Post-war Hollywood was a battlefield. The old vertically-integrated studios were starting to lose their grip, while a new breed of independent producers, often producer-directors, were gaining ever more prominence. For many of these eager independents, the desire to get a personal project off the ground was sometimes so strong it overrode conventions and even good sense. And so we get little oddities like John Huston's production of Moby Dick.
Huston was already something of a maverick among Hollywood directors, not to mention a surrealist. He was fond of eerie close-ups, bizarre faces and nightmarish shot compositions. As a screenwriter he was fatalist and pessimistic. On those occasions when he wore his producer's hat, he tended to favour material that was grim and depressing, but also outlandish. Moby Dick is his kind of story, and he really seems to have relished the opportunity for over-the-top atmospherics. Huston captures the atmosphere of dread that is true to Melville's novel, but also very typical of Huston himself. He takes a very literal approach to cliché and hyperbole, for example showing the town of New Bedford as packed with widows and relics of wrecks. But Huston's collaborators deserve as much of the credit. Particularly effective is the washed-out cinematography of Oswald Morris, which gives a stark, hollow look to the image. This is complemented by the very sparse musical score – very refreshing for a picture of the 50s – and sound design of shouts and wooden creaks.
In keeping with the oddness of the overall production, Huston seems to have encouraged extreme and stylised performances from his cast. This is a fairly sensible response to the archaic prose of the novel, which is not really supposed to be naturalistic. Accordingly he seems to have chosen most of the supporting players for their weird physicality rather than their dramatic credibility. We get people like Harry Andrews and Seamus Kelly to provide us with suitably craggy faces. That is not to say this is a crew of freakish bad actors. It's great to see Bernard Miles as the prominent but not directly referenced Manxman, adding his usual touch of folkish authenticity. Leo Genn is a welcome addition to any cast, here as always a little island of calm amid the chaos. Perhaps the most intelligent bit of casting was Orson Welles as the preacher. Welles has the kind of presence that can overwhelm a small picture, but his small yet significant appearance gives a necessary weight to the opening scenes. Still, when James Robertson Justice (a.k.a. the poor man's Peter Ustinov) turns up as Captain Boomer, you know there's been some barrel-bottom scraping going on.
The casting decision that has caused controversy down the ages is of course that of Gregory Peck. Of course, Peck was far too young to play Ahab, but other than that he is not as silly a selection as he might at first seem. Just like his crewmates, Peck did have a rather strange look to him, with piercing eyes and angular features, not to mention his stern vocal delivery. The trouble is, to follow it through Peck would have needed a capable level of theatrical hamminess. And despite his appearance, Peck was first and foremost a naturalistic dramatic actor, and try as he might to play the boggle-eyed weirdo, he just can't quite manage it. Of course there was one alternative to play Ahab who would have been nigh on perfect, and this was John Huston himself. Peck said as much, although it's doubtful the distributors would have allowed anyone less than a "big name" to take the role.
Moby Dick was clearly a picture produced with a certain aim. Rather than just do a decent and entertaining adaptation of a popular novel as the major studios would have done, Huston's mission seems to have been to recreate some of the spirit of the original with his admittedly more limited means. It is reasonably faithful, although the omission of the devilish and mysterious character of Fedallah is a mystery to me, and this somehow seems indicative of the general feeling of dissatisfaction the picture gives. Huston's Moby Dick is lovely to look at, brilliantly done in places, but it is not the great story that Melville's book is.
Huston was already something of a maverick among Hollywood directors, not to mention a surrealist. He was fond of eerie close-ups, bizarre faces and nightmarish shot compositions. As a screenwriter he was fatalist and pessimistic. On those occasions when he wore his producer's hat, he tended to favour material that was grim and depressing, but also outlandish. Moby Dick is his kind of story, and he really seems to have relished the opportunity for over-the-top atmospherics. Huston captures the atmosphere of dread that is true to Melville's novel, but also very typical of Huston himself. He takes a very literal approach to cliché and hyperbole, for example showing the town of New Bedford as packed with widows and relics of wrecks. But Huston's collaborators deserve as much of the credit. Particularly effective is the washed-out cinematography of Oswald Morris, which gives a stark, hollow look to the image. This is complemented by the very sparse musical score – very refreshing for a picture of the 50s – and sound design of shouts and wooden creaks.
In keeping with the oddness of the overall production, Huston seems to have encouraged extreme and stylised performances from his cast. This is a fairly sensible response to the archaic prose of the novel, which is not really supposed to be naturalistic. Accordingly he seems to have chosen most of the supporting players for their weird physicality rather than their dramatic credibility. We get people like Harry Andrews and Seamus Kelly to provide us with suitably craggy faces. That is not to say this is a crew of freakish bad actors. It's great to see Bernard Miles as the prominent but not directly referenced Manxman, adding his usual touch of folkish authenticity. Leo Genn is a welcome addition to any cast, here as always a little island of calm amid the chaos. Perhaps the most intelligent bit of casting was Orson Welles as the preacher. Welles has the kind of presence that can overwhelm a small picture, but his small yet significant appearance gives a necessary weight to the opening scenes. Still, when James Robertson Justice (a.k.a. the poor man's Peter Ustinov) turns up as Captain Boomer, you know there's been some barrel-bottom scraping going on.
The casting decision that has caused controversy down the ages is of course that of Gregory Peck. Of course, Peck was far too young to play Ahab, but other than that he is not as silly a selection as he might at first seem. Just like his crewmates, Peck did have a rather strange look to him, with piercing eyes and angular features, not to mention his stern vocal delivery. The trouble is, to follow it through Peck would have needed a capable level of theatrical hamminess. And despite his appearance, Peck was first and foremost a naturalistic dramatic actor, and try as he might to play the boggle-eyed weirdo, he just can't quite manage it. Of course there was one alternative to play Ahab who would have been nigh on perfect, and this was John Huston himself. Peck said as much, although it's doubtful the distributors would have allowed anyone less than a "big name" to take the role.
Moby Dick was clearly a picture produced with a certain aim. Rather than just do a decent and entertaining adaptation of a popular novel as the major studios would have done, Huston's mission seems to have been to recreate some of the spirit of the original with his admittedly more limited means. It is reasonably faithful, although the omission of the devilish and mysterious character of Fedallah is a mystery to me, and this somehow seems indicative of the general feeling of dissatisfaction the picture gives. Huston's Moby Dick is lovely to look at, brilliantly done in places, but it is not the great story that Melville's book is.