‘Amrum’ review: Director Fatih Akin delivers complex coming-of-age tale

The best coming-of-age stories derive their power from being endings as much as beginnings. There’s often a clarifying, poignant harshness in the losses they depict. That applies — with sobering grace — to the memory ballad “Amrum,” set on Germany’s titular North Sea island in 1945, when the winds of a world war’s conclusion blow into a 12-year-old boy’s life with unexpected consequences.

The movie bears a curious credit: “A Hark Bohm film by Fatih Akin.” Bohm, who died last year at 86, was a highly respected film writer, actor and academic, a veteran of Germany’s New Wave. Realizing he’d be unable to direct his fictionalized childhood remembrance, he entrusted it to his mentee Akin, the firebrand behind modern German classics such as “Head-On” and “In the Fade.” The project became, according to Akin, like “adopting a child.”

In story terms, that child, a stand-in for Bohm himself, is wide-eyed, sensitive Nanning (well-cast newcomer Jasper Billerbeck), who works in the potato fields of local farmer Tessa (Diane Kruger, in a small but key role). At home, he has a pregnant mother, Hille (Laura Tonke), aunt Ena (Lisa Hagmeister) and two younger siblings, but not the high-ranking Nazi officer patriarch who relocated them from bombed-out Hamburg to an ancestral house on this tiny, beachy outpost. Pejoratively dubbed a mainlander by even the friendliest neighbors and generally viewed with suspicion for his family’s Nazi ties, Nanning is assured by his ideology-soaked mom that their roots, their “bloodline,” make them real Amlumers.

The boy’s first real lesson in the shifting sands comes when, at dinner, he remarks that the war will soon be over, intending it as good news — Dad could come home. Yet his mother reacts as if he’d sided with the enemy by wishing defeat. Later, with the news of Hitler’s demise, she sinks into a depression, refusing food unless it’s white bread, butter and honey, all in scarce supply. So Nanning sets out to secure her the necessary ingredients, as if the fabric of his world depends on it.

What follows is a tightly told fable-like journey built around the war-battered realities of survival when everyone’s tired, hungry and irritated. There are brutal truths in store for Nanning about what his family represents. It’s an evolving boyhood, framed with unshowy elegance by cinematographer Karl Walter Lindenlaub against the island’s flat, grassy, weather-rich horizons. “Amrum” avoids the sentimentality baked into so many childhood-during-wartime stories. Akin, as if inspired by the unfussy youthfulness that marked Italian neorealism and the New Waves in both France and Iran (there are shout-outs to “Bicycle Thieves” and “The 400 Blows”), zeroes in on the steady accumulation of detail rather than the trappings of cuteness or melodrama.

That measured approach, exemplified in star Billerbeck’s arresting simplicity and the many fine supporting turns around him, allows us to clock Nanning’s growing awareness of what matters to others, what’s impossible to ignore and how to interpret an unjust world that’s still full of beauty and kindness if you know where to look. Which, of course, includes inside himself.

Near the end, “Amrum” serves up a wonderfully understated moment: Nanning is invited to celebrate the war’s end with a small group of dancing, drinking islanders. He hangs back, though, as if not quite ready to choose their joyous relief over obediently tending to his broken family. But you can see this dutiful son’s wish to be one of them. For all of us wondering when an ugly time will fade, the moment will resonate like a cautious, dawning hope.

The best coming-of-age stories derive their power from being endings as much as beginnings. There’s often a clarifying, poignant harshness in the losses they depict. That applies — with sobering grace — to the memory ballad “Amrum,” set on Germany’s titular North Sea island in 1945, when the winds of a world war’s conclusion blow into a 12-year-old boy’s life with unexpected consequences.

The movie bears a curious credit: “A Hark Bohm film by Fatih Akin.” Bohm, who died last year at 86, was a highly respected film writer, actor and academic, a veteran of Germany’s New Wave. Realizing he’d be unable to direct his fictionalized childhood remembrance, he entrusted it to his mentee Akin, the firebrand behind modern German classics such as “Head-On” and “In the Fade.” The project became, according to Akin, like “adopting a child.”

