The Euphoria star shines in this remarkable adaptation of a Booker Prize-winning novel about an Australian prisoner of war in Thailand.

What do we want from our war stories? That's a question at the core of this new five-part adaptation of Australian author Richard Flanagan's Booker Prize-winning novel. Preparing to make a speech for a book launch, World War Two veteran Dorrigo Evans (Ciarán Hinds) ruefully says people just want tales "of heroism and mateship" – where he would rather give them "the truth".

It's certainly true that in general cultural discourse, there can be a tendency to present war history through a romanticised, "inspirational" lens – but on screen there is also a strong lineage of works that have sought to lay bare its abjectness, from Apocalypse Now to All Quiet on the Western Front. However, if this miniseries is not radical in that respect, it is, on the evidence of the first two episodes that have premiered at the Berlin Film Festival, set to be a stunning, shell-shocking piece of work nevertheless – as well as an impressive showcase for Jacob Elordi, the in-demand star who made his name with HBO series Euphoria and, after working with the likes of Sofia Coppola and Paul Schrader, continues to make judicious choices.

It sets out its stall right from the opening scene, in Syria in 1941, in which a group of Australian soldiers' blokeish banter is cut through by a bomb explosion that gruesomely takes out one of their number and a Syrian child: filmed with tight, disorientating camerawork by director Justin Kurzel, the visuals drained of colour amid the murk of the landscape, it immerses you completely in the horror.

From there the story moves between three timelines. There's young Dorrigo (Elordi) in 1940, as he is stationed to Adelaide for military training and forms an intense connection with his uncle's young wife Amy (Odessa Young); Dorrigo in Thailand in 1943, now one of thousands of prisoners of war in the Thai jungle forced by the Japanese to help build Burma's notorious "Death" railway; and 77-year-old Dorrigo in 1989, an affluent surgeon with a happy-ish marriage who nevertheless can never hope to forget what he witnessed all those decades ago – "the strange terrible neverending-ness of human beings," as he puts........

© BBC