, as well as relative newcomers such as Emily Fairn and Amara Okereke. The storyline shifts from moments of light humour to sardonic gallows commentary through to outright tragedy, all while navigating a narrative leading towards the inevitable performances that serve as the cap of the third act.
Fiennes is as formidable as ever, his breathtaking range yet again on display. It’s his role that injects the film with much of its magic, ranging from the stern yet capable moments of musical guidance, through to the more subtle, unspoken connection he has with a former partner left behind in Germany, whose loss cannot be shared in good company.
Tonally, the film shifts throughout, with the relationships of the young and the more dour responses of the older generation mixing in ways where each ends up affecting the other. The film struggles to situate itself comfortably at any emotional pole, seemingly swinging from dark to light without giving appropriate time for certain narrative threads to unwind, while lingering on others that are roughly woven and likely deserving of being scrapped.
Screenwriter Alan Bennett sets things in motion well, but even the most somber of circumstances feel slightly claustrophobic, coming across as stagey or theatrical rather than cinematic in scope. The romances between the young folks feel a bit lopsided, and even the grief from the older generation feels almost two-dimensional in its gloominess. The ingredients are scattered throughout to make something quite engaging, but while its placid charms are evident, it never quite manages to reach the higher notes that it is trying to reach.
“The Choral” is a perfectly fine festival film. Anchored by another admirable performance by Fiennes, it mines its milieu effectively enough. Even if the end result doesn’t quite live up to the majesty of Elgar’s opera, or even the truly transformative societal shifts that the Great War wrought on this land, there’s enough to admire about what takes place on screen in this telling to recommend it.