In story terms, that child, a stand-in for Bohm himself, is wide-eyed, sensitive Nanning (well-cast newcomer Jasper Billerbeck), who works in the potato fields of local farmer Tessa (Diane Kruger, in a small but key role). At home, he has a pregnant mother, Hille (Laura Tonke), aunt Ena (Lisa Hagmeister) and two younger siblings, but not the high-ranking Nazi officer patriarch who relocated them from bombed-out Hamburg to an ancestral house on this tiny, beachy outpost. Pejoratively dubbed a mainlander by even the friendliest neighbors and generally viewed with suspicion for his family’s Nazi ties, Nanning is assured by his ideology-soaked mom that their roots, their “bloodline,” make them real Amlumers.

The boy’s first real lesson in the shifting sands comes when, at dinner, he remarks that the war will soon be over, intending it as good news — Dad could come home. Yet his mother reacts as if he’d sided with the enemy by wishing defeat. Later, with the news of Hitler’s demise, she sinks into a depression, refusing food unless it’s white bread, butter and honey, all in scarce supply. So Nanning sets out to secure her the necessary ingredients, as if the fabric of his world depends on it.

What follows is a tightly told fable-like journey built around the war-battered realities of survival when everyone’s tired, hungry and irritated. There are brutal truths in store for Nanning about what his family represents. It’s an evolving boyhood, framed with unshowy elegance by cinematographer Karl Walter Lindenlaub against the island’s flat, grassy, weather-rich horizons. “Amrum” avoids the sentimentality baked into so many childhood-during-wartime stories. Akin, as if inspired by the unfussy youthfulness that marked Italian neorealism and the New Waves in both France and Iran (there are shout-outs to “Bicycle Thieves” and “The 400 Blows”), zeroes in on the steady accumulation of detail rather than the trappings of cuteness or melodrama.

That measured approach, exemplified in star Billerbeck’s arresting simplicity and the many fine supporting turns around him, allows us to clock Nanning’s growing awareness of what matters to others, what’s impossible to ignore and how to interpret an unjust world that’s still full of beauty and kindness if you know where to look. Which, of course, includes inside himself.

Near the end, “Amrum” serves up a wonderfully understated moment: Nanning is invited to celebrate the war’s end with a small group of dancing, drinking islanders. He hangs back, though, as if not quite ready to choose their joyous relief over obediently tending to his broken family. But you can see this dutiful son’s wish to be one of them. For all of us wondering when an ugly time will fade, the moment will resonate like a cautious, dawning hope.

The best coming-of-age stories derive their power from being endings as much as beginnings. There’s often a clarifying, poignant harshness in the losses they depict. That applies — with sobering grace — to the memory ballad “Amrum,” set on Germany’s titular North Sea island in 1945, when the winds of a world war’s conclusion blow into a 12-year-old boy’s life with unexpected consequences.

The movie bears a curious credit: “A Hark Bohm film by Fatih Akin.” Bohm, who died last year at 86, was a highly respected film writer, actor and academic, a veteran of Germany’s New Wave. Realizing he’d be unable to direct his fictionalized childhood remembrance, he entrusted it to his mentee Akin, the firebrand behind modern German classics such as “Head-On” and “In the Fade.” The project became, according to Akin, like “adopting a child.”

In story terms, that child, a stand-in for Bohm himself, is wide-eyed, sensitive Nanning (well-cast newcomer Jasper Billerbeck), who works in the potato fields of local farmer Tessa (Diane Kruger, in a small but key role). At home, he has a pregnant mother, Hille (Laura Tonke), aunt Ena (Lisa Hagmeister) and two younger siblings, but not the high-ranking Nazi officer patriarch who relocated them from bombed-out Hamburg to an ancestral house on this tiny, beachy outpost. Pejoratively dubbed a mainlander by even the friendliest neighbors and generally viewed with suspicion for his family’s Nazi ties, Nanning is assured by his ideology-soaked mom that their roots, their “bloodline,” make them real Amlumers.

The boy’s first real lesson in the shifting sands comes when, at dinner, he remarks that the war will soon be over, intending it as good news — Dad could come home. Yet his mother reacts as if he’d sided with the enemy by wishing defeat. Later, with the news of Hitler’s demise, she sinks into a depression, refusing food unless it’s white bread, butter and honey, all in scarce supply. So Nanning sets out to secure her the necessary ingredients, as if the fabric of his world depends on it.

