SABU!: THE DRUM/JUNGLE BOOK - ECLIPSE SERIES 30

This is the second part of a two-part review of the Sabu! boxed set; read the first part here.

Sabu's sophomore feature was a more stodgy affair than the first, and it also saw him relegated to more of a supporting role next to British star Roger Livesey (I Know Where I'm Going, The League of Gentlemen [review]). Following just a year after the success of Elephant Boy, The Drum (1938; 98 minutes) was Zoltan Korda's first adaptation of an A.E.W. Mason novel, a precursor to the more artistically successful The Four Feathers [review], the epic adventure that would follow immediately after. (Interesting side not, Livesey played the role of Harry as a child in the second film version of The Four Feathers in 1921; he was not in Korda's remake.)

Set in India at a time of political upheaval, The Drum features Livesey as the enterprising Captain Carruthers and Sabu as Prince Azim, a naïve but earnest young ruler who befriends the colonialists. He is particularly fond of a bratty young drummer (Desmond Tester) in the British Army band and of Carruthers' kindly wife (Valerie Hobson, Contraband [review]). When Azim's uncle, the appropriately named Prince Ghul (Raymond Massey in brownface), kills the boy's father, the child prince must go into hiding, biding his time until the British can overthrow Ghul and put him back in power.

Okay, am I the only one who thinks of the The Lion King [review] here? Is that bad of me?

To be fair, it's a pretty common plot, and The Drum obviously appropriated it first--though it's disappointing in execution here because the embattled prince isn't so much passive as he is incompetent. Sabu isn't nearly as comfortable onscreen in The Drum as he was in Elephant Boy; his "serious" acting features a lot of squinty eyes and pursed lips. He is best when joking with Carruthers or the drummer boy, and the way Azim kowtows to the white men who taught him to be "civilized" leaves a somewhat sour aftertaste. Far more interesting, actually, is the villainous Ghul, who, like Skar in The Lion King (sorry!), is not entirely wrong. There is something rotten in India, and some question as to the rightful heir's ability to rule. Unlike Skar, however, Ghul also has an element of nobility. His designs on the throne aren't entirely selfish. Korda and screenwriter Lajos Biro's attempts to ridicule Indian beliefs and customs backfire. Ghul ends up looking like a defender of his country's ethnic traditions, refusing to accept the British charges of barbarism.

Two positive things about The Drum: (1) Georges Perinal and Osmond Borradile's Technicolor photography is lovely and vivacious (even if this print is a little faded and beat up). The sets and the costumes have an exotic opulence that must have been thrilling to see in the late 1930s, and still has charm now. (2) The climactic battle is impressively staged and daring in complexity. The crowd scenes before and during are huge, and Korda doesn't show a heavy hand in dictating how the throngs behave. The old tag line for the film boasted a cast of 3,000, and the authenticity of the mob goes a long way to make that claim appear to be true. Plus, Roger Livesey is surprisingly badass manning a Gatling gun.

Next up for Sabu was the Michael Powell-directed, Korda-produced The Thief of Bagdad [review] in 1940 before rejoining Zoltan in 1942 for their second version of a Rudyard Kipling story. Jungle Book (106 Minutes) is Sabu's most enduring work, as well as the most famous live-action version of the classic adventure tale--and with good reason. Sabu has not only matured as a man and an actor, developing into a physically agile performer, but Korda's film, as shot by W. Howard Greene and Jack Okey, is a visual marvel. The team creates a thriving Technicolor jungle, filled with lush plant life, exotic animals, and the remnants of man's beautiful folly.

Sabu plays Mowgli, a boy lost to the wilds after a tiger attack leaves his father dead. Adopted by wolves as a toddler, he returns as a teen to rejoin his village, much to the delight of his mother (Rosemary De Camp) and the suspicion of the town swindler, Buldeo (Joseph Calleia), who also serves as the storyteller whose own tale frames Mowgli's.

Mowgli adapts to village life, learning English and the baffling ways of society. Money holds little interest for him, though it buys him a knife to hunt the tiger, Shere Khan, who has vowed to kill him since he was a baby. He also takes a shine to Buldeo's daughter (Patricia O'Rourke), giving the man all the more reason to hate the jungle boy. Worse, Mowgli leads the girl to a grand treasure, only to leave it where it has remained hidden for decades rather than succumb to the evil that jewels and gold inspire. (It's ironic, given most Western iconography, that a snake warns the boy away rather than leading him into temptation.) This sets up Jungle Book's climax and sets up the foundation for its theme of man's greed and superstition being his downfall.

