Barroom-like submarine interiors; long moments waiting for torpedos to whir harmlessly past; crew, shiny from sweat, smoking cigarettes in the robotic lights of the control room; resonant sound of metal touching metal underwater, etc.

“My grandpa taught me to fish off that little island over there,” Alec Baldwin says to Sean Connery, nodding to a dark nose of land poking into a moon-dazzled bay. The stillness of the night is remarkable; neither of the men’s haircuts move as the Soviet submarine they sit upon plods immutably forward. Having survived a menacing, sweaty undersea battle and orchestrated a “disappearing submarine” charade, the two men’ve climbed out onto the craft’s hull to find this wizard’s-blue night. The moon flaps like a satin sky-blue sheet upon the ocean, and upon Baldwin’s and Connery’s haircuts.

They talk about what two men talk about on a submarine after scraping hulls with nuclear catastrophe. They talk about fishing and their grandfathers and they say a little something about their childhoods in Minsk and in a naïve American small town. The two are like dishwashers who’ve emerged from the humid clammor of the kitchen into the cool evening behind the restaurant.

Rating: Five Stars.