The Captain and his crew look on in horror at the consequences of their actions. The scene has an almost surreal feel, with a haze of torrid death billowing all around, but its stark truth is all too real. The Captain and a few officers head to the deck to confirm the success of the battle, and there, cast in a hellish red glow, they watch the burning ship sink as drowning British crew members cry for help that simply will not come. One of the most powerful scenes, outside of the film's famous climax, comes in the wake of a torpedo attack on a British vessel. When all hell does eventually break loose, Petersen unleashes a visceral explosion on the screen, turning the images into a maddening, shaky torpedo of excitement and danger. The director expertly punctuates this monotonous serenity with sustained bursts of chaos. Tension is ramped up by the constant waiting, knowing that potential threats lurk just around every corner. Petersen uses these quiet moments to develop his characters, slowly allowing us to get to know them, all while lulling the audience into a false sense of calm. Routines and nightly dinners become our windows into their minds and states of being. The movie features long stretches of inaction, simply showcasing the day to day banality of working on a tiny submarine as the officers slowly reach their breaking points. The ship truly feels like a living, breathing vessel, and through Petersen's fly on the wall, roaming camera and unbroken sequences, we feel as if we are part of the crew, drenched in their sweat, fear, and dwindling, fragile psyches. The set was constructed to mirror a true-to-life, WWII era U-boat, and this level of authenticity pays off tremendously. The filmmaker employs a stark, gritty, claustrophobic style of hand-held camerawork and long, uninterrupted shots. This duality of passive composure, and unbridled madness extends far beyond the character, and into the stylistic trappings of Petersen's directing choices themselves. One scene sees the man sticking out of the top of the submarine, explosions all around, shouting from the deck with crazed fury and passion burning in his eyes. Though he almost always seems cool and collected, much like the film itself, the character too has momentary bursts of external emotion. He is exactly the type of leader you would want to follow into battle. The actor exudes quiet confidence, wisdom, and calm like no other. The real standout here though, is definitely Jürgen Prochnow. The passage of time is only designated by the hair on their faces, and seeing them transform from baby-faced youths to hardened, bearded men is a powerful sight. Each actor brings a realistic and totally believable level of strength and vulnerability to their roles. What follows is a fascinating, tense, inspirational, and tragic rumination on the perils of war and the powers of brotherhood. Henrich Lehmann-Willenbrock (Jürgen Prochnow) the boat and its crew brave the harsh, confined conditions of submarine life, and the maddening roller-coaster of mundane inaction and terrifying danger that awaits them at every turn. A war correspondent (Herbert Grönemeyer) joins the vessel and acts as a sort of audience surrogate, introducing us to the shut-in, grimy world of submerged warfare. While war may always bring out the worst in man, for one brief moment, together they brought out the best.īased on the 1973 novel of the same name, 'Das Boot: The Director's Cut' follows the crew of a German U-boat during WWII as it embarks on a mission against allied troops. Down in the darkest depths of the Atlantic Ocean, a group of soldiers become brothers, having nothing to rely on but themselves. Set against the fiery backdrop of "man's inhumanity to man," Wolfgang Petersen's 1981 film 'Das Boot,' ultimately examines the more hopeful truth that lies at the center of every war. On the brink of destruction, in the approaching shadow of death, sometimes all we truly need to survive - is each other.
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