AFTER the fall of Singapore in 1942, the Japanese brutally
forced many of their captives to begin construction of a railway
line from Thailand to Rangoon, Burma. Thousands died under
horrendous conditions. Others were tortured, and bore deep
emotional scars that long outlasted the physical abuse they had
suffered. Eric Lomax's account of the pain he and fellow soldiers
experienced was eventually published more than 40 years later - an
indication, perhaps, of how far-extending was the road to healing
and forgiveness.
The film version of The Railway Man (Cert. 15),
released today, begins by quoting from Revelation. Those familiar
with the Roman Catholic writer Frank Cottrell Boyce's other
screenplays, such as Millionsand God on Trial,
will not be surprised to find astute theological reflection in his
latest piece. We see in Lomax, as played by Colin Firth, the
gradual rehabilitation of someone long lost to himself.
The spark is a Brief Encounter moment on a train
journey in 1983 between Lomax and Patti (Nicole Kidman), which
leads to marriage. Neither the film (nor the book) pays attention
to what his deeply religious first wife, or their daughters,
endured, living with a soul in torment. This state of affairs
continues with Patti in their Berwick home. It is her
determination, however, to deal with Lomax's unspoken fears and
fantasies which is at the heart of the picture.
Central to his post-traumatic stress is, as we see in
flashbacks, the treatment of young Lomax (Jeremy Irvine) by one of
his torturers. Nagase - Tanroh Ishida plays the juvenile version -
is his vicious interrogator. In a crucial scene, which takes place
on the causeway leading to Holy Island, Patti encourages Lomax to
acknowledge his demons. Subsequently, he locates the mature Nagase
(Hiroyuki Sanada), now working as a guide in a Death Railway
museum. Nagase has attempted to atone for his sins; Lomax still
languishes in the depths of hell.
Interestingly, Lomax, a member of a Baptist church, begins his
book with "I am alive and was dead. . . Write therefore the things
which thou hast seen" (Revelation 1.18-19), thus heralding a
testimony to what he witnessed. The film has a somewhat different
focus, kicking off instead with "Behold, I stand at the door and
knock (Revelation 3.20): Christ's waiting for us to invite him into
our lives. It is an enormous clue to the story that follows, one in
which we wonder whether Lomax can ever open the door of his heart;
and whether forgiveness can be snatched from the jaws of
revenge.
The film isn't Die Hard, but offers something much more
difficult to attain. That it succeeds owes much to Cottrell Boyce
and the director, Jonathan Teplitzky, who subtly but insistently
present a redemptive alternative to those cinematic clichés of
retributive justice.