http://blog.nationmultimedia.com/betweentheframes/2008/03/13/entry-8


As regards theology, the word "atonement" is often separated into its
parts — at-one-ment — in order to demonstrate that the concept means
to become united (which is "at one") with God. The word also refers to
the forgiving or pardoning of sin through the death by crucifixion of
Jesus Christ which made possible the reconciliation between God and
creation. The doctrine concerns the reconciliation of God and
humankind, especially as accomplished through the life, suffering, and
death of Christ. But this handy wordplay oversimplifies the mystical
concept of atonement by focusing on the outcome rather than the
process of becoming whole again. It trivializes the oft-painful
relationship between transgression and the search for solace, and
overlooks the transgressor's role in trying to make amends for an
injury that may be beyond repair.

In the film "Atonement", a masterly rendering of Ian McEwan's novel,
13-year-old Briony Tallis (Saoirse Ronan), who desperately wants to
become a writer, happens to see a series of events between her older
sister Cecilia (Keira Knightley) and Robbie Turner (James McAvoy), a
man on whom Briony has an adolescent crush. Motivated by jealousy,
confusion, and an overzealous imagination, she accuses Robbie of rape.
Once an aspiring doctor, Robbie is sent to prison and from there to
the front lines of World War II; Cecilia leaves home; Briony abandons
her opportunity for college to become a nurse; and both families are
irreparably shattered.

"Atonement" is a subtle book, but it doesn't lend itself easily to
cinematic adaptation. Screenwriter Christopher Hampton manages,
however, to bend this recalcitrant novel into movie-form in an elegant
fashion which preserves the novel's quirks. One of the central motifs
of the novel is the relationship between author and story. This works
primarily on three levels: McEwan as an author of literary fiction,
Briony as an author of literary fiction and Briony as an author of
real-life fictions. This meta-literary tension, which is palpable
throughout the novel, asks some serious implicit and explicit
questions about fiction and its purpose. The book seems violently
ambiguous about the whole fiction-writing enterprise. Briony is the
most sinister 13-year-old character we've ever encountered, and it's
all because of her writerly tendencies. She's determined to shape
events and interpret them, while all the while remaining eerily
detached from her circumstances.



In essence, McEwan is paying tribute to the power of words, a theme
which Hampton's script translates to the screen with a faithful
intelligence, with a minimum of words for a maximum effect,
wholeheartedly exploiting the standard lover's lexicon of desire.
Words don't express all of it. The screenplay further explores the
boundaries between truth and falsehood, guilt and repentance, in
scenes that combine a rarefied intimacy with passages of epic power
and grandeur. Like McEwan, Wright utilizes several stylistic
techniques in the film including metafiction, which is
unprofessionally and unfairly mistaken, by some critics, with the
nonlinear narrative structure in "Memento". As a result, the
meta-literary plot is transcribed visually through repetition, a
warping of time and even rewinding.

In a further inspired touch, Dario Marianelli employs the percussive
clack of a manual typewriter as a rhythm instrument, reflecting both a
central character's writerly impulses and the urgent push of McEwan's
narrative. In keeping with the film's theme of storytelling, Wright
suggested incorporating the sounds of a typewriter. The first sound we
hear is the tap, tap, tap of a typewriter, a sonic motif that will be
incorporated into Dario Marianelli's lush, romantic, yet haunting
score, as 13-year-old Briony Tallis puts the finishing touches on her
first play. The typewriter is a recurrent motif in which a 1935
misunderstanding by Briony has a tragic effect on the future lives of
those around her. To that end, the clacking of keys and the thumping
of carriage returns even pop up in the score, as an important theme in
the imagination of a writer. To mark moments of thought and emotion
that occurs onscreen, the urgent rhythm of its tapping is even echoed
in the score. The sound design is exceptional, with a staccato
typewriter motif that underscores the central idea that the actions
taken from words - whether truthful, mistaken or otherwise - are what
drive the characters into their various dilemmas. To have a typewriter
as part of the percussion section, clearly reflects Briony's
occupation as a novelist, and to underline the point that literary
fantasy is a key plot element in the film. The percussive clatter of
the keys initiates and underpins the central theme for Briony, which
is heard in the opening cue "Briony", and in later tracks such as "Two
Figures by a Fountain", "With My Own Eyes", the more urgent and
dramatic "Cee, You and Tea", and the surprising "Come Back" which,
amongst other things, also features a performance of the wartime
standard 'The White Cliffs of Dover', and a church organ solo.

Marionelli incorporates the story into his music in imaginative ways.
As the film opens he turns Briony's typewriter into a percussive
instrument, returning to its motif throughout the film. When a
distraught Mrs. Turner (Brenda Blethyn) pounds on the police car that
is taking her son Robbie to jail, Marionelli uses her pounding to form
the driving rhythm of the music. During one orchestral passage a
harmonica is highlighted, just before we see a soldier in the
distance, playing the harmonica. In another, a piano key is struck
repeatedly, ending with a "plunk" as a petulant Briony pulls the
string of the family piano. Each intrusion is an unexpected delight,
drawing attention to the music without distracting from the film.