What follows is a tightly told fable-like journey built around the war-battered realities of survival when everyone’s tired, hungry and irritated. There are brutal truths in store for Nanning about what his family represents. It’s an evolving boyhood, framed with unshowy elegance by cinematographer Karl Walter Lindenlaub against the island’s flat, grassy, weather-rich horizons. “Amrum” avoids the sentimentality baked into so many childhood-during-wartime stories. Akin, as if inspired by the unfussy youthfulness that marked Italian neorealism and the New Waves in both France and Iran (there are shout-outs to “Bicycle Thieves” and “The 400 Blows”), zeroes in on the steady accumulation of detail rather than the trappings of cuteness or melodrama.

That measured approach, exemplified in star Billerbeck’s arresting simplicity and the many fine supporting turns around him, allows us to clock Nanning’s growing awareness of what matters to others, what’s impossible to ignore and how to interpret an unjust world that’s still full of beauty and kindness if you know where to look. Which, of course, includes inside himself.

Near the end, “Amrum” serves up a wonderfully understated moment: Nanning is invited to celebrate the war’s end with a small group of dancing, drinking islanders. He hangs back, though, as if not quite ready to choose their joyous relief over obediently tending to his broken family. But you can see this dutiful son’s wish to be one of them. For all of us wondering when an ugly time will fade, the moment will resonate like a cautious, dawning hope.

The best coming-of-age stories derive their power from being endings as much as beginnings. There’s often a clarifying, poignant harshness in the losses they depict. That applies — with sobering grace — to the memory ballad “Amrum,” set on Germany’s titular North Sea island in 1945, when the winds of a world war’s conclusion blow into a 12-year-old boy’s life with unexpected consequences.

The movie bears a curious credit: “A Hark Bohm film by Fatih Akin.” Bohm, who died last year at 86, was a highly respected film writer, actor and academic, a veteran of Germany’s New Wave. Realizing he’d be unable to direct his fictionalized childhood remembrance, he entrusted it to his mentee Akin, the firebrand behind modern German classics such as “Head-On” and “In the Fade.” The project became, according to Akin, like “adopting a child.”

In story terms, that child, a stand-in for Bohm himself, is wide-eyed, sensitive Nanning (well-cast newcomer Jasper Billerbeck), who works in the potato fields of local farmer Tessa (Diane Kruger, in a small but key role). At home, he has a pregnant mother, Hille (Laura Tonke), aunt Ena (Lisa Hagmeister) and two younger siblings, but not the high-ranking Nazi officer patriarch who relocated them from bombed-out Hamburg to an ancestral house on this tiny, beachy outpost. Pejoratively dubbed a mainlander by even the friendliest neighbors and generally viewed with suspicion for his family’s Nazi ties, Nanning is assured by his ideology-soaked mom that their roots, their “bloodline,” make them real Amlumers.

The boy’s first real lesson in the shifting sands comes when, at dinner, he remarks that the war will soon be over, intending it as good news — Dad could come home. Yet his mother reacts as if he’d sided with the enemy by wishing defeat. Later, with the news of Hitler’s demise, she sinks into a depression, refusing food unless it’s white bread, butter and honey, all in scarce supply. So Nanning sets out to secure her the necessary ingredients, as if the fabric of his world depends on it.

What follows is a tightly told fable-like journey built around the war-battered realities of survival when everyone’s tired, hungry and irritated. There are brutal truths in store for Nanning about what his family represents. It’s an evolving boyhood, framed with unshowy elegance by cinematographer Karl Walter Lindenlaub against the island’s flat, grassy, weather-rich horizons. “Amrum” avoids the sentimentality baked into so many childhood-during-wartime stories. Akin, as if inspired by the unfussy youthfulness that marked Italian neorealism and the New Waves in both France and Iran (there are shout-outs to “Bicycle Thieves” and “The 400 Blows”), zeroes in on the steady accumulation of detail rather than the trappings of cuteness or melodrama.

That measured approach, exemplified in star Billerbeck’s arresting simplicity and the many fine supporting turns around him, allows us to clock Nanning’s growing awareness of what matters to others, what’s impossible to ignore and how to interpret an unjust world that’s still full of beauty and kindness if you know where to look. Which, of course, includes inside himself.

Near the end, “Amrum” serves up a wonderfully understated moment: Nanning is invited to celebrate the war’s end with a small group of dancing, drinking islanders. He hangs back, though, as if not quite ready to choose their joyous relief over obediently tending to his broken family. But you can see this dutiful son’s wish to be one of them. For all of us wondering when an ugly time will fade, the moment will resonate like a cautious, dawning hope.

