295. Truly Madly Deeply

Song - Eternal Flame (The Bangles)

Movie: Truly Madly Deeply (Anthony Minghella, 1990)

"My feet will want to march to where you are sleeping, but I shall go on living." This line from a Pablo Neruda poem, quoted late in Truly Madly Deeply encapsulates it better than anything I could write about it. The film never pretends that Jamie's (Alan Rickman) ghost is a real feat of magic, or that Nina (Juliet Stevenson) believes it is. She quickly clocks that he is a figment of her imagination and though she decides to indulge her runaway brain, she also accepts it rationally as just another challenging part of her grieving process.  The scenes between Rickman and Stevenson are wonderful and express how much of a void his death left in her life, but it's no coincidence that the best and most romantic scene is a date with a new potential partner.

In the late 80's/early 90's a group of British actors and directors (seemingly all of them somehow, someway connected to Emma Thompson) emerged that influenced much of the British cinema I grew up with. They brought to their characters and movies a cheerful wit, grounded in reality that seemed to be an extension of their actual personalities. They carried themselves with a confidence that they could be at comfort in any context with any people, and that they welcomed this opportunity to interact with the world around them and be part of shaping it. And though their attitudes and roles were far removed from the cinema of council homes and mine workers, you still always got the sense that they didn't forget their working class roots and sensibilities; that even though they were sometimes walking in the same circles as the Tony Blairs and Princess Diana's, they could see through the bullshit, call it out, and keep at least one foot in the realm of the ordinary people. In other words, they were cool as shit people that folks like me (as my gushing peace on Da 5 Bloods showed, I have more sympathy for socialism than the average fan of American-led liberal globalisation, and more sympathy for American-led liberal globalisation than the average socialist) could see as a wonderful examples of how to be in the world. 

If you want to see many of these actors in one place you can watch Sense & Sensibility, Peter's Friends or Love, Actually, but to my surprise no film embodies their spirit as wonderfully as Truly Madly Deeply (and the same can be said for Juliet Stevenson's performance in it). I absolutely loved it, pretty much from the first seconds, filmed to make London at night feel like a place where even at your most heartbroken you can strike a beautiful, poetic figure, In voiceover we hear Nina calmly explain to her psychiatrist that she is hearing Jamie talk to her, sometimes even in Spanish, a language he didn't speak when alive. These scenes immediately set the mood for what's to come. Everything that happens in the film is informed by the idea that the world is an interesting and fun place and that it's interesting and fun to be able to engage it with curiosity, intelligence and confidence. Nina is able to do so, and Truly Madly Deeply is above all about observing her be. It never presents her as just a generic grieving woman, but forces you to consider her as a full person with many interests, opportunities and happy moments in her life. 

Nina does break down once, sobbing and yelping uncontrollably. Minghella films it all in a close-up he holds for a long time, leaving almost no distance between Stevenson and the audience. It's a scene of raw despair that quickly makes way for more lighthearted touch, without ever dismissing or forgetting Nina's vulnearbility. It's a great example of how confident the film is juggling different tones and moods. It shifts between magic realism and psychological drama, and between romantic fantasy and slapstick comedy. Once Jamie's ghost has settled down he brings along some of his friends from the underworld. They keep Nina from sleeping with their disagreements about whether to watch Five Easy Pieces or Hannah and Her Sisters. Most of these 'friends' look like regular people, but Minghella also has a few folks stand around looking like tbey are extras in a Dracula film.. It's a very funny detail in context that's also a testament to the film's commitment to find something worthwhile about every single character it introduces, including the rodent control friend who comes to inspect Nina's house for rats. He does his job seemingly oblivious to Nina yelling for Jamie to appear, until before leaving he kindly explains he is gonna tell his dead wife about his day, as he has been doing for the past 12 years. His words symbolise the optimistc solidarity that anchors the film.  It's a beautiful fantasy, your lover returning from the death as a ghost you can touch and talk to, but Truly Madly Deeply imagines something even better: the ability to continue in the face of an ugly reality. 

