After an emotionally tough day, I saw a broadcast of the new On the Beach last night, and had strongly mixed feelings. I was born two years after The Bomb, and grew up during the most hellish years of fear about nuclear devastation. It left an indelible impression on me, having reached its greatest crisis when I was at my most vulnerable age. The risk of all-out nuclear war increased after the original novel and movie in the '50s, peaked in the '60s (the subject of many bad dreams when I was in junior high and high school), was still a nightmarish worry in the '70s, declined steeply in the '80s and then--thanks in no small part to the disorder following the collapse of the Soviet Union and the new availability of Soviet fissile materials and scientists--increased in the '90s. And although technologies change and antagonists shift, human nature is eternal. Now India and Pakistan detonate bombs within days of one another, and China is turning up the heat on Taiwan. I am getting disquieting feelings of 1962 again.
That is the background against which the remake of On the Beach is played. It is an uneven film, mixing flashes of brilliant and poor editing, excellent and bad acting, scientific inaccuracies and gorgeous scenery, and four love stories, two of which I found compelling. But I found it both poignant and thought-provoking despite its faults.
I didn't know Armand Assante. I missed Belizaire the Cajun, Gotti and whatever else he's done (that's the peril of having a life aside from being a movie reviewer!). But I had the distinct impression he stole his portrayal of a US Fleet Ballistic Missile Submarine Commander straight from Al Pacino's character in "The Scent of a Woman." Sad to say, Pacino did it a lot better. Assante was over the top in much of this movie. So was Rachel Ward--to much and too one-dimensional in her aging party girl portrayal. Bryan Brown was a disappointment--especially compared with his wonderful job in Gorillas in the Mist--but the writing for his character was ridiculous (He is portrayed as a super mathematician who also happens to be a race car driver serious enough to own both a Ferrari and a Formula I car who's a total dunce at love. I am a scientist, and although I have colleagues who are brilliant and dunces at love, none has even a touch of the Mario Andretti in us.) By far the best acting job--despite writing that made her denial seem hysterical--was Jacqueline McKenzie. If she gets good opportunities, she'd going places in film.
The movie strains credulity in its geopolitics and science. I have some difficulty imagining how Australia avoids being a target in an all-out nuclear war. A puncture of a radiation suit should be fixable by slapping a hand or some duct tape on the material to keep contaminated air out, and would give a modestly risky, not fatal exposure at radiation levels depicted in the film. But the San Francisco scenes of devastation were silly; nuked cities don't have standing buildings or bridges looking like that, and radiation levels that would kill people in a few days would kill conifers too; they're about as sensitive as we are.
There are four main love stories in the film. The triangle between the climate modeler and sub commander with the party girl (unconvincing), the one between the sub commander and his crew (medium), the one among the Australian naval officer, his architect wife and their daughter (wonderful) and the one between the camera and the Australian coast (wonderful). Along with the very disrurbing possibility that nuclear weapons will be used by nations or terrorists in our lifetimes, the latter two love stories are what gives this film its emotional resonance.
I also found the sub commander's comings and goings irrational. He changed courses and locations so many times in this movie without clear reason that I wondered whether he had the male equivalent of PMS. Someone with divided loylaties--in this case between his crew and his lover--showing such indecision was more silly than touching.
Despite and because of the problems, I gave it a 7.
That is the background against which the remake of On the Beach is played. It is an uneven film, mixing flashes of brilliant and poor editing, excellent and bad acting, scientific inaccuracies and gorgeous scenery, and four love stories, two of which I found compelling. But I found it both poignant and thought-provoking despite its faults.
I didn't know Armand Assante. I missed Belizaire the Cajun, Gotti and whatever else he's done (that's the peril of having a life aside from being a movie reviewer!). But I had the distinct impression he stole his portrayal of a US Fleet Ballistic Missile Submarine Commander straight from Al Pacino's character in "The Scent of a Woman." Sad to say, Pacino did it a lot better. Assante was over the top in much of this movie. So was Rachel Ward--to much and too one-dimensional in her aging party girl portrayal. Bryan Brown was a disappointment--especially compared with his wonderful job in Gorillas in the Mist--but the writing for his character was ridiculous (He is portrayed as a super mathematician who also happens to be a race car driver serious enough to own both a Ferrari and a Formula I car who's a total dunce at love. I am a scientist, and although I have colleagues who are brilliant and dunces at love, none has even a touch of the Mario Andretti in us.) By far the best acting job--despite writing that made her denial seem hysterical--was Jacqueline McKenzie. If she gets good opportunities, she'd going places in film.
The movie strains credulity in its geopolitics and science. I have some difficulty imagining how Australia avoids being a target in an all-out nuclear war. A puncture of a radiation suit should be fixable by slapping a hand or some duct tape on the material to keep contaminated air out, and would give a modestly risky, not fatal exposure at radiation levels depicted in the film. But the San Francisco scenes of devastation were silly; nuked cities don't have standing buildings or bridges looking like that, and radiation levels that would kill people in a few days would kill conifers too; they're about as sensitive as we are.
There are four main love stories in the film. The triangle between the climate modeler and sub commander with the party girl (unconvincing), the one between the sub commander and his crew (medium), the one among the Australian naval officer, his architect wife and their daughter (wonderful) and the one between the camera and the Australian coast (wonderful). Along with the very disrurbing possibility that nuclear weapons will be used by nations or terrorists in our lifetimes, the latter two love stories are what gives this film its emotional resonance.
I also found the sub commander's comings and goings irrational. He changed courses and locations so many times in this movie without clear reason that I wondered whether he had the male equivalent of PMS. Someone with divided loylaties--in this case between his crew and his lover--showing such indecision was more silly than touching.
Despite and because of the problems, I gave it a 7.