The story of Jungle Book is familiar to most people, though again we must invoke Disney, as the common memory often goes back to their animated version. In that, Mowgli cavorts with talking animals and the human world is mostly out of it. Many of the same characters are here--the snake Kaa, the panther Bagheera, and the bear Baloo--and Korda anthropomorphizes them, though not to the same degree. Mowgli is said to be able to speak all animal languages, and as we go deeper into his world, we begin to hear their voices as he does. Most of the time, the animals we see are real, including the predatory cats and elephants and the monkeys. In other understandable cases, they are puppets or props, though the only distracting effects are the rubbery snakes. In all fairness, the snakes tend to get bigger acting parts than the furrier animals, so some sacrifice had to be made for narrative demands.

More impressive than the animal wrangling, though, are the sets. Korda uses a combination of matte paintings and physical sets to bring to life a colorful jungle setting. There are plants with fiery red leaves and giant blue statues and light tumbling through the trees that takes on astonishing purple hues. Sabu runs through each attractive set piece as a free spirit, utterly convincing as the wild boy who swings on vines and howls at the moon. Indeed, while the trained British actors come off as overly mannered and comical through most of the movie, acting down to the material, Sabu is perfectly comfortable in his chosen environment.

All three of Sabu's first movies with Zoltan Korda are now part of Criterion's Sabu - Eclipse Series 30 boxed set. I'd like to believe that Elephant Boy and particularly Jungle Book could still stoke the imagination of young viewers. Despite our technological advances, one assumes the untamed forests still hold some sway over our basic human instincts. This set would make a nice companion with the other Criterion younger viewer titles, namely Albert Lamorisse's The Red Balloon [review] and White Mane [review], and Bill Mason's Paddle to the Sea[review], all of which feature children interacting with the wonders of the natural world in exciting, yet vastly different, ways.

This disc was provided by the Criterion Collection for purposes of review.

THE RED BALLOON

Though not part of the Criterion Collection proper, this disc is released through the studio's parent, Janus Films, in conjunction with the main brand.

Oh, for the simplicity of The Red Balloon!

When was it decided that children only liked films that were overly designed and spastically edited? Was it when the A.D.D. kids grew up and started making films themselves? Or was it when the bean counters gained control and started marketing and focus grouping everything to death?

French filmmaker Albert Lamorisse remembered that it doesn't take much to capture a child's imagination, and that's why his 1956 short film The Red Balloon has remained an ageless classic, finding a place in the hearts of every new generation that has come along since its release. The concept is so obvious and perfect it's amazing it hadn't been done before. Young Pascal, played by the director's son, leaves his Parisian home for school, and on the way, finds a red balloon tangled around a street lamp. He carries it with him, treating it like a precious treasure to be protected, and as his reward, the balloon takes on life and begins to follow Pascal around on its own.

It's the wish fulfillment of an imaginary friend. One day this pal that only you can see unexpectedly gains form, striking back at the disbelievers and shielding you from life's bullies in a way you can't do yourself. Who wouldn't want a red balloon that can float through the air and bonk your school's principal on his head?

Much of The Red Balloon is spent traveling the streets of Paris, and I was caught completely unaware by Edmond Sechan's tremendous photography in the picture. Though shot in a full frame aspect ratio, Sechan keeps his shots wide in order to capture the full panorama of the city's architecture and the beautiful skies that hang overhead. The balloon moves through the landscape like a giant "You Are Here" dot on a map, a special tour guide to lead us through the City of Lights. Since the movie's central themes touch on the joy of viewing life with innocent eyes, it's only too fitting that the camera lens should have the same sense of wonder. This new DVD print is sublime. It's so clear, we see every crack in every wall, every detail of the city's canvas, no matter how small. The special effects that keep the balloon afloat are completely invisible, as well. The magician protects the integrity of his tricks.

The genius of The Red Balloon is that it's a metaphor for childhood itself. Pascal is at an age where his imagination lacks for nothing, and the world around him is a glorious place that can only be sullied by the people who have lost their youthful perceptions. Adults don't understand Pascal's attachment to his balloon and see it as a hindrance. (Excepting the old janitor, my favorite of the passing characters in The Red Balloon. Completing the cycle of life, the old man has returned to childhood and is able to appreciate the magic of a basic toy.) The other kids want to possess it and destroy it, the mob being afraid of what they don't understand and envious of what they don't have. In its way, this is also the plight of the artist: discouragement is everywhere, people are afraid of what's new, and we hate it when our friends become successful.

Thankfully, Albert Lamorisse feels that the child and the artist in us all deserves to be nurtured. Thus, in his world, kindness and imagination are rewarded, and innocence is preserved. In those final images, when the balloons of the city rally to Pascal's defense, lifting him high above the fray, one little boy flies away from cynicism and despair, and in watching The Red Balloon, so can we all. Let the marketing departments spend billions to try to make us feel like kids again; I can buy myself a balloon for less than a buck.