294. Fearless

Song - Love You More (Racoon)

Movie: Fearless (Peter Weir, 1993)

In Witness, Peter Weir sent Harrison Ford, playing a New York cop, to an Amish community. Dead Poets Society had a progressive, free-spirited professor teach poetry in a rigidly conservative boarding school. Green Card forced two strangers to live and act as a married couple. In Master & Commander, a pacifist man of science found himself on a warship on an irrational mission. With this in mind, it's perhaps no surprise that at the height of his powers Weir stretched his interest in exploring what happens when people are placed in situations antithetical to their (preferred) way of life to the breaking point. The Truman Show and Fearless both turn the entire world into an alien environment to its main characters. The main difference is of course that in The Truman Show external factors are to blame, while in Fearless the problem is entirely psychological. Max Klein (Jeff Bridges) miraculously survived a plane crash and now he feels he should be dead. What's more, he isn't entirely sure he is alive, despite all the empirical evidence for it. If that makes it sound like a twist is coming, it's not. Max really is alive (and with only a minor scratch to remind him of the accident) and the film is about how he and the people around him try to make sense of the situation. 

Fearless is a good film that at times purposefully keeps a little distance from the audience. Max is utterly confounding and his behaviour changes dramatically from scene to scene. It's never entirely clear what his character is building up to, how he feels, or why he takes certain actions and it's as impossible for us to understand him as it is for the others around him, or even for himself. That is sometimes a little frustrating, but it's the only way to put you in the shoes of Max and his loved ones. It makes sense then that Fearless is at its best when Weir's filmmaking matches the absurd irrationality of the situation. I loved the moment when Max, in one of his many reckless attempts to show/confim that nothing can hurt or kill him, disregards a warning sign to keep out of a construction area, and ends up walking along an empty highway, framed against the San Francisco highline as if he is the only sign of life in the city. Even better is the detour Max takes with Carla (Rosie Perez), a fellow survivor who feels guilt over losing her baby in the crash, in a mall where they decide to buy gifts for their dead family members. Conveniently, at just the right spot in the mall there is a piano player playing just the right tune for a dance. It's a brush with magic realism that sets up the film's best scene, one that fully embraces the frantically confused headspace of Max, leading to a terrible decision with positive consequences. 

I wish the movie took that stylistically evocative and subjective approach a bit further. Jeff Bridges' wonderfully ambigous performance (At certain moments, his tone of voice, facial expressions and dialogue are all incongruent with each other and often you just cannot get a reading of his emotional state) and the agressive close ups of Max eating strawberries (as a kid he had an almost deadly allergic reaction to them) go a long way, but Weir still communicates Max' unstable state of mind mostly through conventional dramatic realism. In addition, the film also sometimes tries way too hard to become a statement on The Way We Live Now, in particular with the addition of an insurance lawyer who is shamelessly exploiting the dead in trying to squeeze out more money for the survivors of the plane crash. He is pointedly funny the first few times he appears, but Tom Hulce' hysteric performance contributes to him way overstaying his welcome. 

293. Star Wars: Episode V - The Empire Strikes Back

Song - Time To Say Goodbye (Con Te Partiro) (Andrea Bocelli & Sarah Brightman)

Movie: Star  Wars: Episode V - The Empire Strikes Back (Irvin Kershner, 1980)

I was over the moon after seeing the 1977 film and wanted to stay with it without immediately bingeing the entire original trilogy. I also thought it would be fun to try to replicate the experience of the original audiences and wait a bit before seeing the sequel. Now, while there are far worse ways to spend New Year's Day, I was somewhat disappointed by Empire Strikes Back. It's a good film, but it was not exactly what I was hoping to get out of Star Wars. Thus, having become a typical Star Wars fan, I immediately turned to Return of the Jedi, hoping to get my fix there. It did it's job, and then some. It's one of the most eccentric, goofy and joyous Holywood blockbsuters I've ever seen, builidng upon my favourite aspects of the original. The first half is essentially a hang out film with all the bizarre creatures of its world, with the plot even stopping briefly for a musical performance of a band of freaks. And the images of a scanitly clad Carrie Fisher lying in front of Jabba The Hutt strike an absolutely perfect balance between the lurid and the innocent. Later on, the film straddles a similar line with its depiction of the Ewoks. I had no idea of them, but they are a great invention; a primitive tribe of souped up teddy bears that are alternately both kinder and more aggressive than you'd expect. Their decision to help our heroes defeat 'The Dark Side' hinges on their belief that C-3PO is a deity. 

