Set in 1945, after five years of German occupation, Writer/ Director Martin Zandvliet’s stark but poignant post-war drama tells the story of a group of young POWs forced to clear thousands of active landmines, planted by German soldiers, on a desolate beach in Denmark. The troupe struggle to hold onto their humanity as, on the cusp of freedom, they are forced to undertake the traumatic task while living in the shadow of the officious Sergeant Carl (Roland Moller).
The POWs undergo bomb diffusing lessons in an almost montage like series of scenes, without an immediately established protagonist. These fail to pave the way for a designated story path, given the high and central concept, but ingeniously establish the nature of what’s to follow. Characters are introduced during a tense line up then subjected to an emotional pummelling while conflicts arise and Sgt Carl is defined as the antagonist. Meanwhile the group take peace in fond memories while adopting bugs as pets and dreaming of a normal life drinking beer and working as Brick Layers.
Land of Mine is a tale enriched with pertinent detail. It’s meticulously researched and emotionally devastating but also deeply rewarding. From the technical components to the character traits, these facets endow the drama with depth and make the story much more than a mere history lesson. Character personalities are inveigled out carefully due to the POWs being restricted by their status and imprisonment. Even Sgt Carl is conditioned. But Writer/ Director Zandvliet fashions a revelatory method to wheedle the nuances, using location limitations to his advantage while commenting on the constant state of repression.
The troupe are forced to vomit by drinking sea water after eating contaminated grain while a local mother (Laura Bro) calls on the soldiers to save her daughter and Sgt Carl has an epiphany. These array of skilfully mastered emotions is eventually harnessed through considered performances, especially by Roland Moller as Sgt Carl, and excellent writing. The soldiers eventually appear timid, angry, hopeful, desperate, grateful and terrified by their tribulation and Zandvliet unveils the horrors of war and heart-felt humanity at its characters’ core in a manner that resonates remarkably while instilling the moments with earnestness.
Land of Mine suggests every kind of monster harbours goodness that can surface with the right kind of compassion and care. While Zandvliet’s film avoids curdling into superficiality or commercial saccharine as this may suggest, and one knee jerk twist remains slightly synthetic, this moves the story into a fresher terrain where Land of Mine transforms into a work that successfully comments on the nature of combat with considered restraint then blossoms into welcome poignancy.
