Dir. Louise
Osmond/Jerry Rothwell, 2006, UK, 93 mins
Narrator: Tilda Swinton
Review by Mike Bartlett
One of the greatest
stories of the 20th century has for too long been the sole
preserve of sailing aficionados and lovers of tales of
the sea. But now, thanks to Louise Osmond and Jerry Rothwell’s new documentary,
it should reach a wider audience. It centres around the unpromising
figure of Donald Crowhurst, a small-time English businessman
and “weekend sailor” who, in a moment of madness,
decided to enter the first solo round-the-world yacht race
in 1968. Only eight other competitors had put themselves
forward – seasoned veterans of the ocean waves, all
too aware of the immense physical and mental strains of such
a venture. But Crowhurst was spurred on by the heroic example
of Sir Francis Chichester, who had completed his circumnavigation
the previous year…and also by spiralling debts that
threatened bankruptcy unless a miraculous flow of cash and
goodwill could be found from somewhere.
And so, he became the loveable “rank outsider”,
cobbling together a boat with sponsorship from a caravan
salesman. Nearly missing the date for its maiden voyage,
this hardy vessel developed problems almost as soon as it
passed the Isle of Wight. Water was leaking in at an alarming
rate and bailing it out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean
was not an option – Crowhurst was out of his depth
in more ways than one. It was then that he had his second
moment of madness – why not just park the boat off
the coast of Brazil and radio in false positions, pretending
to his backers that the race was going swimmingly? Then he
could rejoin the others when they passed Cape Horn and return
home in their wake…
I first came across this story in
a tiny BBC2 documentary that treated Crowhurst as a Quixotic
fool, as much deserving of our scorn as our pity. But the
case was much more thoroughly explored in Nicholas Tomlin
and Ron Hall’s book, The
Strange Last Voyage of Donald Crowhurst, which comes highly
recommended. What fascinated me was the idea that Crowhurst
became the ultimate artist, necessarily pushing himself to
invent worlds of excitement and fear as he created his fictionalised
log of round-the-world adventure. The film comments on this
with delicious irony when it cuts from French competitor
Bernard Moitessier’s footage of crossing the Roaring
Forties and the tumultuous Southern Ocean to Crowhurst’s
film of a becalmed sea with a gull floating on the water
like a duck on a boating lake. But I was also disturbed by
the impact of loneliness on Crowhurst and his encroaching
sense of guilt, brutally recorded in his “real” log
and his to-the-camera home videos, in which you see a man
going gently insane. In many ways, the cumulative impression
one gets of Crowhurst is that of a bizarre romantic hero,
not a fool.
Deep Water also takes a sympathetic
view of Crowhurst’s
plight, perhaps understandably, given the co-operation of
his family and friends. Their matter-of-fact testimony gives
a much more rounded portrait of the man than we’ve
been privy to before, and their attempts to understand his
motives are deeply moving. The film also benefits from a
wider perspective on the race itself. The misfortunes suffered
by the other yachtsmen throw some light on the ridiculous
demands of such an undertaking – indeed, what happened
to Moitessier is actually as haunting as what happened to
Crowhurst himself. But ultimately, the film is an unflinching
record of an ordinary man caught in extraordinary circumstances – and
desperately unable to cope.
Such a documentary can never hope
to be as visually dramatic as Touching the Void because
it’s essentially charting
an interior voyage. But occasionally, the images tell us
more than the log ever could. A shot looking up from the
depths through the water and the swaying weed is as eerie
an evocation of loss and absence as I’ve ever seen.
It becomes the ultimate comment on the psychological and
emotional devastation wrought by that particular race. Only
one of the nine competitors finished – Robin Knox-Johnston.
And you know the peculiar thing? He’s just set off
on it again. Perhaps, like Crowhurst and Moitessier, it burrowed
into his soul more deeply than he’d care to admit...
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