The Empire Strikes Back has none of the imagination or distinct personality of either the 1977 film or Return of the Jedi. It's a much more straightfoward blockbuster, albeit with a first hour that should be thought in film schools as a masterclass in editing, highlighting that the wipe is much more than just a quirky old-fashioned effect to transition between scenes. Han Solo, Luke and Leia are separated from each other and from other rebels, fighting the Empire in two or three different locations simultaneously, yet the movie makes you feel as if they are fighting together and that actions taken in one place directly affect events in another. The movie is in such a rhythm that at a certain point it can even resort to more traditional cuts and still create the same effect. It helps that everytime we go to another location everyone is always in movement, and that the film is not afraid to ocassionally move away from scenes before they have shown what they are seemingly set up to show. The approach almost reminds of a live broadcast of sports games happening simultaneously, which would cut away from the Real Madrid game in the middle of a corner kick, because something more interesting is happening in the Manchester City game. 

That first hour is an amazing feat, but The Empire Strikes Back quickly loses steam afterwards, becoming a bit of a retread of the first film with worse dialogue, flatter characters and less interesting locations and creatures. Cloud City is barely any different from the average futuristic metropolis and Dagobah, the swamp where we find Yoda, is a darker version of Eden without much interestng details beyond that. Yoda himself is cool though and one of the examples of what I like about Star Wars. It's wonderfully funny and counterintutive for a big-budget blockbuster about the fight between good and evil to present its great wise mentor as a Muppet puppet, especially when it sets up Alec Guinness at his most regal as his student. I also liked Han Solo's final words, one of the great Harrison Ford one-liners, that gets a delightful call-back at a crucial moment in Return of the Jedi. I would have likely been more disappointed by the Empire Strikes Back if I had seen it in 1980, as it clearly anticipates Ford not coming back. Han Solo is as far as I am concerned key to Star Wars and Lando Calrissian/Billy Dee Williams is no replacement. Ford did obviously return for the sequel, and as a result Lando's scenes are the weakest part of Return of the Jedi, playing as if they are only there out of narrative obligation.  

I am looking forward to rewatching the original trilogy, and will see the prequels too, but I am getting an inkling of why people don't like them. To my understanding they go into more depth into what makes the Dark Side evil, and into what makes the Force a concrete force that can shape personalities and societies. Part of my resistance to Star Wars was my impression that the original films take this stuff too seriously. They really don't - beyond knowing that Darth Vader is Luke's father (I don't know if Dutch people were really that taken aback even in 1980 by that revelation) it remains largely unclear what Darth Vader is or does and how the evilness of the Empire actually affects lives in the Galaxy. It would go to far to call all of that just a MacGuffin, but the heroes' adventures and interactions with each other and with the various creatures in Lucas' world are more important to the original movies than any real considerations of the mythical/moral reasons behind those adventures. I prefer that and I like the films' trust that John Williams and James Earl Jones are enough to turn Darth Vader into an iconic villain without needing to rely too much on overwrought backstories or self-important myths.   

292. Runaway Train

Song - Locomotive Breath (Jethro Tull)

Movie: Runaway Train (Andrei Konchalovsky, 1985)

It's perhaps a little greedy to ask for a couple more action set pieces in a movie that culminates with a spectacular chase scene between a sadistic prison warden hanging from a helicopter rope ladder and a runaway train harboring two escaped convicts. The helicopter and the train often appear in the frame together as they pass through and around the remote Alaskan wilderness and its snowy imposing mountains. You really get a great sense of the danger everyone is in, and the seeming impossibility of making it out alive. It makes every single move feel exciting and unpredictable, yet understandable in the larger context, allowing you to yell at the screen whenever you feel someone is making a dumb or unnecesarily dangerous decision. It helps too that the film has established the rivalry between warden Ranken (John P. Ryan) and Manny (Jon Voight) quite effectively. They are evenly matched and equally stubborn, turning their battle of wills into a personal vendetta that has a long time ago ceased to be about upholding the law or escaping for freedom.  All of this works really well, but, alas, I really could have used a couple more action set pieces. 

Runaway Train used to be always on TV and our TV guide always used to give it 5 stars, writing it up as a more mature film than the likes of Speed, Die Hard or Lethal Weapon. So it was OK that it was (in my mind at least) always playing a little too late in the evening - there would eventually come a time when I'd see it. And when the time did come, I remember it felt quite cool to finally be able to sit down and watch it. I also remember that I felt a tinge of disappointment after it ended, thinking that it wasn't as special as I expected it to be. Seeing it now, not much has changed. It's really good, but still not entirely satisfactory. Part of it may be that a train is inherently less exciting (at least in the context of action cinema) than a car, bus or plane. Konchalovsky has a lot of exterior shots of the train passing by with great speed, but seeing a train on the loose isn't much different than seeing a normally functioning train. Sure, it's faster, but it's still just a big unwieldy thing that moves in a straight line along a railway. If it gets derailed, the action will stop, so the options of showing it moving in ways that are out of the ordinary are limited, and you can entirely forget about having it do cool action stunts. And so, here we have a sequence where a train coming in from the opposite direction is moved to a different track right on time, and one where the out of control train passes over an old bridge with a speed that may or may not be too high for the bridge to withstand. Konchalovsky and co get as much suspense and excitement out of these scenes as they can, but that's mostly evoked through dialogue, good editing, and reaction shots. The movements of, in, and around the train itself are not that interesting. especially not in comparison to the deranged, chaotic violence of the prison fight scenes that set up the story and characters.

