NR | 1h 57min | Drama | 1937
Screenwriters John Lee Mahin, Marc Connelly, and Dale Van Every adapted Rudyard Kipling’s adventure novel “Captains Courageous” to tell an early 20th-century coming-of-age story.
But Harvey’s pigheadedness sees him tossed overboard. He’s then rescued by Portuguese fisherman Manuel (Spencer Tracy) and taken aboard a topsail fishing schooner cheekily named We’re Here. The trouble is, Capt. Disko Troop (Lionel Barrymore) and crew won’t indulge Harvey by turning around and chasing that liner. They’re heading to sea for their big catch and then home to Gloucester, Massachusetts. The father-son reunion must wait until Troop’s three-month expedition is complete. Until then, this new school at sea will have to do for the young man.
Furious, Harvey figures he can still boss people around, but he quickly learns that bribes and threats get him only so far. He learns from Manuel that hard work, truth, courage, and sacrifice are what make good leaders, not cheating, lies, and transactional relationships. Soon, Harvey enjoys learning so much that he wants nothing more than to become a good fisherman like Manuel. But a rough sea has other plans. Worse, returning to Gloucester’s shores, Disko’s whimsical race with a rival vessel conspires against Harvey and Manuel.
Frothy waves bathe the arresting opening credits that seem pasted across the ragged hold of a boat.
True to form, Tracy dwells more on living the warmth and wisdom of Manuel than on perfecting a Portuguese dialect or convincingly playing his hurdy-gurdy (an exotic musical instrument). Still, he does belt out two songs, including “Don’t Cry Little Fish.”
Bartholomew at His Best
Bartholomew makes that screen time count through his touching transition from a spoiled brat to a fine young boy. Harvey starts out believing that money can buy anything: friendship, membership in a sought-after school club, better scores in a history exam, or endless rounds of club soda. He morphs from a “junior Machiavelli,” as his father once called him, to a conscientious teammate. Gladly, he does jobs that he’d first considered below his station: rowing, fishing with a dropline, hauling catch onboard, chopping and cleaning fish, and mopping the damp deck late at night or early in the morning.
Director Victor Fleming’s and novelist Kipling’s point is that maturity isn’t just about little fish growing to become bigger fish, but about courageous sacrifice.
Manuel’s ditty “Don’t Cry Little Fish” teases out this theme, taking on special meaning later. He fondly calls Harvey “Little Fish” because he’d fished him out of the water. So, when Manuel sings, “Yeah, ho, little fish, you be a [whale] by-and-by,” his idea of fishing drips with redemptive tones and salvific overtones.
Dying to an old, selfish self and being born to a new, selfless self is not just desirable for growth—it’s essential. Fleming repeatedly films the schooner’s spike bowsprit in a roiling sea. First it dives, heading down as if for the ocean floor and to what seems certain death for the crew. Then it rises clean off the choppy water, heading up as if to the sky and to what looks like certain new life. Resurrection!
Sure enough, the crew’s nickname for Harvey is “Jonah,” a veiled reference to the biblical story. Harvey, aboard that schooner for three months, is akin to Jonah in the belly of a big fish (some say a whale) for three days. He’s at once a salvific victim and redemptive savior. He may have fallen into the water as Harvey, but he rises from it like a new Manuel.
