"Deep Water" - the Tragedy of Donald Crowhurst, and the Price we Pay to Dream

"We are all human beings...and we have dreams."

In 1968, the British Sunday Times newspaper sponsored an international yachting competition, known as the Golden Globe Race. Nine men entered. Their task? Circumnavigate the world under sail, single handed (the Yachtsman's term for solo), without stopping. Nobody knew if a human or boat could withstand the stress of such a voyage.

Most of the men who entered the race were experienced sailors. Among the favorites were a 29 year old Englishman, Robin Knox - Johnston, and a quiet 43 year old Frenchman named Bernard Moitessier. There was also one "mystery man" among them. His name was Donald Crowhurst.

Louise Osmond explores the story of this race, and Donald Crowhurst's ill - fated voyage, in a documentary film titled "Deep Water." Through a combination of crude hand - held footage shot by the yachtsmen themselves, touching interviews, and dramatic narration by Tilda Swinton, she portrays Donald Crowhurst as a man who sailed off on a quest for self fulfillment, only to become a prisoner of both his own ambitions, and those of his sponsors.

At the time of the race, Crowhurst was a 35 year old father of four children, with a struggling marine electronics business. While he was, as one of his friends puts it, a man of "great brains," his business ventures had never validated him. While his wife and children had home and food on the table, they had little else. He saw the Golden Globe Race as a potentially transformative experience - one that would finally provide the self - actualization he had yet to discover.

There was only one problem - a lack of funds. To secure the necessary financial backing for his voyage, Crowhurst turned to a wealthy businessman, Stanley Best. He also hired a veteran journalist, Rodney Hullworth, who served as his press agent. As part of their agreement, Mr. Best stipulated that if Crowhurst either quit or failed in the early stages of the race, he would be forced to buy his boat back. This meant Crowhurst would be forced to sell his house, and he and his family would become mired in financial ruin. He had, in short, staked his (and his family's) life on being successful in the race.

Osmond chooses to depict Crowhurst as a man who became trapped both by his own dreams, and the financial ambitions of his sponsors. Best and Hullworth knew that if Crowhurst succeeded, they stood to make a lot of money, through book deals and interviews, among other things. As such, they transformed the mild - mannered Crowhurst into somebody he wasn't. Donald had no choice but to play the role in which he had been cast.

As his departure date neared, Crowhurst battled increasing self - doubts. On one hand, he wanted to be in the race. But he was also a realist, and he knew he was far behind schedule. His relative lack of experience, combined with the fact that he was custom building a boat from scratch with limited time, led to numerous errors. On the eve of the race, he confided to his wife and friends that the boat "wasn't ready." When he approached his sponsors and told them of his predicament, Osmond leads us to believe that they gave Crowhurst no choice but to sail before the departure deadline. He was, in short, already trapped.

Ultimately, his boat began leaking badly, and in his haste to depart on time, he had neglected to pack supplies needed for repairs. He was faced with a terrible dilemma. If he quit the race, his family faced an uncertain future. However, if he continued, his boat would likely be destroyed by the mountainous waves of the southern ocean. It was this dilemma that led to him deciding to fake his voyage. He drifted aimlessly in the South Atlantic for hundreds of days, all the while maintaining two logs - one true, and one false. He radioed in false reports of his position. In short, he played the character he was expected to play. However, the stress and internal turmoil of faking his voyage led to a severe mental breakdown, and his voyage concluded in suicide.

When contemplating Crowhurst's journey, the main question that arises is one of motive. Was Crowhurst's voyage and suicide an act of selfishness? Or was it something else?

Osmond seems to suggest it is the latter. She implies that Donald's decisions were driven by a deep, heartfelt love for his wife and children. Above all else, she suggests, he didn't want to fail them. Further, the restrictions imposed by sponsorship put him in a position where he couldn't afford to fail them.

In the latter portions of the film, Osmond faces an artistic choice. She can either ponder the question of who is to blaim for Donald's failure, or she can look beyond it for greater meaning. The fact that she chooses the latter is what makes the film especially strong.

