How'd your boys go up there?
They were glorious and fearless.
Unfortunately, so were the enemy.
May I?
You should try scaling those cliffs, Mister Bartlett.
Where did you get these details?
I am ready to send the continued goodwill towards me
in several London eateries. Depends on my getting paid.
Australians glorious entry into war.
He wrote what I saw.
He saw your notebook, sir.
[ominous music]
[blast]
[multiple gunshots]
[blast]
Stand up.
[multiple gunshots]
I couldn't help but notice that we landed directly
in front of many established Turkish trenches.
Sir, was this to be our plan?
Perhaps Mister Bartlett would be more comfortable
on the majestic.
I think you might be right.
It was in the news the majestic had sunken.
We didn't know if you'd been rescued or not.
I mean.
-Oh, Ellis. -Please, don't talk.
This is my house.
What chance do you give us of reaching Constantinople?
I remain hopeful.
My husband remains more than hopeful, Mister Bartlett.
He's assured me victory will be swift.
Price of victory is forgotten amongst the glamour of success.
That's why we cannot fail.
I don't believe we have to.
We call that war, Mister Bartlett.
It seems that we're hemming on the cove.
15,000 men won't be hemming in for long, I assure you.
Why are you asking me all these questions, Mister Schuler?
Blame is a luxury afforded to men like you.
Men on holiday.
General Bridges.
Tell me about Paris.
Get off the boat.
Get off the bloody boat.
Yes.
Couldn't get off the boat.
I couldn't get off the boat.
You didn't get off that boat because you didn't have to.
That's all. Everyone's scared, Mr. Shaw,
You are no longer permitted to
live on the navy ships.
You see, I'm under strict instruction from my government
to be able to report on the daily life of our men.
For me to leave the cove would serve little purpose.
There are to be no exceptions.
Gather our things.
You spoke with General Hamilton,
and he changed his mind.
No.
Bean, sniper.
[muffled shot]
[dramatic music]
[Deadline Gallipoli opening theme]
[dramatic music]
[chanting a haka]
Have you seen Bean? Charles Bean.
Yeah, he's at the medical station.
Over here.
[clank]
What? Oh, is that seawater?
I ran out of alcohol.
Another two inches, it would have hit the artery
and you would have bled out.
Urgent cable, sir.
Well, read it for me.
It's from general HQ.
Due to imminent military action on the Gallipoli coast,
the travel ban on all war correspondence is hereby
lifted, effective immediately.
The attack is on.
This will finish it.
[dramatic music]
What are you doing?
Someone's made a mistake here.
Only ordered up water for one new division.
That's not a mistake.
That's how much water they ordered from Cairo.
That should be enough for two divisions for a few days.
Thank you. You've been very helpful.
[wind blowing]
Don't let me influence you, but pick your card.
Put it right here.
Cheers.
Okay.
Shit.
Fuck.
Oh, shit, shit, shit. Fuck.
Get a rag or something, Jimmy. Oh, no.
He's gonna kill me for this.
Ta da.
-Get out of my way. -Captain Fan.
Where are you meant to be, boy?
Get out.
Stupid idiots.
What are you doing?
I'll redraw it. Oh, you don't know the terrain.
I do, sir.
Do you want to know what's going on?
Yes, sir.
The Kiwis, Indians and Australians will attack
here, up from the...
Are you listening to me?
The Kiwis, the Kiwis, Indians and Australians will
attack here, up in the hills.
And the French and the Brits will come up here
from Suvla Bay, and swing around
there, to meet up with us.
-Sounds pretty complicated. -Yes, it is.
But it's a very good plan.
And at last we have the element of surprise.
And we'll smash the fucking Turks to smithereens.
That's the general idea.
This one's full.
Tell them to put them on that one.
[speaking foreign language]
Have you been here?
Suvla Bay?
No.
I'm an accountant from Constantinople.
It is a holiday resort.
Is it farmland?
Rock.
You're messing this up on purpose?
I told you to tell him to put him over there.
Tell him to stop.
What you say to them? Why are they laughing?
If I tell you, you will shoot me.
Get back to work, you slimy gyp.
This battle you start now is big.
This is the end.
[speaking foreign language]
What does that mean?
May God save us.
