Canines at Odds

Can two people remain friends after one of them has become a serial killer whose victims often resemble the other? This is the question at the heart of 1981's The Fox and the Hound, a fascinating abomination from Walt Disney Studios. Plagued by notorious behind the scenes drama involving a change of directors and the abrupt departure of Don Bluth, it also included efforts from rising stars like Tim Burton and Brad Bird. Visually, the film is a vast improvement on Disney films of the previous twenty years and performances from fine voice actors, like Kurt Russell and Mickey Rooney, are very charming. But the songs are astonishingly bad and the story seems like it was written in a padded cell. In a bad way.

Xerography, the technology that had made Disney films look like crap for years, had by this time drastically improved. The Fox and the Hound is almost entirely free of the rough pencil marks that were left visible in films since 101 Dalmatians. For the first since 1959's Sleeping Beauty, a Disney animated film looked finished. The backgrounds, too, are gorgeous, almost on the level of Bambi, a tremendous improvement on The Rescuers.

The Fox and the Hound invites comparisons to Bambi because it features an animal protagonist whose mother is killed by a hunter. One difference is that the animal is taken in by a human widow after being rescued by an owl.

Called Big Mama, this owl doesn't look much different from the one in Winnie the Pooh but she's voiced by Pearl Bailey. A singer with a great voice, she's unfortunately burdened by most of the film's songs, some of the very worst in the Disney canon. At best, they're utterly forgettable, at worst they're insufferable periods of sonic cruelty.

The fox, Tod, soon befriends a neighbour's hound puppy. The two are initially voiced by two effective child actors with Corey Feldman playing Copper, the hound, and Keith Mitchell playing Tod. Copper is decently animated but somehow Tod never captures the impression of a real fox's movements. The two remaining animators of Disney's golden era, Frank Thomas and Ollie Johnston, seem to have mostly worked on the film's two humans, both of whom are markedly better animated than the ones in The Black Cauldron, the Disney animated film that immediately followed this one. The Fox and the Hound would mark the elder animators' final project as animators.

Like The Lady and the Tramp and The Aristocats, The Fox and the Hound is about an odd couple, animals from two different social strata. It's not as easy to convert them to human counterparts as we've never had a portion of society set aside for the purpose of sport hunting and who also happen to steal and feast on livestock. As the hound's mentor, Chief (Paul Buttram, who'd played several hounds for Disney at this point), and human, Amos Slade (Jack Albertson), are both portrayed as American southerners I suppose one can infer a comparison to American racial politics. In any case, the film opens a can of worms it's entirely unprepared to handle.

Bizarrely, one of the primary points of contention behind the scenes was over the fate of Chief. Originally, Chief was to be killed while chasing Tod in order to give Copper motivation to hunt his friend. The replacement director, Art Stevens, was against the idea of a main character being killed in a Disney movie, claiming such a thing had never happened before, apparently forgetting Bambi's mother. But that's not the only reason his reticence seems strange. By that point, we'd already had a scene where Tod discovered, to his horror, the collection of animal pelts and cruel traps kept in a shed by Amos Slade. We'd also seen Copper's return from the hunt with a cart piled high with pelts.

We're told Copper had killed a number of foxes, having been taught to do it by Chief and Amos. At play here are a number of cultural assumptions. Chief, despite harbouring a hatred for all foxes, is not quite portrayed as a villain. Hunting is assumed to be a normal part of life so, even though Tod and his mother are victims of hunting, we're not meant to take it as an evil thing. And yet we don't actually see Copper in the act of killing a fox, which seems like it ought to have been a crucial scene. To watch him make the decision to take a life would provide some context for the transition he effects from being Tod's best friend to being his implicit, natural enemy. We also never see the consequences of Tod being a carnivore himself--we never even see what he eats until he awkwardly tries catching a fish late in the film.

