An Army captain I knew told me that while war is a nasty business, he developed a relationship with his men that in many ways was deeper than kinship. For me, 1917 encapsulated this message: As we hurry through the German trenches, the mazes of war, director Sam Mendes gives audiences one of the most realistic portrayals of war, a novel piece of cinema, and a commentary on men that should be discussed for some time.

1917 shadows Lance Cpl. Schofield (George MacKay) and Lance Cpl. Blake (Dean-Charles Chapman) across enemy lines as they carry orders to call off an impending British attack to avoid a German trap. The story is a sort of a heavily understaffed version of Saving Private Ryan, but with higher stakes, as Blake’s brother is a lieutenant in the advancing Second Battalion, and the British stand to lose 1,600 men if the orders are not delivered in time. At unceasing clip, we follow the young men across dead horses and barbed wire, through open fields with the threat of sniper fire, into the mud and down rivers. On this less-than-24-hour journey, in a micro, fictional story from World War I, we are left changed.

1917 is a special movie. Shot in a familiar hue we have come to expect in global blockbusters akin to Christopher Nolan, the standout effect of 1917 is that the entire movie feels like one continuous shot. Extended scenes are only interrupted as objects pass across the foreground, and cuts are only noticed if you’re looking for them. Wonderful execution of that cinematic technique alone makes 1917 a masterpiece and certainly Oscar-worthy.

But beyond the filming genius, the story is one of gorgeous contrast (warning: spoilers ahead). A harrowing moment like when Schofield hurtles off a waterfall to escape pursuing Germans precedes a beautiful, tranquil scene where white petals, a callback, fall on Schofield — this scene is nearly an homage to John Everett Millais’ “Ophelia” — as he winds down the Aisne River in France. With a moment to breathe, audiences are thrust back into the cruelty of war as, to exit the river, Schofield must climb over dozens of corpses floating in the river dammed by a felled tree. Moments later, a drenched, exhausted Schofield stumbles into a British forward unit seated around a lone soldier singing Wayfaring Stranger. It’s a cinematic chiaroscuro effect as well-executed, emotional, and unremitting as I have ever seen.

In addition to the master class in cinematography, the performances are exquisite. George MacKay leads and carries the film despite being one of the least known of all the British actors we encounter. He possesses the dutiful and gritty endurance we know of the British in World War I while exposing moments of deep emotion in the face of loss, longing, and completion of a mission. Dean-Charles Chapman is a nice complement to MacKay as a boyish lance corporal rushing headlong to save his brother. Beyond our two protagonists, the laundry list of famous actors one after another turn in memorable performances even if their collective work grand totals no more than 20-25 minutes between the likes of Benedict Cumberbatch, Colin Firth, Mark Strong, Andrew Scott, and Richard Madden.

Movies like 1917 remind us of the confounding and complex nature of men at their apex: a kaleidoscope of empathy versus the nonproliferation of evil, exhaustion against grit, loneliness whispering in the ear of endurance, curbing hubris for the sake of valor, the equation of “brotherhood” and brothers. Few movies can do what 1917 does, and even fewer demonstrate as many sides of men. It’s almost as if 1917 calls to the greatest nature of men, reminding us of a time where men and boys rose above their station in a call to duty and sacrifice — not for the sake of saving the world or a broader political responsibility, but a devotion in a moment in time to their fellow man: a willingness to serve a friend, to write to his mom for him when he dies, to save a brother’s live, to carry a letter.

Tyler Grant (@TyGregoryGrant) is a Young Voices contributor, who completed a Fulbright Fellowship in Taiwan. He writes movie reviews for the Washington Examiner.