[multiple cannon shots]
[glass clinking]
[knocking on the door]
Enter.
Good evening, sir.
Owing to tomorrow morning's offensive, breakfast
will be served at 6:30 instead of the usual 08:00.
Is Hamilton still awake?
I couldn't tell you, sir.
You have to inquire with his batman.
[strong blast]
[knocking on the door]
Enter.
I wonder if I may have a quick word.
Well, make it quick.
Whiskey?
Thanks.
Water, if you want it.
Thank you.
Tell me the truth. I can't sleep myself.
[multiple explosions]
I keep thinking about Winston's speech at Dundee.
Stafford's got that intelligence.
A month ago, when Winston basically
told the Turks a new offensive was....
You know, Churchill is who should have kept his mouth shut.
But we have momentum, and it is unbreakable
if we stand together.
What I'm getting at is that the Turks would have heavily
reinforced by now.
We have three divisions.
Kitchener has also given us the Irish 13th.
-Three? -Mm hmm.
-But we only have water for one. -Oh, God, doctor.
We have a murderous task ahead of us.
I'm not quite sure why we're quibbling over details.
Everything is ready for the first time in months,
we have a bloody good chance.
We just need to have faith in ourselves.
What we need, sir, is ammunition, competent officers,
and in this particular enterprise, water.
-I understand... -No.
I don't believe you do understand.
It's very easy to stand on the sidelines and just criticize.
We need to pull together.
We both know that the winner is asked no questions
and the loser has to answer for everything.
I plan on being the winner.
[cannon shots] [glass clinking]
Do you even know how to use that thing, Bartlett?
There's nothing to it, really.
Merely point and shoot.
Any fool could do it.
Perhaps not any, Lester.
Blind fool might find it a challenge.
What have you documented thus far?
Oh, some of the most beautiful vistas, sir.
And sunset that'll make your wife weep.
And not to mention Harry here taking a dip as naked
as the day he was born.
-Oh, you did not. -No, you're right, I didn't.
There are certain horrors of war even I can't stomach.
[vacuum cleaner buzzing]
Carry on.
[multiple cannon shots]
[dramatic music]
Vera, here are the last bandages.
Hurry up.
We almost left without you.
Fear keeps you alert, keeps you sharp,
and it will keep you alive.
But being afraid will paralyze you,
make you freeze when you should act.
Don't confuse the two.
It will kill you.
He's my son.
[cannon shots continue]
[camera shutter]
[multiple gunshots]
[blast]
When you're in the firing lines, keep your mouths
open at all times.
It will reduce the impact of the shock waves on your bodies.
[camera shutter]
Not yet, Jimmy, you bloody goose.
Hey, where's Ross?
With the New Zealanders towards Suvla Bay.
They told me to go with the second infantry.
-Lone pine. -Where?
Lone pine. It's the next gully over.
Look, now, you better hurry because the first
is already in the thick of it. The second's about to go.
Good luck.
Get ready, men.
[whistle]
Get up, boys.
You'll be all right, mate. You'll be all right.
[soldiers screaming]
You get close to the action, aren't you, mate?
I wanted to make sure your boy stayed out of trouble.
Are you gonna cover us with that camera?
I feel safe already.
Hey, take a picture, will you?.
Smile. One for your mum back home.
Perfect.
Thank you. Keep your head down.
[whistle]
[multiple gunshots] [cannon fire]
[blast]
[multiple gunshots]
[blast]
[men yelling and moaning]
I'm gone, all right?
[dramatic music]
[consecutive explosions]
-Message just to go, sir. -Are you sure?
Quite sure, sir, yes,
Jimmy, why are the men not wearing the coats and tunics?
Order, sir.
All great coats, tunics, blankets, messians.
It was all collected last night.
They've been ordered to fight in the flannels and shorts.
What?
Why have they stopped shelling?
Perhaps someone's watch is out, sir.
The shelling was to continue unabated until the men charged.
Tell the men to ready themselves.
The support is not in place, sir.
You will follow orders, colonel White,
What are you doing?
Oh, I'm merely following orders, sir.
Don't be stupid, man.
You're a colonel.
That's even more reason why I should go.
Colonel White, you'll be...
I'll be what, sir?