The film starts with Manny being released from three years of solitary confinement in an Alaskan maximum security prison, mostly so that Rankin will have an opportunity/excuse to hurt him when he tries to escape a third time. When he does, he is joined by Buck (Erick Roberts), who, as most prisoners looks up to him, but is too dumb to realise many things, including that Manny isn't too proud of his own criminal actions. Voight really does give a good performance as a cruel, ruthless man who regrets he doesn't know how to function in the world otherwise, but has no intentions to change his ways. Ranken (presumably) does, but still chooses to be as brutal as he possibly can in any given situation, without much remorse. The film wants to build some philsoophical ideas around this contrast quoting Shakespeare "No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. But I know none, and therefore am no beast." I don't think the film is very convincing in exploring these ideas, but Voight, Roberts, and to a lesser extent John Ryan, take them to heart and add a primitive touch to their performances that makes them more interesting.

291. To Have and Have Not

Song - You Are So Beatiful (Joe Cocker)

Movie: To Have and Have Not (Howard Hawks, 1944)

It's hard to imagine now, but in 1960 Alfred Hitchcock had to explicitly ban audiences from entering Psycho midway through. It used to be common for many filmgoers to get in at any point during a screening, stay through the ending and the beginning of the new show, and then leave when they got to the point of entry. This was especially popular during double features or full programmes that contained newsreels, shorts, ads and other entertainment before the main feature. Currently, some small 'alternative' cinemas are trying to restore this practice. I am not the biggest fan, especially when you are not informed in advance. Recently a place like that was showing 80's wrestling clips and an episode of Twilight Zone before finally getting to the main event (The Producers), a movie that had no connection to what came before. The Twilight Zone episode was quite good even, but I couldn't fully enjoy it, as I was just waiting to get on with it. A better experiment might be to screen a triple feature of Casablanca, To Have and Have Not and Key Largo in a continuous loop throughout the day, allowing people to get in and out whenever they feel like it. 

The one issue here is that Casablanca is the obviously superior film, but setting that aside all three of these movies have so many thematic, narrative and stylistic similarities, scenes and moments from all three would start blending in with each other, creating one big narrative about 'Bogart's' World War 2 experience. emphasising the strength of his screen persona. At whichever point you start watching, it may take you a bit to get into the story, but within less then 5 minutes there won’t be any doubts about the feel and tone. It doesn’t matter that much whether Bogart is trying to mind his own business until forced into action by events beyond his control in a Nazi-occupied French colony in Africa or in the Caribbean. It’s of equally little importance whether he is undertaking a dangerous boat trip in a foggy ocean to evade gangsters or Vichy officials. It's all about how much his attitude guides every single aspect of these films.

Casablanca and To Have and Have Not both also have a piano player who supports Bogart’s romantic prospects with love songs and friendly banter, but it does make a difference whether Ingrid Bergman or Lauren Bacall is Bogart’s co-star. Casablanca may be the better film, but in seeing how much Bogart’s persona overshadows everything, you should also get more appreciation for Bacall. She is more than anyone else in these films able to evoke a style and mood that is her own and not beholden to Bogart (she also feels ahead of her time, paving the way for Michelle Pfeiffer). Her chemistry with him in To Hava and Have Not has, if anything, been undersold. They fell in love during the film's production, and even if you didn't know, you'd think it. There is a joy and attraction in their scenes together that feels completely and knowingly spontaneous. This is the film where Bacall says her famous line "You know how to whistle, don't you Steve. You just put your lips together and blow." The way Bacall puts it, she'd seduce any man, and Bogart's response is the most flappable you'll see him in any of these movies. 

