Fathers & Sons in Captains Courageous
Yesterday I finally saw Captains Couragous, which I've wanted to see for a long time, and totally loved it. I couldn't help but notice, actually, that certain aspects of this movie from 1937 are the type of thing modern Hollywood loves to do--and especially did in the 90s. When I finished the movie I went and read the book to see how true it was to the original. Turns out, not very much. Many of the changes are typical Hollywood, but the kind where I can see the point of them.
It made me think of that same recent conversation with black_dog about boys and men, the way boys imprint on role models and things like that, and it also of course leads back to Draco slightly.
The story of CC is that of Harvey Cheyne, the spoiled brat son of a multi-millionaire (I know you're shocked I'd like him--Harvey had me at his butler's line "It wants its breakfast in bed.") who falls into the sea off a luxury liner. He's picked up by a small fishing boat, the "We're Here." The WH won't take him straight back to New York as he demands, but keeps him aboard during their three-month voyage, finally bringing him back to Gloucester (Mass.) where he's reunited with his father. Along the way he bonds with the Portuguese fisherman who saved him, Manuel (played by you-don't-get-more Portuguese-than-this guy-Spencer Tracy, I guess because although he's totally not Portuguese Tracy is the only person on board besides the black cook (Sam McDaniel-Hattie's brother!) who can pronounce "Manuel" in a way that doesn't mean an instruction booklet), until Manuel dies in a squall.
In the book version, Harvey is 15. While the movie begins with scenes showing Harvey's dreadful brat behavior, the book has only one scene where Harvey invites himself into the liner's smoking room and bugs the men inside before he falls overboard. Manuel is a minor character, just one of the small crew, and Harvey's most important relationship is with Dan, the captain's son (played by Mickey Rooney in the movie), who is the same age. Nobody dies.
As I said, I can understand a lot of the changes Hollywood makes here. If Harvey is 10 it's more of a boy's own adventure that other boys can enjoy--actually, given recent conversations about gender in fiction, I'd say that making him 10 also makes it far easier for girls to identify with him, since 15 brings with it slightly different gender identification. The movie creates a clear arc for Harvey using Manuel, showing him slowly go from spoiled brat to guarded interest in proving himself, to actual fisherman. In the book version, Harvey is at an age where a peer relationship would be more of an influence, though adult role models are still important. At one point two of the crew discuss how Harvey is becoming a good fisherman. One says, "It's mostly all playacting to him." The other man replies that it's playacting for all boys, and that this playacting is a part of growing up. You play act until it becomes natural. In another scene Harvey and Dan are yelled at for some infraction, and Harvey fleetingly thinks that being yelled at and punished is much better than being snubbed by a bunch of strangers in the smoking room on the luxury liner, because on the We're Here Harvey has an acknowledged place--he's part of things. On the Liner, as in his whole life, he's always just been hanging around like an appendage to his neurotic mother.
Watching the movie, I found myself wondering how I thought it might be done differently today. First, there are a couple of scenes of casual violence that would be cut out. One is at Harvey's school where he's "in Coventry," which means none of the other boys are allowed to speak to him. He insults one of them, who turns to another boy and asks, "Punching someone isn't speaking to him, is it?" Receiving a negative opinion, he punches Harvey in the nose. Later, on the ship, Harvey demands to be taken back to New York, insulting everyone and everything, until the captain wearily says, "Well, I guess there ain't nothin' else to do," and wallops up upside the head, knocking him into a pile of fish.
More than that, though, it was the relationship between Harvey and his father where I noticed some differences. The default view in modern Hollywood is that if you are a parent who takes any interest in your career at all, you're horribly neglectful and a terrible parent. The only way to be a good parent is to take an interest in every tiny aspect of your kid's life--to micromanage it, if possible, and be ready to quit your job if it interferes with a Little League game. I think I've mentioned a great article in GQ years ago about this, and one of the things it points out is that in lots of movies of that time (the 90s, when it was written) kids deprived of a father for any reason responded by moping around wishing they had a father, unable to do anything without one. At its heart this seems to be a flattering, narcissistic view that says that assures parents that children can't live independently of you. If your children don't have your full support and attention, it suggests, they will be depressed. This is probably a more comforting thought than saying that if your children don't have your full support and attention they will adapt--perhaps in ways you don't like. (I wouldn't be surprised if, in a modern adaptation, they didn't have Harvey go overboard *with* his father so that the whole experience could be even more about Dad's transformation.)
