The Abyss (1989)
The Abyss, a deep-ocean thriller, is a film of such ambition and technical innovation that it greatly pains me to not recommend it. That it thoroughly outdoes two other 1989 deep-ocean thrillers – the bad DeepStar Six, and the even worse Leviathan – there can be absolutely no question; from the start, it’s quite obvious that more of an effort was made, especially in regards to casting and the extraordinary special effects. But for all his achievements, writer/director James Cameron didn’t seem to have a firm grasp of the story he wanted to tell. What begins as a tense, claustrophobic, action-laden drama will eventually, and profoundly, transform into a visually wondrous but narratively lacking science fiction spectacle. To say that one genre has nothing to do with the other would be an understatement.
As was the case with the infamous flops Heaven’s Gate and Ishtar, the trade papers have made much of the troubled production of The Abyss: The difficulty of shooting underwater in the world’s largest tank, fashioned from the reactor core of an unfinished nuclear power plant; the extreme physical demands placed on the actors; the constant technical mishaps that kept delaying production and inflating the budget; Cameron’s perfectionism repeatedly leading to clashes with cast, crew, and studio execs. Cameron had already established a demanding, tyrannical reputation with his previous film, Aliens. But in that case, all the misery proved worth it; even with a few too many action scenes, a solid, entertaining story was told. With The Abyss, the muddled story didn’t seem to necessitate suffering for one’s art.
The plot involves the crew of a fictitious deep-sea oil-drilling station getting recruited by the U.S. military to assist in searching for a submarine, which sank under mysterious circumstances. The crew of the station, led by Bud Brigman (Ed Harris), are joined by a small team of Navy SEALs and, much to Bud’s chagrin, his soon-to-be-ex-wife Lindsay (Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio). As the designer of the underwater drilling platform, she insists on taking part in this operation. Several early scenes make it clear why Bud wants to divorce Lindsay; though strong and intelligent, she’s also infuriatingly stubborn and highly combative, even when her life is in danger. But I’m getting ahead of the story. The point is, her bossy personality has earned her a bad reputation. Indeed, one character bestows her the unenviable nickname Queen Bitch of the Universe.
As the mystery of the sunken submarine is examined, a new mystery pops up – almost literally, as something … different rises up from the pitch-black, miles-deep depths of the trench the oil station is perched at the edge of. What do I mean by “different”? Let’s just say that brilliant bioluminescence periodically bathes the area. And at one crucial moment, a gigantic tentacle made entirely of sea water impossibly enters the station and snakes down the cramped metal hallways, exploring various rooms with the same sense of curiosity as a stray dog exploring its new home. Eventually, in one of the film’s most effective and technologically-innovative scenes, this tentacle reveals its unique ability to communicate with the station’s crew.
Whatever is behind this unusual undersea activity, it takes a backseat for a time by a series of action sequences – all well-paced, well-edited, and well-acted, but some stretching the limits of what’s plausible, both narratively and scientifically. One involves the collapse of a crane attached to a ship on the surface; its resulting fall causes severe damage to the oil station, and even threatens to push it over the edge of the trench. Another involves the leader of the SEALs, Lt. Coffey (Michael Biehn), whose mental state devolves into a violent, paranoid mania, supposedly a possible side effect of extended deep-sea pressurization. His psychological decline is intertwined with, of course, a classified mission, one that sends Lindsay into an angry tirade when she catches wind of it. What Lindsay thinks she will accomplish by provoking an unstable man she admits is a trained killer, I have no idea.
There’s also a scene in which a drowned character, and I dare not reveal who, is successfully revived after a lengthy period. I grant you that artistic license is necessary for movies like this, and I’d be lying if I said that the scene isn’t emotional or cathartic. Still, suspension of disbelief can only take you so far. The same goes for another character – and again, I dare not reveal who – that has to, for reasons I won’t give away, intentionally breathe an experimental pink fluid, said to be oxygenated so that human lungs can act as gills. We see this demonstrated in an early scene that made me cringe, where the fluid is tested on a crew member’s pet rat. I wouldn’t be surprised if that scene incurs the wrath of animal rights activists worldwide.
All leads to a final act, a discovery, that’s a real sight to behold. On the same token, all the cinematic visual wonders in the world can’t compensate for an unclear narrative purpose; whatever point Cameron was trying to make, whatever sense of importance we’re meant to glean from the discovery and its aftermath, it was entirely lost on me. Was this all for nothing? It seemed that way. This is the point at which the film’s purported budget of $40 million is put on full display, which makes the whole thing doubly disappointing. I left The Abyss feeling I had been taken on a wild ride – and then made to get off before the final drop. What a shame the making of this movie was such a harrowing ordeal for its cast and crew. Had it worked all the way through instead of just in parts, had the story built up to anything worthwhile, all the blood, sweat, and tears wouldn’t have been in vain.
