Herman Melville once wrote, "At sea a fellow comes out. Salt water is like wine, in that respect". These lofty words perhaps explain what has driven some men since the beginning of time to take to the ocean, making desperate voyages against impossible odds. Self-discovery aside, more realistic motivations have included greed, wild ambition, and simply escape. For whatever reason, the adventurous spirit present in tales of the sea has long been fodder for the imaginations of us all.
So what do we make of Donald Crowhurst? What posessed a soft-spoken middle aged British family man, with little or no sailing experience, to undertake a journey that at the very least was fraught with danger and at worst could prove deadly? Was it a boyhood fantasy coming to fruition or the ill fated result of pride gone horribly awry? These questions and more are examined in the enthralling documentary on Crowhurst, Deep Water, by film makers Louise Osmond and Jerry Rothwell.
Britain in 1968 saw a public enamored of larger than life adventurerers. Sir Francis Chichester had become a national hero by being the first man to circumnavigate the globe solo. His accomplishment had also filled the coffers of many a backer. It had also fattened the bank accounts of many a newspaper, that had followed his progress with people pleasing press releases filled with purple prose. Sensing a good thing, the Sunday Times announced a daring contest, open to all comers. Dubbed the Golden Globe Race, the Times was offering a then hefty sum of 5000 pounds to any sailor who could not only duplicate Chichester's feat, but do it "non-stop". There would be a cash prize for both the first finisher and the sailor with the fastest time overall. Contestants could set sail anytime after June 1st but no later than October 31st, the deadline for hitting the waves.
Eight seasoned risk takers signed up, including sea hardened Rodney Knox-Johnston, Nigel Tetley, and Bernard Moitessier. The press and public were beside themselves with anticipation. However, they went positively apopletic when out of nowhere everyman Donald Crowhurst quietly tossed his cap into the ring. Working class Crowhurst, pale and slighty pudgy, was far from the picture of a mighty hero. Having done unremarkable stints in both the Army and RAF, and trying and failing at many businesses, he bought nothing to the table save for "stiff upper lip" British can-do spirit. This "common man" was golden, and the media howled with excitement.
Enter millionaire businessman and armchair sailing enthusiast Stanley Best. Quick to bankroll Crowhurst's quest he also signed a rather naive Crowhurst to a contract stating that Donald would be responsible for paying for the boat to be built should he withdraw from the race. Thus a somewhat dodgy pipedream became a harsh reality of financial ruin for Crowhurst. Adding to the pressure was ex Fleet Street reporter Rodney Halworth who was hired as press agent to hype Crowhurst's exploits. The media machine was in motion.
Problems arose from the beginning. The construction was slow and the end result was at best mediocre. Imagine a toothpick raft with a paper sail tossed into an olympic sized swimming pool and you get the idea. As all the other contestants had long ago set sail the deadline approached with Crowhurst seemingly dead in the water. Details were skipped and corners were cut in order to meet the launch date. The small boat was christened in late October, with the bad omen of the champagne bottle having to be broken by hand.
Thus on the eve of October 30th, after crying in his wife's arms for most of the night, Crowhurst sat on the beach with his best friend and decided to give up. Best and Halworth, dollar signs for eyes, were having none of this quitting however, and with veiled threats forced Crowhurst to continue. With thoughts of his own struggling father, and the shame of having his family left poor, an outwardly cheerful Crowhust was off.
Immediately leaks sprung and bolts popped, but Crowhurst's transmissions home remained upbeat. His journals told a different story, however, showing a man already crumbling under the indifference of the mighy ocean, and barely two months out he hatched a desperate plan that sealed his tragic fate. He decided to simply lie about his progress. Radioing that he has sailed 243 miles in 24 hours, a new record, he was, in reality, languishing in the North Atlantic going nowhere near the dangerous Southern ocean. Maintaining radio silence for 11 weeks, his plan was to rejoin the race after his fellow competitors round Cape Horn, coming in third or fourth, saving some face and hoping that his logs wouldn't be scrutinized too closely. Twists of fate and creeping dementia intervene and the power of nature prepared to teach Crowhurst a lesson.
Narrated with a measured voice by actress Tilda Swinton, Deep Water reconstructs Crowhurst's fascinating story using his journals and interviewing those involved including Crowhurst's wife Clare and son Simon, whose guilt and sadness have not dimmed in almost forty years.
RATING: 4 BANANAS
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