The world of submarines is a world of its own: through it, men access a place not created for them, in order to wage an abstract war of screens and symbols. Submariners constitute a singular community in the Navy. They are seen as adventurers living in a counter world of silence and secrets, in a world yet to be explored. This achievement depends on the machine itself, designed to contain life within its cold and black body. It also depends on men’s technical qualifications, discipline. Every life is pawned on all the others aboard a submarine. Trust is of paramount importance. Introducing disorder where order should reign opens cracks in the rules that allow the submarine assemblage to function.
Following the lead that there is no life in high depths, for lack of light and excessive pressure, we might imagine that there is no time as well. How does one inhabit a submarine when the outside is so hostile: darkness, chilly temperatures, threats emanating from unfathomable enemies? The submarine is a space where solitudes are side by side. The enemy is never visible in submarine warfare. The submarine’s exterior exists through sound. That allows a powerful elaboration of the mental dimensions through the characters’ point of view. We remain within the confines of the submarine: it’s the best way to maintain a fair amount of pressure on the relations between the characters and their environment. The viewer himself is trapped.
European heroes, emblematic of conquering nations, have died with the horrors of World War II. French dissuasion is meant as a discreet way to anticipate conflict in order to prevent it from happening. The main character is an anti-hero who nurtures profound doubts and uncertainties when it comes to offensive action. Many war movies depict war as driving men into hideous political and moral corners, and put into question their humanity and their balance. Yet others glorify it, with death being presented as one of its trivial elements. The idea with Heavy Water is to show that violence is no simple matter. How to put up with the idea of death? How to bring political duty to bear on this extreme and intimate stake?
These questions orient the characters towards their own inner depth—these zones of ourselves where consciousness hardly casts its light, and which yet define us. In this case, the outside can also constitute, in this world of men, the unspeakable, that about which they do not talk. It is the point of Mazard’s final way out.