The best coming-of-age stories derive their power from being endings as much as beginnings. There’s often a clarifying, poignant harshness in the losses they depict. That applies — with sobering grace — to the memory ballad “Amrum,” set on Germany’s titular North Sea island in 1945, when the winds of a world war’s conclusion blow into a 12-year-old boy’s life with unexpected consequences.

The movie bears a curious credit: “A Hark Bohm film by Fatih Akin.” Bohm, who died last year at 86, was a highly respected film writer, actor and academic, a veteran of Germany’s New Wave. Realizing he’d be unable to direct his fictionalized childhood remembrance, he entrusted it to his mentee Akin, the firebrand behind modern German classics such as “Head-On” and “In the Fade.” The project became, according to Akin, like “adopting a child.”

In story terms, that child, a stand-in for Bohm himself, is wide-eyed, sensitive Nanning (well-cast newcomer Jasper Billerbeck), who works in the potato fields of local farmer Tessa (Diane Kruger, in a small but key role). At home, he has a pregnant mother, Hille (Laura Tonke), aunt Ena (Lisa Hagmeister) and two younger siblings, but not the high-ranking Nazi officer patriarch who relocated them from bombed-out Hamburg to an ancestral house on this tiny, beachy outpost. Pejoratively dubbed a mainlander by even the friendliest neighbors and generally viewed with suspicion for his family’s Nazi ties, Nanning is assured by his ideology-soaked mom that their roots, their “bloodline,” make them real Amlumers.

The boy’s first real lesson in the shifting sands comes when, at dinner, he remarks that the war will soon be over, intending it as good news — Dad could come home. Yet his mother reacts as if he’d sided with the enemy by wishing defeat. Later, with the news of Hitler’s demise, she sinks into a depression, refusing food unless it’s white bread, butter and honey, all in scarce supply. So Nanning sets out to secure her the necessary ingredients, as if the fabric of his world depends on it.

What follows is a tightly told fable-like journey built around the war-battered realities of survival when everyone’s tired, hungry and irritated. There are brutal truths in store for Nanning about what his family represents. It’s an evolving boyhood, framed with unshowy elegance by cinematographer Karl Walter Lindenlaub against the island’s flat, grassy, weather-rich horizons. “Amrum” avoids the sentimentality baked into so many childhood-during-wartime stories. Akin, as if inspired by the unfussy youthfulness that marked Italian neorealism and the New Waves in both France and Iran (there are shout-outs to “Bicycle Thieves” and “The 400 Blows”), zeroes in on the steady accumulation of detail rather than the trappings of cuteness or melodrama.

That measured approach, exemplified in star Billerbeck’s arresting simplicity and the many fine supporting turns around him, allows us to clock Nanning’s growing awareness of what matters to others, what’s impossible to ignore and how to interpret an unjust world that’s still full of beauty and kindness if you know where to look. Which, of course, includes inside himself.

Near the end, “Amrum” serves up a wonderfully understated moment: Nanning is invited to celebrate the war’s end with a small group of dancing, drinking islanders. He hangs back, though, as if not quite ready to choose their joyous relief over obediently tending to his broken family. But you can see this dutiful son’s wish to be one of them. For all of us wondering when an ugly time will fade, the moment will resonate like a cautious, dawning hope.

The best coming-of-age stories derive their power from being endings as much as beginnings. There’s often a clarifying, poignant harshness in the losses they depict. That applies — with sobering grace — to the memory ballad “Amrum,” set on Germany’s titular North Sea island in 1945, when the winds of a world war’s conclusion blow into a 12-year-old boy’s life with unexpected consequences.

The movie bears a curious credit: “A Hark Bohm film by Fatih Akin.” Bohm, who died last year at 86, was a highly respected film writer, actor and academic, a veteran of Germany’s New Wave. Realizing he’d be unable to direct his fictionalized childhood remembrance, he entrusted it to his mentee Akin, the firebrand behind modern German classics such as “Head-On” and “In the Fade.” The project became, according to Akin, like “adopting a child.”

