Tropic Sprockets / Tarpon (1973) / All That is Sacred (2023)

In the early 1970s, there was a time when Key West had a cornucopia of motley characters. “Tarpon” by French New Wave director Christian Odasso, with an epilogue film by Scott Bellew, captures the period. Duval Street only had a few souvenir shops, and the sunny landscape of the far-off island was sleepy and flat. The film is a perfect time capsule, but it is not without horror. [Showtimes and trailer at Tropiccinema.com. Note that in addition to the regular screenings, there is a special screening followed by a Q&A with legendary fishing guide Will Benson and Literary Festival Director Arlo Haskell at 6:30pm on Jan. 9.]

It features the handsome and tan Thomas McGuane, the iconic counterculture writer Richard Brautigan, and the round-faced Jim Harrison, a kind of Gonzo figure in the manner of Hunter Thompson, at least in terms of quirky behavior. Last but not least, the film is scored by the late island great Jimmy Buffett whose Gulf & Western tantric guitar rhythms suit the film extremely well.

The film is chiefly composed of angler Gil Drake, who bears a resemblance to Don Johnson as he alternately swears and meditates upon his efforts to bring in a tarpon and let it go. 

McGuane, Harrison and Brautigan ruminate on the ways in which tarpon fishing and creativity intermix and express in different forms. Fisherman Steve Huff and Woody Sexton are brought into a conversation, and they convey great worry that tarpon will no longer be easily seen or sported with because of tourist traffic.

Then we are brought into the realm of a Key West fishing tour boat. Mahi Mahi are brought in by the bucket full. They are impaled upon giant steel hooks. Cute, gray-suited sharks, adolescent and unaware are brought in too and promptly beaten to death with wooden mallets wielded by zealot young Conchs. Blood pours from the young sharks’ mouth and eyes. Blood upon blood. Ugly. Cruel. This is not a place of paradise but a snuff film. Darkness prevails.

We also see segments of the Key West Flea Market with a pet chimp and the Key West Iguana Man, a celebrity of the period. Jim Harrison stops at the Monroe County Fair, an annual event and is overwhelmed by the Tilt-A-Whirl. Regaining his equilibrium, the writer manages to dunk an obnoxious clown in a pool of water.

Tourists march down the street. Trolleys roll by and Captain Tony gives his grizzled wet Warlock’s cackle. The fish leap and spin in the air creating aquatic snowflake patterns in their dance of panic and struggle once upon the hook. Men and women jitter and jump upon the island as fish and the sea make abstract patterns of turquoise, teal and sable, as potent as anything by Rothko or Newman. Fish are content to swim on, undisturbed and unfettered, while humankind bearing gas motors, lotion and hooks bring forth a parade of ego and death.

The contrast is here for all to see.

As an added chapter, “All That Is Sacred” by Scott Bellew is a short film about the after-effects of “Tarpon.” The 1973 film was done as an experiment of sorts by Christian Odasso who was transfixed by the wildlife and people of Key West. It was edited in France and never released, shelved for almost 25 years. Now the film has a cult status. 

Many of the people featured in “Tarpon” are spirits now. The director Christian Odasso passed away in 2011. Richard Brautigan died by suicide. Jim Harrison by a heart attack, and the iconic Jimmy Buffett has flown into the sun. 

Now in Montana, Thomas McGuane is a cowboy survivor left with a carnival of memories.

The crew assembled in “Tarpon” was kind of a coral reef “Round Table” with Harrison and McGuane in the Dorothy Parker / Robert Benchley roles. According to McGuane, the irrepressible quirk of the island gave way to the torrent of tourism and the hard cynical edge of cocaine, New York City, and conformity. Electricity went static. Eccentricity vanished. Things became less fun. McGuane got the message, and his Eastwood stare is something to behold, making a sobering counter to Buffett’s acoustic grin. 

The Key West Man has traded his salt for silence.

Write Ian at [email protected]

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