Wednesday, December 31, 2025

Babe

Thirty years from 1995, I can conclude in my heart of hearts that the best film of that year was not Braveheart, the Best Picture-winning epic directed by and starring a pre-persona non grata Mel Gibson, nor Apollo 13, another actor-turned-director's tale that year that seemed for many to be the runaway favorite, nor even Heat, the imposing crime drama that faced off Robert De Niro and Al Pacino. For me, the motion picture of 1995 I admire the most has always been Babe, the sentimental story of the little pig who could.

Babe competed for the top prize the following year at the Academy Awards against Braveheart, Apollo 13, Il Postino, and Sense and Sensibility. (Heat was not nominated for any Oscars.) The film was followed by a sequel three years later, but it didn't have the long-lasting impacts on pop culture that other films of the mid-Nineties (say, Forrest Gump or Mission: Impossible) did. Even the film's most famous line ("That'll do pig. That'll do.") might stump many of today's movie fans as to where it came from. This is a shame, for Babe is a superb treat, one that should be revisited and adored from time to time.   

One important reason why I feel the film is so noteworthy and essential is its fundamental messages. Babe, the story of a pig destined for consumption who, against all odds, rises through the ranks of his farm to become a sheep herder of all things, is one that predictably has had an impact on the bioethics of not simply its star (who became a vegan because of the film) but of all kinds of people, particularly children. For me, pigs were the first animal I gave up eating. I was living in Saudi Arabia at the time, where pork is illegal, thus making it easier to give it up. But I would not be surprised if at least somewhat subconsciously, Babe was also a big part of the reason why I decided to stop eating them. Even if it hadn't, there are many "Babe vegetarians" out there. 

Based on Dick King-Smith's 1983 novel, The Sheep-Pig, Nigel Westlake's calming score (incorporating the song "If I Had Words," which is sung in the film twice) and Roscoe Lee Browne's equally calm narration open the film, where we quickly meet the little one. The star mentioned above is James Cromwell in perhaps his most famous role. He plays Farmer Hoggett, a stoic but decent man of the land who runs a sheep farm with his wife, Esme (Magda Szubanski). However, though the word "star" was used, neither of those two really are the star of this movie. That, of course, is the title character of Babe, the adorable piglet voiced by the late Christine Cavanaugh of Rugrats and Dexter's Laboratory fame. Babe is a runt whose size saves him from the slaughterhouse. Instead, he ends up at a local fair in which contestants are asked to guess his weight. The winner is—you guess it—Hoggett, who brings him home to fatten him up so he can be a succulent Christmas ham. 

From the initial meeting, we learn that "the pig and the farmer regarded each other," setting them up for a common destiny. Babe is initially quite homesick, but he soon finds a surrogate mother in Fly, a Border Collie voiced by Miriam Margolyes, who has a litter of her own. She's maternal towards Babe, but this runs in stark contrast to her partner, Rex, the breeding dog on the farm whose dyed-in-the-wool take on life is inflamed when he sees Babe tiptoe into areas Rex believes he shouldn't. For example, Babe becomes friends with Ferdinand, an infernal duck who believes he has the callings to be a rooster (and is voiced by Danny Mann). When Ferdinand and Babe make a mess of the Hoggett home, Rex gathers the lot for a public shaming and re-education of Babe, who is warned that "being young, it's hard to discriminate." He is also encouraged to "accept what he is and be thankful for it." 

These are all marvelous lessons for children: don't discriminate; don't eat animals; and adopt, don't shop. (In one heartbreaking scene, Fly and Rex's puppies are sold off.) Babe is fundamentally a story examining the treatment of other species by humans, and the latter often does not come across in a positive light. Rex suffers from human treatment—his offspring are forcibly taken from him, and at one point he is sedated and tied up—and yet he wholeheartedly buys into the system. Babe is a compliant one, but at least character objects: Ferdinand blurts out that "the way things are stinks!" 

