The Perfect Storm

Wolfgang Petersen, born in Germany, showed the world he knew how to convey tension under the water with his classic submarine jaunt "Das Boot." Now, since coming to America, he has finally abandoned the theme of "presidents in trouble" that dominated films like "In the Line of Fire" and "Air Force One," and returned triumphantly to the compound of hydrogen and oxygen that made him famous. This time, Petersen depicts two groups of men desperately trying to stay on or above the surface of the water during a storm which is indeed perfect, in the same sense that an H-bomb is one heck of a good explosive. Petersen hasn't lost his way with the high seas, and this movie will pump your adrenaline, stay your breath, scare you out of your mind, and leave you more than a little queasy if you sign up for the tour of duty that is "The Perfect Storm." Fans of high-quality action filmmaking, however, will consider this film less a duty than a necessity.

"The Perfect Storm," however, is not all screaming gales and looming tidal waves. Far from it. As Petersen adapts it from Sebastian Junger's best-seller, "The Perfect Storm" discusses men more than meteorology. Petersen spends the first half or so of the film carefully setting up the various characters' motivations for the deadly decisions they eventually make, nicely interspersing intimate psychological disclosures with scenes of fishermen being fishermanly so as to avoid an excessively schematic feel. Occasional fistfights also spice up the drama. The actors lend grace to the extended tendernesses; Mark "Marky Mark" Wahlberg's relationship with Diane Lane feels unforced and natural, and George Clooney's struggle to find his fishing touch once again should resonate with something in all our lives. And the scenes of testosterone-fired camaraderie are heartwarming. Indeed, the first half of the movie succeeds not only as a prologue but as entertainment on its own terms; it gives the feeling of satisfaction that results when one watches men doing the things they love, particularly when they involve committing violence against fish.

Still, the name of this film is "The Perfect Storm," not "Big Manly Fishermen." In the second half of the movie, wherein acting is made impossible by the fact that everyone must scream desperately at everyone else to be heard at all, Petersen takes over and shows us all what modern special effects can do in the hands of a master director. Petersen has managed a miracle; he shows chaos logically without sacrificing the visceral nature of his images and situations. While we feel immersed (no pun intended) in the plight of both the fishermen and the Coast Guardsmen who attempt to rescue them, we ourselves are confused only when Petersen wants us to be, thanks to his incredible sense of progression and line. In addition, Petersen exploits every single camera angle you can think of, and a few you probably couldn't, in showing his chaos; never has logic felt so spontaneous and uncontrolled. Part of this accomplishment, of course, comes from the wonderful watery visuals: crashing spume, torrid winds whipping suddenly loose parts of the ship around, a palette of endless ominous grays, deadly blacks and crashing whites, and of course the occasional world-ending sixty-foot-high wave. Petersen's control and maintenance of tension is astonishing; if anything, he doesn't let up enough during this movie's second half. If you get seasick easily, take your Dramamine before you see this movie.

Occasional objections can be raised against this movie, mostly because of the stupid time-and-place subtitles and the occasional directorial slip reminding us that it's all just a film. (The Boston weatherman intoning the words "the perfect storm" over a shot of ominous red skies at morning is a particularly egregious example of this.) But once we get into the storm itself, all objections, just like all cast members, are cleared from the decks. This is easily Petersen's most spectacular film since he came to America, and probably his best. If you're tired of warmed-over action filmmaking, as in the hilariously overrated "Shaft," and want to see one of our finest action directors operating at his highest level, set course right now for "The Perfect Storm."

BEIN' A JACKASS DURING THE COMING ATTRACTIONS

At this screening, I saw a preview for a movie called "Space Cowboys" starring Clint Eastwood and Tommy Lee Jones. I immediately turned to my sister and said, "I know what you're thinking, you dumb satellite. You're thinking, Did he fire his attitude jets five times or six? Well, to be honest, I don't remember myself. But seeing that this is a United States space shuttle, the most powerful spacegoing vessel in our world, the question is: Do you feel lucky? Well, do you, punk?" But she didn't get it. Perhaps you older folks will have a better chance.

Yes, I swear I actually said that. But I was wrong about one thing, as I would hear about from my sister very soon, and as I would append to my next review:

I would like to take this opportunity to exonerate my sister of the sin of not getting the "Dirty Harry" reference I made at "The Perfect Storm"'s preview. It turns out she had seen the film and understood the reference, but couldn't hear me over the preview. It also turns out she thinks "Dirty Harry" (the film, not the guy) can kiss her ass, but as we all know, intelligent people (and Michael O'Sullivan, too, I suppose) can disagree about the merits of films without it being a reflection on anyone's intelligence. Since it was my sister's doing that I got to see "The Perfect Storm" in the first place, because she went out of her way coming home from work to pick up the passes at Maryland, I am eternally grateful to her, and am offering her first chance at skipping work to see "X-Men" early.

Which she did, and she was happy, and all was once again peachy between the Malone siblings.

This is a bit overenthusiastic as a review. I hadn't had dinner when we saw the movie. Lack of food significantly changes my opinion of whatever movie it is I'm seeing.

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