Ready yourselves, boys.
Make sure your bayonets are fixed.
Unload your magazines.
Colonel White, the timing's out.
They're reinforcing every position.
This is a mistake, sir.
We stick to the plan, gentlemen, we will push on.
You come with us, sir?
I am.
Does that mean you're confident, sir?
Very.
Promise to do my best.
I know you will, son.
One minute, men.
[dramatic music]
[whistle]
[soldiers screaming]
[multiple gunshots]
[cannon fire]
[dramatic music]
Ready yourselves, gentlemen.
Good luck.
[whistle]
What are you doing?
Move it.
You get out there now, man.
I've got children.
I've got three children, please.
You get out there now.
[gunshot]
Here.
[multiple gunshots]
[dramatic music]
[soldiers moaning]
All right, gentlemen, prepare to go.
What's that fucking Turk saying?
Stop.
He's saying stop.
[multiple gunshots]
[camera rolling]
[dramatic music]
[consecutive blasts]
[dramatic music continues]
[multiple gunshots]
[muffled blast]
Unconscious.
Too much blood loss.
Red card.
Severe dehydration.
White card.
He should make it.
Red. No chance.
Gangrene, sir.
Thank you, sir.
[panting]
[moaning]
[celestial music]
You know, nobody's ever going to see these.
You did
[somber music]
♪ toodaloo doodle do ♪
♪ They're looking for monkeys ♪
♪ If ever I had a face like you I joined the British army ♪
♪ I was asked ♪
♪ I used to be as fine a man you ever could ♪
♪ see to love him somewhere ♪
Dive it back. It's not done.
A terrific crash.
Sounded above my head.
Instantly came a blow like a trip hammer
falling upon my skull.
I fell like a slaughtered ox but was up again the next second.
I thought only Bartlett could go
for such purple bloody prose.
I'm warning you.
I kept repeating. No.
I must see the battle.
Come on then, Henry. Put them up.
Whatever the word is, Henry.
Golden rule of journalism is objectivity.
People don't want objects.
They want subjects.
Or subjects like you.
Better me who is here than the rubbish those hacks
in Cairo tossing off as fair.
♪ toodaloo doodle do ♪
♪ They're looking for monkeys ♪
♪ If ever I had a face like you ♪
♪ I'd joined the British army ♪
♪ Henry never since had your lout ♪
♪ Just give him a couple of jars of stout ♪
♪ He'll beat the enemy with his mouth and save ♪
♪ the British army ♪
♪ toodaloo doodle do ♪
♪ They're looking for monkeys ♪
♪ If I ever had a face like you, I'd joined the British army ♪
[wind blowing]
[suspenseful music]
[clank]
They belong to a digger named Charlie Hodson.
He used to carry them in his pack.
I can only presume they hold some sentiment for his family.
I thought you might be owe to mail them for me.
This is why you came here?
And to say goodbye.
I'm leaving tomorrow.
I've decided to enlist.
I dare say your father is unaware of this.
My father will learn to understand.
I doubt it.
I'm no different from any of those men out there.
No, just lucky.
They're good men.
With futures.
Gone.
For what?
They give their lives so that we can achieve an objective.
While you.
You and the other journalists who give their death meaning
with the words and the pictures that you send home.
You seem to be in a bit of a funk, Philip.
Are you having trouble sleeping?
How do you sleep?
Not well, since you ask.
I have nightmares, more often than not, the same one.
I'm dining alone and I feel something.
I look down and a stray dog is licking my palm.
Then it begins to gnaw through my hand
and through my legs,
ripping flesh from the bone.
I cannot move.
I'm frozen, stuck there.
Observing.
Never have I had such frightful dreams.
Till I came here.
[intriguing music]
I thought you were dead.
I'm not dead.
[moaning]
I have something for you.
It's a goodbye present.
[goats bleating]
Send me photos of your grandchildren.
[goats bleating]
[pouring rain]
Good.
Now, just one more, Mister Murdoch.
The confidentiality agreement.
Just sign there at the bottom.
Heard you were in the ballot to be the Australian
war correspondent here.
You against Captain Bean.
There were others.
Heard you came in second, by six votes, I heard.
Three votes.
Must have stunned pretty bad, eh?
