The Book Thief

Adapted from the international bestseller by Markus Zusak, The Book Thief sees Downton Abbey director Brian Percival perform an emotional embalming; wrapping up this emotive World War II story in so much bland sentiment and sanitised prettiness that one ends up in the curious position of longing for a glimmer of wartime horror.

Resonant on the page, on screen all the elements that mark The Book Thief as a prestige period picture feel tired and clichéd. There’s a child protagonist (Sophie Nelisse), a brutal setting (Nazi Germany), a foster family (Emily Watson and Geoffrey Rush) and gravitas-laden narration by a respected British thesp (Roger Allem). The acting is brilliant across the board, Nelisse’s beautifully expressive face lighting up the screen. However, the actors are limited by the overly stylised presentation of the monstrosities confronting their characters.

Percival fails to convey the weight of atrocities happening off-screen. Dangers thus appear as slight obstacles with little consequence: people get sick only to recover; are sent to war only to come back; are singled out by Nazis for nothing to happen. Though darkness does eventually descend on the snow-speckled town, it feels belated and hurried – with comfort offered too quickly.

John Williams’ swelling score and Florain Ballhaus’ colour-soaked cinematography evoke Spielberg. Nonetheless, Percival’s approach is the lesser for its insistence on being gentle. Instead of a layered, emotional gut-punch, we get a dull, middlebrow slog, handy for parents who want to teach their children about the existence of World War II, without touching on the horrible details.