The Guy Side: 'Sub’ conscious: Males bond under the sea

In these times of economic turmoil, it helps to review the bedrock certainties of life.

1) It is always darkest before the dawn;

2) Love is always the answer (except when the question is: “Are there more chips?”) and;

3) If you have a basic cable package, “Crimson Tide” will always be on somewhere.

“Crimson Tide” is the 1995 Jerry Bruckheimer film in which Gene Hackman and Denzel Washington wrestle for control of a nuclear submarine. See, Hackman’s the captain and Denzel is his cerebral-yet-green second in command. A Russian missile threat has put their sub at DEFCON 1 and they have to … what am I doing? It’s on all the time! If you haven’t seen it, you’re Amish. Go carve me a chair.

I have seen “Crimson Tide” twice, intentionally; and about 41 times cumulatively, when you assemble all the bits and pieces. A good sub flick will freeze the most ardent channel surfer like high-beam headlights on a 12-point buck.

“You’ve seen this a thousand times,” my wife says.

“Sonar! Report!” Denzel shouts.

“We were watching the Diamondbacks,” she grumbles. “Men were on base.”

“Yeah …” I tell her. “I just want to see this part …”

I have no rational explanation for this. (I will say, in my defense, that “Crimson Tide” averts nuclear war more reliably than the Diamondbacks hit with the bases loaded.) But I know that submarine movies offer two things guys rarely find at home: male bonding and explosions.

“Okay, they’ve bonded,” my wife says. “Can we switch back?”

“As soon as they take out this submarine.”

These films “speak” to guys. They’re like TV after-school specials with a body count. When you think about it, subs are really steel-walled workplaces with the same office politics and personal squabbles we face everyday. The only difference is that poor job performance can blow a hole in your cubicle and carry you off to a watery grave. But that keeps everybody focused.

Close quarters and high stakes teach men to get along. (And breathe through their mouths.) Sub flicks are mostly about men earning one another’s respect.

When u-boat Captain Kurt Jurgens stares across his burning ship at Robert Mitchum in 1957’s “The Enemy Below,” his look says: “You’re my kind of guy. (Sorry about all the killing.)” When Gene Hackman cedes “the con” to a triumphant Denzel in “Crimson Tide,” he can’t even speak the words. This guy almost hoisted 24 nukes on an unsuspecting Russia.

But he can’t say “good job” because, well, some things are too hard.

This kind of stuff is “Beaches” to guys.

“So 'The Sound of Music’ makes you uncomfortable, but 'Crimson Tide’ is moving?” My wife asks.

What can I say? Maybe if Maria didn’t sing so much, or lobbed a torpedo at those squeaky kids. But I don’t want to fault “The Sound of Music.”

Not every movie can touch the heart.