The problem here is fundamental to the story. The movie seeks to be about killing but it refuses to show any killing. This is a much bigger problem than the failure to show Chief's accidental death. In Lady and the Tramp, Lady is shocked when Tramp recommends chasing chickens, but part of the point of that movie is that Lady is sheltered. It's quite possible she never understood her food came from slaughtered animals. That movie found ways to address issues plainly while it avoided being too graphic for children. The Fox and the Hound tries to walk that line but instead just comes off as lacking necessary impact for adults and being too confusing for children. How do you answer a child who asks, "Why doesn't Copper play with Tod anymore?" You might say it's because Copper hunts foxes now to which the child might wonder how Copper could bring himself to do so when he and Tod were such good friends. There's a blank that needed filling in.

In some ways, Fox and the Hound heralded greater things to come with its cleaner animation cells and introduction of new talent. Yet it's also a complete mess. It's nice to see the studio trying something bold and new, it's only a shame they never seemed to have a clear idea of what they were doing.

The Fox and the Hound is available on Disney+.

A King in a Shadow

Laurence Olivier's 1948 Hamlet may not be the most faithful adaptation of Shakespeare's play but it keeps me coming back for the mood. I'm always soothed and chilled by its wonderfully ghostly atmosphere--the sets that are minimalist without looking cheap or postmodern; the gloomy dissolves with slow, inexorable voice over; and Hamlet's father--my favourite rendering of him on film.

The ghost of the elder Hamlet is mostly hid by smoke and shadow and his voice is an amplified whisper. If it weren't for Horatio and the guards (one of whom is played by a young Anthony Quayle, my favourite Falstaff) it would be easy to interpret the ghost as a fever dream. Sometimes I wonder why Shakespeare provided witnesses. But maybe a story about whether or not Hamlet is mad is less interesting than a story about a real obligation he dreads to fulfill. This obligation is not as clear in Olivier's version because it omits the impending conflict with Norway. So Hamlet's duty to see Denmark has a proper king is less apparent in the film. It all seems to be personal instead.

Olivier also removes some of the play's provoking ambiguities, most notably the context for the "To be or not to be" soliloquy. There's no chance any of it was said for the sake of an eavesdropping Polonius or Claudius because they're not there. There's no chance Hamlet is playing up his rhetoric just to have an effect on his listeners, like his other witty dodges when Polonius tries to question him. The idea that the soliloquy might be crafted by Hamlet to confuse or mislead his secret listeners doesn't preclude the possibility that they're honest words. Sometimes people don't know how true words are until they're saying them. A lot of Hamlet's lines have this quality of truth found in feigned madness.

POLONIUS: [. . .] What do you read, my lord?
HAMLET: Words, words, words.
POLONIUS: What is the matter, my lord?
HAMLET: Between who?
POLONIUS: I mean the matter that you read, my lord.
HAMLET: Slanders, sir: for the satirical rogue says here that old men have grey beards, that their faces are wrinkled, their eyes purging thick amber and plum-tree gum, and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams: all which, sir, though I most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down; for you yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if, like a crab, you could go backward.
POLONIUS: [Aside.] Though this be madness, yet there is method in ’t

Olivier is excellent performing all this. I particularly like him in the gravedigger scene. Though, for Hamlets on film, I prefer Nicol Williamson and David Tennant. Neither of those films look this good, though.

Olivier's Hamlet is available on The Criterion Channel.

The Slayer's Improbable Persistence

Judging from the first season finale, it's amazing that Buffy the Vampire Slayer managed to stay on the air or that Joss Whedon would find increasing success as a writer, let alone a director. It's mostly pretty bad, from Buffy's strategy of quitting being a slayer to dodge a prophecy, to Xander's dull pining, to the nonsensical climax. But it does have some good points, the chief two being Charisma Carpenter as Cordelia and a bloody scene where she and Willow find some corpses of their friends.

Talking about it later with Buffy (Sarah Michelle Gellar), Willow (Alyson Hannigan) has a good line that conveys her trauma very well. She talks about how the vampires, this time, managed to break into her world--killing people she knows--and on top of that "they had fun". It's easy from these lines to understand the level of horror she feels. This moment more than any other suggests Whedon would go on to bigger and better things.

Cordelia, the background foil character, turns out to be unaccountably interesting. Her vapid one-liners about how Buffy and her friends are losers should come off like the usual, two dimensional, movie bully talk but instead she comes off as peculiarly innocent. So it's funny when she heroically drives her car straight through the school because it surprisingly makes sense. It's not really an arc, it's an epiphany.

