If the point of Brian Kirk's television film, adapted by David Haig from his stage play and starring Haig as the writer Rudyard Kipling, was to show just how much of a horse's ass Kipling actually was and just how awful it is to send young men, some merely boys, out to fight a war, any war, then it succeeded in spades. But I'm not quite sure that was the point and its screening on Remembrance Sunday was no coincidence. While we were certainly there to weep at the loss of Jack, Kipling's son, drummed into the army by his father's jingoism, as well as the hundreds of thousands of others who died in The Great War, I think we were also meant to applaud their bravery, if not their foolishness, then and now. Parallels to present conflicts are unmistakable.
Of its kind, of course, it's well enough made. England was a green and pleasant land, certainly on Kipling's estate. Unfortunately it was also a bit like Neverland with Kipling coming over as a cross between J M Barrie and Gandolf. And the trenches weren't much better. The rain and the mud had a sanitized look about them. We never really got away from the studio and I always think that sort of thing looks better in black and white.
What finally distinguishes it are the two central performances. Haig makes Kipling a splendidly priggish boor proving he is a much better actor than he is a writer. As his sacrificial son, Jack, that sprogget Daniel Radcliffe, (he isn't very tall, is he?), finally shook off the mantle of Harry Potter with a marvelously nuanced study of a boy forced into manhood before his time. (Radcliffe turned eighteen during filming just as his character turned eighteen prior to his death). It was a touching, exploratory piece of acting that seemed to me to be as much about Radcliffe as it was about Jack. Both players add a dimension to the drama that it lacked elsewhere and if it finally moved me, and it did, it was due to their performances. In every other respect it's just a typical made-for-television costume drama.
