La critique de Roger Ebert (suite)

 

Movies in this genre almost always have one kid with a rich, obnoxious father who turns up unexpectedly, embarrasses his son and expects impossible things of him. And also a kid with a secret phobia. And a kid who is terrified he is inadequate.

 

All such characters appear here, although they are a little hard to tell apart because, instead of helpful typecasting, Scott has manned his crew with muscular, bronzed young types with keen haircuts, who look as if they hang out in Calvin Klein ads. (When I was 15 or 16, most kids were scrawny and had pimples and cowlicks, and they didn't look a bit like movie stars.) 

 

Those weaknesses - the vague moral mission, the interchangeable crew members and the obligatory assortment of personal problems - keep the movie from taking wing as it might have, say, in a story by Jack London or Joseph Conrad. They would have focused more on individual characters and have been less interested in the goal of forming team players.