In story terms, that child, a stand-in for Bohm himself, is wide-eyed, sensitive Nanning (well-cast newcomer Jasper Billerbeck), who works in the potato fields of local farmer Tessa (Diane Kruger, in a small but key role). At home, he has a pregnant mother, Hille (Laura Tonke), aunt Ena (Lisa Hagmeister) and two younger siblings, but not the high-ranking Nazi officer patriarch who relocated them from bombed-out Hamburg to an ancestral house on this tiny, beachy outpost. Pejoratively dubbed a mainlander by even the friendliest neighbors and generally viewed with suspicion for his family’s Nazi ties, Nanning is assured by his ideology-soaked mom that their roots, their “bloodline,” make them real Amlumers.

The boy’s first real lesson in the shifting sands comes when, at dinner, he remarks that the war will soon be over, intending it as good news — Dad could come home. Yet his mother reacts as if he’d sided with the enemy by wishing defeat. Later, with the news of Hitler’s demise, she sinks into a depression, refusing food unless it’s white bread, butter and honey, all in scarce supply. So Nanning sets out to secure her the necessary ingredients, as if the fabric of his world depends on it.

What follows is a tightly told fable-like journey built around the war-battered realities of survival when everyone’s tired, hungry and irritated. There are brutal truths in store for Nanning about what his family represents. It’s an evolving boyhood, framed with unshowy elegance by cinematographer Karl Walter Lindenlaub against the island’s flat, grassy, weather-rich horizons. “Amrum” avoids the sentimentality baked into so many childhood-during-wartime stories. Akin, as if inspired by the unfussy youthfulness that marked Italian neorealism and the New Waves in both France and Iran (there are shout-outs to “Bicycle Thieves” and “The 400 Blows”), zeroes in on the steady accumulation of detail rather than the trappings of cuteness or melodrama.

That measured approach, exemplified in star Billerbeck’s arresting simplicity and the many fine supporting turns around him, allows us to clock Nanning’s growing awareness of what matters to others, what’s impossible to ignore and how to interpret an unjust world that’s still full of beauty and kindness if you know where to look. Which, of course, includes inside himself.

Near the end, “Amrum” serves up a wonderfully understated moment: Nanning is invited to celebrate the war’s end with a small group of dancing, drinking islanders. He hangs back, though, as if not quite ready to choose their joyous relief over obediently tending to his broken family. But you can see this dutiful son’s wish to be one of them. For all of us wondering when an ugly time will fade, the moment will resonate like a cautious, dawning hope.

The best coming-of-age stories derive their power from being endings as much as beginnings. There’s often a clarifying, poignant harshness in the losses they depict. That applies — with sobering grace — to the memory ballad “Amrum,” set on Germany’s titular North Sea island in 1945, when the winds of a world war’s conclusion blow into a 12-year-old boy’s life with unexpected consequences.

The movie bears a curious credit: “A Hark Bohm film by Fatih Akin.” Bohm, who died last year at 86, was a highly respected film writer, actor and academic, a veteran of Germany’s New Wave. Realizing he’d be unable to direct his fictionalized childhood remembrance, he entrusted it to his mentee Akin, the firebrand behind modern German classics such as “Head-On” and “In the Fade.” The project became, according to Akin, like “adopting a child.”

In story terms, that child, a stand-in for Bohm himself, is wide-eyed, sensitive Nanning (well-cast newcomer Jasper Billerbeck), who works in the potato fields of local farmer Tessa (Diane Kruger, in a small but key role). At home, he has a pregnant mother, Hille (Laura Tonke), aunt Ena (Lisa Hagmeister) and two younger siblings, but not the high-ranking Nazi officer patriarch who relocated them from bombed-out Hamburg to an ancestral house on this tiny, beachy outpost. Pejoratively dubbed a mainlander by even the friendliest neighbors and generally viewed with suspicion for his family’s Nazi ties, Nanning is assured by his ideology-soaked mom that their roots, their “bloodline,” make them real Amlumers.

The boy’s first real lesson in the shifting sands comes when, at dinner, he remarks that the war will soon be over, intending it as good news — Dad could come home. Yet his mother reacts as if he’d sided with the enemy by wishing defeat. Later, with the news of Hitler’s demise, she sinks into a depression, refusing food unless it’s white bread, butter and honey, all in scarce supply. So Nanning sets out to secure her the necessary ingredients, as if the fabric of his world depends on it.