That's what I thought of watching CC. In the book version, Harvey has a mother who is neurotic and over-protective. (Kipling tells us that Harvey has never been given a direct order, one that was not accompanied by tearful explanations of why obeying would be in his best interest--Mrs. Cheyne seriously needs Nanny 911.) When Harvey arrives home, the book switches for the first time to his father's pov. Mr. Cheyne has (in his understated way) been devastated by Harvey's death. He realizes all his life he's looked forward to the day when "everything else was sorted out," and Harvey was out of college, at which time he and his father would join together and have a great relationship and do great things. Now that Harvey's dead Mr. Cheyne realizes he put off ever getting to know him until then and is left with nothing. Mr. Cheyne is, however, thrilled with the new Harvey who returns from sea. Although he never really knew the old Harvey, he distinctly remembers a sullen boy who was dissatisfied with everything--not this energetic young man with a spark in his eye with whom he immediately bonds. Mr. Cheyne thinks that perhaps--perhaps--he's been a neglectful father. That's all that's said about Mr. Cheyne's crimes. Kipling obviously sees the same responsibility here, but it's not unforgivable.
The 1937 movie, perhaps due to Harvey's age, goes further--but still I think presents things differently than it would today. Mr. Cheyne is no Lucius Malfoy, but he is responsible for his bratty son's personality. While book!Harvey is only shown being shallow, spoiled and annoying, Movie!Harvey tries to bribe teachers and threatens boys who don't do what he says by saying his father might make things very difficult for their families --sound familiar? In HP Draco's similar threats are usually seen as empty bragging, but this movie made me actually see them as having another element as well. When Harvey's bad behavior is placed in front of his father (who agrees it is bad), a teacher says that Harvey is trying to emulate his father, because this is all he sees his father doing.
Since his father doesn't take the time to teach him how to be a good man, Harvey tries to pattern himself on the limited information he gets about his father: his father is important due to his power and money. This really is his attempt to be the man his father is. His father in this case doesn't realize it because he doesn't see the impression he's making on his son. For instance, there's a scene on the ocean liner where the two are talking (Harvey has no mother in the movie--presumably she was English and they used to live there, explaining Freddie Bartholomew's accent--who knows?). Harvey declares that his father owns the ship. His father--half-distracted by the business conversation he's having at the same time--says he doesn't own the ship. Harvey says his father is the Chairman of the Line, the top man, so that's the same thing. Mr. Cheyne not only fails to take the time to explain the difference to Harvey, he doesn't hear the understanding of things Harvey is obviously showing here--why is it important that his dad own the ship they're sailing on? What would it mean if he did?
Instead his father sends Harvey away with a promise to later take him up and show him the control room--wouldn't he like that? This again is contributing to Harvey's values, because that's all Cheyne can ever think of to say to him or amuse him. To an ordinary kid a trip to the control room is a treat. To Harvey it's just part of a long parade of things Dad can show him: we'll fly in a fancy airplane, won't that be exciting? We'll go the Adirondacks, won't you like that? So of course he thinks stuff is what it's all about.
Both the movie and the book therefore do see Harvey's reconciliation with his father as the ultimate goal of the story, but Harvey is allowed more independence than he would be today. Harvey's development spurs Mr. Cheyne to be a better father. Mr. Cheyne's being a better father is something he needs to do for himself, but it's not the answer to all Harvey's problems. As the fishing boat approaches Gloucester Harvey is reluctant to return home at all. He really isn't all that excited about seeing his father again, because, as he's always said, his father's very busy. Harvey doesn't resent his father for not spending time with him--he doesn't feel that's owed to him as a son. He just knows it's not a relationship he gets much from--that it doesn't matter if he's there for it or not (despite Harvey's early on invoking his father's name constantly).
His father, meanwhile, has obviously been stricken by the loss of Harvey, but it hasn't taught him how to deal with him any better. Back at the Captain's house he starts up again with temptations of trips to the Adirondacks and amazing plane rides. When Harvey runs out, still devastated over losing Manuel, his father follows him. He *wants* to be able to comfort him, and I think in a modern movie he'd be able to. Harvey climbs into the dorry where he and Manuel used to fish. His father comes to the dock and tries to talk to him. I think in a modern movie this scene might wind up leading to Harvey verbalizing Mr. Cheyne's faults: "You can't comfort me. You never cared about me. Only Manuel cared about me, and now he's dead." Then Mr. Cheyne could apologize, assure Harvey he does care about him, and that's the happy ending. Honestly, I think that's the way it would be done today. Mr. Cheyne would understand, fully, the real issue, decide to spend less time working, apologize to Harvey and things would start to get better. Harvey's feelings, in that way, are a direct result of his father's behavior. It's all about Dad.