The most compelling portions of the film are her interviews with the families of Crowhurst and Bernard Moitessier. Both faced a sense of loss and abandonment. Moitessier was close behind the race's leader (and eventual winner), Robin Knox- Johnston. He had a strong chance of winning. However, shortly after rounding the Cape Horn, Moitessier abandoned the race, and chose to continue sailing alone, all the way to Tahiti. His journey had proven transformative and fulfilling, but it meant that his home was no longer in France. Home was the sea, and his boat.

His wife and children were devastated by his decision to not come home. However, in a beautiful moment, Moitessier's wife, Francoise reflects that "I was expecting something, I knew him too well. Before the voyage, Bernard said 'Anyone who does this race for money or fame will come to grief.' He was happy at sea, he was content. He found himself."

While their marriage eventually ended, Francoise nonetheless accepts the fact that Bernard needed to go to sea. As she puts it, "A man can decide to take part in a motor race or go to the moon. You can't stop him. You can't stop a bird from flying."

Claire Crowhurst and her son Simon echo Francoise's sentiments, and, at least to my mind, help validate Osmond's suggestion that having great dreams and choosing to pursue them is not, in and of itself, an act of selfishness. Near the end of the film, as she reflects on Donald's death, Claire notes that

I feel that I failed. I didn't stop him from going, and I didn't help him when he needed it. But people need to dream. I think Donald needed that. And he had a right to have it.

In sum, "Deep Water" implies that daring to dream isn't selfish. It's something every human must do, in order to grow. However, Osmond reminds us that while dreams are a necessary part of life, they always come at a cost.

Who is the Real Richard Nixon?

Recently, I had the opportunity to view Ron Howard's latest film, Frost / Nixon. Set in 1977, it explores a series of television interviews between British talk show host David Frost, and former United States President Richard Nixon. It is based on a successful play of the same name, written by Peter Morgan.

The play (and film) styles itself as a classic David and Goliath epic. Both men are locked in struggle, both with themselves and each other. The callow Frost appears mired in a struggle to resurrect his rapidly fading television career, while the disgraced and heavily worn Nixon wants to save his tarnished legacy, longing to again feel the adrenaline of politics coursing in his veins. Further, Morgan makes it clear that in the end, only one of these men will "win." Nowhere in the script is this more apparent than when Nixon remarks

"I shall be your fiercest adversary. I shall come at you with everything I got...Because the limelight can only shine...on one of us."

I was captivated and moved by Frank Lenghella's carefully crafted portrayal of the former President. It goes beyond the soundbite - driven caricatures that have haunted Nixon's legacy for years, and offers us a Nixon which many of us have never seen before. Langhella (and writer Peter Morgan) certainly incorporates the classic Dick - isms, from the man's comically awkward physicality, to his great intellect and ego. However, they also offer an awkward, quirky charm to Nixon's character. Ultimately, we are led to believe that deep down, Nixon viewed these interviews as an opportunity to "come clean" to the American people, and thus free himself from the burden of deceit that had dogged him since he left the oval office in disgrace. This comes through with great clarity, when he finally admits,

I have impeached myself... I let down my friends. I let down the country. I let the American people down. And I have to carry that burden with me for the rest of my life.

The interviews revive Frost's career, and supply Nixon with the catharsis he privately seeks. As we leave Langhella's Nixon, looking out over the ocean near San Clemente, we leave seeing a man who while still feeling lonely and exiled, also has found a measure of peace.

Frost / Nixon provides great drama and wonderful theatre. It also provides plenty of lighter moments, and the film's actors present embodiments of their characters, rather than mere impersonations. However, I fear that many people will view this work as historical fact, when in many ways, it truly is not.

Like Langhella and Morgan's Nixon, the real Richard Nixon could in fact be charming. In 1952, as a young Vice Presidential candidate, he was accused of accepting $18,000 in illegal campaign contributions. He went on television and delivered a famous speech, which many would say ultimately saved his nomination. In addition to presenting what he claimed was a full disclosure of his finances, Nixon told a charming little anecdote about a cocker spaniel one supporter had sent his family, which his daughter named "Checkers." He claimed that no matter what anyone said, his family was going to keep the dog. It was a great moment of light-heartedness that distracted many from a growing scandal.

