The Sea Inside Movie Review:


Three years ago, progressive Holland legalized euthanasia restricted to those sufficiently aware to decide for themselves, but mercy killing remains an agonizing issue in the West, nowhere more than in the United States. Filmmakers understandably shy away from so sensitive an issue, approaching it obliquely on eggshells, at best, either softened with talky gallows humor like “Whose Life Is It Anyway?” co-scripted by Brian Clark from his successful play, or else blurring lines with AIDS, the gay community, and a false-note “parallel frame” of Parker Posey’s baggaged Assistant District Attorney in “The Event.”.

Based on a true case already given TV treatment as “Condenado a vivir” (“Sentenced to Live,” 2001), “The Sea Inside/Mar Adentro” confronts the problem squarely, generally avoids sentimentality, celebrates the spiritual strength of the individual, and brings together a fine cast to surround the Oscar-worthy performance of Javier Bardem. A democratic constitutional monarchy since 1975, officially divorcing State from Church in a nation monolithically Catholic but hardly church-going, Spain had repeatedly ruled judicially against the efforts of a longtime quadriplegic to be allowed to end his own life, as the controversy spilled into the media and public discussion.

Directing from his own script -- he also composed the music and co-produced -- Alejandro Amenábar turns to his homeland’s famous divisive case, to fashion a moving consideration of life as understood in terms of its brother death (and vice versa), of love, freedom and dignity, and of the intricacies of motivation. In Javier Aguirresarobe’s photography, little known, rainy, mountainous coastal Galicia -- scene of “To Begin Again” and “The Stoneraft” -- here subtly reinforces the beauty of man’s soul. Integrally linked to this fishing and farming northwest is the sea. Ramón (Bardem) and José (Celso Bugallo) Sampedro were sailor brothers, the former an athlete and lover of women who saw the world young -- “viajar sin dinero--marinero” (to travel without money, be a sailor) -- until a beach diving accident ended the freedom of them both; the unseen water is smell and dream background for the bedridden paralytic, and young Rosa (Lola Dueñas), indispensable to the dénouement, works in a fish cannery.

“None but ourselves can free our mind,” runs the song, and, nearing twenty-eight years, fours months and some days confined in a useless body, Ramón long ago determined not to accept others’ sacrifices, including a fiancée’s hand, or scraps from life’s table. With the aid of the Death with Dignity lobby’s Gené (Clara Segura) and Marc (Francesc Garrido), he has petitioned for legal euthanasia and secured the pro bono services of lawyer Julia (Belén Rueda). The latter is lame, the stroke-caused calling card of an incurable degenerative disease she fears will leave her a vegetable. Hoping for empathy, Ramón had selected such a physically impaired counsel, but, after some initial sparring with this humorous yet cynical and demanding client, the married Julia falls for him, finds beauty in the secret poetry he has written, asks to get the writing published, and agrees to their double suicide the day the book appears in print as Letters from Hell.

Mentally toughened, the subject is physically helpless, and complications abound in those on whom he is totally dependent: José and their father, who pose moral-religious objections; sister-in-law Manuela (Mabel Rivera), who has cared for him like a mother since Mother’s death, and teenaged nephew Javi (Tamar Novas), who sorrowfully respect his wishes; paralyzed but wheelchair-mobile Jesuit Father Francisco (José María Pou), who publicly questions the family’s love and Ramon’s motives; pregnant Gené and Marc, who he decides must not be even suspected of involvement in an illegal act; and Rosa, “frustrated” single mother of two (only one by her ex-husband), an amateur deejay from Boiro who comes seeking solace and winds up in love.

Existential in insistence that freedom lies in accepting, not fearing, death, Eastern in correlating the sea inside “where dreams come true” with the source from which man comes and to which he returns, this Spanish award-winning film brings tears without depressing. There is even humor, as for instance Ramón and Fr. Francisco’s upstairs-downstairs shouted debate; there is reinforcement in the landscape and simple farmhouse/pazo; there are the integrated, underplayed fading photographs from a carefree past; there is pathos, more in Julia finally than in Ramón. And then there is Bardem . .

Donald Levit

After his remarkable ghost story The Others, Amenabar shifts gears drastically for this intensely moving drama about a difficult subject: assisted sui years as a quadriplegic. His life isn't bad--he's cared for by his loving brother, sister-in-law, nephew and father (Bugallo, Rivera, Novas and Dalmau), plus a curious neighbour (Duenas). But he's had enough of life, so he contacts the Die With Dignity foundation, and a volunteer there (Segura) takes his case. His lawyer Julia (Rueda) also suffers from a disability, and the two develop a close bond over the next two years as they challenge the court for his right to choose death.

What sounds rather dismal and gloomy is actually a life-celebrating movie, focussing closely on the characters rather than bogging down in the political or moral issue at hand. And it's also filled with sharp humour. As a result, the emotions really grab us, especially with performances as strong as these. Bardem is simply wonderful, radiating energy and wit from his bed-prison ... and then starkly contrasting this in flashback scenes of Ramon as a robust young man. And he's matched by terrific acting from everyone around him, especially when the film reaches its climactic scenes.

Amenabar films this with a lyrical beauty--his camera sweeps through the scenes smoothly, quietly, subtly catching tiny details and revealing Ramon's inner thoughts, glimpses of the world he's created inside his head just to survive for the next hour. This is a film about respect, friendship and real love--not the gooey, romantic stuff we're used to seeing in noble movies, but much darker and tougher.

It's a complex, provocative approach to an extremely sensitive topic, daring us to tolerate, understand and respect viewpoints we tend to swiftly discount. And while never moralising or dipping into sentimentality, Amenabar beautifully traces the complex relationships between struggling people who so desperately need each other. Ultimately this is both delicately tender and overwhelmingly powerful.

Rich Cline

 

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