However, too much of the episode is spent with Xander (Nicholas Brendon) whining about how Buffy won't go out with him. And Willow inexplicably wishing Xander would look at her that way. Even if I didn't know she was going to be revealed as gay later it would seem odd. You don't need anyone, Willow. In spite of all this, I still like her a bit better in season one when she was still dressing like a nerd.

Angel (David Boreanaz) has so little personality in these early episodes that I wonder if Whedon originally intended Xander and Buffy end up together. But he was certainly the more popular of Buffy's beaux amongst viewers. Goes to show what kind of an edge being a vampire can give you.

The most cringeworthy part of the episode is when Buffy, Angel, and Xander stride together towards the screen, on a mission to kill the Master (Mark Metcalf). The show's theme song--which I like, but not in this context--plays to herald their approach because Buffy has inexplicably become more powerful after Xander's revived her with CPR. True love's kiss? Maybe. We don't get any explanation.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer is available in a lousy cropped format on Amazon Prime.

Down the Christmas Rabbit Hole

I've been seeing plenty of signs of the Christmas season here in Japan lately.

Including in my apartment, where I've been slowly decorating my Christmas tree.

Most of the ornaments are from Daiso, the 100 yen shop (about a dollar). So two packs of balls and a star for the top cost me about 300 yen. The lights were another matter--for a string of 100 lights at the home goods store, Nitori, I had to pay over 3,000 yen. Electronics often seem to be more expensive here.

I've only gotten one distinct ornament so far--this Alice in Wonderland ornament I bought at the Disney store in Osaka;

Was it Dinah who lured Alice into the rabbit hole after all? Maybe the ornament is a bit too big and heavy for my tree but I couldn't resist it.

I found the English language section of the mall bookstore last weekend and bought my latest copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland--surprisingly, it's just the first book. I don't think I've ever before not seen it bundled with Through the Looking Glass.

It's a Puffin edition--part of Penguin--and I think this edition may be sold in the U.S. I like how it prominently features John Tenniel's illustrations, though they're badly printed inside, the blotchy ink obscuring a lot of detail.

Still, it's nice to have a little copy for my bag again. My last bag copy was a little Signet Classics paperback I'd had for around twenty years. It finally fell apart completely earlier this year. I was already getting some side-eyes on the train for reading the tattered old thing. Tatters really don't suit Alice in Wonderland.

Twitter Sonnet #1421

The covered ears were warm as boiled eyes.
As watch's arms the streets arrange the day.
The morning marks the scents of baking pies.
The roofs of hazy thatch describe the way.
A helpful hair retrieved the brain from harm.
The damage came for years renumbered five.
The morning's wrought within a chicken farm.
The ev'ning's made within a magic hive.
In all recorded time the legs advanced.
The armour walked beside the naked knight.
The words were never meant to signal pants.
A drop of water held a frozen bite.
The morning rooster met the ev'ning flute.
The laces fled the old and broken boot.

It's a Tough Job and No-one has to Do It

Any kidnapper worth his salt ought to know what he's getting himself into. But, then again, kidnapping someone isn't a very smart thing to do to begin with. One kidnapper gets his instant karma in 1929's A Straightforward Boy (突貫小僧), an early film from Yasujiro Ozu. Much of the film is lost but the 14 minutes remaining, taken from the beginning and the end of the film, provide a coherent and charming story.

A man with a false moustache (Tatsuo Saito) manages to lure a young boy (Tomio Aoki) into following him by making funny faces.

The boy solemnly appraises the goofy looks and decides this man is worth his time. But he quickly proves more trouble than he's worth, irritating the kidnapper and his accomplice with constant questions and shots from a suction cup pistol.

Those familiar with Ozu's masterpieces from the '40s and '50s, like Early Spring and Tokyo Story, will be surprised to find little of Ozu's familiar stylistic habits. There aren't many of the familiar low shots and less of the meticulous compositions of square frames within frames. But there is something of his gentle humour and basic good nature that makes this film a pleasure to watch. You may be better off watching Charlie Chaplin's The Kid if you want a full course meal but this isn't a bad snack.