To Have and Have Not ends with Bogart’s character deciding to help the French resistance get from Martinique to Devil’s Island (a notorious penal colony off the coast of French Guiana) to free some of their prisoners. The film ends before we see his new adventure, but it was interesting to find out that in 1944 Bogart also had a role in Escape to Marseille, directed by Casablanca’s Michael Curtiz. Here, he plays Jean Matrac, a French prisoner at DeviL’s Island who is helped to escape by the French resistance. Would it be too much to add a fourth film to our programme?

290. 1492: Conquest of Paradise

Song - Conquest of Paradise (Vangelis)

Movie: 1492: Conquest of Paradise (Ridley Scott, 1992)

The pioneers of exploration committed far graver sins than Ridley Scott, but at least they were pioneers. Some of Christopher Columbus' harshest critics argue he can't be excused as a 'man of his time', pointing to writings from the Spanish Royal Court accusing him of disproportionately cruel and inhmane acts in the 'New World'. Although the veracity of some of these accusations is disputed, what's true is damning enough. However, the Spanish monarchy didn't issue these warnings out of some sincere concern for the rights of indigenous people and its standards for the treatment of its colonised subjects were in no way morally justifiable. Discussing the extent to which they were more humane than Columbus is just splitting hairs about acceptable levels of brutality. Columbus did however meaningfully diverge from his time in his insistence on using science to fight for the truth, in defiance of the conservative dogma's of his society. Should progressives dismiss that so easily?

Towards the end of the film Columbus (Gerard Depardieu) tells his main rival, the fully fictional Sanchez (Armando Assante), Qoeen Isabella's (Sigourney Weaver)'s chief advisor "No matter how long you live, Sanchez, there is something that will never change between us. I did it. You didn't." It's a wonderful line, that resonates even more a bit later when Sanchez admits to one of his allies "if your name or mine is ever remembered it will only because of his." I got a kick out of these moments ahd have always liked the mythology around Columbus, but no, he didn't prove to his contemporaries that the Earth was round - it had been established knoweledge for centuries. What's more, many had a better idea of the difficulties of his journey west than he did. Although nobody thought there would be an entire continent between Europe and Asia, there were significant doubts whether Columbus had correctly calculated the time it would take him. Those doubts were proven correct. Scott's film points this out in such a roundabout way that you never really get a clear sense of Columbus' views on the matter. It's an example of one the film's key issues; it wants to both print the legend and avoid accusations of being completely ahistorical. So it starts with a scene in which Columbus explains to his son that the Earth is round, followed by a moment in his workplace where he angrily pushes a ramshackle globe of his table, giving the impression that the globe is his own unique creation. However, In none of the discussions with the rich and powerful he is seeking to convince to finance his journey does the point about the shape of the Earth come up. In one of those scenes there is even an actual 'royal' globe in frame, but it's not centered, nor fully visible. It just stands there, unremarked upon, denying a good view of what it represents.

I liked the film most when it most fully embraced the Columbus legend. Soctt takes an experiential approach to the first exploration of the Santa Maria, Pinta and Nina. He spends about half an hour on their voyage that took about three months in reality, choosing mood over story. He shows life on the ships at different points of the journey, but most of these scenes (the exception is a brewing mutiny Columbus stops with a powerful speech) don't represent a major milestone for the expedition, or have a strong narrative connection. Scott rather focuses  on small and seemingly less significant moments that evoke how it must feel to be going into the great unknown. That's an interesting approach reflective of the mindset of the explorers - they have no way of knowing when they have reached a crucial point, or what the beginning, middle and end of their journey would look like. Scott's approach continues when they finally reach land and we experience the jungle as a mythical untouched Eden alongside Columbus and his crew.  And then the natives arrive...

Not knowing how to choose between the historical Columbus and the mythological Columbus, Scott manages to direct himself into a strange corner where the film itself comes off as more racist than Columbus. Part of that may be on Depardieu, who always has a whiff of a naive manchild, and fully leans into it in his portrayal of Columbus, turning him into a combination of Jesus and Forrest Gump. His Columbus is a man of pure heart and good intentions who has little understanding of the forces unleashed by his actions. All that matters is that he "did it" and the film seems to believe that this should absolve him of all his mistakes, which includes treating the 'others' as human beings to be reasoned with. All the violence the Spanish inflict here is presented as a consequence of actions by the indigenous peoples, and the direct result of Columbus' trust in their humanity. In the climactic battle scene Scott films the violence from up close, and without any inhibition. The natives all wear identical plants and leaves as camouflage and proteciton and when they attack the whites they are completely unrecognisable and unidentifiable. It's as if the Spansh are attacked, as ltierally as possible, by savage nature. 