WHITE MANE

Though not part of the Criterion Collection proper, this disc is released through the studio's parent, Janus Films, in conjunction with the main brand.

White Mane is a short children's film by French director Albert Lamorisse (The Red Balloon). Made in 1952, it's an uncomplicated morality play that takes place in the natural fields and marshes in the South of France. Despite having won the Palme d'or for the Best Short at the 1953 Cannes Film Festival and receiving praise from critics as prestigious as Pauline Kael, it's never been readily available in the United States. Unlike the other releases in the Janus Films children's line, I don't even have a vague memory of maybe seeing it at any point as a kid. Which is too bad, since like Paddle to the Sea (which I think I might have seen on TV), I would have found much to identify with in the story. As an adult watching these movies now, it's hard not to get nostalgic for those times, to remember my own past, and insert myself as a boy into the narrative, much like children do when they experience any entertainment.

The horse White Mane is the lead stallion in a herd of wild horses. A local landowner attempts to catch the pure white creature and tame him, but he's too wild and breaks free, returning to the grassy land. This is all witnessed by Folco (Alain Emery), a young boy who fishes in the marshes where he lives with his family. He is intrigued by White Mane, and when the landowner tells him that the horse will belong to anyone who catches him, Folco decides that the someone will be him. Naturally, Folco doesn't have much luck at first, but when he rescues White Mane from one of the traps the horse's hunters lay for him, White Mane accepts the boy as a rider. The herdsmen remain obsessed with White Mane, however, and the landowner appears to be reneging on the promise of ownership, so Folco and White Mane try to outrun the snare of the adult world together.

My dad raised horses all of my life, and when I was in elementary school, I was a pretty accomplished rider. A series of accidents, however, caused me to develop a phobia about horses in my adolescence, rendering me unable to get back on one even to this day. One of the bad memories that haunts me and prevents me from returning to equestrian activities involves my father trying to "break" a young filly. "Break" is the actual term used for teaching a horse to hold a saddle and, by extension, a rider. Up until a certain age, a horse doesn't carry anything on her back, and the natural reflex to having a saddle placed on her back is to toss it off. Get a particularly stubborn horse, and the training process can be protracted and dangerous. For whatever reason, on this particular day, my father decided to make me part of the process. My older sister had helped in the past, but now it was my turn. Until this very moment, writing this now, I had never stopped to think if maybe this was some kind of attempt to "break" me, too, some idea that this would usher me forward toward manhood.

Seeing my dad throw the saddle on this filly, who I think was named Missy, over and over, and seeing her throw it off over and over and, rather than grow more passive or wear down, get more and more frenzied, was really freaking me out. Missy was trying to leap over the corral, she was kicking, her nostrils were flaring, a viscous lather was forming on her thighs--the horse was doing everything she could to keep from being broken. In response, my dad also became more and more frustrated, and it turned into a scary battle of wills between the two of them. I didn't care who won, all I knew was I didn't want to get on that horse. Eventually, Missy ended up tangled in some barbed-wire fencing and cut herself badly above the front legs, the battle of wills halted by physical injury. I'm ashamed to say that I was more relieved to be getting out of the horrible task than I was sympathetic to the horse for having gotten hurt.

I relate this story because the driving event of White Mane is the herdsmen trying to take the horse out of his natural environment and bend his will to their own designs. As a symbol of freedom, a pure white horse has been regularly used by filmmakers as disparate as Andrzej Wajda and David Lynch. A white horse can represent an untouched state, an image of nobility and of how things should be. Though Lamorisse never says anything of the kind, to take White Mane out of his natural habitat is an immoral act, the disruption of the order of things.

Really, Lamorisse doesn't say much at all in this picture, at least not in any explanatory sense. The film is mostly silent, with only the bare minimum of dialogue and narration. (Though the original audio is in French, there is an option for new English narration on the DVD.) If a child is to glean anything from White Mane, it's to come from drinking in the gorgeous black-and-white photography of the untouched French countryside. (In that aspect, this DVD is pristine; the picture is entirely without blemish.) White Mane's film style is practically Neorealist in its preservation of the landscape and even little Folco's rundown shack. The scenes of him and his family--a younger sister, and a man that is maybe a grandfather--are achingly real, their content faces showing no hint of being burdened by the poverty that surrounds them. Though Lamorisse employs sophisticated editing to create a mis en scene that has little in common with pure documentary, White Mane does not contain a hint of falseness. It very well could be a documentary.

