FILM REVIEW: The 15:17 to Paris (2018)

Directed by Clint Eastwood

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At the core of The 15:17 to Paris is, very simply, nothing more than an inseparable bond between great friends. This is also the key to its power, as I was moved to tears by the film’s end. What is even more amazing is how 15:17 perseveres with this sense of camaraderie in spite of a first act that put this remarkable material at serious risk of ineffectiveness.

The true story about three men who heroically thwarted a terrorist attack on a Paris-bound train in 2015, 15:17 traces their nexus ten years prior. At this point, Anthony Sadler, Alek Skarlatos, and Spencer Stone are students at a Sacramento Christian school. They frequently find themselves in trouble, whether it be for being late for class, swearing, or other such signature activities of boys. It’s a very interesting cycle, now that I think about it: the very catharsis of boyhood that gets them through the day is also what continuously brings them trouble.

Eventually, they separate – Anthony strives to become more than a boy (his sights are particularly fixated on prom and the opposite sex); Alek moves to Oregon. Spencer, awkward and overweight, is saddened by this separation, now left to his own devices. He perseveres, though. When adulthood arrives, he enlists in the Air Force. He proves to be a rather troubled recruit, though. He is punished twice in the span of a few minutes when A) he is late for class and B) his assignment isn’t up to par. He takes his punishment as if nothing’s happening, and moves on.

Perseverance is a recurring theme in 15:17, which is more prevalent in the former half of the film. The theme fits considering the do-or-die nature of the climax, but 15:17 seems to be more interested in the odds of opposition. It doesn’t necessarily get off on their suffering, but we never get much of a chance to revel in their accomplishments. We watch the obstacle block their path, they spend much time conflicted on the next move, and then they make their next move. Cut to next scene.

Wait, did I say “their”? I meant to say Spencer. Once adulthood is reached, most of the focus seems to be on Spencer, and here is perhaps my other major criticism. He winds up being the film’s protagonist, when all three men should be treated with the same respect.

But then they get to Europe, and it is at this point in the review when I almost regret giving my criticisms. It is all beautifully uphill from here. They decide to meet in Italy and backpack across Europe. They journey throughout various European landmarks, seeing the sights, taking selfies, and just…bonding. For a film that leads up to a white-knuckle finale, 15:17 spends zero time rushing to get there, and enjoys the company of these three friends as much as they do, and relishes in the beauty of living in the now to the fullest (there’s a sequence in an Amsterdam club that captures this perfectly without a single line of substantial dialogue). Many will probably feel misled by the trailers and subject matter, and the generic quasi-existentialist musings spoken won’t help. As for me, I felt like I was backpacking Europe right there with them, and I rather enjoyed myself.

But it is time to move on to the crux of 15:17, which is the showdown on the train. I’m happy to report that my praises continue from here. There’s a surreal quality to this sequence because of its realism (if that oxymoron makes any sense). Everything happens so quickly and suddenly, and the same goes for when it is over. It works so well because it is treated with maturity and respect that heroic stories deserve. There is no insulting over-production for the sake of dramatic effect. The subject matter is dramatic enough as it is, and director Clint Eastwood knows this. Like his approach to American Sniper, everything is presented rather objectively, which I applaud. There is no need to glorify heroic deeds – true heroism should speak for itself, and it does so in 15:17.

One of the biggest selling points of 15:17 is also its biggest gamble. Portraying the roles of Anthony, Alek, and Spencer are themselves. It is risky enough casting non-actors, but the stakes are even higher when casting non-actors in biographic roles – to ruin a true story worth telling with bad acting is unforgivable. There may not be anything Oscar-worthy 15:17, and Spencer can be underwhelming at times, but the three men all capture themselves exceptionally well.

Clint Eastwood is not displaying the top of his form with The 15:17 to Paris, but it is an ambitious undertaking for a mainstream film with its sort-of docudrama approach – I was reminded of the Iranian docudramas of the early ‘90s, a fascinating period in cinema history (Kiarostami’s Close-Up in particular was resonant here). There have been mixed reviews all across the board, and the majority of the criticisms are justified. As I mentioned earlier, I was almost crying during the final scene where they are honored by the French government for their actions. For this to happen, there must have been something good going on, right?