A shameful piece of World War II history is exhumed in Martin Zandvliet’s empathetic and deeply involving third feature. In 1945, after Germany ended its occupation of Denmark, hundreds of thousands of landmines were left buried on the beaches of the country’s western coast. The dangerous task of finding and clearing them was forced upon German prisoners of war. It’s a terrifying punishment, but the alternative of making even more Danish people risk their lives seems even less just.

This ethical tension is felt by Sgt. Carl Rasmussen (Roland Moller), a man whose impatient nature and haunted eyes betray the horrors he has both witnessed and suffered. Assigned to supervise a group of German boy soldiers barely out of adolescence, his jadedness makes him immune to the prospect of their death or maiming. He’s also icy in the face of their torturous living conditions, which leaves them on the brink of starvation. However, through a series of small shared experiences, the boys lead Rasmussen to question whether their task is a form of justice, or merely a cruel exercise in revenge that robs everyone of their humanity.

It’s a challenging portrayal of post-war ambiguity, cleverly presented against a picturesque backdrop. The shock of dark uniformed bodies against the serenity of the white beach evokes the sense of emotional unmooring felt by the characters. Are the horrors they’re inflicting on this place of beauty needlessly continuing the devastation of the battlefields?

Zandvliet’s use of heavy foreshadowing unwittingly deflates the tension, and his characterisation – especially of the boys – can be poor. But he poses wrenching emotional questions, and shows how the battles of war rage on long after a victor has been declared.

3/5