What follows is a tightly told fable-like journey built around the war-battered realities of survival when everyone’s tired, hungry and irritated. There are brutal truths in store for Nanning about what his family represents. It’s an evolving boyhood, framed with unshowy elegance by cinematographer Karl Walter Lindenlaub against the island’s flat, grassy, weather-rich horizons. “Amrum” avoids the sentimentality baked into so many childhood-during-wartime stories. Akin, as if inspired by the unfussy youthfulness that marked Italian neorealism and the New Waves in both France and Iran (there are shout-outs to “Bicycle Thieves” and “The 400 Blows”), zeroes in on the steady accumulation of detail rather than the trappings of cuteness or melodrama.

That measured approach, exemplified in star Billerbeck’s arresting simplicity and the many fine supporting turns around him, allows us to clock Nanning’s growing awareness of what matters to others, what’s impossible to ignore and how to interpret an unjust world that’s still full of beauty and kindness if you know where to look. Which, of course, includes inside himself.

Near the end, “Amrum” serves up a wonderfully understated moment: Nanning is invited to celebrate the war’s end with a small group of dancing, drinking islanders. He hangs back, though, as if not quite ready to choose their joyous relief over obediently tending to his broken family. But you can see this dutiful son’s wish to be one of them. For all of us wondering when an ugly time will fade, the moment will resonate like a cautious, dawning hope.

The best coming-of-age stories derive their power from being endings as much as beginnings. There’s often a clarifying, poignant harshness in the losses they depict. That applies — with sobering grace — to the memory ballad “Amrum,” set on Germany’s titular North Sea island in 1945, when the winds of a world war’s conclusion blow into a 12-year-old boy’s life with unexpected consequences.

The movie bears a curious credit: “A Hark Bohm film by Fatih Akin.” Bohm, who died last year at 86, was a highly respected film writer, actor and academic, a veteran of Germany’s New Wave. Realizing he’d be unable to direct his fictionalized childhood remembrance, he entrusted it to his mentee Akin, the firebrand behind modern German classics such as “Head-On” and “In the Fade.” The project became, according to Akin, like “adopting a child.”

In story terms, that child, a stand-in for Bohm himself, is wide-eyed, sensitive Nanning (well-cast newcomer Jasper Billerbeck), who works in the potato fields of local farmer Tessa (Diane Kruger, in a small but key role). At home, he has a pregnant mother, Hille (Laura Tonke), aunt Ena (Lisa Hagmeister) and two younger siblings, but not the high-ranking Nazi officer patriarch who relocated them from bombed-out Hamburg to an ancestral house on this tiny, beachy outpost. Pejoratively dubbed a mainlander by even the friendliest neighbors and generally viewed with suspicion for his family’s Nazi ties, Nanning is assured by his ideology-soaked mom that their roots, their “bloodline,” make them real Amlumers.

The boy’s first real lesson in the shifting sands comes when, at dinner, he remarks that the war will soon be over, intending it as good news — Dad could come home. Yet his mother reacts as if he’d sided with the enemy by wishing defeat. Later, with the news of Hitler’s demise, she sinks into a depression, refusing food unless it’s white bread, butter and honey, all in scarce supply. So Nanning sets out to secure her the necessary ingredients, as if the fabric of his world depends on it.

What follows is a tightly told fable-like journey built around the war-battered realities of survival when everyone’s tired, hungry and irritated. There are brutal truths in store for Nanning about what his family represents. It’s an evolving boyhood, framed with unshowy elegance by cinematographer Karl Walter Lindenlaub against the island’s flat, grassy, weather-rich horizons. “Amrum” avoids the sentimentality baked into so many childhood-during-wartime stories. Akin, as if inspired by the unfussy youthfulness that marked Italian neorealism and the New Waves in both France and Iran (there are shout-outs to “Bicycle Thieves” and “The 400 Blows”), zeroes in on the steady accumulation of detail rather than the trappings of cuteness or melodrama.

That measured approach, exemplified in star Billerbeck’s arresting simplicity and the many fine supporting turns around him, allows us to clock Nanning’s growing awareness of what matters to others, what’s impossible to ignore and how to interpret an unjust world that’s still full of beauty and kindness if you know where to look. Which, of course, includes inside himself.

Near the end, “Amrum” serves up a wonderfully understated moment: Nanning is invited to celebrate the war’s end with a small group of dancing, drinking islanders. He hangs back, though, as if not quite ready to choose their joyous relief over obediently tending to his broken family. But you can see this dutiful son’s wish to be one of them. For all of us wondering when an ugly time will fade, the moment will resonate like a cautious, dawning hope.