Two withdrawn, pathologically shy Londoners, one a dedicated bachelor and the other an author of children's books, conspire to hijack a trio of sea turtles from a local zoo and liberate them into the English Channel, coming out of their own shells (so to speak) in the process.
It sounds trite, but what saves the film from becoming a starry-eyed promotion for Greenpeace is its refusal to rely strictly on charm. The screenplay by Harold Pinter (a refreshingly straightforward adaptation of the novel by Russell Hoban) is built entirely on small gestures and quiet epiphanies, with none of the expected emotional overkill or cheap inspirational grandstanding (there is, for example, no awkward romantic subplot tacked on to the adventure). Glenda Jackson and Ben Kingsley both give typically immaculate performances, and the film itself is likewise quite exhilarating, in its own understated, unassuming sort of way.
It sounds trite, but what saves the film from becoming a starry-eyed promotion for Greenpeace is its refusal to rely strictly on charm. The screenplay by Harold Pinter (a refreshingly straightforward adaptation of the novel by Russell Hoban) is built entirely on small gestures and quiet epiphanies, with none of the expected emotional overkill or cheap inspirational grandstanding (there is, for example, no awkward romantic subplot tacked on to the adventure). Glenda Jackson and Ben Kingsley both give typically immaculate performances, and the film itself is likewise quite exhilarating, in its own understated, unassuming sort of way.