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Open Water August 22, 2004 |
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Here is a short list of phobias that, if suffered from, one, or a combination of two or more, you may want to proceed with caution into the lonely open waters of the terrifyingly hypnotic “Open Water”. First, and foremost is a no-brainer: Hydrophobia, or its cousin in fear, Aquaphobia, which, it is told, brings upon a sudden feeling of terror at the thought of drowning, or even less, of water pure and true. Secondly, for the few who suffer the rare, but still troubling infliction of Selachophobia, a.k.a., fear of sharks, than this movie isn’t likely to be a day at the beach. Thirdly, the classic, Agoraphobia, or, as shut-ins like to call it, an intense fear of large areas, or, like a vast ocean horizon, open spaces. Finally, what is easily the clincher, Autophobia (or Monophobia), the fear of isolation or that of being left alone, by a loved one, a death, or, less commonly, a forgetful scuba diving boat crew. If a film about two people stranded in the middle of shark infested waters is likely to cause one of these psychological mind blocks to surface itself in your subconscious, than “Open Water”, a terrifically creepy and lyrical mind game of an independent thriller, is probably not the best film for you. But, if you like a good, intense, and highly original piece of filmmaking, that you feel strongly wouldn’t damage your mental capacity to differentiate reality from paid entertainment, than by all means, this is a nominal choice; it’s one of the best films of the year. I use the word fear, or that list of phobias, cautiously because the film isn’t entirely about fear. On one level, it’s about compatibility and marriage, and how sometimes, even on vacation, you feel like your spouse is a perfect stranger, drifting away as if caught in a strong current. It’s easy to get sidetracked into analyzing the metaphors for marriage, alienation, and loneliness that pop up between shark fins and lightening bolts in “Open Water”, that’s almost a given, since it is smarter than your average “horror” flick (parenthesis included, because the film only straddles the genre), but what’s trickier is isolating exactly how director Chris Kentis and his two actors use these metaphors for exactly what we’d expect of a film with this plot; terror, paranoia, and fear, and its impact on the brain, both in its players, and most importantly, in the audience. This is a film that is for show, for sure, and even the most susceptible moviegoer will know as such, but it’s quite terrifying, and when it’s doing its job right, like all good cinema should, it transposes us from our seats into that very stark ocean. We may care for the characters, but just the same, we’d care for our own safety in such a situation, and it’s always in the backs of our minds: what would I do? Would I have the stamina to float, cold and hungry, for hours on end waiting for the rescue that seems like it will never come? Or would I have the mental stability to continuously strive for survival, while the possibility of shark attack, a most painful and very real potentiality, is always prevalent? What is special about “Open Water” is that not only does it have you thinking such questions, it has you genuinely engrossed in the ramifications of hypothetical situations. The low budget production, a huge hit at Sundance earlier this year, stars Daniel Travis and Blanchard Ryan as a well off, and stressed out yuppie couple who jet off to Bermuda for a much needed vacation. They are scuba divers, and being enthusiasts, Bermuda, with its beautiful water, exotic sea life, and majestic coral reefs, is the perfect getaway, but on their one and only trip out, something terrible happens: the boat leaves without them. A mistake in counting causes the expedition captain to think all heads were counted for, when really two were still below water level, snapping pictures of tropical fish, languishing in a care-free world without cell phones and laptop computers, deadlines and responsibilities, and drifting into a kind of blissful oblivion, little realizing their ride home has suddenly vanished. “We shouldn’t have spent so much time with that eel,” says the wife to the husband, while their spirits are still somewhat at ease with the unbelievability of the situation. But as the hours begin to accumulate, and it becomes clear that maybe their original assumptions that they drifted away from the boat were false, and that they were abandoned (cue Monophobia), their demeanor towards each other, and towards life itself, increasingly darkens as the fins get closer, paranoia sets in, and the sky gets heavier with thunderclouds and darkness. “The best part is,” says the man, cynically, “we paid to be here. We wanted an ocean view, and boy, did we get one.” The storytelling and filmmaking go hand in hand in heightening both the pathos and the terror of the film. Kentis’ screenplay hints just enough, during the opening land sequences, that the couple are indeed in love, but may be having problems, the kind not always fixed by a tropical getaway. When they are stranded, and we start to understand how the openness and solitude of the ocean equals that of an ongoing rocky relationship (continuous waves, ups and downs), the director smartly keeps us from overexposure, frequently slicing the tension with cutaway shots of birds, clouds, vacationers, reptiles, and a beautiful and haunting red sunset. By the time the screen turns pitch black, and a ferocious lightening storm becomes the only source of light- quick snaps of vision, like nature’s strobe light- we feel like we’ve been through a nightmare with this couple; ducking the same sharks, waving inconsequentially at the same boats in the distance, analyzing the futility of scuba diving, and why man was made for land, not sea or air. The economical approach (the film cost a scant $130,000, and has more than made its weight in gold since), using real sharks and lightweight handheld digital cameras, makes the film seem urgent, yet Graeme Revell’s lyrical and frightening soundtrack, blending indigenous chants with horror music conventions, saves our frayed nerves from complete destruction. Like the fascinating mountain climbing documentary “Touching the Void”, “Open Water” presents an unbelievable human story of survival, the stuff so bizarre it could only be true (which both are, though this one is only partially based on real events), and makes it great, visually poetic cinema. One day you’re planning your work schedule, buying groceries, reading a good book, and smoothing out the kinks in your marriage, and the next you’re languishing with a broken leg on a godforsaken mountain, or, like the couple in “Open Water”, floating in the middle of the ocean, perpetual shark bait. “With mortal damps self-overcast; Exhaling still they dankish breath,” so goes Herman Melville’s “The Berg”, “Adrift dissolving, bound for death.” The moral of the story is; when you take life for granted and get lost in self-centered trivialities, even with the most ardent cautions, the best of us, eventually, will be left adrift, dissolving, bound for death. by Adam Suraf “Open Water” is playing at the Moviplex 59.
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