Armadillo

Anyone who watches Restropo, the documentary chronicling the lives and work of US troops stuck in an Afghan outpost, needs to give themselves a double-feature DVD session, also viewing its contemporary Danish equivalent, Armadillo.

Both movies, composed of embedded cameramen's recordings, took the name of their unit's home base. Both focused on the grunts, not the generals. And each ended up confirming the obvious question: what are professional Western soldiers doing in the unwelcoming countryside of impoverished, undeveloped Afghanistan?

Each also helps to explain why soldiers stay with their chosen profession, and choose in many cases to accept re-postings to military arenas. Their daily lives in their bases are tedious; only in action and facing the threat of death do they find the "adventure", camaraderie and purpose they signed up for.

The Danish documentary crew landed up in a much more adventurous situation than Restropo's. Armadillo lay closer to Taliban guerrillas, under frequent attack in the small area of Helmand province they patrolled. The cameras capture a sweeping panorama of military life, including the mundane (cleaning weaponry), the hierarchical (briefings) and the deadly (close combat in farmland).

No commentary is needed: the passing time in the young men's 6-month tour of duty (their first in Afghanistan) is captioned, from their home farewells (the injured platoon commander temporarily returning to Copenhagen for surgery and rehab). Usage of telecoms messages, drone viewpoints and off-duty asides depicts the soldiers' harsh reality of invisible foes and crippling IEDs. One mesmerising battle scene is a war journalist's unwanted masterpiece: a soldier, shot in the shoulder during an action, his face and eyes a study in shock and dread.

The debut feature-length work from director Janus Metz Pedersen employed an experienced documentary cinematographer, editor, and composer of suitably modish mood music. The soundtrack of reality (gunfire, explosions, soldiers' curses and shouts, village noises) is striking (and confirms the audio-visual veracity of The Hurt Locker).

Most effectively, the film illustrates the futility of the occupying forces' efforts to win hearts and minds. They hand out snacks to the village children, and are subsequently hounded for goodies. They try to be friendly with village men, and are told they dare not cooperate. They bombard Taliban snipers and end up killing cows, ruining crops and destroying the homes of the villagers they supposedly defend. When they survive a skirmish and kill guerrillas, and a soldier later speaks unwisely to his mother on the phone, they are pilloried by the media.

What have their politicians got them into, and why? Movies made by embedded film-makers are no longer morale-boosting PR exercises; they are counter-productive, damning historical documents. When they are great cinema too, they are doubly admirable.