It’s a shame grim, real-world events kept this film from traditional theatrical release, because it would’ve been a breath-held, edge-of-the-seat nail-biter.
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| Krause (Tom Hanks) constantly worries that his inexperience as a wartime commander may not be up to the challenge of safeguarding the 37 convoy ships under his care. |
Although certainly just as suspenseful when viewed at home — via its sole release on Apple TV — director Aaron Schneider’s Greyhound definitely isn’t as intense. Agitated viewers might even hit “pause” on occasion, to quell racing hearts, and you certainly can’t get such relief in a movie theater (which is as it should be).
Schneider’s approach is a clever blend of old-school “dire odds” war drama — in the mold of 1961’s The Guns of Navarone and 1968’s Where Eagles Dare — augmented by up-to-the-minute CGI effects. The pacing is taut; Schneider and editors Mark Czyzewski and Sidney Wolinsky don’t waste a second of this crisp 91-minute thriller, which gets the job done and then gets off the stage.
Schneider, a veteran cinematographer-turned-director, also has an unerring sense of camera placement, and the careful use of tight close-ups to heighten the drama. Star Tom Hanks has long been adept at taking advantage of such moments; he’s far better than most, at the nuance of wordless concern, flashes of doubt, and grim resolve.
Hanks also chooses his projects with care; he’s even more prudent with the ones he elects to script. This is only his third feature writing credit — after 1996’s That Thing You Do and 2011’s Larry Crowne — and his first adaptation. Greyhound is based on popular nautical author C.S. Forester’s 1955 naval thriller, The Good Shepherd, and Hanks’ approach is quite faithful (if unable to match, in such condensed form, the character depth found within the 322-page novel).
At the risk of stating the obvious, Forester’s title is far superior — and symbolically apt — than Greyhound. I cannot imagine what Hanks and Sony were thinking.
The year is early 1942, a few months after the United States has officially entered World War II. Allied UK forces and the Soviet Union are in constant need of supplies, which must be delivered by sea convoys via the Atlantic Ocean. But the route is patrolled constantly by German U-boats; the most dangerous region is the mid-Atlantic gap dubbed the “black pit,” where ships are out of range of protective air cover.
Hanks’ Ernest Krause is commanding officer of the USS Keeling, a Fletcher-class destroyer codenamed Greyhound. Krause also calls the shots for the other escorts: “Harry,” a British Tribal-class destroyer; “Dicky,” a Canadian Flower-class corvette; and “Eagle,” a Polish Grom-class destroyer. Their mission: to protect the 37 Allied ships heading to Liverpool.
Although Krause is a veteran naval officer, this is his first wartime command; we quickly sense that he accepted the role proudly but reluctantly, concerned that his age and inexperience could impair the primary objective to keep everybody alive. But any such doubts are reserved for private moments; in the company of his men, Krause’s decisions are crisp and decisive, his intuition and sense of battle strategy well-honed.
He’s also a deeply religious man, his faith proving both a consolation — as this mission exerts a terrible physical and emotional toll — and a burden. He grieves the loss of enemy life, just as much as that of Allied soldiers. Hanks deftly conveys all aspects of such psychological complexity.
Aside from a brief prologue and epilogue, the film takes place during the 52 hours — 13 watch rotations — spent in the black pit, where sonar blips indicating approaching German U-boats (“wolves”) might appear at any moment. Once visible by eye, upon surfacing for a torpedo run, it might be too late for evasive action or responding fire.
To say the tension is palpable would be gross understatement. Nights are worse, of course, when there’s no chance of visual spotting.
Although Greyhound is a sizable ship, and Schneider and cinematographer Shelly Johnson move the action to an outer deck whenever possible, there’s still a strong sense of small spaces and claustrophobia. This is heightened by the physical limitations of process; the sonar operator, below decks, must relay his information to Krause — back and forth — via a middle-man known as a “talker.”
This is maddeningly clumsy and time-consuming, which adds to our sense of dread; we can’t help feeling this design is at odds with the need for lightning-quick decisions and action. (This film definitely encourages viewers to shout commands at the screen.)
Supporting characters are sketched economically at best, and sometimes not at all; fresh-faced Josh Wiggins, not even named beyond “Talker No. 1,” nonetheless conveys this man’s concern over the intensity of every moment, and the need for rigorous accuracy (and careful articulation).
Stephen Graham gets more scripted meat as Lt. Cmdr. Charlie Cole, Krause’s calm and capable executive officer. When on the bridge, Cole never takes his eyes off Krause: due both to awaiting orders, and also as a steadying presence. Whatever Krause’s concerns about his command abilities, Graham makes it clear that Cole completely trusts him.
Rob Morgan is a strong presence as Mess Attendant George Cleveland, forever trying to get Krause to eat or drink something. This almost raises a smile from us viewers, as a recurring motif … but the circumstances are too dire. The patient Cleveland’s concern is both protective and practical; Krause needs to maintain his strength and endurance, despite his tendency to worry about everybody except himself.
The delicacy of Schneider’s direction also is evident in this relationship; despite being polar opposites in the command chain, both men clearly — if silently — respect each other. That’s a very nice touch.
Manuel Garcia-Rulfo stands out as gunnery officer Lopez; Chet Hanks (the star’s son) is a bundle of agitated hyper-focus as sonar operator Bushnell. The rest of the men — and there are many — are little more than cogs in the well-oiled machine that Krause relies upon, second by second.
The film’s lone acting “failure” is Elisabeth Shue, who appears briefly during the prologue as Krause’s love interest. Her performance is stiff as a board, and — frankly — superfluous.
Hanks’ relentless, nervous-making narrative wastes no time testing Krause and his ship; matters get progressively more dire, particularly when sonar reveals a wolf pack of six shadowing U-boats remaining just out of firing range, and taunting the Allies over the radio. Each subsequent failure — the loss of a convoy vessel, the concurrent loss of life — cuts fresh lines into Hanks’ already grave expression.
(I imagined a circle of three dozen stranded people, treading water in the middle of the ocean, while circling sharks pick them off, one by one.)
And we agonize: Will Krause endure? Can he endure?
Watch and find out…
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