Watch in the heart of the sea 2015 full movie online. In the winter of 1820, the New England whaling ship Essex was assaulted by something no one could believe: a whale of mammoth size and will, and an almost human sense of vengeance. The real-life maritime disaster would inspire Herman Melville’s Moby Dick. But that told only half the story. “Heart of the Sea” reveals the encounter’s harrowing aftermath, as the ship’s surviving crew is pushed to their limits and forced to do the unthinkable to stay alive. Braving storms, starvation, panic and despair, the men will call into question their deepest beliefs, from the value of their lives to the morality of their trade, as their captain searches for direction on the open sea and his first mate still seeks to bring the great whale down.
None of these descriptions are wrong. But none of them captures the film. And boy, did this film need capturing. It’s not inspired enough or controlled enough or deep enough to roam all over the place, being six or seven or eight things at the same time. If “In the Heart of the Sea” were a dark picaresque adventure of overwhelming physicality, directed by a philosophically inclined director like Werner Herzog or Terrence Malick, every piece of it might be united by particular ideas, or at the very least a certain sensibility, even if didn’t hang together at the level of story. But Howard isn’t that sort of director. He needs his incidents to be unified by what Steven Spielberg once called “an idea you can hold in your hand.” That’s why his best film is “Apollo 13,” a film about a diverse group of driven, loyal, talented individuals coming together to solve a problem.
And this is ultimately what damages “In the Heart of the Sea” more than anything else: it is so very many different things, but they all feel detached from each other, almost like a bunch of self-contained mini-movies stitched end-to-end, with the framing device serving as needle and thread. And the framing hurts the film more than it helps. Setting aside the questionable conceit of having Melville sit there and jot down the story of a sailor (Brendan Gleeson in the present-day scenes, Tom Holland as his younger self) as research for his book—which tends to reduce novel writing to transcribing stuff that happened—it’s mostly intrusive and clumsy, often interrupting thrilling action sequences when they’re building a head of steam to interject an observation or humorous aside. Granted, this could be screenwriter Charles Leavitt’s attempt to create a cinematic equivalent to Melville’s tendency to interrupt his narratives with passages, sometimes chapters, about nautical history and tradition and the creatures of the sea, but whatever the intent, the scenes thud like a bucket of fish guts dropped on a wooden deck.
And by the time you get to the end of the picture, they become a strange kind of sub-narrative about how confession is good for the soul, or perhaps a harbinger of the age of Sigmund Freud’s talking cure. It’s anachronistic, though no more so than some other touches in the film, such as the scenes where the whalers wonder if they’re wrong to be killing whales (I can’t really see that happening in 1820, can you?), or the bits where Gleeson’s brokenhearted sailor explains to the young Melville that the whale oil industry is the equivalent of the petroleum industry today, and hey, did you hear the news that some guy drilled a hole in the earth and pulled oil right out of the ground?