And what could a child glean from this? That nature is to be respected, that individuality is to be preserved, and to stand up for what's right need not be a grandiose act, it's something even the smallest of us can do. The herdsman aren't cartoonish villains twisting their moustaches and cackling over their cruelty; rather, they are men who, like my father on that awful day, got such tunnel vision, they failed to see how far their actions had taken them from what's proper and only wake up when it's too late.

It's weird watching White Mane with adult eyes. The movie concludes with the horse and boy heading off into the sunset by swimming across a vast ocean (just like Paddle to the Sea!). According to the narration, they are heading for a land where there is pure harmony, where man and beast are never selfish or mean to one another. If I were still a boy, I would accept at face value that this was some kind of magic, that the land they were heading for did exist and was of some mystical other dimension. As an adult, and as often happens when I am revisiting children's entertainment, I was struck by how grave the imagery really is. The best kid's material always has darker undercurrents. Though if you have children they will likely never consider this, if you watch White Mane on your own, it will be hard not to see Folco and White Mane as swimming toward death. The metaphor is too obvious, and as a metaphor, your reaction to it will likely depend on your own belief in an afterlife, in a world beyond this one, what lies just over the horizon. As with any parable, White Mane shows that actions have both consequences and rewards, and the two are interchangeable depending on where in life you find yourself when you get the message.

PADDLE TO THE SEA

Though not part of the Criterion Collection proper, this disc is released through the studio's parent, Janus Films, in conjunction with the main brand.

Made in 1966 by filmmaker Bill Mason, Paddle to the Sea is a short film based on the award-winning children's book by Holling C. Holling. Its narrative is simple, as are its pleasures. One winter a sick boy in the mountains of Ontario carves a canoe out of wood, a Native American stridently riding in its belly. On the bottom of it he christens it Paddle to the Sea and adds instructions that whoever finds the boat should put it back in the water.

The boy leaves the boat in the snow, to be taken down the hillside by the thaw. The thaw plants it in a mountain creek which then takes it to Lake Superior, and through a course of many more rivers and lakes, eventually spits the little boat into the Atlantic Ocean. Part nature film, part travelogue, Mason and crew chronicle the boat on each step of its journey, its encounter with fish and fauna, as well as calamities both natural and manmade. There is no dialogue or conventional story, just the journey, given a sense of wonder by the continuous narration. The voiceover makes the tiny object seem like something grand, making all creatures that see it a part of the trek. To lay your eyes on Paddle to the Sea is to become invested in his journey.

Paddle to the Sea works on multiple levels. The beautiful photography and the adventure inherent in the story act as a spoonful of sugar to make the medicine go down. Only the most astute or cynical of children will realize that all of this is merely an excuse to teach them a thing or two about nature and possibly inform them of the dangers of pollution. Older film fans will enjoy imagining the crew getting the various shots. How silly they must have looked dropping this tiny boat in the way of an ocean liner, and I'd love to have heard them convincing canal operators to open the locks to let Paddle to the Sea slip through.

There is a beautiful lack of fuss around this story and the dreams that fuel it, and I wonder how apropos it would be today. I know similar fantasies were fairly universal when I was young. I invented my own plans to build tiny boats and send messages out to sea, hoping beyond hope that someone would find my vessel and send me a greeting from somewhere far beyond my crappy little suburb. My boats were mainly cardboard or uncarved wood, with rudimentary sails that had my address scrawled on them. When you're young you skip over pesky science, never once considering that paper gets wet and turns soggy or that water makes ink run. Never mind, too, that I was dropping my schooners into a larger sewer canal that ran through Canoga Park in the San Fernando Valley in California. Who knows what kind of gratings and pipes they ended up in.

Today, Paddle to the Sea would be fitted with a GPS and he'd have his own url carved on the bottom so people who find him could log on and track where he's been, like those stupid "Where's George?" rubber stamps that deface many a dollar bill. The very thought kind of sucks the magic right out of it, doesn't it? As an uncle myself, I charge my brethren with getting this film in the hands of their nephews when they are still young enough to be captured by the Luddite wonder of it. Jack London's stories are persevering through the technological age, there's no reason that Paddle to the Sea can't, as well.

Because when you sweep up the wood shavings and look at the man in the boat, he really sits in that canoe for all of us. To get caught up in his wanderings is to look at the larger struggles of man himself. At one point, as Paddle to the Sea circles a man-made whirlpool, the narrator wonders if he will get out of this pickle. For, as he has pointed out, Paddle to the Sea has no paddles, nor the arms to paddle them if he did. It's a feeling everyone has at one time or another: life is looming large before us, and we have not been given the tools for which to deal with it. Do we give in? No, we stick to our mission and sail on. There's a big ocean out there, and there is no telling where the currents may lead.

This DVD will be released on April 29, 2008.