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Forbes
12 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Forbes
Netflix's Crime Drama ‘The Waterfront' Was Inspired By Real Life Events
Holt McCallany and Maria Bello in 'The Waterfront' on Netflix. Series creator and showrunner Kevin Williamson drew inspiration from his father's past mistakes while writing the Netflix crime drama The Waterfront. The result is a gripping and dynamic tale about one family's misguided approach to resolving their financial troubles. Set in coastal North Carolina, the story of the prominent Buckley clan is told over eight episodes, each packed with twists, turns, and cliffhangers that will keep you hooked. It's one of the best new shows in years and is reminiscent of classic family dramas, The Sopranos and Ray Donovan, in that there is nothing the Buckleys will not do to preserve their legacy. Williamson, who has had a string of hit TV shows including Scream, Dawson's Creek, and The Vampire Diaries, sat down in an interview before the series premiered on June 19 to talk about his dad's mistakes, which cost the family dearly. First, he clarified that the Buckleys are fictional, but their circumstances are not entirely made up. The Buckleys are a wealthy family on the verge of losing their fishing empire. They've ruled Havenport, North Carolina, dominating everything from the local fishing industry to the town's restaurant scene. Jake Weary, Danielle Campbell, and Melissa Benoist in 'The Waterfront' on Netflix. Their once-profitable family business faces financial ruin when patriarch Harlan Buckley (Holt McCallany) suffers from two heart attacks. To keep the family businesses afloat, his wife Belle (Maria Bello) and son Cane (Jake Weary) attempt to sell some precious land, knowing Harlan would be devastated. They also get into the drug smuggling business with some very unsavory characters, including drug kingpin Grady, played brilliantly by Topher Grace. What was meant to be a temporary fix quickly becomes a nightmare they cannot escape. Harlan attempts to take control of the spiraling situation as the Buckleys' daughter, Bree (Melissa Benoist), who is an addict in recovery and has lost custody of her son Diller (Brady Hepner), soon finds herself entangled in a complicated relationship that could threaten the family's future. As Williamson explained, the events surrounding this fictitious family were inspired by his father's misdeeds. He took creative license to explore the lengths people will go to when their legacy is at stake. Williamson, who grew up in North Carolina, filmed the show in Southport, which is near Wilmington. He also filmed two of his biggest hit series, Dawson's Creek and I Know What You Did Last Summer, there. 'I'm very familiar with North Carolina because I grew up about two hours from there. There was a real Dawson's Creek where I grew up.' He then described the impetus for this story. 'My dad was a fisherman, and I come from a long line of fishermen,' he said, clarifying that though this story and family are completely fictional, his dad's real-life troubles inspired it. 'My dad got into some trouble in the 1980s. He was a fisherman, and it was tough. The regulations and the government quotas that they were putting on the fishermen at the time…he just couldn't make a living. And for a lot of fishermen, the business went away. If you look at the percentages of where we were and where we are today, and now with the import business and how you can get fresh fish from other countries, the American fisherman is growing extinct. My dad was falling on rough times, and someone offered him a chance to make some money on the down-low by smuggling some drugs, and he did it.' Williamson paused as he reflected on his father. 'He was a very good man who was trying to support his family.' He explained that this was not a one-time incident and led to a multi-year prison sentence, of which he served 11 months in a minimum security prison. He reiterated that his father was a good family man who made mistakes. 'I think when it comes to feeding and supporting your family, you would do anything.' Williamson described this family drama as very much like Dawson's Creek in that both were inspired by his experience growing up on a creek in North Carolina. "I love stories where a family, in this case, the Buckley clan, hits hard times. In this story, they try to steer the ship in the other direction.' The drug smuggling world, they quickly learn, is like quicksand; you cannot just dip your toe in without your entire body getting immersed in the mess. To extricate themselves from Grady's unrelenting grip, they do some pretty horrendous things. Jake Weary and Melissa Benoist in 'The Waterfront' on Netflix. Harlan, his wife Belle, and their children Cane and Bree each cross moral lines when it comes to saving the family as they get deeper and deeper into the world of crime. For Williamson, this was an examination into humanity. 'I wanted to explore the duality of life. You know, we're not this or that. We're this and something else. There's a duality to us; we are light and dark. I wanted to explore that in the context of a family that's challenged with crisis, because I think everyone today is challenged in some way.' While not making excuses for his characters' choices, Williamson points to the financial challenges many people face. 