Media Literacy: A Study of the Movie Passchendaele
Literacy comes in many varied forms beyond the original concept of reading and writing.
Mathematical, scientific, and computer literacy are all recognized today as being
important. So too is media literacy. The latter is more than simply being knowledgeable
about different forms of media, such as television, radio, music, film, print, and the
internet. Media literacy is the ability to critically analyze and assess the messages that
are communicated through the media. Given the pervasive and powerful influence –
and its growing impact throughout society today – it is an increasingly important type of
literacy to possess. Below are questions and activities related specifically to the movie
Passchendaele.
From the list of questions below, pick 3 to answer in your notebook. All answers should
be in complete sentences.
a) Describe the opening scene of the movie. What makes it a powerful and
engaging way in which to begin the film?
b) In your own words, provide a one-to-two paragraph plot summary of
Passchendaele.
c) Write a one paragraph sketch of either Michael Dunne or Sarah Mann.
d) The cinematography of Passchendaele is rich, varied, and moving. Select the
three scenes and explain why they had such a powerful effect on you.
e) In what ways is Sarah representative of women of her time? In what ways is she
not representative?
f) Imagine yourself as a war correspondent at the Battle of Passchendaele. Try to
put into words what the scene looks like before your eyes.
Dear Father Peter,
I squat within a horrendous trench sometime between day and night, somewhere near life –
yet closer to death. Bombs detonate in the distance as my fellow soldier howl their
concluding words; I crouch below, a pen in my right hand and my left fingering the cross
you places within my pocket. I reminisce the Sundays I spent in your pew; my ears
grasping every word you shared, every scripture you emphasized. Now, after fighting in
Europe for less than a year, I have become a faithless man; questioning the very
existence of our Lord.
Father, I cannot perceive how you stand at the alter, preaching the superiority of God
when the world is burning in chaos. Young men, complete with potential, senselessly
slaughtering one another. Woman stranded performing two roles. Children wandering with
tear streaked faces. The world is at war with itself!
It is unclear what we are battling for; that segment of land is not worth the sacrifices
that have been made, there must be more to gain. It seems we are fighting ourselves;
fighting to remain alive, fighting our morals, fighting to guard the essence of who we used
to be.
It truly is autumn Father. Our lives, once green with promise, have withered to a burnt
blood red. As trees cry leaves in Canada, we weep as humanity crumbles to the ground
here.
I envied my mate as he collapsed to the ground the other day; though I question if a place
after death exists, no where is better than here.
Father, I riffled through a bible of one of my comrade’s, desperately searching for a
renewal of belief; what I discovered were empty words. The quote that haunted my
dissolving faith was found in 1 Peter 1:21: “who by him do believe in God, that raised him
up from the dead, and gave him glory; that your faith and hope might be in God.”
These men are dead. They will never rise. They will never give glory. I cannot have
faith, since to have faith I would need to see a hint of righteousness, there is none to be
found: not in the deafening of the bombs, or the power of our bullets, or the plundering of
our knives. My religious devotion that drifted within me across the sea has faltered,
draining away with every blood drop shed by my comrades.
It is more tolerant to kill now than in the beginning. We soldiers are ghosts of what we
once were. There appears to be a glint of gratitude that flickers through our foe’s eyes
as they gasp their final breaths. Our generals convince us that our enemies are faceless,
cold-hearted killers, yet when we confront in battle they are our mirror image.
Father, most men ask “what are we dying for?” I inquire “what are we living for?” Why
are we in this world for a mere moment, and quarrelling in this minute amount of time?
This was is changing the world and lives, yet this change is not progressing the goodness
it was intended to. Though heaven may not exist, this hell certainly does. Please, Father,
assist me to find faith somewhere in this bleak world of ours.
Robert E McCutcheon