Runtime: 1 hour, 43 minutes
Rating: PG-13
Director: Juan Antonio Bayona
Quick Impressions:
The tsunami of December 26, 2004, made a profound impression on me. I always associate it with the death of my grandmother. Even though Grandma died at home in bed months earlier, the two events got mixed up in my mind early on, and for me, they’re still intertwined. Immediately after the tsunami, I remember donating to the Red Cross through amazon.com, writing poetry, and thinking about the horrible sense of loss felt by so many.
My grandma was eighty-six when she died, quietly in the night. When we found her, there was a look of astonishment on her face, and her body was cold, an intense kind of cold I had never imagined existed. I was still grieving for her (and trying to comfort my grieving mother) when the tsunami hit, and hundreds of thousands of people lost mothers, and fathers, and brothers, and sisters, and grandparents, and aunts, and uncles, and cousins, and friends, and homes, and their own lives, and everything.
Grief is such a universally human thing. We all die, and most of us live long enough to lose someone we love before we die.
Remembering the shocking coldness I’d felt when I touched my grandmother (whose name meant “white wave”), I listened to news reports and imagined an immense white wave dragging so many unsuspecting people to a cold and watery grave.
But watching The Impossible, I see that the wave wasn’t white at all. In the film, it looks brown, sea water mixed with mud, blood, and who knows what else as it relentlessly (and obliviously) ravages the shore.
The Good:
What a beautiful movie! I found the film genuinely touching and extremely well written with some magnificently memorable lines (e.g., “If it’s the last thing we ever do,” the entire conversation about the stars.)
What makes The Impossible really stand apart from other disaster films is that it’s a true story. It’s not just the story of a fictional group of people struggling to survive a real event (like Titanic), or a largely fictionalized story about a real group of people. It’s the true story of a real group of people that actually happened. (Now, don’t get me wrong. The true account written by one of the family members has been adapted for the screen by Sergio G. Sánchez, so I’m sure there’s some poetic license taken. But this isn’t one of those kinds of Hollywood true stories where two historical figures who never actually met have long face-to-face conversations or fall in love or save the world, or something oft-seen and corny like that.)
The character of Maria amazed me. She’s so strong, so sympathetic, and she offers such a powerful object lesson to her son. Throughout the film, she struggles not only to survive but also—in the event that she doesn’t—to be the best parent she can in the limited time she has left. Things you say and do when facing death are by necessity honest, and for those who live on, they have remarkable staying power.
Eight years before my grandma died in bed, in December of 1996, my grandpa died unexpectedly in church where he had been asked to say the closing prayer. With his last breath, he delivered the final line of his benediction, “I am with you always,” then promptly dropped to the floor, instantly dead of a massive heart attack. (Grandma was standing next to him, and I was next to her.) You really don’t forget a thing like that.
And Maria’s the same way. She uses every last moment, every last resource she has to make sure her son knows what matters. Facing death, she “dies” in the way that she wants him to live, and “lives” because she doesn’t want him to have only the memory of her for guidance. And to the movie’s credit, this comes across on screen very powerfully.
As we watch, we do not know which of the family members will live and which will die, just as they themselves do not know. But Maria gives her son such a beautiful example of how to live and how to die that we come to feel that either outcome will be equally satisfying. (At least, I felt like that. Don’t get me wrong. I was rooting for the family to be reunited on earth, alive and well. But there’s a profound beauty in it either way. Despite the “meaningless” tragedy of the tsunami, the lives and deaths of those involved still have meaning. No tragedy can strip us of our humanity. In fact, the surety of death is one thing that we all, as humans, share. It’s cliché and banal and all that, but it’s still true. Tragedy brings us together.
Most Oscar Worthy Moment (Naomi Watts):
Naomi Watts has the advantage of playing an incredibly sympathetic character, and I expect her to get a nomination for Best Actress on Thursday morning (though I’m at a disadvantage when it comes to predicting this category since I still have not had the opportunity to see several key performances).
The particular horror that Maria endures translates especially well onto the screen since so much of it involves physical suffering. In the safety of the theater, some of us may not be able to imagine (truly) being in a tsunami in a distant (from here) part of the world, but it’s pretty hard to look at severely torn and bloody flesh hanging from the body without thinking, “Ouch!” And while some of us have no children, just about everyone has parents. So it’s incredibly easy to sympathize with this woman’s plight.
And then her response to her situation only makes us like her more.
A fantastically sympathetic character like this could probably only be destroyed through a Herculean display of bad acting. Fortunately, Naomi Watts gives us anything but. She’s entirely believable as Maria, and quite likely to be nominated for Best Actress (though her exclusion is certainly not impossible).