A Straightforward Boy is available on The Criterion Channel.

The Right Complement for Blood

Just how does one decorate The House that Dripped Blood? None of the doomed occupants of the 1971 anthology horror film had to worry about that--each inherited the pre-Raphaelite paintings, giant candelabra, and massive library from the last. And, of course, evil. With a nice, mellow campiness, earnest performances from some of the greatest actors of the genre are never quite enough to inspire dread. Even so, this film is a delight.

First up is Denholm Elliot as a horror writer whose murderous fictional character has come to life. Elliot was a master of what might be called "elegant panic".

He's so believably afraid but there's always such a gentleness about him that you know at even the greatest extremity of terror he'd hate to put anyone to any trouble over it.

Peter Cushing is only slightly steelier as a man who sees his dead lover's likeness in a nearby wax museum. He's joined by Joss Ackland, who was also in love with the dead woman.

The two play well off each other, both managing the same cursed obsession. Their story is followed by Christopher Lee wearing, as he so often does, a houndstooth sport coat like the pattern was made for him.

It's hard to believe the tall, stony man could have such a tiny, adorable daughter.

And finally, in the most overtly comedic story, Jon Pertwee and Ingrid Pitt play movie stars dressed the way a ten year old might imagine celebrities dress.

Pitt is so glorious in her small part. I'll always lament that she had so few leading roles. At least in this film she's not dubbed over.

Pertwee plays his part of a man whose new cloak turns him into a vampire with over the top comedic relish. It is a silly story. It makes me smile but the only part that makes me actually laugh is how casually the camera pans up to reveal his massive portrait.

All the stories, written by Robert Bloch, seem to involve something inside the mind of the victim coming true, except perhaps Christopher Lee's story. It's an interesting concept and it's fun to watch these actors bring it to life. And in such a lovely house.

The House that Dripped Blood is available on Amazon Prime.

El Mandalorian

Can we all hold hands and thank God for the miracle that is Robert Rodriguez? Last night's new Mandalorian showed what it means to have a master direct an episode. Rodriguez knows how to direct an action sequence like no other director on the series--and like few other directors living to-day. Of all the directors who've worked on the series, he also has the best grasp of the psychology of a Spaghetti Western.

It's a very simple story with very few characters and locations. We start in the cockpit of Din's (Pedro Pascal) ship, then the bulk of the episode is set outdoors amid rocky hillsides that look a lot like California.

While Grogu is communing with the Force, Din has a confrontation with Boba Fett (Temuera Morrison) and a returning Ming-Na Wen as Fennec Shand from season one. Which was good to see--Wen definitely deserved more screentime and she's much better in this episode.

They're interrupted when some Imperial troops arrive and then Rodriguez delivers one of the best action sequences in Star Wars history.

That gaffi stick Fett's carrying around in lieu of his famous firearms becomes much more than an interesting prop. Thanks to razor sharp compositions and editing, we feel the kinetic force of this thing as Fett smashes one helmet after another. Any director can show someone pretending to take out a dozen armed troops single handed, it takes a great director to make you appreciate it as though you're seeing something extraordinary really happening. I guess that's a good job description for a fantasy director--he makes you buy in to the impossible.

It's not just the action sequences Rodriguez excels at, though. That cockpit scene, in that same location from so many episodes, having Din and Grogu playing with the metal ball like in so many episodes, feels unique largely just because of Rodriguez's instincts for composition and editing. It helps really build a sense of emotional weight. Din's earnest desire to protect the child has a bittersweetness to it, instead of being frustrating, when he seems to have trouble figuring out what to do.

The episode's called "The Tragedy" and I thought at first the tragedy was going to be that Din gives his life trying to protect Boba Fett's armour when he should have immediately traded it in the interest of the kid's safety. There was a moment where his devotion to what even Bo-Katan called zealotry was about to be in direct conflict with his concern for the child. Circumstances spare him that choice but there's enough of it remaining to create tension.

Many episodes this season feel like backdoor pilots. The idea of a Boba Fett series run by Robert Rodriguez is definitely the most appealing so far. Though an Ahsoka Tano series showrun by Rodriguez and written by George Lucas would be even better. But I feel like Boba Fett's had a very good arc now, beginning with Attack of the Clones, through his memorably Spaghetti Western-ish Clone Wars episodes, to this.

