Above: Leo and Kate, fighting for survival. Photo ©Paramount Pictures and 20th Century Fox.
Last Spring Break, I stayed at
a beach house with my family. There, we pawed
through our rented residence’s movie selections, uncovering an awful lot of
Kevin Costner and, weirdly, a number of Best Picture winners. Finally, we agreed to take on “Titanic” and
almost immediately, the living room was awash with snickering. The movie’s dialogue provoked laughter; the
cinematography invited sneers; and there were even protestations of boredom.
And yet…I knew I was falling in love. It is a rare and beautiful thing to be
instantly absorbed by a movie the first time you watch it. Yet that’s how it was for me with
“Titanic.” Sitting there, on that unfamiliar
couch, I ended up in a state of rapture, of brutal awe, of cinematic love. Yes, the movie over powered me and I felt
battered, but I was all the better for it.
I’ll admit that I wasn’t instantly won over. “Titanic” begins in the present day, with
fictional salvager Brock Lovett (Bill Paxton) exploring the wreckage of the
ill-fated vessel immortally known as Titanic. He’s looking for a blue diamond (who knew
such a thing existed?) that will make him richer and, most likely, even more
obnoxious than he already is. But the gem proves elusive until Brock he meets
Rose Calvert (Gloria Stuart), a one-hundred year-old woman who claims to have
survived the Titanic wreck and to have
been the owner of the diamond.
I wouldn’t blame anyone for yawning while watching these
scenes unfold. Never one to curb screen
time, the film’s director, James Cameron (“Avatar”), lavishes his attention on this
opening sequence, which is essentially a mere framing device. Yet soon, his logic becomes clear. As Rose sits down to tell Brock and his crew
her version of the sinking of the Titanic,
Russell Carpenter’s camera pans toward the wreckage of the ship…and then we
fade into the past where the vessel stands whole, clean, new, and ready for its
maiden voyage.
It’s a magnificent sight, though Mr. Cameron is as
interested in the passengers as he is in the ship itself. Thus, in a gleaming take, we see a younger
Rose (Kate Winslet) stepping out of her car, dressed in a white dress that is as
spectacular as any of the movie’s sleek digital effects. And soon after, we meet the man she’s
destined to fall in love with on Titanic’s
journey to America: Jack Dawson (Leonardo DiCaprio).
The second blush of “Titanic” is about this
courtship. Rose, engaged to a man she
despises (Billy Zane) and forced by her family into a world of suffocating
civility, tries to leap over the edge of the ship. But Jack, neatly establishing himself as an
almost too-perfect hero, pulls her to safety and soon, the two are gadding
about the beautiful vessel, chatting about their lives, and making a fair
amount of mischief.
In another film, this romance might have seemed
pedestrian. After all, there’s nothing
particularly compelling about Rose and Jack as characters; we’ve seen plenty of
good-hearted guys woo feisty gals in the history of American cinema. Yet Ms. Winslet and Mr. DiCaprio sell the
story; her archness and his ferocious nasal twang zing with energy and Mr.
Cameron adds a zesty sweep to their every move.
In one scene, Rose and Jack dance together at a drunken party on the
ship’s lower decks; determined not to miss a moment of motion, the camera tips
down towards Jack’s feet as they nimbly tap and twist across the deck.
Beyond that, there’s something incredibly vital about
this love story. Jack, a man of pure
instinct, pursues Rose at every turn, flagrantly and gleefully disregarding the
fact that her high social stature makes a union between them borderline impossible. And he ultimately wins her undying devotion, resulting
in a scene that has become cinematic legend (and lives up to every ounce to the
hype).
It
begins late in the evening, when Jack invites Rose to stand with him on the
very edge of the ship’s front railing.
“Close your eyes,” he tells her as he helps her step upwards. Then, she looks outward and sees the ocean,
stretched out far beneath them. “I’m
flying, Jack!” she cries. Ms. Winslet
sounds a little silly that line, yet seeing these two lovers suspended high above
sunset-drenched waters, you feel as if Mr. Cameron has given you wings as well.
Often, the beauty of such moments makes me wish that
“Titanic” had a happy ending. But it
doesn’t; it couldn’t, really. Jack and
Rose may be fictional characters, but Mr. Cameron (who also wrote the film)
inserts them into very real history. So
soon, the ship has crashed into an iceberg; lifeboats (far too few of them) are
being lowered into freezing waters; and Jack and Rose are plunging into the depths
of the Atlantic Ocean, struggling to survive.
In all honesty, I’m ethically uncertain about Mr. Cameron
turning this historical tragedy into a histrionic blockbuster spectacle. As A.O. Scott wisely pointed out, moviegoers
share an instinct to find pleasure in what they see. And as horrendous as it is watching the
passengers of the Titanic die
onscreen, it is unbelievably exciting as well.
As torrents of water crash through the ship’s halls, shattering
everything in their path, James Horner’s magnificent score surges forth,
granting you a burst of adrenaline.
Pleasure? Yes indeed.
But why quibble? I
remain happy that “Titanic” exists. Movies,
with their ability to mix music, performance, and photography, can capture
tragic love better than almost any other medium. So it is with Jack and Rose. “You jump, I jump,” Jack tells her when they first
meet. It’s a sweet declaration of
loyalty and it means everything to Jack and Rose, especially when their world
literally collapses around them.
Soon, of course, it all fades. After all that passion and tragedy, we return
to the present, to Brock Lovett and his crew.
For them, the destruction of the Titanic
is history. Yet even sitting and
listening, they feel it for a moment, hearing the older Rose tell the story of
the boy she once loved and the ship she once loved on. And Brock and crew are moved by what they
hear, as we are; perhaps, they too long to be swept up into a world of majesty
and romance, however short-lived it may be.
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