It is difficult to believe that this cloying mess is an honest attempt to bring one of the world's great literary masterworks to film. Rather it is easier to believe that it is a movie adaptation of a comic book version of Moby Dick.
William Hurt is a fine actor trapped in a screenplay that wobbles about between boring and unintentionally hilarious. His self-loathing Ahab is a sort of leering Popeye on brown acid, declaiming anachronistic soliloquies when he is not flirting outrageously with Starbuck, Pip, and Ishmael. Is this intended as a subplot concerning the effects of too many months at sea?
A completely confused Ishmael, who looks more like a freshly groomed Dolce & Gabbana model than a sailor, appears to have no idea where he is or what he is supposed to be doing. Not seen to do anything that remotely resembles a seaman's duty, he simply hangs around with the captain.
And the whale. About as realistic as a demonic Nemo out to sink the Titanic.
Poor whale. Poor actors. Poor viewers. Poor Melville.
William Hurt is a fine actor trapped in a screenplay that wobbles about between boring and unintentionally hilarious. His self-loathing Ahab is a sort of leering Popeye on brown acid, declaiming anachronistic soliloquies when he is not flirting outrageously with Starbuck, Pip, and Ishmael. Is this intended as a subplot concerning the effects of too many months at sea?
A completely confused Ishmael, who looks more like a freshly groomed Dolce & Gabbana model than a sailor, appears to have no idea where he is or what he is supposed to be doing. Not seen to do anything that remotely resembles a seaman's duty, he simply hangs around with the captain.
And the whale. About as realistic as a demonic Nemo out to sink the Titanic.
Poor whale. Poor actors. Poor viewers. Poor Melville.