Reviewed by: Kenneth R. Morefield, Ph.D.
CONTRIBUTOR
Plot: When an ocean liner is capsized, passengers must try to get out before it sinks.
Before there was Father Karras, the skeptical priest of William Friedkin’s
1973 film The Exorcist, there was Frank Scott (Gene Hackman), the
skeptical/radical priest in Ronald Neame’s 1972 horror flick, The Poseidon
Adventure. Both these films were based on novels; Friedkin’s
was taken from William Peter Blatty’s work, Neame’s from a less famous
work by Paul Gallico. Coming after the socially and politically turbulent
1960s and dealing with cynical audiences increasingly disillusioned
by Watergate and the Vietnam war, these works used radical or skeptical
priests to symbolize white, anglo-saxon, protestants’ increasingly ambivalent
relationship with Christianity.
Hackman’s Frank Scott is, for all intents and purposes, a deist. He
delivers a pre-disaster sermon in which he assures his listeners that God
helps those who help themselves; when his superior in the church elects
to stay with and attempt to comfort those awaiting rescue rather than attempt
to escape, Scott chastises that such a death is “meaningless.” Scott’s
character is not in Poseidon. The tug-of-war between religious
and civil authority between Scott and Ernest Borgnine’s Lt. Mike Rogo is
replaced with one between Josh Lucas (as a never quite convincing loner)
and Kurt Russell (as an equally unconvincing mayor who will do anything
to save his family).
There is, I think, a darwinian subtext running through both films. For
those who think I read too much symbolism into the film here, I recommend
re-watching the Captain’s (Andre Braugher) New Year’s Eve speech describing
man emerging from the primordial sea since it provides the key to the film’s
metaphorical coda. As the state ship overturns, survival is meted
out in accordance to those who have skills rather than privilege and—above all—a will to live. The ascent to life is actually a descent to
the bowels of the ship, symbolizing a shedding of the inessential trappings
of wealth and luxury.
In this theme, the film panders to the audience,
reassuring it that Americans have not been made soft and docile by wealth
and privilege but retain the ingenuity and skills that allowed them to
acquire it in the first place.
Yet there is also a moral superiority to our representatives, one that
differentiates them from other, evil representatives of social darwinism by
their predictable willingness to sacrifice the strongest members to preserve
the weakest ones. The 1972 film bends over backwards to have Scott
practically beg those awaiting rescue to attempt escape thus making their
deaths an almost appropriate response to their surrender. His pleadings
resemble those of Sam Hall in the recent disaster flick The Day After
Tomorrow, each film deftly alleviating its heroes of the problem of
caring for those who cannot care for themselves (they are heroes, after
all, not saints) while absolving them of the guilt of actively turning
away from the helpless to preserve themselves.
Both films, that is to say, cheat when confronting the key formula of a disaster picture. The whole point of the disaster picture is to allow the audience to see
man’s hidden or submerged character revealed by circumstances, to show if—to paraphrase the famous line from Starman—we are at our best when things are worse.
It is interesting, then, that the 2006 film includes a scene in which
Richard Dreyfuss’s character must kick Freddy Rodiguez’s character off
him so that he (Dreyffus) can be lifted to safety. Given the recent
debates surrounding the status of illegal immigrants in this country, it
was hard not to read this scene as a metaphor for America’s increasingly
anti-immigrant sentiments. Before our gang reaches safety, the other Hispanic,
herself a stowaway, will also be dead, allowing only the white-anglo-saxon
protestants and gay Jew to survive. Braugher’s captain—the only African-American
in the film—will also go down with the ship. Give us your poor huddled
masses yearning to breathe free but not so many as will drag us under,
I guess.
The 2006 film also fails to satisfy for a different reason. It is an
action movie only masquerading as a disaster film. My central thesis
surrounding action films is that unless one cares about the characters
in an action film it is hard to care about what happens to them. In Poseidon we get establishing characteristics rather than character development,
so when the rogue wave topples the ship a scant fifteen to twenty minutes
in, we are left with one long chase sequence. As well as being flat, the
characters are relatively static; they do not change much during the film
nor respond to what happens to them. The simply run from one room to the
next.
Let’s be honest, though. The biggest problem facing Poseidon,
the one it does not even begin to solve, is the long shadow cast over it
by United 93 and the events that spawned that film. Action movies
are pure escapism; the audience is continually reassured that nothing they
see—especially death and suffering—is real. Drama is supposed to probe
the audience, prompting it to look at and deal with ideas and problems
rather than merely escape from them into a fantasy world where they don’t
exist. The disaster film is essentially a hybrid, half action flick,
half drama, maintaining its effectiveness only to the extent that it retains
marginal plausibility and thus allowing the audience to envisage the normal
person (rather than the uberman who masquerades as the normal person in
the action flick) dealing with extraordinary circumstances. As an
action film in disaster clothing, Poseidon fails to provide either
a momentary escape from the omnipresence of human suffering nor an honest
examination of it.
Kurt Russell gets to ascend with Bruce Willis’s Armageddon character to a heaven where daughters are dutiful and
son-in-laws deferential. Jacinda Barrett gets to live in a world where
single moms find surrogate dads who look like Josh Lucas rather than Dwayne
Schneider. We, the audience, get to see lots of CGI special effects and
two hours of women and children in peril without any real fear that we
might be told the disturbing truth that we can’t always save them.
It’s not a bad movie, really. Just an abrasively phony one.
My Grade: C
Violence: Moderate / Profanity: Moderate / Sex/Nudity: Minor