The FFFEYIBA Project—1982

“...but a final glimpse reveals, on a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet, With the man from Snowy River at their heels.”

For a reminder on the purpose (and rules) of the project, see this post.

HM #1: The Secret of NIMH
I find Don Bluth’s animation style incredibly distinctive—his work was one of the first times I noticed a style so clearly tied to its creator—and that style is never on clearer display than in this film, his feature-length debut as a director. There are images that are seared into my memory to this day, particularly Mrs. Brisby consulting the Great Owl, and anything/everything with Nicodemus, perfectly voiced by Derek Jacobi. Dom DeLuise’s Jeremy’s “Let me have the sparkly! I gotta have the sparkly. Mrs. B, I gotta have it. Girls can't resist a sparkly!” monologue is a fixture on the Susanka House’s “Most Frequently Quoted Movie Lines” List. Oh, and I still get semi-nightmares about the flashback sequence explaining how the rats got their hyper-intelligence. Truly terrifying stuff. In fact, I can’t believe this was made for kids, and as I think back on my childhood viewing of NIMH, I film myself endorsing this internet article/essay I found, entitled “How Don Bluth Traumatized a Generation of Kids.” (I’m not actually levying this as a criticism. As my past, public thoughts on cartoons would indicate, I am entirely fine with dark animated material.)

HM #2: Burden of Dreams
This one’s at the top of my “Top Three Documentaries About Film” list, by which I mean “Top Three Documentaries About Absolutely Anything” list. I’m not a big fan of Werner Herzog’s fiction films, and Fitzcarraldo is no exception. So, so long; so, so labored; so, so unhinged; so, so unfocused. The end results is (perhaps unsurprisingly) only so-so. Les Blank’s film about Herzog’s attempts to get Fitzcarraldo made, on the other hand, is absolutely fantastic. Herzog is more interesting in front of the camera than behind it, especially when his dense, philosophical tendencies are contrasted with the ungovernable and unpredictable role of Nature in his film. Spectacular stuff, with much to say about the technical aspects of filmmaking, the challenges and the adversity—sometimes, self-inflicted—that must be overcome in the making of nearly any film, and the way in which so many filmmakers grapple with how to understand themselves as artists. And I’m not the only one who loves it. Right, Criterion folks? (Oh, and for the sake of completeness, the other two documentaries on the “Top Three about Film” list? Hearts of Darkness and Lost in La Mancha.)

Now, on with the show.

1982’s Selection: Man from Snowy River, by George Miller
First, let me clear up one possible confusion. No, we’re not talking about that George Miller. Not the Australian genious-madman who created the Mad Max, Happy Feet, and Babe franchises—aka, George Miliotis. We’re talking about George T. Miller, a Scotsman who directed The NeverEnding Story II: The Next Chapter and nothing else (essentially). Except for this wonderful film.

Second, wow. The selections for this (and from last) year are just steeped in nostalgia. So many memories come flooding back when I think of this film, especially the ones that are connected to the great theme music, courtesy of Bruce Rowland. No sooner do I hear those opening bars than I find myself once again on the couch in my family’s living room, watching as the Brumbies wheel and fly across the outback, with Jim Craig in hot pursuit, wielding his whip as he chases after them. The film features some of the finest horse-riding sequences I’ve ever seen, even to this day. If those swooping arial shots don’t get your heart pumping, you might want to check and see if you’re actually alive.

The story of a boy suddenly alone in the world.
The men who challenge him.
And the girl who helps him become a man.

The arrival of the great Clancy, played with such quiet power by the mesmerizing Jack Thompson and set to one of the film’s finest cuts—the whistled opening of Clancy’s Theme—remains one of my favorite cinematic introductions of all time. And I love that it’s Clancy who actually gives Jim his (and the film’s) memorable moniker:

SPUR: “He’s not a lad, brother, he’s a man. He’s a man!”
CLANCY: “The man from Snowy River.”

The film doesn’t have a tremendous amount on its mind, of is one looking for nits to pick. But what it does have to say certainly seems worth saying. And yes, I suppose it’s fair to say that the Double-Kirk Douglas might be just a wee bit gimmicky, but how much should we actually complain about having twice as much Douglas to watch? Harrison’s cranky “You can bid the mob good day,” delivered seconds before Craig flashes past him and heads down the impossible hill is just pitch-perfect.

The fact that it was a poem that served as inspiration for the story—a poem penned by the colorfully-named “Banjo” Paterson—is another bit of icing on the movie-magic cake. Is it any wonder that The National Film and Sound Archive of Australia devoted an entire mini-site to the anniversary of its making?

Finally, though, I would love this film even if there was nothing to recommend it but that moment of “Jim Craig, Down the Mountain.”