Beneath the 12-Mile Reef (1953)

Romeo and Juliet among sponge divers - that’s the basic premise of 1953’s Beneath the 12-Mile Reef, an entertaining and picturesque adventure. Now, on most days, any resemblance to that particular Shakespeare play – one I’ve always hated since my earliest school days - would have me running for the nearest exit, but for some reason, it works here. Perhaps that’s because director Robert D. Webb and screenwriter I.A. Bezzarides spend less time wallowing in tragedy (though there is some of that)  and more on the culture clash between two fishing communities - one Greek, the other Anglo, each fighting to eke out a living in the Florida Keys.

The Greeks, here personified by the father Mike Petrakis (Gilbert Roland) and his son, Tony (Robert Wagner), are hard-pressed to find enough sponges to make ends meet. Another crew has scored a massive haul by diving in the deadly waters off the 12-Mile Reef, but Mike refuses to go there, after an attempt years in the past resulted in the death of his brother. So the Petrakis clan head for the Keys, an area commonly fished by the Anglos and considered off limits to anyone else. The Anglos (whom the Greeks call the "Conchs") are led by the calm and collected Thomas Rhys (Richard Boone), who, though tough and stern, proves to have a sense of honor. That can’t be said for his sniveling son, Griff, (Harry Carey, Jr.) or his ambitious and cruel partner, Arnold Dix (Peter Graves).  Arnold and Griff wait for the Petrakis to bring in a boat full of sponges, then hijack the lot, after threatening to cut Mike's airline with an axe. This encounter sets off a chain of events which rapidly escalate as tensions rise, including brawls, sabotage, boat burning, and a burgeoning romance between Rhys’ free-spirited daughter, Gwyneth (a luminous Terry Moore), and the handsome, headstrong Tony. Needless to say, as times get increasingly desperate, the harder it is to resist the siren call of the sponge-rich, dangerous currents that lurk beneath the 12-Mile Reef...

The love story between our two young and impossibly pretty leads is soapy if sweet enough, but it’s really the conflict between the two rival groups that keeps the story moving. We’re never told exactly when this story is taking place; it might be set sometime before the aqualung was invented (by the late, great Jacques Costeau and engineer Emile Gagnan, as it happens) in the mid-1940s, or it could be contemporary, in the early 1950s, and the Petrakis family is only able to find, or afford, old equipment. Whatever the case may be, as far as this movie is concerned, it means the divers need to wear those old diving bell-type helmets, heavy rubber suits and weighted boots, and be fed oxygen through long tubes paid out slowly as they descend awkwardly into the depths. It could be argued that sponge fishing isn’t the most exciting thing to watch at the best of times, but nevertheless there are some decent thrills here for those with a penchant for old-school, undersea adventure. These scenes are enjoyable, but the movie fares best above water, with the beautiful Florida locations captured with a skilled eye by Oscar-nominated cinematographer, Edward Cronjager.

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