The Cove

Ric O’Barry, the central figure in first-time director Louie Psihoyos’ film The Cove, gained personal fortune through his work as a dolphin trainer on the television program "Flipper." However, in an ironic twist so grim that it seems more the stuff of Hollywood melodrama than wildlife conservation documentary, O’Barry realized too late that the dolphins making him rich were profoundly intelligent creatures that could not exist in captivity.  Nearly 40 years later, his efforts to free dolphins--and educate people as to why he believes these animals should never be captured or killed--continue, even as the multibillion dollar “aquatic entertainment” industry he helped to create flourishes.

The focus of O'Barry’s efforts is the coastal Japanese city of Taiji, which he has identified as the source of much of the world’s supply of captured and killed dolphins. Noting that a show-worthy bottlenose dolphin can fetch up to $150,000 on the open market, O’Barry makes it clear that entertainment is the biggest economic factor in the dolphin trade.  The darker secret of Taiji, however, is that the dolphins rejected by the theme park buyers are then slaughtered (the film puts the number at 23,000 a year) and sold to the Japanese public as whale meat.  Taiji would appear to be a whale-and-dolphin-loving community, replete with cheery cetacean-themed art and tourism opportunities.  Around the rocky outcropping past the barbed-wire fences, though, is the cove where the slaughter takes place and that cameras have, until now, never been able to go.

Interestingly, producer Fisher Stevens and Psihoyos decide to structure the film around not only these dramatic details, but also around the making of the film itself.  In many ways, The Cove is a movie about making a movie.  The footage that is not expository is almost entirely of the crew (a motley collection of divers, techies, and self-described “adrenaline junkies”) trying to plant audio and video equipment in the highly guarded cove while simultaneously eluding local authorities.  Even though these cloak-and-dagger techniques are oftentimes exhilarating, the heavy use of night-vision and thermal cameras cannot help but feel somewhat gimmicky after a while.  In many ways, the footage of the crew trying to gain access to the cove constitutes the basic argument the film is making:  If it is so difficult to film what goes on in this place, then surely what goes on must be wrong.  Psihoyos appears throughout, and his personal involvement in the covert operations of his crew lends a level of verisimilitude to the film that would have been lacking in a traditional documentary approach.

The film makes three major arguments:  one, that whaling was outlawed in 1986 (dolphins are just small whales, after all); two, that dolphins are much more intelligent than other animals and therefore deserve special protection (the film makes the point that they are the only wild animals to come to the aid of humans in distress, and so we should return the favor); and three, that dolphins should not be killed for their meat, since their status as long-lived, high-order predators means that they contain near-lethal levels of mercury.  The brutal scenes of slaughter in the film are meant to drive home the severity of the problem and they are certainly impactful, but it seems unlikely that the visceral reaction from the audience would be any different were more mundane, less intelligent beasts being hacked to bits.  The mercury argument seems to effect the biggest change; we learn that Taiji has recently stopped serving dolphin in school lunches.  And, while dolphins might technically be small whales, whaling was outlawed primarily because of extinction concerns.  Since the film makes no mention of dolphins being endangered, this must not be an issue.  The heart of the film, though, is in the intelligence argument, which is perhaps the most troubling of all:  even if you believe dolphins are extraordinarily intelligent, the corollary opinion (that the lives of less intelligent animals deserve less protection) is an ethically thorny position.

The truly compelling aspect of The Cove is the deeply emotional commitment to the cause that O’Barry evinces throughout.  Having chosen to eschew the easy money that could have been his if he had continued training dolphins, O’Barry devotes his life to doing what he believes is the only humane, ethical thing to do in response to the overwhelming demand for dolphin entertainment. As he recounts personal stories of triumph, setback, and heartache, the audience is captivated by a man who feels so profoundly about his cause.  The infrared, paramilitary elements that Psihoyos and Stevens bring to the film are well-executed pieces of spectacle; O’Barry’s dedication to the cause he believes in is substance.

                                       Orson Robbins-Pianka