the massive vessel has been appropriately tagged as a giant, hulking metaphor, one rose (winslet) herself acknowledges in a discussion about freud, the first of many boilerplate names employed to make her character seem culturally astute. but titanic is rife with symbolism beyond that of the swelling male ego, its abundance of stuff tailor-made for assigned meaning. it can be as simple as rose's breath-stealing corset, a direct embodiment of the high-society shackles she must escape, or as vast as water, which has rarely been presented as such a stark depiction of death, stared down by many characters in their final moments. the great irony of titanic is that for all it took to create it, and all the rewards it wrought and reaped, it's an entropy film, degenerating from the moment the ship sets sail. it's a decadent movie about the futility of decadence, the fabulous regalia that excited so many finally rendered moot by nature. it is, relatedly, the ultimate isolated depiction of big-budget hollywood practices, which so often involve the creation of breathtaking things that'll only be breathtakingly destroyed. there's something pure about the fact that the real ship was brand new: the production design also had to have the gleam and aromas of fresh paint and custom-milled wood, which would also be snapped, ravaged, and, at last, sunk.
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