The movie is a bit different, I think. Harvey acknowledges his father's desire to help but just keeps telling him that he's fine, he'll be in soon, he just needs to be alone for a little while. The whole point of the scene is that Harvey's grief is not about his father at all. It's about one individual person grieving for a person who was important to him, a person his father doesn't know. When his father says, "I'm lonely too" in an attempt to connect with Harvey, I'm sure modern Hollywood would have Harvey look up tearfully and say, "Really? You are?" In this movie that line gets nothing from Harvey--and why should it? Harvey's not crying because he's lonely, he's grieving for his friend. And Dad's needs aren't really the focus here-what's Harvey supposed to do about Dad's sudden declaration that he's lonely when it's Dad who's responsible for their distant relationship? That kind of adult problem is probably better understood by a therapist. (Unfortunately, in a lot of modern stories for kids to essentially be their parents therapists.)
This is probably the scene where Harvey is the most adult of the entire movie, and so the first scene where his father really treats him like an individual, listening to him and honoring his wishes. I can't believe that modern Hollywood could bring itself to avoid having Dad climb into the dorry with Harvey--it's just too touching and makes the dad look too good. But when Dad tries to climb into the dorry in this movie, Harvey forbids it, saying, "Please don't get into this boat. This is Manuel's dorry. Manuel's and mine."
If the father wants to build a relationship with Harvey, he can no longer take the road that's been open to him until now, where Harvey was always emotionally there whenever Mr. Cheyne wanted. He has to show respect for Harvey as an individual. The crew attends a ceremony on the docks that's a memorial service for everyone lost at sea recently. Mourners throw flowers into the sea. When Manuel's name is read off the crew of the We're Here throws flowers into the water. Harvey throws a circular wreath. That wreath is then joined by a second wreath, forming a figure eight. Harvey looks up to see his father has thrown it. It's no big surprise, but it's gesture of respect that is the start of their new relationship. His father is honoring Harvey's relationship with Manuel, even if it shuts him out, and in doing so showing he's ready to form a relationship with Harvey as an individual.
I can't say I'm surprised I love this movie--I love stuff like this. Not just the spoiled brat becoming a better person through work, or the rich boy learning the true value of money through learning it, though I'm a sucker for those. It also touches on one of the things I love about Draco's story in HBP--I love imagining Lucius being just as surprised at the "new" Draco as both Movie! and Book! versions of Mr. Cheyne are by Harvey. (Though of course since Lucius is a villain he's got to be a bit more disconcerted about his loss of control.)
It made me think of that same recent conversation with black_dog about boys and men, the way boys imprint on role models and things like that, and it also of course leads back to Draco slightly.
The story of CC is that of Harvey Cheyne, the spoiled brat son of a multi-millionaire (I know you're shocked I'd like him--Harvey had me at his butler's line "It wants its breakfast in bed.") who falls into the sea off a luxury liner. He's picked up by a small fishing boat, the "We're Here." The WH won't take him straight back to New York as he demands, but keeps him aboard during their three-month voyage, finally bringing him back to Gloucester (Mass.) where he's reunited with his father. Along the way he bonds with the Portuguese fisherman who saved him, Manuel (played by you-don't-get-more Portuguese-than-this guy-Spencer Tracy, I guess because although he's totally not Portuguese Tracy is the only person on board besides the black cook (Sam McDaniel-Hattie's brother!) who can pronounce "Manuel" in a way that doesn't mean an instruction booklet), until Manuel dies in a squall.
In the book version, Harvey is 15. While the movie begins with scenes showing Harvey's dreadful brat behavior, the book has only one scene where Harvey invites himself into the liner's smoking room and bugs the men inside before he falls overboard. Manuel is a minor character, just one of the small crew, and Harvey's most important relationship is with Dan, the captain's son (played by Mickey Rooney in the movie), who is the same age. Nobody dies.
As I said, I can understand a lot of the changes Hollywood makes here. If Harvey is 10 it's more of a boy's own adventure that other boys can enjoy--actually, given recent conversations about gender in fiction, I'd say that making him 10 also makes it far easier for girls to identify with him, since 15 brings with it slightly different gender identification. The movie creates a clear arc for Harvey using Manuel, showing him slowly go from spoiled brat to guarded interest in proving himself, to actual fisherman. In the book version, Harvey is at an age where a peer relationship would be more of an influence, though adult role models are still important. At one point two of the crew discuss how Harvey is becoming a good fisherman. One says, "It's mostly all playacting to him." The other man replies that it's playacting for all boys, and that this playacting is a part of growing up. You play act until it becomes natural. In another scene Harvey and Dan are yelled at for some infraction, and Harvey fleetingly thinks that being yelled at and punished is much better than being snubbed by a bunch of strangers in the smoking room on the luxury liner, because on the We're Here Harvey has an acknowledged place--he's part of things. On the Liner, as in his whole life, he's always just been hanging around like an appendage to his neurotic mother.