The Mandalorian is available on Disney+.

Twitter Sonnet #1420

Removing birds has never lifted books.
The never raised would lower lamps for debt.
There's fewer things to trade on better looks.
And here the ends of brittle rope were met.
Revisions thwart the brass report to steel.
Rebounding shots reflect the stated goal.
Another day and rockets slowly heal.
The bundled bread could save a wayward foal.
Rocky climbs reward the grizzled hand.
An extra scoop exhumes the icy cream.
Assuming coats, the sleeves were slightly bland.
Another thread revealed the mended seam.
Returning arms dismantle plastic skulls.
A bile blimp received a thousand holes.

The Bad Stairs

Just how much murder and coerced sex can occur in one house? I guess it depends on the size of the house. 1960's The Housemaid (하녀) is set in a nice, two storey house into which a nice, normal family has moved. When the father decides to turn his idle fantasy of getting a pretty housemaid into a reality, he could scarcely have imagined the depths of extravagant horror he was about to unleash. "Nightmare" is definitely a word for this strange melodrama. The colours are extreme black and white but the drama is saturated to more absurd levels. Yet it's fascinating--every character seems a kind of demon roasting in this domestic Hell.

This classic of South Korean cinema was directed by Kim Ki-young. An interview included in the Criterion edition features Parasite and Snowpiercer director Bong Joon-ho discussing the film and he talks about how a two storey house would have been seen as a conspicuous sign of wealth at the time. So he points to the many shots that significantly feature the staircase.

The family has only recently moved into the place. The patriarch, Kim Dong-sik (Kim Jin-kyu), is a piano teacher currently under contract at a factory where he instructs the employees, who all seem to be attractive young woman, and all of them seem to have a crush on him.

One young woman (Um Aing-ran) comes to the house for private lessons and recommends her roommate, Myung-sook (Lee Eun-shim), as a housemaid. Earlier, Dong-sik had been idly fantasising about a story he'd read in the paper about a man who'd had an affair with his housemaid. Yet he finds himself the prey and not the predator throughout the film which is filled with curiously aggressive women.

Every second of the film, everyone seems to be calculating how to ensnare or torment everyone else. Even the kids taunt Myung-sook about her putting poison in their drinking water long before she actually does. Dong-sik's wife (Jur Jeung-ryu) seems a paragon of housewives except she moans in a curiously orgasmic way when Dong-sik massages her leg when she has a cramp. It's an ecstasy he doesn't seem to understand or share in, despite being her husband. And, of course, she's not above murder.

No one exceeds the housemaid herself, though, played by Lee Eun-shim with a relentlessly feral quality.

The Housewife is available on The Criterion Channel.

Who's Ahsoka Tano?

Last week was her much lauded live action debut on The Mandalorian but maybe there's a few of you who never or barely heard of her. Maybe you don't like cgi cartoons. Well, if you're going to watch one, Clone Wars is certainly among the best. And there's a reason why Ahsoka Tano gets so much love. Created by George Lucas, who wanted a character that reflected his experience raising his daughters, Ahsoka's character was developed extensively over the series' seven season run by a variety of talented writers--including Katie Lucas, one of George's daughters.

Like most good shows, a few episodes are duds but, on the whole, I recommend it. But for those of you who just want to get to know Ahsoka, I've compiled a list of episodes that will give you the crash course.

"Cloak of Darkness" Season One, Episode Nine
Written by Paul Dini

Although she was introduced in the Clone Wars movie, this was Ahsoka's first interesting episode. Written by Harley Quinn creator Paul Dini, it also features a very nice lightsaber fight.

"Jedi Crash" Season One, Episode Thirteen
Written by Katie Lucas

The first episode to be written by George's daughter, this one finds Ahsoka bonding with the famous Twi'Lek Jedi, Aayla Secura.

"Storm Over Ryloth" Season One, Episode Nineteen
Written by George Krstic, Scott Murphy, and Henry Gilroy

One of the nice things about Ahsoka's character is that, like a real young person, she makes mistakes. And a mistake in war can have terrible consequences.

