Waterworld Reclaimed: Why Costner’s Aquatic Saga Is Better Than Its Reputation

30 Years Later, Waterworld Deserves a Second Chance

Labeled a flop long before it ever hit the screen, Waterworld has spent three decades swimming against a tide of bad press and blockbuster expectations. But on its 30th anniversary, Kevin Costner’s ambitious aquatic epic looks less like a disaster and more like a misunderstood marvel of 1990s action cinema. Sure, they gave him gills — but there’s much more to this film than that infamous creative choice.

By the time Waterworld opened in July 1995, the knives were already out. The press had a field day with the spiraling production costs, logistical nightmares, and behind-the-scenes tensions. Kevin Costner, riding high from hits like Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves and The Bodyguard, was both star and de facto leader after creative differences led to the exit of director Kevin Reynolds. The bloated budget — ballooning to an unprecedented $175 million — made it the most expensive film ever produced at the time. Critics had already dubbed it “Fishtar” and “Kevin’s Gate,” gleefully predicting its doom.

And yet, it wasn’t the failure everyone wanted it to be. The film barely cracked the U.S. box office top ten that year, far behind juggernauts like Apollo 13 and Batman Forever, but international returns and strong VHS sales helped Waterworld eventually turn a profit. Today, stripped of the weight of its early reputation, it stands tall as a visually impressive, wildly ambitious example of big-screen spectacle — flaws and all.

Set in an unspecified future where the polar ice caps have melted and Earth is entirely submerged, Waterworld imagines a waterlogged dystopia populated by drifters, raiders, and desperate survivors clinging to floating scraps of civilization. The Mariner (Costner), a taciturn loner with a genetically mutated edge (yes, the infamous gills and webbed feet), sails the endless ocean on a customized trimaran that’s arguably the film’s most charismatic character.

The film’s eco-parable isn’t subtle — the villainous Smokers operate from a rusted-out Exxon Valdez and guzzle dwindling fuel supplies, while humanity’s survivors trade dirt as currency — but it’s compelling. There’s an eerie prescience to the film’s environmental messaging, even if the science behind it is exaggerated. (A total global melt would raise sea levels about 70 meters, not submerge Everest.)

Production was notoriously challenging. Shooting on the open ocean near Hawaii led to delays, damaged sets, and a hurricane that wiped out an entire outpost. Spielberg reportedly warned Reynolds not to film at sea after his Jaws ordeal, and Universal execs budgeted for an inevitable 25% overspend — which turned out to be optimistic. Costner even spent time stranded on a mast during a storm. No wonder the production eventually retreated to dry land and green screens for the climactic battle aboard an oil tanker.

Still, those hardships paid off in stunning practical visuals and immersive world-building. The Atoll — a floating human settlement — feels authentic and lived-in. The ocean feels endless. The rusted Exxon Valdez looks terrifyingly plausible. When the Mariner dives beneath the surface to reveal a sunken metropolis (complete with a nod to Jaws via a submerged Orca boat), the blend of models and effects is breathtaking.

So why did Waterworld struggle? For one, the tone wavers. The script, reworked late in production by Joss Whedon, fails to find consistent rhythm. There’s not enough humor, and the character arcs feel rushed — especially the Mariner’s shift from gruff loner to mythic savior. Dennis Hopper gives it his all as the unhinged Deacon, delivering a memorably chaotic performance, but Costner’s character remains emotionally flat and hard to root for.

And then, of course, there’s the evolutionary leap. Giving the Mariner fish-like traits may have seemed like a bold sci-fi move, but it stretches credibility even in a film that already asks you to believe the entire Earth is an ocean. That single creative swing became emblematic of the movie’s excess and invited easy mockery.

Yet for all its uneven writing and production drama, Waterworld remains a unique cinematic experience. It’s a bold attempt to merge blockbuster spectacle with eco-conscious storytelling, and it belongs in the same conversation as other ’90s genre-defining action movies. The extended “Ulysses Cut,” available on Blu-ray, even restores some of the character depth and world-building lost in the theatrical release, including a revelation that dry land is actually Mount Everest.

Three decades later, Waterworld looks less like a cautionary tale and more like an artifact from a lost age of practical effects, big ideas, and even bigger risks. It might have taken a while, but Costner’s waterlogged epic is finally earning the respect it always deserved.