Shot of the Movie: The King's Man (2021)

This article is one of a series - Shot of the Movie - and may contain spoilers.

"Why is it that boys are always so messy?"

Well, without the mess, it wouldn't be a Kingsman story, would it? Lucky for us, Matthew Vaughn makes sure that all messes come beautifully packaged - gorgeously shot, purposely saturated, and well framed. But which shot is the Shot of the Movie?

Film Overview

The King's Man (2021) is the third installment of the Kingsman franchise, whose first film, Kingsman: The Secret Service (2014), was adapted from the Kingsman comic series for the screen by Matthew Vaughn.

Set during the First World War, The King's Man (2021) is the origin story of the independent intelligence agency, Kingsman. Stocked with an interesting cast of characters (including real-life individuals, given an alternative history twist), our two main protagonists are Orlando and Conrad Oxford, father and son, respectively. We find the Oxfords have strong moral compasses that ironically put them at odds with one another regarding the right course of action, even when they hold the same overarching goals. Their conflict and story arcs unfold against the backdrop of a world going mad, with the rise of a dark, secretive organization that seeks to weaponize the highest bidder.

Context Scene (Just Before the Shot of the Movie)

A little context: Conrad, the younger Oxford, has covertly entered the military and found his way to the front. Importantly, this is directly against his father's strategy to keep him from the front lines. In a specialized mission, Conrad volunteers to enter No-Man's-Land to retrieve intelligence hidden somewhere on the body of a fallen spy.

Under the cover of darkness, Conrad and six fellow soldiers climb out of their trench. They soon discover their mission is not a unique one, as seven enemy soldiers appear from beneath the darkness. Both sides realize they must fight each other as quietly as possible or run the risk of annihilation by the might of the heavily armed forces that border No-Man's-Land. In an effort to avoid mutual destruction, firearms are lowered, and knives, axes, and hammers are unsheathed. The antithesis of a typical action scene, combatants move in near silence. Screams are muffled and methods are pragmatic.

There are numerous reasons to extol this battle scene. It masterfully displays creative decisions that support the framework for layered storytelling. But it's not the Shot of the Movie. That exemplary moment comes next.

The Shot of the Movie

So, back to our scene. Where 14 combatants started, four remain. On the ground, exhausted, and out-weaponed, our main protagonist, Conrad, appears to have met his match. An enemy soldier looms over him, ready to strike. An officer, the only remaining protagonist apart from Conrad, changes heart and tactics, as he fires his gun, dispatching Conrad's opponent. In an instant, the gunfire's repercussions are realized, and machine gun fire rings out from both sides, killing all remaining combatants, except for Conrad. Everything falls dark and silent for a beat before the camera pushes swiftly toward Conrad, then focuses beyond him, as six flares shoot up into the night sky. This is the Shot of the Movie.

So, what makes this moment the Shot of the Movie?

Most simply, it boils down to juxtaposition and clever visual storytelling. Viewers tend to respond best when stories surprise them. I won't harp on the formulaic nature of movies, but I will applaud creativity against expectation because viewers crave it, and when creators thwart our expectations, it's euphoric. Fundamentally, flares are explosions, so they are surprising, to say the least. But it's not the jolting nature of the flares that makes this scene great. It's the introduction of light into the scene that intrinsically changes the nature of the scene and our experience with it.

The entire previous scene was dark and cramped. This shot is bright and open. Where we felt claustrophobic before, we feel agoraphobic now. Our protagonist's enemies were filmed straight on, in a tight frame. They were cramped, and sizeable, and equally matched. Now the enemy (flares) is filmed in an upward angle, which gives an opposing feel to the viewer. The world is immediately bigger, and badder, and Conrad is only one small portion in it.

The use of flares to light the scene is practical, but also literally paints the backdrop of the scene. The movement of the flares, the synchronicity, and the call and response from them (one trench releases them, then the other), are all great ways to fill the frame with a beautiful, albeit, terrifying picture.

Apart from being a stunningly beautiful frame, this moment is also an impressive visual metaphor for some of the themes running through the movie. Forget subtext, Orlando plainly and repeatedly tells Conrad and others, that the world outside of their own is big, cruel, and dangerous. Entering the war was Conrad's way of getting out of his safety bubble, but in one shot, it shows exactly what the world could do. It's no longer Conrad's idealized, moral, understandable conflict; it's the world his father always warned him about. In our scene, Conrad's world (and the viewer's scope of vision) has gotten a lot bigger and a lot scarier, much like his life outside of his home. He is alone, scared, and tired.

Given the power behind this scene, I consider it to be the Shot of the Movie.