I can't rate this gripping show about a bunch of idiots talked into risking their lives so Paul Watson can get some air time, because it is great TV that no one should be watching. Capt. Watson says he prefers to use amateurs over professionals, because the former have more heart for the mission. What he leaves out is that the latter wouldn't make (I'm guessing) two-to-five life-threateningly stupid mistakes per day. None of his worthless tactics (glass bottles of smelly acid thrown at the whalers, ropes trailed across their bows to foul propellers, running intercept courses in his slower-than-the-target fragile ship) do diddly to stop the Japanese whalers, but the bumbling landlubbers he lets break, ground, or crack up many thousands of dollars of maritime gear are guaranteed to put on a good show. Very disturbingly, one gets the idea that Watson's preference for amateurs is due to the fact that they will ignorantly endanger their lives where professionals would just know better, and watching people almost kill themselves is something he thinks we'll all be eager to do.
At first, their passion is endearing and their methods seem mildly Ghandi-esq. But, not long after the first time you watch, their monotone recitals of the shipboard party lines ("we only use non-violent means," "we're here for the whales," "we're ready to risk our lives for Paul- I mean, for the whales") start to sound like hypnotic mantras, giving way, eventually, to plain old whining. For example, when the Japanese return "fire" to the Sea Shepherds' glass bottles full of acid with metal nuts and bolts, the environmentalists complain that theirs was a "harmless" attack, while the Japanese are clearly out to do some personal injury. Frankly, the difference between being hit in the head with a thumb-sized bolt and a glass bottle full of liquid is lost on me. Likewise their insistence that fouling the prop on a single-screw ship in antarctic waters is "non-violent" seems pathetically naive. If the Japanese can't clear their propeller, any disabled ship's crew will have to transfer to another craft, over water so cold it kills by hypothermia in minutes. Yet, when circled by Japanese ships so the factory craft can escape, the Sea Shepherds suddenly grow acutely aware of how dangerous any hazard to navigation can be in the far southern ocean.
Watching these knuckleheads capsize boats, knock off outboard props, lose their way, nearly run out of water, oil, and fuel, and commit every other possible screw-up with the millions of dollars' worth of toys apparently bought for them entirely by television celebrities is fun for a while. But only until you realize that the one man on board who knows what he's doing never takes any of those risks himself, happily standing firm at the helm, while a passionate crew of Keystone Kops insures his real purpose: to get himself on TV.
A Twitter post said it well, "If these guys are their best hope, the whales should start voluntarily swimming towards the Japanese." Sad fact is, saving the whales is neither Watson's purpose, nor is it the act of saving this show most demands. What needs saving is Watson's crew and, if we have any integrity at all, we'll do our part and e-mail Animal Planet that we've decided to watch something else.
At first, their passion is endearing and their methods seem mildly Ghandi-esq. But, not long after the first time you watch, their monotone recitals of the shipboard party lines ("we only use non-violent means," "we're here for the whales," "we're ready to risk our lives for Paul- I mean, for the whales") start to sound like hypnotic mantras, giving way, eventually, to plain old whining. For example, when the Japanese return "fire" to the Sea Shepherds' glass bottles full of acid with metal nuts and bolts, the environmentalists complain that theirs was a "harmless" attack, while the Japanese are clearly out to do some personal injury. Frankly, the difference between being hit in the head with a thumb-sized bolt and a glass bottle full of liquid is lost on me. Likewise their insistence that fouling the prop on a single-screw ship in antarctic waters is "non-violent" seems pathetically naive. If the Japanese can't clear their propeller, any disabled ship's crew will have to transfer to another craft, over water so cold it kills by hypothermia in minutes. Yet, when circled by Japanese ships so the factory craft can escape, the Sea Shepherds suddenly grow acutely aware of how dangerous any hazard to navigation can be in the far southern ocean.
Watching these knuckleheads capsize boats, knock off outboard props, lose their way, nearly run out of water, oil, and fuel, and commit every other possible screw-up with the millions of dollars' worth of toys apparently bought for them entirely by television celebrities is fun for a while. But only until you realize that the one man on board who knows what he's doing never takes any of those risks himself, happily standing firm at the helm, while a passionate crew of Keystone Kops insures his real purpose: to get himself on TV.
A Twitter post said it well, "If these guys are their best hope, the whales should start voluntarily swimming towards the Japanese." Sad fact is, saving the whales is neither Watson's purpose, nor is it the act of saving this show most demands. What needs saving is Watson's crew and, if we have any integrity at all, we'll do our part and e-mail Animal Planet that we've decided to watch something else.