"Lightsaber Lost" Season Two, Episode Eleven
Written by Drew Z. Greenberg

This is another great example of Ahsoka having to learn lessons the hard way. Written by Buffy the Vampire Slayer writer Drew Z. Greenburg, this homage to Kurosawa's Stray Dog (my favourite summer movie) finds Ahsoka in the Toshiro Mifune role--a rookie desperately trying to track down her lightsaber, stolen by a pickpocket.

"Sphere of Influence" Season Three, Episode Four
Written by Katie Lucas and Steven Melching

Ahsoka learns lessons about politics, too, and this one has some nice, tense scenes of subterfuge.

"Assassin" Season Three, Episode Seven
Written by Katie Lucas

A decent episode where Ahsoka plays bodyguard to Padme.

"Heroes on Both Sides" Season Three, Episode Ten
Written by Daniel Arkin

One of the best episodes of the entire series, this one ages up Ahsoka a bit and gives her a teenage love interest. But the great thing about this episode is the nuance it gives to the conflict between the Republic and the Separatists. Ahsoka begins the episode thinking all Separatists are evil but by the end she sees that life just isn't that simple.

"A War on Two Fronts", "Front Runners", "The Soft War", "Tipping Points" Season Five, Episodes Two through Five
Written by Chris Collins

This one has complicated politics and nice action sequences. You might expect no less from the story that introduces Saw Gerrera.

"Sabotage", "The Jedi Who Knew Too Much", "To Catch a Jedi", "The Wrong Jedi" Season Five, Episodes Seventeen through Twenty
Written by Charles Murray

The Alfred Hitchcock references in these titles should give you the right impression. Ahsoka finds herself at the centre of sinister intrigue that works as a nice prelude to Revenge of the Sith.

The final season of Clone Wars aired only recently and features some exciting action sequences and visuals. Mostly written by Dave Filoni, it falls well short of the best episodes of the series but you might want to watch it if you want to see how things finally turn out for Ahsoka.

Clone Wars is available on Disney+.

Not the Dummy Slayer

Was there ever a time when ventriloquist dummies weren't creepy? The oldest film I can think of to portray one as possessed by a demon is 1945's Dead of Night. 1964's Devil Doll, a B movie starring William Sylvester, used the same concept ridiculously enough to later be featured on Mystery Science Theatre 3000. So by the time Buffy the Vampire Slayer aired an episode called "The Puppet Show" in 1997, it was very old hat indeed and ripe for a new direction.

Pairing it with the basic premise of Buffy is a pretty good leap in itself. I think it might be difficult for some young people to-day to understand what Buffy meant to the pop cultural landscape. Before Buffy, TV shows and movies could be scary or funny but rarely both. There was a funny episode or two of The Twilight Zone or the intros and epilogues for HBO's Tales from the Crypt series, but mostly these things were aberrations and very far from mainstream or network TV. To find Buffy's ancestors, one might look to Evil Dead 2, or maybe Peter Jackson's Dead Alive. And, of course, Twin Peaks, as always. Maybe the best analogy is Scoopy Doo, a comparison explicitly drawn by Buffy, but Scooby Doo was never really scary and certainly never had the dramatic weight of some of Buffy's episodes.

There was something exciting about the idea that Buffy's quips or relationship issues could be featured just as prominently as a ravenous demon or ghoul. The box most people were taught to see horror in didn't generally allow a world of any credible size. The humour on Buffy sometimes strengthened the horror by adding an element of unpredictability while the humour was strengthened for being a particularly potent comedy relief for the horror. It may be difficult for younger people to understand now because media has conditioned them to be more jaded than Buffy's original audience, just as Buffy's original audience was more jaded than the kids who threw up during screenings of Night of the Living Dead.

And then Buffy met a demon dummy. Or is it a demon dummy? Is even the Buffy concept enough of a spin? In any case, I like the nervous, addict-ish performance from Richard Werner, the actor who plays the ventriloquist. He and the dummy are introduced as part of the school talent show in which Buffy and the gang are forced to participate by the new principal.

