At its very core In the Heart of the Sea is a fishing story, and that may prevent any major motion picture studio from retelling it with even a whiff of honesty. The Nathaniel Philbrick book on which this film is based is most certainly a thorough journalistic effort. Written as almost an antidote to what the story of Whaleship Essex became, Herman Melville’s Moby Dick, Philbrick’s book is a sterling example of those moments when reality couldn’t even masquerade as fiction. The tragedy is almost impossible to scale in our minds, and can only be made real by those unfortunate enough to have lived it. In the strange case of the film adaptation of In the Heart of the Sea, Ron Howard has attempted to take the truth and reverse engineer it into fiction.
Why? Hell if I know, but "why" is a persistent question poking through the hull of this picture. Why on earth would Ron Howard kick this down the road from March until December? I refuse to think the film tested so well they’d hold it back nine months in an effort to sweep award season, even though that seems to be the agreed upon talking point. Why does the movie seem to have no idea what it is? Like, a ghoulish misunderstanding of the intersection where tone and content meet? Again, couldn’t say definitively, but the repeated grabs for old Hollywood prestige picture constantly subvert the grizzly plight of Whaleship Essex. Why…what is with that narrative device? Buds, we gotta go back for that one.
Okay, so the story of Whaleship Essex boils down to two primary sources. One is the widely known version of events by Owen Chase, as played by Chris Hemsworth, the first mate of the ship. Then, in 1980, a second account was found in an attic or some such crawl space on Nantucket Island. It was the account of Tom Nickerson, the cabin boy on the ship. Nickerson wrote his account later in life, and this is where Howard finds his narrative engine, Nickerson finally recounting his harrowing tale.
This, in and of itself, isn’t all bad, but it’s who he tells the story to that jettisons us into the realm of the ridiculous. Nickerson, troubled old man, begrudgingly spins his yarn for none other than intrepid young writer Herman Melville. If this was our group text, I’d submit a GIF found under the search term, “wat?”
Dialogue, themes, relationships, they’re all cordoned off into this not really real unreality and suffer accordingly. A maudlin score, monotone characters, redemption and resolution coming from all the wrong places. A gross first misstep lead us down a crooked path, and suddenly we’re supposed to be glad Nathaniel Hawthorne gives Moby Dick a positive review. (Trust, I’m super confused too) From there, we’re left with two things to consider, the chain of events and the visuals.
The chain of events is almost identical to the book. They leave Nantucket, they hit a squall, they whale a bit here and there, they go out into the no man’s land of the Pacific Ocean, and then the Dick hits the fan. Or, no, they are in for a whale of a time. And from there things get very bad for the crew of Whaleship Essex. The story itself is really compelling, but that was never in question. It was about Howard accentuating this story in a new medium, and the shortcomings aren’t terminal, but they are persistent.
Visually, In the Heart of the Sea has a few stellar moments. The film is so heavily reliant on CGI, it sits heavy on the picture. Howard and company spent the big bucks to be out at the front of the field, but it’s asked to do too much. Between Nantucket Island in 1819, 19th century whale ships, and battles with a mythic sperm whale, it’s too great a task. Compound that with this claustrophobic style adopted where things are shoved into the foreground from some 3D fireworks, it all starts to veer into visual white noise.
In the Heart of the Sea had everything going for it; exceptional source material, a well credentialed director, A-list stars, plenty of budget, but there is this pervasive sense the film felt it needed to be something more. From there identity crisis after identity crisis comes unfurled like a main topsail leading us to our certain doom. The truth of Whaleship Essex is epic enough to fill any major motion picture, but the film In the Heart of the Sea insists on putting a Hollywood topcoat over the whole affair. And in the end, we're left with something akin to a complex, fascinating slice of the human experience cloistered inside tacky a mall glamour shot.
—Monte Monreal
Why? Hell if I know, but "why" is a persistent question poking through the hull of this picture. Why on earth would Ron Howard kick this down the road from March until December? I refuse to think the film tested so well they’d hold it back nine months in an effort to sweep award season, even though that seems to be the agreed upon talking point. Why does the movie seem to have no idea what it is? Like, a ghoulish misunderstanding of the intersection where tone and content meet? Again, couldn’t say definitively, but the repeated grabs for old Hollywood prestige picture constantly subvert the grizzly plight of Whaleship Essex. Why…what is with that narrative device? Buds, we gotta go back for that one.
Okay, so the story of Whaleship Essex boils down to two primary sources. One is the widely known version of events by Owen Chase, as played by Chris Hemsworth, the first mate of the ship. Then, in 1980, a second account was found in an attic or some such crawl space on Nantucket Island. It was the account of Tom Nickerson, the cabin boy on the ship. Nickerson wrote his account later in life, and this is where Howard finds his narrative engine, Nickerson finally recounting his harrowing tale.
This, in and of itself, isn’t all bad, but it’s who he tells the story to that jettisons us into the realm of the ridiculous. Nickerson, troubled old man, begrudgingly spins his yarn for none other than intrepid young writer Herman Melville. If this was our group text, I’d submit a GIF found under the search term, “wat?”
Dialogue, themes, relationships, they’re all cordoned off into this not really real unreality and suffer accordingly. A maudlin score, monotone characters, redemption and resolution coming from all the wrong places. A gross first misstep lead us down a crooked path, and suddenly we’re supposed to be glad Nathaniel Hawthorne gives Moby Dick a positive review. (Trust, I’m super confused too) From there, we’re left with two things to consider, the chain of events and the visuals.
The chain of events is almost identical to the book. They leave Nantucket, they hit a squall, they whale a bit here and there, they go out into the no man’s land of the Pacific Ocean, and then the Dick hits the fan. Or, no, they are in for a whale of a time. And from there things get very bad for the crew of Whaleship Essex. The story itself is really compelling, but that was never in question. It was about Howard accentuating this story in a new medium, and the shortcomings aren’t terminal, but they are persistent.
Visually, In the Heart of the Sea has a few stellar moments. The film is so heavily reliant on CGI, it sits heavy on the picture. Howard and company spent the big bucks to be out at the front of the field, but it’s asked to do too much. Between Nantucket Island in 1819, 19th century whale ships, and battles with a mythic sperm whale, it’s too great a task. Compound that with this claustrophobic style adopted where things are shoved into the foreground from some 3D fireworks, it all starts to veer into visual white noise.
In the Heart of the Sea had everything going for it; exceptional source material, a well credentialed director, A-list stars, plenty of budget, but there is this pervasive sense the film felt it needed to be something more. From there identity crisis after identity crisis comes unfurled like a main topsail leading us to our certain doom. The truth of Whaleship Essex is epic enough to fill any major motion picture, but the film In the Heart of the Sea insists on putting a Hollywood topcoat over the whole affair. And in the end, we're left with something akin to a complex, fascinating slice of the human experience cloistered inside tacky a mall glamour shot.
—Monte Monreal
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