Two years ago, a tragedy caught the world’s attention … but not in a particularly sympathetic way. The fatal implosion of submersible Titan on its descent to the deep-sea tourist destination of the Titanic’s wreckage in the North Atlantic claimed five lives, including that of Stockton Rush, co-founder and CEO of the vessel’s company OceanGate. Though confirming their fate took some time, an explanatory narrative quickly emerged: Seeking fame as a high-tech adventurer, Rush had heedlessly led his wealthy paying customers into a death trap, ignoring (or firing) everyone who told him the craft he’d built wasn’t safe.
Indeed, Rush had previously complained that the U.S. regulations he skirted “needlessly prioritized passenger safety over commercial innovation.” Those were words he lived by — then died by. That interpretation of some very unfortunate events is left intact by “Titan: The OceanGate Disaster,” Mark Monroe’s Tribeca-premiering Netflix documentary.
Gripping to a point if arguably a bit overlong, it has the grim suspense of similar nonfiction catastrophe accounts, like National Geographic’s Tham Luang cave flooding film “The Rescue” without the inspirational angle — or, needless to say, the rescue. An equally apt comparison would be Werner Herzog’s “Grizzly Man,” in that this is also a portrait of death by ego-driven hubris in which one victim shoulders all the posthumous blame.
Not that Rush appears anything but confident and capable in ample surviving clips. He clearly enjoyed the public spotlight, and had a cheerfully take-charge persona ready whenever a camera was pointed his way. The less flattering aspects of his character are a matter of others’ recollections, revealing a man who “knew he was a genius” (a debatable conclusion), then “would blame everything on everybody else” when his judgment turned out to be imperfect. Former OceanGate bookkeeper Bonnie Carl says “He wanted to be a Jeff Bezos or an Elon Musk. … He referred to those guys as big swinging dicks, and he loved that term.” The noblest figure on screen, company Director of Marine Operations turned would-be whistleblower David Lochridge, sighs toward the end that Rush “wanted fame — and he got it.”
Rush wasn’t the first to attempt high-end touristic expeditions to the Titanic, which rests on the ocean floor approximately 3,800 meters from the surface, about 370 miles off the Newfoundland coast. But the logistics were difficult, to say the least. His idea was to lower craft weight and cost by using not heavy titanium but carbon fiber for the hull structure. The problem was, that composite material had never been utilized for the purposes he intended — certainly not at such aquatic depths. Tiny microphones were installed in the Titan to amplify the sounds of those fibers snapping under extreme pressure, to warn crew of impending danger. We hear some of those recordings, their scary effect like being trapped in a hot tin of Jiffy-Pop.
Yet whether due to financial concerns or simple, bullheaded impatience, Rush refused to take such ill omens seriously. Overestimating his own expertise as an engineer, just as he did as a pilot (he’d nearly gotten a different submersible stuck in another famous wreck, the Andrea Doria), he deliberately avoided scrutiny by not having Titan flagged to any particular nation. He also refused to have it examined by a third party for safety classification and took advantage of the lack of regulation in international waters.
OceanGate personnel were an initially stellar lot who, as they sounded the alarm over unaddressed hazards, either resigned or got fired — getting replaced in some cases by inexperienced, fresh-out-of-college newbies. If Lochridge was the only veteran to try preventing disaster after his own ouster, it’s claimed here that was because the deep-pocketed Rush threatened to “ruin” anyone betraying the company. (The boss did indeed sue Lochridge, who gave up his complaint when facing potential bankruptcy over legal costs.)
Of course, Rush isn’t around to defend himself. His wife Wendy (who was also much involved in OceanGate), his children and a few key OG figures presumably declined to be interviewed. But many former colleagues and observers spill beans, including those who testified at official investigations that remain ongoing. While it’s ultimately a sad story they tell, one can also sense the idealism and excitement that first roped them in, then sustained them until it became clear their chief was in rigid denial of the risks involved.
Having snagged a choice promotional piece on a major-network morning show, Rush blurted, “Luck is the No. 1 superpower” to journalist David Pogue. The Titan’s luck ran out with the first Titanic run of its third season, on June 18, 2023. It had successfully completed five such journeys over the past two years, but he was repeatedly told by various experts that catastrophic structural failure remained an eventual certainty — a reality he would not accept. Nonetheless, it is notable that passengers ponying up the $100,000-plus trip price had to sign waivers that mentioned the possibility of death several times over.
It is, oddly, in its last lap that Monroe’s account loses some urgency. Perhaps that’s because there is no footage or audio of the final, fatal voyage, or because we learn almost nothing about the ill-starred passengers beyond Rush and famed French Titanic expert Paul-Henri Nargeolet. (The other victims were British aviator-adventurer Hamish Harding, Pakistani businessman Shahzada Dawood and his 19-year-old son Suleman.) So there’s little climactic tension to a story whose outcome we already know. Insightful as their testimonies are, both in and out of the courtroom, the various interviewees’ input grows repetitious enough that “Titan” might’ve benefitted from a tighter edit.
Still, it is engrossing stuff, as a cautionary tale as well as a taste of the spirit that leads people into explorations more bold than wise. The lure of the ocean’s mysteries (and the Titanic’s enduring romance) are vividly conveyed. It’s sometimes hard to separate the new from the archival amongst visual materials, because with rare exceptions they’re all of such recent, high-grade vintage. Andrew Skeet and Nathan Klein’s orchestral original score sets an appropriate tone of mournful foreboding.
variety.com
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