However, unlike Langhella and Morgan's portrayal, the real Richard Nixon's dark side was a much more significant part of his personality. He was, for instance, far more predatory, cold, and calculating when it came to politics. Since he was not born into great wealth or social standing, Nixon had to carve out his own niche in the world. He did so with a remarkably fiery, competitive, and vicious zeal, forging a career out of an uncanny ability to tear his opposition to pieces. Like a hunter stocking a ten - point buck, he could sense an opponent's weaknesses. In the early years, as a member of the House Un - American Activities Committee (HUAC) he portrayed himself as a crusader against domestic communism. When running for a Senate seat in 1950, he stated that his opponent, Helen Gahagan Douglas, was "pink right down to her underwear." He won by a considerable margin. In 1952, as Eisenhower's running mate, he lampooned Adlai Stevenson, calling him "Adlai the Appeaser...who got a PhD from Dean Acheson's school of cowardly communist containment." Stevenson lost by seven million votes.

The real Richard Nixon also often faced the world with a combative stance, which seemed at times to border on paranoia. His political life reached its nadir in 1962. He had lost the Presidency to John F. Kennedy two years earlier, and had been decidedly defeated in the California Governor's race by incumbent Democrat Pat Brown. In a post - election press conference, he blamed the media for his failures, and concluded a rambling diatribe by saying,

Just think what you're going to be missing...you won't have Nixon to kick around anymore...because gentlemen, this is my last press conference.

These losses did not prove to be the ending of Richard Nixon's political career, but rather, almost a stepping stone of sorts. For in losing first to John F. Kennedy and later to Pat Brown, Nixon's resolve to never lose again was galvanized. He would, in short, get back to his political roots, ripping apart anyone who dared to cross his path. Furthermore, he would always view the world through oppositionist eyes. There was always somebody, or some thing, out to get him.

Frost / Nixon only provides a brief foray into Nixon's darker side. Late at night, a somewhat drunk Nixon calls Frost in his hotel room, and proclaims that through the interviews, he and Frost will "make those mother fuckers (presumably the media and anybody else who dislikes him) choke." Langhella portrays Nixon's hard - edged, combative world view convincingly, but Morgan's script barely allows him the opportunity. The scene is brief, and later on, its entire existence becomes dubious, as Nixon claims to have no recollection of the conversation.

In truth, this combative stance never left the real Nixon's character, even after he resigned from the Presidency in disgrace. In the actual interviews with Frost, this part of his psychological makeup clearly came across. One could easily argue that Nixon never truly admitted to being guilty of trying to cover up the Watergate scandal, nor did he want to do so. Instead, his most poignant admission was that he allowed his opposition to defeat him by using the very same tactics on which he himself relied - find the opponent's dirty laundry, and hang it out in the open air.

It was this admission that served as a loose basis for Frost / Nixon's climax. However, as direct quotations demonstrate, the real interview and its fictional counterpart contrast sharply. Ultimately, Nixon concluded,

I don't go with the idea that what brought me down was a coup, a conspiracy, etc., etc., etc. I brought myself down - I gave 'em a sword, and they...stuck it in...and they twisted it with relish. And I guess that if I'd been in their position, I'd have done the same thing.

In short, Nixon was admitting to failure. However, his was not a failure born out of his character. Rather, it was a failure born out of being outsmarted by his opposition. Perhaps he realized that he should have burned the tapes. By saying he would have "done the same thing," he was arguing that when it came to politics, this still was the only way to play.

Frost / Nixon's greatest contribution to American culture is not that it tells us what really happened thirty years ago. Rather, it reminds us of what so many of us wish could have happened. We wish Richard Nixon genuinely felt he "let the country down" by stooping so low. However, the fact remains that in the actual interviews, such an admission never really occurred.

This struggle to reconcile the real Nixon with his fictional counterpart should not invoke more cynicism or frustration in the film's viewers, and it does not do so in me. Rather, it serves as a reminder of the qualities we should seek in our leaders: Accountability, sound judgement, humility, and above all else, truly heartfelt honesty.

This, in short, is Frost / Nixon's greatest lesson.