'We live in the gig economy era, and everyone's looking for a side hustle just to make ends meet, and this family has a history in this world.' Each family member does something they never thought they would or could, but it's all for the good of the family. McCallany, Benoist, and Weary discussed their characters in a sit-down interview. Holt McCallany in 'The Waterfront' on Netflix. McCallany described Harlan as 'a very imperfect man in many ways,' but explained his good intentions. 'He does a lot of things that a lot of people would consider morally ambiguous, but at the same time, I think that he loves his family very deeply. They're the most important thing in the world to him. And so, at the end of the day, the decisions that he makes come from a place of love.' When asked to talk about her character, Bree, Benoist said she found a way to understand and relate to her. She's complex, and despite feeling betrayed by her family, when push comes to shove, she does something extreme to save them. 'I don't think she likes herself, and I think that's a force for a lot of her behavior. The entire time that we were shooting this, I found myself defending her time and time again because I could see that this person was in so much pain. She has a lot of her father in her, and she so desperately wants to be loved and accepted by her family.' Bree's motivation, added Benoist, was her son. 'She wants to atone for all these terrible things that she's done to him. She's trying to make up for all of that. Not just with him, but the rest of her family as well. She has a cross to bear.' As for Cane, who got the family into this drug-smuggling mess, Weary said, 'He's a victim of circumstance and now he's trying to repair his family's legacy.' When asked whether there would be another season, Williamson was quick to answer. 'I'm ready for a second season, because I think we're just getting started.' He wants to keep exploring that gray area between good and bad. 'I love the idea of good people doing bad things. The Buckleys are good people, but they cross the line and the line keeps moving in the show. Once you cross that line, can you come back, and is there salvation?'
Times
a day ago
- Entertainment
- Times
Fin Smith: My biggest regret is never meeting grandad. Now I'm a Lion too
Judith Smith will be in a unique position in the history of the British & Irish Lions when she takes her green plastic seat at the Aviva Stadium for Friday night's tour-opening game against Argentina. She will be in Dublin to witness her son, Fin Smith, emulate the feats of her father, Tom Elliot, in becoming a Lion. Never before, in 137 years of touring, has there been such a grandfather-grandson connection. When he was not helping out on the family sheep farm in the Borders, Elliot was a prop for Gala and Scotland who defied his father's initial wishes by accepting an invitation to tour with the 1955 Lions. He contracted pleurisy in South Africa and spent time in hospital but still played eight matches and was hailed upon the squad's return for his contribution to the tour effort. Elliot died of motor neurone disease in 1998. Smith was born four years later and grew up idolising his grandfather, running around in his old Lions gear and asking eager questions of the man he knew only from photographs. Smith heard the stories of Elliot's playing days, from his achievements on the field to some wild post-match celebrations in Edinburgh and the day he quietened a gobby opposition prop by dropping a worm into his mouth. And so when Smith was selected for the 2025 Lions tour to Australia, his emotions spilled over. He thought of his grandfather. He thought of this unique family connection. And he was choked with pride. Smith's tears and those of his family reveal why the legacy of the red jersey matters so much to so many, even in an age of rampant commercialism. 'I don't really cry but I was bawling my eyes out,' Smith, 23, said after being selected. 'I phoned my parents. They were both sobbing. We didn't actually say a word to each other, we just sort of watched each other cry and then hung up. All I've ever wanted to do is be like my grandad and to replicate him.' The Times arranged for Smith to be reunited with Elliot's blazer from 1955 for a unique photo shoot, connecting Lion No380 with (barring any late mishap) Lion No862. 'It was almost a tailored fit,' Smith says. 'Although I am not sure what that says about him as a prop if he could have fitted into the same clothes as me! 'I wore the blazer to a few things growing up. For any smart occasion at school, I would stick on a pair of chinos, a shirt and that jacket because I thought I was the bollocks wearing it. I wore it to show my mates. 'It has a slightly different feel now, trying on my grandad's Lions blazer having been fitted for my own. It will be cool for my mum having two hanging up in the wardrobe one day. 'It feels super special. We have photos all over the house of him playing for Scotland and the Lions. The same with my granny. When you never meet someone you have a real perception of what you think they are like. At a young age it was pure admiration and idolisation of him. 'I love rugby, so to think there was someone in my family who had played for the Lions, I was completely in awe of everything he had done.' When Smith was asked recently to name his dream dinner party guests, his grandfather was on the list. 'My biggest regret in life is that I never got to meet him,' Smith says. 