Herd a crew of fledgling white guys, apportion good and bad characteristics among them, and have them learn through tough examples that it is best to stick together and adhere to command. Women provide a supplementary function. The intrinsic outlook of the movie is that boys grow up to be men who do cool things together and then go out on Saturday night looking for compliant enough girls.
Nearly all movies in this genre have one kid with a wealthy, contemptible father who appears without notice, humiliating his son and requiring unreasonable things of him. And also a kid with a closeted neurotic fear. And a kid who is fearful that he doesn't have what it takes. All such characters feature here, although they are a little hard to tell apart since, rather than conveniently button-down casting, Scott has furnished the posse with brawny, sun-tanned young sorts with contour haircuts who seem like they hang out in Dockers ads. The dubious altruistic goal, the arbitrary crew members and the mandatory array of particular conflicts keep the movie from zooming in more on individual characters and the objective of cultivating superjock confederates. Nevertheless, there are some fine qualities to this film. There is the dimension of the ship itself, the more often than not opulent cinematography, the sumptuous atmosphere of release over nights in port, and the storm sequence near the end.
The most powerful sequence though is one that obliges more respect than the movie surrounding it. It is the death of a dolphin at the hands of one of the shipmates. We understand this boy's need to inflict violence in the state of mind to which he's been driven, but Scott lets us know full well how bewildered and betrayed the dolphin feels, one moment playing with the other shipmates and the next being put out of its misery on the dry deck of a ship as its family flees the unpredictable humans. It is an extremely difficult scene to watch, but it is a deeply honorable one, because it brings out the truly humanistic sides of the characters and us, the audience, when confronting the reality of the truly benign maligned.
As for the storm I will not say much, save to note that the title refers to a sudden and violent windstorm phenomenon at sea which is not accompanied by the black clouds generally characteristic of a windstorm, but instead white-capped waves and broken water, a meager warning to any unfortunate seafarer caught in its path. And so it does, in storm footage of extravagant wrath, and of the true dwarfing effect the sea has on any man-made power. Indeed, the man-made consequence of the storm is a trial presided over by the Coast Guard, at which sides are taken and diatribes are performed that will ring quite common to anyone who remembers the main feature of most any late '80s-90s mainstream American movie.
Scott's anamorphically shot sailing film could have been wiser and more personal in the way it develops its characters. Its inherent ideals are preferable the less you contemplate them. However, I enjoyed the movie for the headlong visceral vitality and unexpected, almost incongruous humanism of its adventure.
Nearly all movies in this genre have one kid with a wealthy, contemptible father who appears without notice, humiliating his son and requiring unreasonable things of him. And also a kid with a closeted neurotic fear. And a kid who is fearful that he doesn't have what it takes. All such characters feature here, although they are a little hard to tell apart since, rather than conveniently button-down casting, Scott has furnished the posse with brawny, sun-tanned young sorts with contour haircuts who seem like they hang out in Dockers ads. The dubious altruistic goal, the arbitrary crew members and the mandatory array of particular conflicts keep the movie from zooming in more on individual characters and the objective of cultivating superjock confederates. Nevertheless, there are some fine qualities to this film. There is the dimension of the ship itself, the more often than not opulent cinematography, the sumptuous atmosphere of release over nights in port, and the storm sequence near the end.
The most powerful sequence though is one that obliges more respect than the movie surrounding it. It is the death of a dolphin at the hands of one of the shipmates. We understand this boy's need to inflict violence in the state of mind to which he's been driven, but Scott lets us know full well how bewildered and betrayed the dolphin feels, one moment playing with the other shipmates and the next being put out of its misery on the dry deck of a ship as its family flees the unpredictable humans. It is an extremely difficult scene to watch, but it is a deeply honorable one, because it brings out the truly humanistic sides of the characters and us, the audience, when confronting the reality of the truly benign maligned.
As for the storm I will not say much, save to note that the title refers to a sudden and violent windstorm phenomenon at sea which is not accompanied by the black clouds generally characteristic of a windstorm, but instead white-capped waves and broken water, a meager warning to any unfortunate seafarer caught in its path. And so it does, in storm footage of extravagant wrath, and of the true dwarfing effect the sea has on any man-made power. Indeed, the man-made consequence of the storm is a trial presided over by the Coast Guard, at which sides are taken and diatribes are performed that will ring quite common to anyone who remembers the main feature of most any late '80s-90s mainstream American movie.
Scott's anamorphically shot sailing film could have been wiser and more personal in the way it develops its characters. Its inherent ideals are preferable the less you contemplate them. However, I enjoyed the movie for the headlong visceral vitality and unexpected, almost incongruous humanism of its adventure.