Peter Weir is an underrated director, one whose name never seems to come up in lists of great filmmakers. Perhaps it's because he's never made a truly "great" movie, the kind that both impresses critics and seduces huge audiences, though most of his films, like "Witness" and "Dead Poets' Society", have become classics. Or perhaps it's because Weir's movies tend to be quiet and subtle, and avoid easy categorization.
Take "Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World", ostensibly the first entry in a series inspired by the novels of Patrick O'Brian. It's an historical adventure set in 1805, but it's neither an escapist blockbuster like the "Pirates of the Caribbean" films, nor an epic romance like "Titanic". Though nearly two and a half hours long, most of its action takes place aboard the HMS Surprise, a tiny British frigate sailing alone across the vast oceans. The drama is bookended by sharp, suspenseful battle scenes, but between those scenes the story focuses on its characters and their life aboard the ship.
The protagonists, played by Russell Crowe and Paul Bettany, are old friends, both brilliant in their own ways: Crowe is the charismatic captain, leading his crew on a chase around the world; Bettany is the ship's surgeon, counselling his companion and offering insights into the natural world around them. Their differing philosophies lead to some arguments, but ultimately both men see the wisdom in compromise.
Contrary to the prevailing fashion of the time, "Master and Commander" is filmed in a warm, almost naturalistic style that eschews displays of digital grandeur in favor of immersive verisimilitude. You can feel the ship rocking on the waves and hear the creak of its masts and the rustle of wind in the sails; you settle into the rhythm of shipboard life and naval traditions, the grog and clubbed hair, the songs and toasts at the dinner table. When the action arrives the camera puts you in the midst of it, with the rumble of the cannons and the heavy clouds of black powder smoke.
The most remarkable scene in the whole film is a detour to the Galapagos Islands, set to the sound of Bach's first Suite for Unaccompanied Cello. The scene is a respite from the man-made conflict, a moment for everyone to catch their breath. It's simple, timeless, and quite beautiful in its quiet appreciation for the wonders of nature.
It's this scene that makes the film more than a seafaring adventure: despite its historical setting, it grounds the story in the present, reminding us that the world is greater than nations or individuals, or the wars we contrive.
Take "Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World", ostensibly the first entry in a series inspired by the novels of Patrick O'Brian. It's an historical adventure set in 1805, but it's neither an escapist blockbuster like the "Pirates of the Caribbean" films, nor an epic romance like "Titanic". Though nearly two and a half hours long, most of its action takes place aboard the HMS Surprise, a tiny British frigate sailing alone across the vast oceans. The drama is bookended by sharp, suspenseful battle scenes, but between those scenes the story focuses on its characters and their life aboard the ship.
The protagonists, played by Russell Crowe and Paul Bettany, are old friends, both brilliant in their own ways: Crowe is the charismatic captain, leading his crew on a chase around the world; Bettany is the ship's surgeon, counselling his companion and offering insights into the natural world around them. Their differing philosophies lead to some arguments, but ultimately both men see the wisdom in compromise.
Contrary to the prevailing fashion of the time, "Master and Commander" is filmed in a warm, almost naturalistic style that eschews displays of digital grandeur in favor of immersive verisimilitude. You can feel the ship rocking on the waves and hear the creak of its masts and the rustle of wind in the sails; you settle into the rhythm of shipboard life and naval traditions, the grog and clubbed hair, the songs and toasts at the dinner table. When the action arrives the camera puts you in the midst of it, with the rumble of the cannons and the heavy clouds of black powder smoke.
The most remarkable scene in the whole film is a detour to the Galapagos Islands, set to the sound of Bach's first Suite for Unaccompanied Cello. The scene is a respite from the man-made conflict, a moment for everyone to catch their breath. It's simple, timeless, and quite beautiful in its quiet appreciation for the wonders of nature.
It's this scene that makes the film more than a seafaring adventure: despite its historical setting, it grounds the story in the present, reminding us that the world is greater than nations or individuals, or the wars we contrive.