289. The Abyss

Song - How Deep Is Your Love (Bee Gees)

Movie: The Abyss (James Cameron, 1989)

An estranged couple re-ignites their love engaging in shared physical labor and effort; gruff unreconstructed-yet-tenderhearted blue collar ordinary guys survive through their sense of camaraderie and their nuts-and-bolts knowledge of oil rig machinery; in man-to-man combat an oil worker fights a Navy Seal to a standstill, his lack of experience offset by the day to-day demands of his job. The Abyss also contains some of the most spectacular special effects and cinematography I've seen, only made possible by technological advancements James Cameron is more than happy to show off. But not even the shiniest new toys can be a substitute for simple, humane pleasures, like cutting the right wire in a moment of great duress, a chase between two marine vehicles bumping against each other, a triumphant proof of life when all hope seems lost, or just smashing an evil dude's head with a blunt object. And then there are also aliens. 

I enjoyed Avatar a lot when it came out, but had no interest in seeing last year's sequel. It's not wrong to call it Pocahontas in Space, but the bigger issue is that it all feels like we are watching a story set in the world's most elaborate screensaver. I think it's incredibly unfortunate that James Cameron has decided to spend the twilight of his career obsessing about Pandora, when he is so great at making giant blockbusters that feel tactile and tangibly set in the real world, even when they engage in completely outrageous sci-fi scenarios. Yes, he doesn't make movies to be subtle, he wants you to notice the money on screen and the effort that went into the production, and to be aware and awed by how much pioneering engineering went into the creation of his movies. But all of that hugeness ultimately serves to put you as much as possible and as directly as possible in the shoes of his characters, both physically and emotionally. The idea that the forces overwhelming the screen should also be overwhelming the audience is of course at the heart of Avatar, but to remember how it's done right Cameron should rewatch at least the resuscitation scene in The Abyss (or all of The Terminator, one of the greatest movies).   

The Abyss is multiple blockbusters for the price of one. It follows an underwater oil drilling crew, led by Bud Brigman (Ed Harris), asked to retrieve a sunk American nuclear submarine. They are joined by Bud's ex-wife Lindsey (Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio), the chief engineer of their drlling platform. A hurricane, a trigger happy Navy Seal gone rogue, and underwater aliens move the job even further outside of routine territory, forcing the crew to constantly take action agaunst the forces threathening to overwhelm them and to regroup and reassess the situation after each exciting set piece. At one point, Bud and Lindsey get in a tight spot with only one functioning deep sea suit and the only way out is for her to effectively drown herself and have Bud swim with her body to their main sub where she will be reuscitated by the remaining crew. By then, it's become obvious that the two are falling for each other again, to everyone's delight, and when it's time to get her back to life, the entire crew is intensely preparing the defibrilator and watching in great anguish as several attempts fail. All seems lost until a manically angry Bud starts violently hitting her and insulting her as a "stubborn bitch" who chooses the wrong moments to fight. Cameron films all of this in extreme close up, fervently moving the camera around each person on site, barely allowing a moment to breathe until Mastrantonio does.

Mastrantonio waking up immediately became one of my favorite moments of triumphant relief in action cinema, but Bud's behaviour in the scene is absolutely meant to make you feel uncomfortable. Cameron and Harris leave no doubt that Bud's vicious anger, though expressed in despair, towards Lindsey comes from a real place, and is as authentic as his love for her. At the same time, Bud accepts throughout the movie that Lindsey is obviously intellectually superior to him, while also being able to match his physicality every step of the way. The whole thing is a great example of why the notion that James Cameron is a much worse writer than director is misguided. So many major Hollywood movies, in particular action blockbusters, find it really hard to present the unpolished roughness of male heroes, without either resorting to macho posturing or to cleaned up strawmen to correct the course. It probably helps that Cameron himself stands somewhere in the middle between the two. He is a 'my way or the highway' perfectionist who pushed the cast to such inhumane lengths (multiple people almost drowned) while filming The Abyss that Harris (he acts out entire scenes while holding his breath in a water-filled helmet) and Mastrantonio couldn't talk about the film until the 21st Century, while also being a corny humanist pacifist with a genuine interest in putting his money where his mouth is to explore how science can improve the world. It leads to him wrtinng things like "Coffey looks and he sees Russians. He sees hate and fear. You have to look with better eyes than that", and meaning it from the bottom of his heart to the extent he builds his entire film around this idea.