'I look back on everything I have read and learned and footage I have seen of him with real joy. I am so proud to be part of the family with him. 'Only recently, as I have got older, I have found out more about him. I have read all about his rise as a second-team prop at Gala to become the first player from the club to play for the Lions. 'My granny has told me in such detail of what he was like and the games he played in. To then be able to tell her that I had been picked for the Lions, to say, 'This is the same team as grandad played for' is so special and makes it so emotional for me.' Elliot, who won 16 caps for Scotland, never spoke much about his rugby career but he touched so many people in the game that the turnout for his funeral was enormous. Judith and Andrew, her husband and Fin's father, recently discovered a letter from the Lions, sent in October 1955, hailing Elliot's contribution on the three-month adventure to South Africa. Judith tells the story. 'When he was invited to go on tour, his dad said, 'No you are not going. There is farming to do, we are too busy'. That could have been it. You can't imagine Andy saying to Fin, 'You are not going'. 'They would have discussed it. 'You can't have three months off work' — that sort of conversation. My dad would have said: 'I want to go'. We have since found a letter sent to my grandad saying, 'Thank you very much for letting him go.' ' The letter from L.E.L Donne, the honourable secretary of the Four Home Unions Tours Committee, to Mr J Elliot confirms the eternal truth about Lions tours: that their success rests on the contribution of the entire squad and the efforts of those who do not make the Test team. 'My committee has asked me to write to you on their behalf to express their appreciation of the facilities granted to Mr Thomas Elliot, which enabled him to be a member of the British Isles Rugby Union Team on the recent tour to South Africa and Rhodesia,' the letter says. 'My Committee would like you to know that his exemplary conduct and loyalty contributed in no small measure to the outstanding success of the team both on and off the field.' That description of Elliot tallied with the man Judith knew. He was humble and homely. 'He would farm in the morning, go up to Murrayfield in the afternoon to play for Scotland and come back the next day,' Judith says. 'Dad was one of the good guys. Although he was a prop forward, he was the kind of softest chap you can imagine. He was really kind. He had a great sense of humour. 'This man had been giving him loads of grief in the scrum once, niggling away at dad. So the next scrum they're in, when the chap was there starting the chat again, dad just picked up a worm and popped it in his mouth.' Judith sees traits between her father and son, particularly in how thoughtful they are. Smith has always been analytical. He has just completed his fifth year of an Open University degree in mathematics and economics. His dissertation, on how families make their spending decisions, was completed shortly after Northampton Saints had played in the Champions Cup final. 'The last words were written in the taxi on the way to his first Lions meet-up,' Judith says. As a sportsman, Smith was a tennis player first, competing as a schoolboy against Jack Draper, the world No6. He was an angry player, prone to smashing racquets, before switching his focus to rugby while at Warwick School, primarily to play with his friends. Smith's older brother, Angus, also played tennis and rugby. When they go home, they still tackle each other on the trampoline in the garden. 'It started for my grandad just running around with his mates and that is one thing with rugby that resonates with me: training and playing with my best mates every weekend,' Smith says. 'Having a nice full-circle moment with the Lions call-up has been great.' Andrew believes that the tennis background has been key to his son's rapid rise, securing the England No10 jersey in February and now starting for the Lions. 'When you're on the court by yourself, you've only got yourself who can help you,' he says. 'He's always had that resilience, that ability to look after himself, which he's then taken into a team environment. Ordering some big scary forwards around doesn't seem to phase him.' The prospect of being a professional had barely dawned on Smith until Worcester Warriors offered him a contract in the summer of 2020. 'The night it happened, he got in the lift and his little face, he couldn't believe it. That felt like the pinnacle of his career,' Judith says. The Smiths have one of their son's England Under-20 jerseys up on a wall at their house. The decor needs an emergency upgrade, now that he has become a Premiership champion with Northampton, England's first-choice fly half and a Lion in the space of 12 months. Smith is one of nine Englishmen selected to play Argentina, including his fellow Saints Alex Mitchell, the scrum half, and Tommy Freeman on the wing. Smith will have Maro Itoje as his captain and some heavy-duty weaponry outside of him in Sione Tuipulotu, Bundee Aki and Duhan van der Merwe, with Marcus Smith operating as a creative foil from full back. 'This is all a bit mad,' Judith says. 'It has all happened so quickly. Yesterday on Instagram there was a picture of them in a huddle and he's chatting away and you just think, 'You are only little!' 'But he can definitely hold his own. He has proved it. My dad would be very proud of Fin.'