Introduced in this episode, Principal Snyder is played by a simmeringly deadpan Armin Shimerman (best known as Quark on DS9). I love the simple, understated menace in which he casually mentions his predecessor was "eaten". Hilariously, he seems to put it down to the man being too sensitive to student needs. I find this character much funnier now than the last time I watched this series.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer is available in a lousy cropped format on Amazon Prime.

Twitter Sonnet #1419

A dizzy height's restrained in helm and cloak.
A shiny floor supports the empty boot.
A number burned behind the heavy smoke.
A dry and brittle tree retracts its root.
The cherry night was fading fast for blue.
A picture thought repeated shots of eyes.
The lighting caught a slow convening crew.
They pass on foot to carry east their pies.
The shadows sought betimes were something sick.
In trials meek the bolder heart withstood.
The absent tear revealed the hungry tick.
There's something waiting now that can or could.
The waving fish was waiting 'neath the tide.
The giant whale'll offer us a ride.

The Dangerous and Enticing Voyage

Life in the Royal Navy in the Age of Sail can look fascinating and frightening at the same time. Part of the attraction is its impenetrability. We can understand the human element yet, for many people, the language is elusive both for the period setting and for the technical terms that must be employed. The sense of the rarity of any great writer making something not only intelligible but engaging in the genre is part of the appeal of any nautical classic. One of the best of these must surely be 1937's The Happy Return, the first in C.S. Forester's long running series about the fictional officer Horatio Hornblower. It must be one of the most perfectly constructed adventure novels of all time. Forester shows a deftness at introducing characters and ideas without tipping his hand as to how they're going to pay off. The lack of close proximity of characters during sea battles is adroitly offset by the introduction of characters in different contexts. The romantic angle is kept nicely restrained, meanwhile, hovering in the delicious potential of ruin, both physical and social. And all of it is linked together, made to move with endlessly compelling tension, by the third person narrative being almost invariably placed at the point of view of the protagonist, Horatio Hornblower.

Captain of a frigate called the Lydia, the novel begins with Hornblower having sailed to the west coast of Central America from England without ever being seen or making landfall. Since this includes making the dangerous trip around Cape Horn, this is quite an accomplishment yet Forester here, as in many places throughout the novel, has Hornblower check his own ego by contemplating the other responsibilities and uncertainties on his plate. He has to replenish supplies, he has to find a safe place to drop anchor, he has to make contact with the local rebel lord in the hopes of finding an ally against Spain. Set during the Napoleanic wars, England at the time of the novel hopes to unseat Spain's near monopoly on colonial possessions in Central and South America. Forester brings reality to Hornblower's anxieties by describing the steps he must take in determining the depth of the water near shore and, above all, his monitoring of the crew morale and the image he projects as captain. Every practical challenge in the book is overshadowed by Hornblower's mindfulness of the next. This has the effect of both humanising him and conveying a sense of his great talent for leadership.

Like a lot of genre fiction from the period, The Happy Return benefits from the innovations of Modernists like Ernest Hemingway and James Joyce. Forester's book has the appreciation for the romance and potentially ennobling nature of war while also keeping an eye to its ugliness and drudgery. One legacy of those who reacted against the sentimentalism of Victorian poetry was to strengthen the effect of those who revived the Victorian interest in waxing eloquent about war and despair. The battle scenes in The Happy Return don't skimp on the horrific injuries and mutilations or the great equaliser that is a mere splinter of wood, propelled at speed by the impact of a cannon ball.

He does all this so well, it's hard to imagine he could be equally adept at writing a relationship of subtle sexual tension between a man and a woman. But he is. About a third of the way through the novel, a young English noblewoman called Lady Barbara comes aboard, all but demanding transport back to England. A strong minded and independent woman, one can see shades of The African Queen as both she and Hornblower learn to respect each other after a series of misapprehensions both have about the other's world. Her presence aboard also emphasises the drama when the Lydia is terrifically damaged. Forester wisely refrains from making her a cream puff--she's more interesting because she rises to the occasion.

Forester uses sailing terms freely throughout the book without explaining them. Having studied the terminology myself, I have no idea how intelligible the book is to someone who hasn't. But it added greatly to the excitement for me. It's fun to be able to draw on obscure knowledge and Forester certainly rewards such a reader plentifully.