Watching the movie, I found myself wondering how I thought it might be done differently today. First, there are a couple of scenes of casual violence that would be cut out. One is at Harvey's school where he's "in Coventry," which means none of the other boys are allowed to speak to him. He insults one of them, who turns to another boy and asks, "Punching someone isn't speaking to him, is it?" Receiving a negative opinion, he punches Harvey in the nose. Later, on the ship, Harvey demands to be taken back to New York, insulting everyone and everything, until the captain wearily says, "Well, I guess there ain't nothin' else to do," and wallops up upside the head, knocking him into a pile of fish.
More than that, though, it was the relationship between Harvey and his father where I noticed some differences. The default view in modern Hollywood is that if you are a parent who takes any interest in your career at all, you're horribly neglectful and a terrible parent. The only way to be a good parent is to take an interest in every tiny aspect of your kid's life--to micromanage it, if possible, and be ready to quit your job if it interferes with a Little League game. I think I've mentioned a great article in GQ years ago about this, and one of the things it points out is that in lots of movies of that time (the 90s, when it was written) kids deprived of a father for any reason responded by moping around wishing they had a father, unable to do anything without one. At its heart this seems to be a flattering, narcissistic view that says that assures parents that children can't live independently of you. If your children don't have your full support and attention, it suggests, they will be depressed. This is probably a more comforting thought than saying that if your children don't have your full support and attention they will adapt--perhaps in ways you don't like. (I wouldn't be surprised if, in a modern adaptation, they didn't have Harvey go overboard *with* his father so that the whole experience could be even more about Dad's transformation.)
That's what I thought of watching CC. In the book version, Harvey has a mother who is neurotic and over-protective. (Kipling tells us that Harvey has never been given a direct order, one that was not accompanied by tearful explanations of why obeying would be in his best interest--Mrs. Cheyne seriously needs Nanny 911.) When Harvey arrives home, the book switches for the first time to his father's pov. Mr. Cheyne has (in his understated way) been devastated by Harvey's death. He realizes all his life he's looked forward to the day when "everything else was sorted out," and Harvey was out of college, at which time he and his father would join together and have a great relationship and do great things. Now that Harvey's dead Mr. Cheyne realizes he put off ever getting to know him until then and is left with nothing. Mr. Cheyne is, however, thrilled with the new Harvey who returns from sea. Although he never really knew the old Harvey, he distinctly remembers a sullen boy who was dissatisfied with everything--not this energetic young man with a spark in his eye with whom he immediately bonds. Mr. Cheyne thinks that perhaps--perhaps--he's been a neglectful father. That's all that's said about Mr. Cheyne's crimes. Kipling obviously sees the same responsibility here, but it's not unforgivable.
The 1937 movie, perhaps due to Harvey's age, goes further--but still I think presents things differently than it would today. Mr. Cheyne is no Lucius Malfoy, but he is responsible for his bratty son's personality. While book!Harvey is only shown being shallow, spoiled and annoying, Movie!Harvey tries to bribe teachers and threatens boys who don't do what he says by saying his father might make things very difficult for their families --sound familiar? In HP Draco's similar threats are usually seen as empty bragging, but this movie made me actually see them as having another element as well. When Harvey's bad behavior is placed in front of his father (who agrees it is bad), a teacher says that Harvey is trying to emulate his father, because this is all he sees his father doing.
Since his father doesn't take the time to teach him how to be a good man, Harvey tries to pattern himself on the limited information he gets about his father: his father is important due to his power and money. This really is his attempt to be the man his father is. His father in this case doesn't realize it because he doesn't see the impression he's making on his son. For instance, there's a scene on the ocean liner where the two are talking (Harvey has no mother in the movie--presumably she was English and they used to live there, explaining Freddie Bartholomew's accent--who knows?). Harvey declares that his father owns the ship. His father--half-distracted by the business conversation he's having at the same time--says he doesn't own the ship. Harvey says his father is the Chairman of the Line, the top man, so that's the same thing. Mr. Cheyne not only fails to take the time to explain the difference to Harvey, he doesn't hear the understanding of things Harvey is obviously showing here--why is it important that his dad own the ship they're sailing on? What would it mean if he did?