I think her strongest work comes in the moment that happens just before the tree and in the climbing of the tree itself. We appreciate what Maria does. We see that she is compassionate and brave. And then we more fully appreciate her nobility as we see how much she must struggle to remain alive.
Most Oscar Worthy Moment (Tom Holland):
Tom Holland is sixteen now, and I’m not sure how old he was when this movie was filmed, but he’s absolutely stunning as the family’s oldest son Lucas. So much of the power of his scenes comes from what is unspoken. He has a very emotive face, capable of communicating extreme joy at one moment and horrific despair the very next. I’ve seen so many outstanding Supporting Actor performances this year, but I would not be disappointed to see him get an Oscar nomination. At the very least, I’m sure he’ll continue to pick up accolades as a young actor in a break-out performance.
One striking example of his skill in telegraphing first one profound emotion, then another on his very expressive face comes when he realizes some success in one of his projects in the hospital, and then realizes what he has lost while he was working on it.
Most Oscar Worthy Moment (Ewan McGregor):
I don’t actually think Ewan McGregor has any kind of chance for a nomination (though we’ll find out on Thursday). If Best Actor is full already (with at least six incredible performances fighting for five slots), Best Supporting Actor is absolutely overflowing (and Tom Holland is light-years better than his co-star).
Still, I think McGregor has a very powerful moment when he makes his phone call home. The intensity of his emotional response takes him and those around him by surprise, and it took me by surprise, too. (When you step back and think about it, though, a conversation with a loved one from Henry’s ordinary reality would likely trigger exactly the sort of breakdown we get onscreen. It’s one thing to experience such a nightmare, it’s quite another to have to verbalize it, acknowledging as you do that it is really happening.)
Of course, apart from this one magnificent, emotionally raw moment (played with perfect intensity), McGregor doesn’t really have a very showy part. And Henry—even though I wanted him to be reunited with his family and everything—is an often frustrating character, nowhere near as strong and sympathetic as Maria.
(I realize that this is a true story, and being in extremis excuses less than perfect judgment, but man, does Henry make some horrible decisions! At one point, I thought, What on earth are you thinking? What are you doing? Later on, my husband mentioned the same scene and said delicately, “I’m not sure that he made the right choice there.” I replied, “I’m sure. He made the wrong choice.” Then we discussed what we would do if—God forbid!—ever faced with a similar dilemma.)
There’s a point near the end when I dreaded the consequences of one of his choices yet again, but as I think of it, what happens there probably doesn’t seem like a choice to him. He’s probably not actually thinking at all, and he certainly doesn’t have all the information about the situation that the audience does. Still, that Henry is one nerve-wracking character!
Best Action Sequence:
At the end of the tree-climbing scene, I felt my shoulders and neck relax. Only then did I have time to spare a thought for how tense I’d been throughout the entire scene. (And here’s another great part of that scene. Suddenly, they go from action to inaction, which (unfortunately) makes possible a period of contemplation. I kept thinking, That must be the most difficult part. What do you think about when you’re up in that tree? How do you make the time pass?)
Best Scene:
The part surrounding the tree is the best part, I think. What happens there—what’s at stake, how the characters respond, what it costs them to do so—is basically the movie in miniature. But I also really love the scene when Geraldine Chaplin (better known to my husband throughout the scene by her whispered name, “Who is that? Who is that? Who is that? Who is that?”—I knew I recognized her face!) talks to Thomas about the stars. Some of the best lines in the movie (including one explanation of its title) occur then.
You may not agree with this movie, but if you walk out of it without getting a single thing that it’s trying to tell you, you’re awfully obtuse. (Some people probably think that makes the movie heavy-handed and manipulative, but it works for me. I think it’s well done.)
Best Scene Visually:
There’s a long, dream/memory sequence near the end that sort of reminded me of the title sequence of Skyfall. It’s quite captivating.
Most Touching Tribute:
I’m assuming that what we see written on the paper held by Ewan McGregor’s character in the final scene is all true. If so, how beautiful! How moving and how sweet! (Even if it’s not true, it’s beautiful, but I’ll bet it is true.)
The Negatives:
When the film ends, and you see a photograph of the actual family of five who endured this true-life ordeal, it’s quite a jolt to see that the seemingly Scottish Henry is actually Spanish Quique, the fair, English-speaking Maria is actually a dark, Spanish-speaking Maria, and the entire family looks Spanish because they are, in fact, a Spanish family (with Spanish versions of their Anglicized-for-the-film names).
Why, when these events happened to a Spanish family, did the (Spanish) filmmakers choose to make a movie (at a studio in Spain) about an (apparently) British family? Making them all speak English is a choice that’s easier to understand because clearly the filmmakers wanted to appeal to an audience of (United States of) Americans (who spend lots and lots of money going to the movies and give out exclusive, high-profile prizes to the films they favor). (Let’s face it, if the filmmakers just wanted to reach a large, world-wide audience, they could have stuck with Spanish. It’s not like the family spoke Malagasy or something.)
