The age-old adage 'be careful what you wish for’ could certainly be applied to the stark uniqueness of Ben Wheatley’s A Field in England, a bewildering, original work that proves quite unlike anything most filmgoers will see in their lifetime.
the director unleashes all the tricks in the surrealist’s book
The compelling black-and-white, 17th century English Civil War-set psychedelic head-scratcher from Wheatley (after 2011’s Kill List and 2012’s Sightseers) is his most ambitious narrative and artistic endeavour to date, and probably English cinema’s biggest roll of the dice in some time, too. Consider this: the film works buried treasure, magic mushrooms, graphic bullet wounds, rancid penis close-ups and commentary on class divide into its single-setting premise.
Wheatley’s plotting is deceptively simple, a fact that may lead some detractors to think it’s more style than substance. Whitehead (Reece Shearsmith), a shell-shocked man-servant with aristocratic pretensions, forms a union with a rough but decent fellow deserter, Jacob (Peter Ferdinando), and the slightly dim Friend (Richard Glover). Soon, they are under the cruel grasp of the insidious O’Neill (Michael Smiley) and his callous offsider Trower (Julian Barratt), who force them to dig for elusive treasure in a vast field; it’s a world that seems to exist near a war whose rumblings can be heard in the distance.
There might be something in the theory of altered realities in A Field in England, that hoary old genre of 'moment of death’ cinema where the natural world takes on otherworldly qualities when viewed through the new reality of the recently deceased. Such a point of view might explain away some of the film’s nuttier moments and give resonance to the final confusing frames of the film. How that theory relates to Wheatley’s head-trip 'magic mushy’ sequence is a bit of a blur, but there is no denying the director unleashes all the tricks in the surrealist’s book to disconcert his audience. (The film opens with a warning about the use of 'stroboscopic effects’.) When Whitehead plummets into his drug-induced trip, Wheatley goes batshit crazy with split-second cuts, image juxtaposition, inverted and swirling camerawork and screeching audio design. Visual tricks in the film’s second half, such as ultra slow-motion and whispered dialogue in the midst of a howling gale, suggest the 'coming down’ period of a post-narcotic high.
Dig deep and there are traditional cinematic roots to such Brit films as Witchfinder General (1968) and the largely forgotten Winstanley (1976). The anachronistic tone is enhanced by Wheatley’s script, co-written with wife Amy Jump, which melds ye olde English speech with modern slang. It is a precise yet pithy work with an ebb and flow tone that requires tremendous skill from the ensemble cast.
The film garnered extensive publicity in the UK for being the first to launch with a four-tier, day-and-date release: cinema, DVD, digital download and free-to-air broadcast. It’s media coverage that may not have come otherwise, given the determinedly uncommercial nature of Wheatley’s vision. But whether you find it startling and audacious or indulgent and incoherent, there is no denying it is an accomplished work that soars as bravado filmmaking in its exploration of deep psychological torment.
Share