Instead his father sends Harvey away with a promise to later take him up and show him the control room--wouldn't he like that? This again is contributing to Harvey's values, because that's all Cheyne can ever think of to say to him or amuse him. To an ordinary kid a trip to the control room is a treat. To Harvey it's just part of a long parade of things Dad can show him: we'll fly in a fancy airplane, won't that be exciting? We'll go the Adirondacks, won't you like that? So of course he thinks stuff is what it's all about.
Both the movie and the book therefore do see Harvey's reconciliation with his father as the ultimate goal of the story, but Harvey is allowed more independence than he would be today. Harvey's development spurs Mr. Cheyne to be a better father. Mr. Cheyne's being a better father is something he needs to do for himself, but it's not the answer to all Harvey's problems. As the fishing boat approaches Gloucester Harvey is reluctant to return home at all. He really isn't all that excited about seeing his father again, because, as he's always said, his father's very busy. Harvey doesn't resent his father for not spending time with him--he doesn't feel that's owed to him as a son. He just knows it's not a relationship he gets much from--that it doesn't matter if he's there for it or not (despite Harvey's early on invoking his father's name constantly).
His father, meanwhile, has obviously been stricken by the loss of Harvey, but it hasn't taught him how to deal with him any better. Back at the Captain's house he starts up again with temptations of trips to the Adirondacks and amazing plane rides. When Harvey runs out, still devastated over losing Manuel, his father follows him. He *wants* to be able to comfort him, and I think in a modern movie he'd be able to. Harvey climbs into the dorry where he and Manuel used to fish. His father comes to the dock and tries to talk to him. I think in a modern movie this scene might wind up leading to Harvey verbalizing Mr. Cheyne's faults: "You can't comfort me. You never cared about me. Only Manuel cared about me, and now he's dead." Then Mr. Cheyne could apologize, assure Harvey he does care about him, and that's the happy ending. Honestly, I think that's the way it would be done today. Mr. Cheyne would understand, fully, the real issue, decide to spend less time working, apologize to Harvey and things would start to get better. Harvey's feelings, in that way, are a direct result of his father's behavior. It's all about Dad.
The movie is a bit different, I think. Harvey acknowledges his father's desire to help but just keeps telling him that he's fine, he'll be in soon, he just needs to be alone for a little while. The whole point of the scene is that Harvey's grief is not about his father at all. It's about one individual person grieving for a person who was important to him, a person his father doesn't know. When his father says, "I'm lonely too" in an attempt to connect with Harvey, I'm sure modern Hollywood would have Harvey look up tearfully and say, "Really? You are?" In this movie that line gets nothing from Harvey--and why should it? Harvey's not crying because he's lonely, he's grieving for his friend. And Dad's needs aren't really the focus here-what's Harvey supposed to do about Dad's sudden declaration that he's lonely when it's Dad who's responsible for their distant relationship? That kind of adult problem is probably better understood by a therapist. (Unfortunately, in a lot of modern stories for kids to essentially be their parents therapists.)
This is probably the scene where Harvey is the most adult of the entire movie, and so the first scene where his father really treats him like an individual, listening to him and honoring his wishes. I can't believe that modern Hollywood could bring itself to avoid having Dad climb into the dorry with Harvey--it's just too touching and makes the dad look too good. But when Dad tries to climb into the dorry in this movie, Harvey forbids it, saying, "Please don't get into this boat. This is Manuel's dorry. Manuel's and mine."
If the father wants to build a relationship with Harvey, he can no longer take the road that's been open to him until now, where Harvey was always emotionally there whenever Mr. Cheyne wanted. He has to show respect for Harvey as an individual. The crew attends a ceremony on the docks that's a memorial service for everyone lost at sea recently. Mourners throw flowers into the sea. When Manuel's name is read off the crew of the We're Here throws flowers into the water. Harvey throws a circular wreath. That wreath is then joined by a second wreath, forming a figure eight. Harvey looks up to see his father has thrown it. It's no big surprise, but it's gesture of respect that is the start of their new relationship. His father is honoring Harvey's relationship with Manuel, even if it shuts him out, and in doing so showing he's ready to form a relationship with Harvey as an individual.
I can't say I'm surprised I love this movie--I love stuff like this. Not just the spoiled brat becoming a better person through work, or the rich boy learning the true value of money through learning it, though I'm a sucker for those. It also touches on one of the things I love about Draco's story in HBP--I love imagining Lucius being just as surprised at the "new" Draco as both Movie! and Book! versions of Mr. Cheyne are by Harvey. (Though of course since Lucius is a villain he's got to be a bit more disconcerted about his loss of control.)