CBC
07-06-2025
- CBC
His family looked after Cape Spear's lighthouse for 150 years. Now, he's beaming its history to the masses
Gerry Cantwell looks out, as he did for the bulk of his life, on a wall of fog. It's a band of thick white at lunchtime on a Thursday in June, waxing and waning along the rocky Newfoundland coast, obscuring the deep blue beyond. For decades, that fog was both his livelihood, and — as he readily admits — his nemesis. Cantwell tended to the Cape Spear lighthouse, the easternmost of its kind in North America, from 1969 until it was automated in 1997. The 78-year-old was the last in a long familial line of stewards of the old lighthouse, now a national historic site visited by 300,000 people every year and perched at the intersection of the continent and the Atlantic Ocean. But in spite of the relentless fog always seeming to haunt the Cape Spear coastline, this summer marks something novel for Cantwell. For the first time, Parks Canada will memorialize his family's legacy. The agency is in the midst of a project documenting the history of the historic structure and the people who took care of it. Cantwell and his siblings are heavily involved, and will have recordings of their interviews spread throughout the landscape this summer, in honour of the 50th anniversary of Parks Canada's stewardship of the site. "I'd like to see it before I close my eyes," Cantwell says from the base of the lighthouse, steps away from where he lived most of his life. Cantwell's ancestors became the lighthouse's keepers in 1846, just 10 years after it was built. The job was passed down through the generations, their stewardship lasting 151 years. Those seven generations were raised inside the old red-and-white lighthouse itself until Cantwell's parents moved into a small house just beside it. That house is now the Cape Spear Cafe, where tourists unknowingly eat clam chowder right where Cantwell and his siblings used to open their Christmas presents. "Our family still speaks about this as being home," he said. "The fog alarm, and the radio building, this house, that house — everything was ours." Cantwell took over the job as keeper from his father, despite urging from his parents to branch out and do something else. The pay lured him in, he said. "I didn't expect it to last that long.... It was money to start for me," he said, laughing. "[I didn't know] it would cost me 30 years of my life. But I enjoyed every moment of it." The Cantwell family bore witness to over a century of coastal history, living through drownings along the unforgiving shore and even nearby attacks by German submarines during the Second World War. "We're incredibly lucky to be one of the few Parks Canada sites that actually has people who lived and worked here who can tell us their stories," said Pascale Gerdun, the site's acting visitor experience manager. This summer's anniversary project, she adds, will include crank-operated speakers so visitors can hear recordings of Cantwell and his siblings recounting life at Cape Spear through the decades. He has an abundance of stories to tell. Cantwell became the lighthouse keeper in 1969, just six years before Parks Canada took over the site's care and maintenance. That wasn't the only thing that changed in that era: what was once a relatively active profession suddenly shifted in the 1970s, he said, with the introduction of electricity. Cantwell recalls his father lamenting that the newly powered beacon marked the beginning of the end for the lighthouse era. But even the electric light, he points out, couldn't stop the pesky fog. He'd still have to run down the craggy point to start the horn every time that wall of white rolled in — and run back down to stop it when the fog rolled out, rain or shine, several times a day. "That," he said, "was a normal state of affairs."