Why are they the way they are, by the way? Tradition, order, "because"—the usual sloppy arguments. They exist, even if the world might be a little topsy-turvy to some viewers. For example, I found myself wondering why there's a scene at Christmas but no snow, despite it taking place in England, New England, or somewhere similar. (It was filmed in Australia, which helps explain it, but the accents are kind of muddled and all over the place.) At any rate, the film is funny, tender, and exciting. Who knew that a sheep-herding competition could produce such feelings of anxiety and placing a viewer on the edge of their seat? One reason the film works so well is because of its title character, who proves that a little kindness can go a long way. Indeed, one should never underestimate a cute pig, an animal many argue is smarter than a dog

Babe went home empty-handed on March 25, 1996. George Miller, the Australian auteur who helmed the Mad Max franchise and who co-produced the film and co-wrote the screenplay with the film's director, Chris Noonan, clashed with Noonan. The tensions resulted in Miller directing the film's sequel, Pig in the City, which topped Gene Siskel's best-of-1998 list but still is concluded to be "not quite as good as the original." Miller eventually got his Oscar when he won for Happy Feet about a decade later. Cromwell was nominated for Best Supporting Actor (losing to Kevin Spacey in The Usual Suspects), but the film changed him in profound ways. "On the second day of filming, I broke for lunch before everybody else," he later said. "All the animals I'd worked with that morning were on the table, cut up, fricasseed, roasted and seared. That was when I decided to go vegan." Supposing you're the type of viewer to not be persuaded to give up meat by a film like Babe, you still ought to see it, especially as it celebrates its thirtieth anniversary this past year—it's clear that it's a real crowd-pleaser. 


Tuesday, December 23, 2025

Remember the Night

 

Movie fans who may be growing tired of the usual Christmas canon of It's a Wonderful Life, Miracle on 34th Street, A Christmas Story, and others can rest assured that there are other holiday gems out there waiting for them to discover. There's The Holdovers from a few years ago or the more Christmas-adjacent Tangerine, celebrating its tenth anniversary this year. There's Rare Exports from Finland or Tokyo Godfathers from Japan. The Bishop's Wife, The Shop Around the Corner, and even The Great Rupert can scratch the itch of those craving a classic, cozy, black-and-white holiday tale. 

Remember the Night from 1940 fits neatly in that final category. It's a charming (on paper, at least) tale invoking themes typical of holiday films, such as redemption and going home and remembering one's humble roots. It checks the box for what some are looking for in a holiday film (no Die Hard-style debate needed here). How about for a comedy? It's not particularly funny. Romance? I suppose, but a great deal of suspension of disbelief is required.

Bear with me, because the plot is a bit on the far-fetched side: Barbara Stanwyck plays Lee Leander, a woman who is arrested for stealing a bracelet from a jewelry store in New York City. The assistant district attorney, Jack Sargent (Fred MacMurray), is assigned the case representing the state. Even though it seems to be a case of petty theft in which any jury would find her guilty, Jack, in an effort to avoid the jury's potential feelings of Christmas redemption, he manages to push the trial until past the holiday on a technicality. 

Unfortunately for Lee, this means she'll certainly be spending the holiday in jail. Feeling bad for her, Jack asks a bail bondsman to post bail for her. Assuming this means he's into her, the bondsman drops her off at his place. For a variety of reasons, she can't stay with him, but as luck would have it, they're both Hoosiers, and Jack offers Lee a ride to Indiana on his way home for Christmas. From here, one can predict what likely will happen: opposites attract, and despite their conflict, maybe they start to fall for each other.

It sort of reaches its peak in terms of rom-com sentiment when Jack and Lee try their best to milk a cow on the property they spent the night in (unsuccessfully). It's around this moment that the film really starts to feel like a wannabe version of It Happened One Night, released six years before—a mismatched guy and gal trying to find their way from the city and experiencing a few hiccups along the way. It is at least evident, though, that from these moments on, Stanwyck and MacMurray really have swell chemistry together. (MacMurray even gets a moment to sing.) And I suppose I was rooting for them along the way as I was supposed to. This was the first of four pairings of Stanwyck and MacMurray, though their most famous film together was, of course, the film noir Double Indemnity four years later. Double Indemnity is the clearly superior outing. 

The humor will almost certainly fall flat for many modern audiences. Maybe the lines were funny to a 1940s audiences (a line like "I hope he isn't going to sing it," quipped by Jack in court to his fellow lawyer to mock his opponent) and potentially provoked at least chuckling from contemporary moviegoers. Even if it did, it's unclear how such a pun could alleviate the assured boredom that would result in the long-winded courtroom defense by the lawyer portrayed by Willard Robertson. I haven't even said anything about the cringey racial politics in the scenes between Jack and his servant, Rufus (played by Fred "Snowflake" Toones), most of which was meant to be comical. 

Remember the Night (which night by the way?) is a movie I really wanted to like. I wanted to add it to my list of holiday must-sees. The older I get, the more I'm willing to accept Die Hard and maybe even Little Women as Christmas films. Remember the Night is more explicitly Christmas than those two films, but considerably less recommendable.