The piano theme is elegiac and melancholy, and the cello and violins
also add to the sadness of the romance. Once again, the use of a
typewriter as an instrument soon becomes infectious and it even forces
its way into viewer's minds, making Robbie's note and the consequences
unforgettable. The vivacious piano line and prancing string work gives
the theme energy and a sense of wit and sprightliness which is quite
delightful. Seldom have I been so aware of a score — in a positive way
— since Gustavo Santaolalla's Brokeback Mountain.

As a nurse, Briony seems determined to atone for her sin of false
witness by caring for the wounded soldiers who are shipped back to
London. Their shattered bodies stand in for the lives she has
shattered. Accompanied by music the typewriter motif begins to sound
like bullets, in a metaphorical manner, communicating that words are
weapons that can wound and even kill. The ending is a powerful
statement about atonement — reparation, making amends, seeking
wholeness and at-one-ment when the injured party has been broken
beyond repair.



The acting in this film is unexpectedly well calibrated, the way one
expects actors to perform in a British period film. All the
performances are flawless. McAvoy, a more mature and confident
presence since "The Last King of Scotland", shines as the ill-fated
Robbie as he puts admirable depth into the sweet-sad-angry-flirty
character of Robbie Turner and adds a great deal of charisma.
Knightley, managing to rein in her pout as the bereft Cecilia, attains
a marvelous serenity and poise and delivers a performance marked by
heretofore unknown levels of dramatic maturity.





As Robbie's mother, Brenda Blethyn is deeply affecting in her two
quiet scenes with her son, and the supporting cast, including Benedict
Cumberbatch as a cocky industrialist and family friend, are all we
would expect in a film as intelligent and meticulously crafted as this.



Young Briony in particular is portrayed with wonderful subtlety, and
Ronan manages to steal the first half of the film as she plays the
13-year-old Briony with great depth and self possession. Her vivid
blue eyes, which often stare unabashedly into the camera, are flat-out
haunting. Grown-up Briony, played by Romola Garai, excels as the
tragic and deeply flawed 18 year old Briony. She has a gift at
conveying deep emotions with just the smallest facial movements and
she is an actress that is already being talked about as a future
great. Because of her performance, the second half of the film is
incredibly evocative. One scene in particular stood out: a short talk
between Briony who is a nurse during the war and a dying French
soldier. The moment is so tastefully and quietly done that it elicits
tears before you know what's going on. "No matter how hard I work I
can't make up for what I did." About the same time that we hear these
words we see a pair of hands being vigorously scrubbed as if trying to
remove some deep stain. Grown-up Briony has been trying to undo a
terrible event she caused five years earlier. Her mistake, whether
malicious or not, ruined two promising lives. How can she ever make
amends for the pain and suffering she brought about?






The most moving performance is Vanessa Redgrave's as she delivers a
knockout performance that seems to have come from deep within her own
regrets over past transgressions. The climax of the film which
requires an elderly Briony to deliver a lengthy 15 minute speech is
done interspersed with some stunning beautiful imagery of what a happy
ever after ending should be. And this is the way movie magic is made.
In the film's final moments, Redgrave plays Briony in old age and
during a television interview about her career as a writer gives us a
shattering insight into her feelings. Only now do we grasp the depth
and richness of the story and the implications of McEwan's narrative.
There is no end to the guilt that has defined her life, at least as
long as she has her memory. Only at the very end is there a hint of
mercy coming into her life, and even that is a very hard mercy. Thus
we learn that her sin in the beginning not only ruined the lives of
Robbie and Cecilia, but her own life as well. Briony, like us, learns
that that no matter how much we do, or how hard we scrub, or how we
try to make things right, we will always come up short. But that is
the cost we pay to find the true meaning of grace that in the end
gives us mercy.

In very few films are acting, writing, direction and sheer visual
impact fused with such success in the service of a unifying artistic
vision. Oscar winner Christopher Hampton's script combined with
Wright's direction result in a mischievous yet meticulous produced
film as it exceeded expectations and managed to translate most of the
dark beauty of McEwan's work while adding some beauty of its own.
Sumptuously produced and smartly acted, it grips from the opening
moments. The play between imagination and reality works well. As the
film remains a thought-provoking and satisfying romantic drama
dripping with cinematic inventiveness and deft narrative touches.
Flawlessly and elegantly executed, "Atonement", save "No Country for
Old Men", is the film of the year: a profound and moving work of art,
heartbreakingly sad, consummately acted and ceaselessly beautiful to
watch. It is the measure of Wright's achievement that "Atonement", for
all its echoes of other people's glories, is a strikingly original and
a wonderfully daring film. It remains a film of brilliant parts, one
that you'll find yourself thinking about days later.