A tides-and-ass adventure for the whole family (minus Mom and Pop and anyone else who isn’t an achingly horny pubescent male), Into the Blue plays like an undersea lecture on the seven deadly sins, with lust, that peskiest of vices and safest of selling points, conveniently grandfathered out of the proceedings. Screenwriter Matt Johnson offers an atypically preachy tale about the dangers of drug dealing, theft, and unchecked greed, while director John Stockwell keeps sneaking peeks at Jessica Alba’s eternally wedgied butt crack. Alba plays Sam, the midriff-baring girlfriend of Paul Walker’s boneheaded scuba diver. The pair stumbles upon a plane full of cocaine while searching for buried treasure on the ocean floor. They want to call the police, but Scott Caan and Ashley Scott convince them to be mustache-curlingly evil and to keep the find to themselves. Granted, the cast has a certain rumpy charm, and setting four-fifths of the movie underwater keeps the pesky surfer-speak to a minimum, but the film is less about thrills than punishing the wicked. Any potential guilty pleasure is washed away in a sea of icky sermonizing.
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on September 27, 2005