The first thing I ever heard about this film—when I still actively trying not to hear too much—was complaint after complaint about the Anglicizing of the Spanish family. Nevertheless, I still managed to forget all about that completely enough to be surprised by the family photograph at the end of the movie, so I agree that the difference is the sort of thing that you can’t help but notice.
However, I’m not sure that it’s all as insidious as some people suggest. The film seems to be made with the full cooperation of the Spanish family (and is based on the account of one of them). Plus, it was made by Spaniards at a studio in Spain, so it’s not like some meddlesome British filmmakers swooped in and stole the story to use for their own evil purposes.
Maybe they found it easier to get financing with Ewan McGregor and Naomi Watts attached to star. (Because where on earth would we find two Academy Award winning Spanish actors with sex-appeal and U.S. box-office draw who could convincingly play husband and wife? I ask facetiously.)
I intend to find out why they made this choice, but based solely on what I saw tonight, I will say that changing the ethnicity of the family in question shouldn’t matter. Maria is very clearly a believer that we are all part of one human family, that people are people, that all life is valuable, that love and loss are universal. And this is her story, after all. Why not let her tell it any way she wants?
And, as a matter of fact, the film never tells us explicitly where these lovely, fair, English speaking people are from originally. It seems to me the father is from Scotland, the son is from England, and the mother grew up in Australia where she used to hang out with Nicole Kidman. All we really know for sure about their country of origin is that they’re not originally from Japan.
But I’m pretty sure that this ethnicity-shifting thing is still going to bother a lot of people, especially because the protagonists were transformed into fair, English-speaking, white people. And I will grant that the movie will probably make more money in the U.S. with this language/appearance change. (It’s not that most Americans can’t empathize with Spaniards; it’s just that most English-speaking Americans aren’t willing to read subtitles.) Is the movie racist for Anglicizing its protagonists?
Actually, from where I sit, it seems that the filmmakers are making a concerted effort not to be racist. Anyone could have experienced what this family went through. Their ethnicity is not important. Suffering is universal.
But it’s still kind of a bizarre thing to do. I mean, the ethnicity of the entire family was changed. It’s not the kind of color-blind casting Kenneth Branagh often uses (as when Denzel Washington and Keanu Reeves are brothers, and the only difference that anybody around them notices is that one of them is wicked.) It’s the kind of (seemingly unnecessary) change that for some people may make the story seem less true, less authentic.
Anyone wanting to be cynical, of course, can go further and point out that while the movie may not be racist, the average American film-goer is (though perhaps unwittingly so), so it’s a smart business move by the financial backers to insist on this kind of switch. (Despite our ingrained ethnocentrism, though, I remain stubbornly convinced that U.S. audiences would still show up to see Penélope Cruz and Javier Bardem endure a tsunami, just as long as subtitles were not involved.)
I have also heard vague complaints that the movie doesn’t focus enough on the suffering of the Asian people who actually lived there and couldn’t just get on a plane and go home at the end. But the answer to that is obvious. This film is based on the true story of a Spanish family. If we want a different story, we should see a different movie. Does that movie exist? Not that I know of, and that is problematic, but it’s certainly not the fault of this movie that does exist. That’s like blaming Les Misérables for letting some conflicted bread thief sing for two hours instead of starting with a documentary about the political climate in France leading up to the June Rebellion.
The white-washing of the protagonists aside, people are also bound to complain that The Impossible is emotionally manipulative. (I know this because it made me cry, and whenever a movie makes me cry about something that is grand, spiritual, and profound, some people always complain that it is emotionally manipulative.)
For me, the film works. I thought it was beautiful. But others might legitimately disagree. (I cry very easily and usually enjoy crying. I also tend to sympathize with basically everyone. I even had a dream last night that Tom Cruise treated my family to a trip to the state fair, then wrote me an e-mail in which he expressed his sadness that I didn’t appreciate his work in Jack Reacher. I felt terrible regret as I saw things from his point of view. I wrote back, “But Tom, that was before we were friends and I knew about all the hours of preparation you had put into the role.”)
Since The Impossible made me cry and kept me on the edge of my seat with worry, some people are bound to find it manipulative. But I don’t. (I just think that Henry makes horrible decisions. Still if that’s how it actually went down, what can the movie do?)
Overall: I found The Impossible captivating and touching, a disaster movie with heart (and soul). I hope that Naomi Watts does get an Oscar nomination. (We’ll know for sure on Thursday morning.) Tom Holland gives a pretty incredible performance, too, and surely has a long, promising career ahead of him. This family (and so many others) lived through a harrowing experience, and I’d imagine many beautiful things have come from their ordeal. This film is one of them.