The land of submarines

Not for the first time I fell asleep watching Das Boot on TV last night. I have never managed to see this film the whole way through although I have probably seen all of it at various times, catching a bit here and a bit there, and have enjoyed what I've seen. It has everything you want of a submarine film.

My favourite character is the chief engineer who clearly loves his engines, listening accutely with a stick-like probe he puts to his ear when he smiles serenely, transported to engineer's heaven through the poetry of motion.

Then there's the U-boat captain (stereotypically a cynical, hard-bitten veteran who hates Nazis and is therefore a "good German"), who can be contrasted against the ideologically-driven young officer who was moved to travel all the way from his parents' plantation in Mexico to fight for the fatherland.

"You gave up the good life for this undersea nightmare?" No-one needs to say this. Das Boot milks every stereotype in the submarine genre mercilessly. The sub is very quickly taken to a depth beyond that which is recommended as safe by the manufacturer.

Red zone

Why do the captains in submarine films always do this? And why do the shipyards set soft tolerance levels when they know that captains are going to take the dial well in to the red zone with all the accompanying wince-inducing cracking noises? Yet we all know in the comfort of our sitting rooms that the worst that will happen is a few bolts flying out of seals with a bit of gushing water amid the frantic shutting of valves.

If the sub actually did cave-in like a crushed egg (typically demonstrated by one of the crew) that would be the end of the film before we had chance to experience the ubiquitous depth charges, the studied tension of the propeller-listening scene, and the even more anguished leaving-a-man-behind-up-top-while-diving-to-escape-an-air-attack-scene.

In Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea you felt cheated if, ten minutes in to every episode, the crew weren't staggering and lurching as the sub rocked from side to side with sparks flying everywhere. I'm sure this was a big influence on Star Trek where the same stuff happens, only this time in deep space with slightly sexier peeps from the instruments instead of the rhythmic "poyoing" of the submarine sonar.

Hail stones

Now, about those depth charges. All submarine films must have them, but Das Boot surpassed itself in the number and intensity. They are coming down like hail stones and blasting everywhere. Yet, at least in films, the depth charge must be the most ineffective weapon known to man.

At most the blasts kill one or two crew members who, conveniently, can be shot out of a torpedo tube with some oil and other bits and pieces to simulate debris (although I don't think this happens in Das Boot). This is usually enough to see off the offending destroyer.

Had these films been available for Royal Navy training, no self-respecting destroyer captain would have been fooled by a few life-jackets, some junked food, a little slick and the odd body.

"Ah Ah, the old torpedo tube feint," he would have said and continued depth-charging from the ship's endless supply. But there is only so much that a submarine film audience can take, its tolerance levels for sustained attack, being slightly lower than that of submarine film actors and far lower than real submariners.

Steel coffin

It doesn't seem right that in the safety of my armchair I can simply fall asleep while the hardy actors must suffer endless buckets of water in their faces. As for reality, the claustrophobia of sailing in what amounted to a steel coffin for the dubious honour of making war on cargo ships, is simply beyond comprehension. Which is why, I suppose, we watch submarine films, so we don't ever have the urge to endure such an experience ourselves.

But maybe I'm wrong. Perhaps there are those who, fresh from a viewing of Das Boot, are sprinting down to their nearest naval recruiting office, clamouring for an opportunity to take that dial in to the red zone. I won't be among them.