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March of the Penguins July 17, 2005 |
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Here is a story of love, devotion, danger, death, joy, and survival, coming from a remote piece of Earth light years from Hollywood, with no actors, and no special effects, that is better, funnier, and more emotional than any big budget feature this summer. The movie is simple, yet epic; a remarkable study in perseverance and kinship, child rearing and growing up little in an otherwise big surrounding. It is, by all means, one of the most stunning nature documentaries I’ve ever seen, and it takes place entirely on the icy tundra of the South Pole, starring a cast of about 250 Empire penguins, who, at first glance, reveal not the tuxedo wearing characters of old Warner Brothers cartoons, but fat little black and white trumpeters, waddling through sub-degree temperatures with a bellowing horn beak, two beady black eyes, and a mission larger than life itself. The movie is “March of the Penguins”, a French production that has become a big hit on the art house circuit, leaving big crowds quivering with wonderment, joy, and a small hint of sadness, because even in the animal kingdom, very human emotions of love, protection, and longing go hand in hand with life, and the all too real dangers leading to sudden death. That it has become a well-received money-maker since its premiere at Sundance earlier this year is not a surprise, savvy filmgoers love an underdog story, and they love suspense, but they love even more a suspenseful underdog story that is real, different, exotic, beautiful, and filmed with a telephoto lens so intimate, yet non confrontational, that you’re not only watching the birds, you’re in there with them, every stop of the way. Director Luc Jacquet and his brave group of cinematographers and sound technicians braved sub-zero temperatures to film in its entirety the well choreographed migration of the Empire penguins; a 70-mile journey over cracking ice and through bitter winds that is necessary to keep the species from extinction, on an unforgiving frozen continent long abandoned by most other creatures. “Legend has it that one tribe stayed behind,” says narrator Morgan Freeman, about the penguins, “maybe they thought the weather would change, or maybe they were just stubborn.” The 70-mile northern migration away from the sea begins in March, after three-months of swimming and gorging on fish, necessary food the penguins will need in the following three-month adventure they take to mate, and procreate. The process goes like this; after the tribe finds a secure area, preferably below large ice walls, the male and female single each other out, taking one mate apiece to produce a precious egg. “Within a few weeks,” says Freeman, “one way or another, most of the animals have found what they’re looking for.” After the egg is produced, which usually takes a full month or so of courting and producing, the mother, exhausted, will transfer the egg to the father, so she can return to the sea (trip 2) to feed, and bring back (trip 3) the necessary nutrients for the chick, which is guarded with precision by the father under its feathers and on top of its feet, for months on end. The transfer of the egg makes for a tense few minutes, as we see, when the egg doesn’t make it immediately to the father, the frozen tundra of Antarctica cracks it in half, like an unforgiving Grim Reaper. “They can only watch,” continues the important and touching narration, “as the ice claims their egg, and the life within it.” The dance continues when the mother returns, and the starving father begins his journey back to sea, severing the bond with the young chick (“It isn’t easy.”), while the mother bird takes to nurturing and protecting the babies from the cold. What’s most remarkable about the story in “March of the Penguins” is the complete dedication the penguins have to their one mate, and the goal they set forth to accomplish. When that goal isn’t reached, through one danger or another, be it the harsh environment, the famished leopard skinned seal, or an over-zealous predator bird, the result on the mother penguin, and by turns, the audience who is engrossed in the process, is devastating. The scene of the cracking egg is the first heartbreaker, but later on, when an adorable chick is taken by the bitter temperatures- “The loss on the mother,” says Freeman, “is unbearable.”- it’s like watching the death of a real character, for which we hope and care for to no end. Triumphant victories in the film, like that first dip into the sea after the long journey, are matched in sadness by scenes of natural death, scenes that carry weight throughout the film’s breezy 80-minute span. Giving more emotional resonance to the already touching story is Morgan Freeman’s warm and soothing narration (seems like only yesterday he was doing the same for his Oscar-winning performance in “Million Dollar Baby”), a track that never has to state the obvious, but serves as both commentator and teacher, while the truly stunning images present us with some of the best nature photography since “Winged Migration”, another French documentary remarkable for its intimate portrayal of birds in their natural habitats. Like “Winged Migration”, “March of the Penguins” takes a simple structure, the A to B to A to B to A migration of unconventional birds, and turns it into a study of workmanlike struggle and unending devotion. It’s a beautiful and heart-tugging work of art, and one of the best films of the year. “March of the Penguins” is playing at the Amherst Theater, 3500 Main St. in Buffalo. by Adam Suraf
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