In the Heart of the Sea

Owen Chase (Chris Hemsworth) Man vs. Nature

NATHANIEL PHILBRICK  specializes in U.S. maritime history and combines his engrossing story-telling sensibilities with fine research. In 2000, his nonfiction National Book Award Winner, In the Heart of the Sea, inspired the 2010 PBS documentary Into the Deep directed by Ric Burns and narrated by Willem Dafoe. Next came the recent 2015 Ron Howard film, In the Heart of the Sea, starring Chris Hemsworth, Brendan Gleeson, Tom Holland, and Cillian Murphy. Of course, Herman Melville wrote the classic Man vs. Nature classic, Moby Dick, in 1851 about Captain Ahab’s obsession for revenge against the mighty Sperm whale. All four versions of the sinking of the whaleship Essex combine the history of Nantucket and the Romanticism between the sailor and the sea and his ship. All versions are worthy ways of spending your time and will enhance your knowledge of Colonial America.

The History 

The 50 by 30 mile stretch of land off Cape Cod became the heart of the whaling industry from approximately 1620-1865. Until the advent of kerosene, the highest quality oil used to make wax candles and light lanterns were from the rendered oil of whales. Dug out from the bulbous head of the Sperm whale, the Spermaceti oil could fill 34 barrels and was most valuable. At first, the Wampanoag and Nantucketers stripped and boiled the blubber from the drift whales which had been stranded on shore. Over the years, sailors ventured further off the coast to deeper waters and discovered pools of Sperm whales. It evolved into a two hundred year industry and sailors became more than hunters. The ships became floating factories for processing and storing the oil. They became merchants and explorers, too. For one to five years, sailors set off on voyages in search of whales to fill the empty barrels lying on the belly of their ships. From Nantucket, the Westerlies pushed them toward South America. They rounded Cape Horn and floated up the coast of Chile to the Galapagos Islands and kicked out into the expansive Pacific Ocean in search of the migratory pools of Sperm whales. According to scholars on the PBS documentary, Into the Sea, “By 1775, 360 whaling boats went out to hunt the whale; 15 came from Nantucket. Fifty percent of the profit of exports in New England came from the whaling industry.” I don’t think it can be stressed enough how important the whaling industry solidified the economic success of the burgeoning northern colonies. Consider that the South had cash crops (tobacco, rice, indigo, cotton) while the North had whales. It is interesting to consider that both regional ends vanquished mammals for their economic success – whales in the north and slave labor in the south. 

New Bedford Whaling Museum, Harpooning the Whale

The Romance

The culture of a sailor and his life onboard a ship was a mixture of extremes. Boredom, while waiting to spot the whale. Then,  “Thar she blows!” followed by the rambunctious attack with harpoons aimed for the lungs, the pull and the stabbing, the gross “flurry” as the whale drowns in her own blood, the shout from the crew, “Chimney’s afire!” and then the three-day processing of peeling off the blubber, melting of blubber, the furnaces stoked and the smells and the slime of oil glistening the faces of the sailors as if they labored in the pits of Hell. Ghastly.

Remember to factor in the religious temperament of the 17th and 18th-century colonist whose explanation of the workings of the world were inextricable with the Bible and Divine Providence. That is, the sailor, the captain, and her ship were “vessels of exoticism, traveling around the globe in the pursuit of conquering the Leviathan, a sea monster from the Old Testament.” The whale was considered evil; man’s conquering was a noble feat. Surviving a voyage was an adventure for the crew and the officers; it defined manhood. The beauty and wildness of nature attracted the sailor. The horizon blended water and sky into a location of unearthliness. There was no time or place. Out in the Pacific Ocean–it must feel to what astronauts feel out in space–one is a speck, surrounded by infinity, overwhelmed with fear and awesomeness.

The Film 

After watching the film five times, I am in admiration of Ron Howard. He followed Nathanial Philbrick’s book with the attention to detail that mirrored the historical climate from the book. The true voyage of 1820 combined an unnatural pairing of the first mate, Owen Chase, (Chris Hemsworth) the “fishy” second-in-command whose natural instincts and assertiveness commanded the respect of the crew, while Captain Pollard (Benjamin Walker) was more a “social” leader, seeking suggestions, and thereby perceived too passive.

Where Ron Howard might have lost a few critics and fans for lulls in the action was the overarching narration of the telling of the story from the perspective of an older Thomas Nickerson (Brendan Gleeson) who was a cabin boy during the sinking of the Essex and the 90 days lost out at sea. Fighting the shame and guilt of sins committed staying alive, Nickerson is paid by a young Herman Melville (Ben Whishaw) to share the survival story and strange actions of the angry 85-foot Sperm whale, Moby Dick, who “stove” the Essex.

By including this line of narration, Howard blends the history of the story with the American Romantic classic, Moby Dick. Philbrick’s book centers on the recently discovered diary from the 1990s of the cabin-boy, Nickerson, to add a fresh twist to the long staple, Owen Chase’s account of the disaster, written months after the 1820 disaster. Howard respects this and gives life to the orphan boy who found himself at 13 on the voyage of a lifetime.

Ron Howard is criticized for his sappy interjections in an otherwise interesting plot. It’s his Achilles Heel. In this case, while devoting his film to a logical, realistic account, he incorporates the Man vs. Nature elements of the novel Moby Dick by bestowing anthropomorphic qualities to the whale. It’s the climax of the film, so I can’t specifically say, but it is the flaw of the film for me that brings my rating down a notch. I will hint at it: when man and beast come eye to eye, they come to an understanding.

