The USS John Paul Jones we see being built is actually the destroyer Hobby, launched in San Pedro in June, 1942. Not that it would matter to Edward G. Robinson. He was the retired Chief Boatswain who was one of the welders at the shipyard, reenlisted, and was assigned to the Jones, proud of "his" ship.
This is a cornball, flag-waving tribute to destroyers, and it's enjoyable for what it is. The original story is by Frank Wead, who knew something about the Navy, and many of the details of boot camp and shipboard life are precisely captured. The pace becomes Dead Slow when Robinson's pretty daughter falls for Glen Ford and a mercifully brief courtship is carried on.
Once all of the characters that we've been introduced to are aboard the Jones, including the wisecracking Ford, as Robinson's main rival for senior enlisted man, the story gets down to business. On the shakedown cruise, just after commissioning, the John Paul Jones practically falls apart, piece by piece. The gunnery is way off because old-fashioned blustering Robinson has forgotten about leading the target. But more important, the engineering pops a dozen assorted corks and returns to San Diego several times for repairs.
The frustration mounts at both high levels and low. Enough is enough. The Jones is kept out of battles and assigned to mail-carrying duty in the Northwest. The men mope before collectively writing requests for transfer, salivating as they are over the prospect of getting into the fight. They decide to stick it out after listening to a rousing pep talk from Robinson. And, mail or no mail, the Jones is attacked by half a dozen "Mitsubishis" (Douglas SBDs and one anomalous TBM Avenger.) All the attacking airplanes are destroyed but the Jones is torpedoed, strafed, and kamikazed. So badly, in fact, that seawater reaches the boilers, the ship lists badly, and may capsize at any moment. The crew abandon the ship except for a small damage control party led by Robinson, which manages to restore power and ram a Japanese submarine that has been tracking them. The damage and repair is unusual in its molecularity. Damage control is ordinarily an unglamorous business, as is most stuff below decks, but here we can follow the progress of the men, and it's interesting. Where else can you see a boiler extinguished by a rush of sea water? Usually these technical details are avoided by having an officer run to the bridge, salute, and report breathlessly, "Captain, we've lost power on all engines." The snipes deserve a little attention.
The ship is celebrated in the press. Ford marries the girl, Robinson is satisfied that the ship is now the proud vessel he always considered her and he retires to the beach.
Well, it's improbable and old-fashioned but it's accurate enough in its observance of ritual that it brought back embarrassing memories of my years in the Coast Guard. The first night in boot camp, the men are exhausted and homesick. Seiter's camera rolls slowly between the bunks neatly aligned, with two seabags hanging from each frame. (I'm back in boot camp, getting gigged for not tying the seabag's knot properly.) And the cocky chief boatswain's mate Robinson emerges from a building and chews out two sailors lounging on the staircase -- one for "thinking" what he ought to "know" (I'm standing guard at the Air Station at San Francisco International Airport being excoriated over the phone) and the other for wearing his cap on the back of his head ("Adjust your cover", commands the Marine at the entrance to Hunter's Point).
The ending is touching in its sentiment, although it's still hackneyed. If you enjoyed the scene of John Wayne's (Spig Wead's) departure from the carrier at the end of "Wings of Eagles," you'll find this scene somewhat touching too.
This is a cornball, flag-waving tribute to destroyers, and it's enjoyable for what it is. The original story is by Frank Wead, who knew something about the Navy, and many of the details of boot camp and shipboard life are precisely captured. The pace becomes Dead Slow when Robinson's pretty daughter falls for Glen Ford and a mercifully brief courtship is carried on.
Once all of the characters that we've been introduced to are aboard the Jones, including the wisecracking Ford, as Robinson's main rival for senior enlisted man, the story gets down to business. On the shakedown cruise, just after commissioning, the John Paul Jones practically falls apart, piece by piece. The gunnery is way off because old-fashioned blustering Robinson has forgotten about leading the target. But more important, the engineering pops a dozen assorted corks and returns to San Diego several times for repairs.
The frustration mounts at both high levels and low. Enough is enough. The Jones is kept out of battles and assigned to mail-carrying duty in the Northwest. The men mope before collectively writing requests for transfer, salivating as they are over the prospect of getting into the fight. They decide to stick it out after listening to a rousing pep talk from Robinson. And, mail or no mail, the Jones is attacked by half a dozen "Mitsubishis" (Douglas SBDs and one anomalous TBM Avenger.) All the attacking airplanes are destroyed but the Jones is torpedoed, strafed, and kamikazed. So badly, in fact, that seawater reaches the boilers, the ship lists badly, and may capsize at any moment. The crew abandon the ship except for a small damage control party led by Robinson, which manages to restore power and ram a Japanese submarine that has been tracking them. The damage and repair is unusual in its molecularity. Damage control is ordinarily an unglamorous business, as is most stuff below decks, but here we can follow the progress of the men, and it's interesting. Where else can you see a boiler extinguished by a rush of sea water? Usually these technical details are avoided by having an officer run to the bridge, salute, and report breathlessly, "Captain, we've lost power on all engines." The snipes deserve a little attention.
The ship is celebrated in the press. Ford marries the girl, Robinson is satisfied that the ship is now the proud vessel he always considered her and he retires to the beach.
Well, it's improbable and old-fashioned but it's accurate enough in its observance of ritual that it brought back embarrassing memories of my years in the Coast Guard. The first night in boot camp, the men are exhausted and homesick. Seiter's camera rolls slowly between the bunks neatly aligned, with two seabags hanging from each frame. (I'm back in boot camp, getting gigged for not tying the seabag's knot properly.) And the cocky chief boatswain's mate Robinson emerges from a building and chews out two sailors lounging on the staircase -- one for "thinking" what he ought to "know" (I'm standing guard at the Air Station at San Francisco International Airport being excoriated over the phone) and the other for wearing his cap on the back of his head ("Adjust your cover", commands the Marine at the entrance to Hunter's Point).
The ending is touching in its sentiment, although it's still hackneyed. If you enjoyed the scene of John Wayne's (Spig Wead's) departure from the carrier at the end of "Wings of Eagles," you'll find this scene somewhat touching too.