The Choral

Or: Sound and Sorrow

The war is everywhere. It’s 1916 and no one is having a good time, even at the Ramsdon Choral. A collection of millworkers and mill bosses, the artistic elements of this small Yorkshire factory town has seen its young men leached away to the fields of France, and very few of them returned. Now in need of a Chorus Master, Alderman Bernard Duxbury (Roger Allam) hires the brilliant but “anti-social” (coughgayasanythinglcoughcough) and, worse, German sympathizing Dr. Henry Guthrie (Ralph Fiennes). The lone voice of dissent in the gung-ho, Our Kingdom Right or Wrong community (whose air nevertheless trembles with disquiet, along with low-key carnal longing and thick-spread northern vowels), Dr. Guthrie attempts to steer his new-found community to a recognition of what is happening ‘over there’ as recognition of the horrors creep closer to home.

The Choral is an exemplar of that particular “must’n’t grumble” tragedy one expects of Britain when they talk about the Great War, a very genteel hopelessness. Many a scene features a quiet quivering cheek of unspoken anguish (special mention to the always excellent Robert Emms as Guthrie’s accompanist and hopeless suitor Robert). Where the film shines though is not in its acting acumen but the quality of its singing. It is the Choral, after all. With the incredible talent of Amara Okereke (as Mary, a Salvation Army private) and Jacob Dudman (as Clyde, an actual Army Private) falling like a benediction upon our ears, the audience is treated to a wave of sound, swelling and cresting, moving through us as the many voices come together. The movie’s most haunting moments are montages of practice as, richer and poorer, the people of Ramsdon snatch moments from their lives to make something beautiful.