In Nathaniel Philbrick‘s account, the whale struck the ship and was never seen again. The film version embellishes the history by embracing Melville’s book. Those that love Herman Melville and the personifications found in the literature would not have issues with the personification of the whale in the film. If you want a realistic account of events, the climax might feel far-fetched. Does it work? You tell me.  4/5.

American Experience: Into the Deep: America, Whaling & the World DVD 

Parker, Hershel, and Harrison Hayford (eds). (2001). Herman Melville, Moby-Dick. A Norton

     Critical Edition. Second Edition, New York and London: W.W. Norton & Company.

     ISBN 9780393972832

Philbrick, Nathaniel. In the Heart of the Sea: The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex., 2001. Print. 

ISBN-10: 0141001828  ISBN-13: 9780141001821

Meet Kay, the Hopi Indian

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Inside the Gold Plated Pistol

It’s 1927. Kay is Hopi who lost her family at a young age and was picked up by a German couple in Clarkdale, Arizona. Over the years, Kay helped plant the orchard and tend the animals. She felt at peace with the cycle of the ranch nourished by the Verde River. One morning a shot rang out. Kay stole George’s precious, gold plated pistol. Then, her new friend Sally dragged her to a film shooting of a Zane Grey Western where she is discovered and dressed as an Indian male on the set. When an Apache family comes to work at the farm, Kay must come to terms with her hybrid identity; her quiet childhood becomes a chapter of the past. Here is an excerpt from Chapter 3:

Sally took Kay down to the second floor of the boarding house to the communal bathroom and locked the door. She ran hot water in the porcelain tub and added soap flakes until the bubbles jiggled. She assessed Kay’s shabby dress and matted hair and told her she stank.

     “I try to bathe every day. You really must,” she explained to Kay as she helped her take off her clothes and examined her. Kay blushed. Sally looked at her dispassionately as though she were a rag doll which had fallen into a mud puddle. 

     “I’ve got dresses in the costume closet. You soak and I’ll be back.”

     Sally left her alone. Kay listened to the tub sprocket drip water into the mound of bubbles. The water was hot but felt good to her stiff arms and thighs from climbing the orchard ladder yesterday to prune the row of Persimmon trees. This morning, she hitched a ride on the back of a truck that contained two calves and a goat. The driver drove up the swaying road to Jerome. She leaned against the calves and rubbed the downy hair above their noses while the hot sun caused all to steam and she felt like an over-ripe persimmon, puckered and moldered.

     Kay exhaled slowly and tried to submerge until her shoulders were covered. Though the tub was long, her heels went up over the end and exposed her callused feet. A half hour later Sally still had not returned and the water was cold. Kay stepped out of the stained tub and dried herself, and that was when Sally burst into the room with an armful of clothes and set them on a bench next to the vanity cabinet. Mrs. Weese taught her how to change without exposing herself. Nacktheit ist eine Sünde. Kay had alternated between three smocks and a nightgown, ever mindful to hide her body because nakedness was a sin. In her room at the wash basin, Kay sponge-cleaned her body daily, and at the yard pump, she washed her hair once a week.  Sally threw away the bandages that functioned as a brassiere and gave her a soft, side-lacing bra and new cotton panties. Kay changed into the clothes Sally brought her. It looked like an old cowboy costume, and she wondered if Sally was playing a joke.

              “Whatta’ya know—an Injun-Cowboy,” she said, mimicking her crude aunt.

     Kay ignored the remark. She shook her head and said, “This looks ridiculous.”

        Kay took off the vest and left on the blue chambray shirt and the gauchos, liking them more than her old dress. Sally nibbled on a slice of bread coated with butter and sugar, and she tore a piece off and gave it to Kay. She was hungry.

     Sally lifted a handful of Kay’s hair that fell to her waist and tried to smooth her locks. Sally inspected the ends. “Have you ever had your hair cut? Mind if I cut it?”

              Kay felt her eyes bulge. “To your length? Nein.

        “No, it wouldn’t look right at your ears. Let me trim up the ends a few inches. Your hair looks like the tail end of a horse.”

        She thought of Marvin and envisioned him swinging his tail like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. She felt a pang of guilt for being away from the farm and hoped the old horse would have enough sense to stand in the shade under the Cottonwood trees. Kay thought again about being angry, but the luxuriousness of the bath and Sally’s sketchy hospitality brought out a giggle for which Sally took as consent. She located the black shears from the top drawer of a dresser. She babbled on about the upcoming day and patted her shoulder. Kay sat on the toilet seat and let her play with her hair. Kay tried to remember a time when Mrs. Weese had touched her affectionately or hugged her. She could not remember. Mrs. Weese had never been mean to her, but she had not doted, either. As Sally’s white hands snipped the black straw that was her hair, Kay thought about the farm animals who twisted their heads whenever she patted their flanks. They considered the gesture, their dumb eyes neither accepting or rejecting the touch. She wondered if this was how she appeared to Sally. Was Sally’s attention an act of pity or friendship? The light of the sun stabbed through the high window and illuminated the dingy bathroom. The water gurgled out of the tub.

     Sally faced her with eyes eager with anticipation. “I–we, have to go to the Montana Hotel later. It’s Thursday, and tonight is the first Nickel-hopper dance.”

        Kay did not understand.  Sally’s black hair shined. She did a Charleston Step. “Dancing. Men will come and pay for a dance. We’ll make a nice pile of change, we will. You’ll see.”

 

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The picture above of the Hopi man weaving a blanket is an example of old and rare Native American photos taken circa 1900, and I found them at Paul Ratner’s 2014 article in THE HUFFINGTON POST

I have a lot of research to share regarding Southwestern Indians, but I will do that in a separate post. Thanks for reading!

 

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