-Bean? -Murdoch?
Just think, another three votes,
that could have been you.
[blast]
So why are you here?
The mail.
It's impossibly slow.
I'm investigating the Australian Imperial Mail.
Look, the information we're getting is not accurate.
The government knows that.
I can't get anything out.
Nothing real anyway.
You know, we got men dying at trench foot.
Those stinking, rotting feet, riddled with gangrene.
Beggars belief.
Lice, dysentery, typhoid, pneumonia.
What happens when we add frostbite to the equation?
We're shipping 1000 a day to will equipped hospitals.
How long has it been raining?
Three weeks, off and on.
No one in London thought about what happens now.
The August offensive failed.
We're stuck sinking in this rat's bloody mud.
This is a war.
This is slow death through negligence.
I've come to realize that the British couldn't organize
a fucking children's fight.
There was nowhere left to bury them.
Come on. Where are you?
Who are you?
Murdoch.
I work for The Sun.
Oh, another half and a whore.
It's a term I endearingly apply to all journalists.
Bean told me Ellis Ashmead Bartlett was here.
Don't bother with him.
He's the worst kind of correspondent.
-Deceitful. -Compliant.
It's flat.
I've read many of your articles, Mister Bartlett.
An intelligent Australian.
Wonders will never cease.
Your recent dispatchers paint a picture completely
at odds with reality.
You called the neck the greatest battle
for on the Gallipoli peninsula.
Well, Bean told me to today it was a slaughter.
Murdoch, is it?
Did you read Bean's account?
It was a fraudulent dream.
I look forward to seeing you do better.
I might turn in.
I return to London in the morning.
-Good night. -What are you doing?
-Excuse me? -What are you doing in London?
Meeting the Australian ambassador.
Tell me, what you made of the cove?
I've only been here four days.
I value an outsider's opinion.
Outside is the most terrible chapter in Australia's history.
The mother country.
The mother is supposed to protect her children.
And you believe that...
something must be done?
I'm not even going to answer that.
[suspenseful music]
Good night, Mister Mayor.
Dear Mister Asquith, I hope you'll excuse the liberty
I'm taking in writing to you.
But I consider it absolutely necessary that you
should know the true state of affairs out here.
Good morning, sir.
Which is Murdoch's tent?
It's just down the end, sir.
I'll take his.
Put it over there.
We agree that something must be done.
Of course.
Only an imbecile would think otherwise.
Everything we write is censored.
Nothing's getting out.
I believe that you and I
can radically influence this...
dire...
situation.
This letter is a detailed account
of the Gallipoli campaign.
It is a summary of the many failed offensives, the bungling
of the officer class, specifically Hamilton.
And the slaughter and chronic illness that are mowing down to
thousands of our young men.
It's addressed to Asquith, the British Prime Minister.
I know who the British Prime Minister is Mister Bartlett.
I'll deliver it.
If the military find the letter, you could be shot.
I'll take my chances.
Thank you.
My pleasure.
Why dispatches are blue lined into oblivion?
They speak only the fairytale existence.
It doesn't damn well exist.
What are you talking about?
Fairy tales?
Australian editors no longer publish my work.
I can assure you that is not my doing.
But it is.
You know,
you let these Johnny come late to publish
any sensationalist rubbish they please.
This article states that the allied troops have captured a
German officer and are keeping him captive in our trenches.
Now that is as our men would state.
It's overcooked bullshit.
The men send these articles from Cairo.
As you can see, I'm not in Cairo.
But you blue line
everything I write until it is virtually unreadable.
You manipulate everything.
What you're doing is not censorship,
but you're manufacturing a whole lot of lies.
And I'll have you know it's been recently mentioned in the New
South Wales...
Where?
This is a short-lived problem.
Can't you see that, Pete?
War correspondents
are a dying breed.
In future, we won't need your kind.
The government will simply tell people what it
thinks is conducive towards winning the war.
If truth is good for the war, we will tell them the truth.
If a lie is likely to win the war, we will tell them lies.
Now, as I see it, this story may simply give people back home
a bit of a chuckle.
And Bean, really.
What is the problem of that?
[suspenseful music]
[knocking on the door]
No, I take full fucking responsibility.
[Deadline Gallipoli closing theme]