Some blokes who don't want to get killed during the English Civil War manage to escape from the fighting into a neighbouring field ("a field in England", geddit?) where, annoyingly, they fail to leg it as fast as they can away from the fighting: instead they spend an hour and a half faffing around in the company of an unstable fellow from the other side of the battle. Or from some other side than theirs.
Now it's entirely possible that this has some deeper significance than is immediately apparent: perhaps it is some sort of comment on the human condition, or on England's schizophrenic attitude towards its own history or the like. Or perhaps I am indeed too stupid to divine the director's true intentions, or to take pride in my own role as determinant of the true meaning of the film.
But I think it's just possible that there is less to this than meets the eye, and that the small (and very good) cast have wasted 90 minutes of their and my time on a beautifully photographed but utterly pointless piece of monochrome inconsequentiality.
Now it's entirely possible that this has some deeper significance than is immediately apparent: perhaps it is some sort of comment on the human condition, or on England's schizophrenic attitude towards its own history or the like. Or perhaps I am indeed too stupid to divine the director's true intentions, or to take pride in my own role as determinant of the true meaning of the film.
But I think it's just possible that there is less to this than meets the eye, and that the small (and very good) cast have wasted 90 minutes of their and my time on a beautifully photographed but utterly pointless piece of monochrome inconsequentiality.