When I was a little girl and I had the great good fortune of being home on a weekday, my mother would let me watch the Homemakers’ Movie, a mid-morning telecast of pre-war cinematic classics. Glued to our little black and white television, I was introduced to Bette Davis, Myrna Loy, Mickey Rooney; White Christmas, The Maltese Falcon, and The African Queen.
But most of all I loved the animal movies. I won’t suggest that I ever faked an illness, but if Homemakers’ Movies advertised Lassie Come Home as the next day’s broadcast, I might have a relapse of whatever kept me home in the first place.
Can anyone who has ever watched Lassie Come Home forget Roddy McDowell’s poignant portrayal of Lassie’s bereft boy? But it isn’t McDowell’s role that sticks in my mind, it’s the image of the drifter kicking Lassie’s little companion to death. I was young enough that I couldn’t separate the actor from the act. All I could think of was the horror of such brutality, the little yip of that dog. I recall my mother telling me it was only acting, only pretend. The dog wasn’t hurt, but in my child’s mind it was very real. I don’t think that anything that happened to Lassie ever affected me as much as that one scene, the thought of which even today brings tears to my eyes. Such is the power of the screen.
The other dog movie that wrenched my heart is the 1936 The Voice of Bugle Ann. Lionel Barrymore and Maureen O’Sullivan star in this story of fox hounds and fences. Things end badly in this movie, and my childish disbelief that the movie would end as it did still lingers. Old Yeller, Disney’s version of the book by Fred Gipson, is the third dog movie that stands out in my memory as taking the heart out of me when Beverly Washburn, the mom, bravely puts poor Yeller down with her shotgun. I wanted her to give him a chance, see if he comes down with rabies after defending them; she’s already sewn him up with a hair from a mule’s tail, didn’t she love him enough to take a chance?
Typically I don’t cry at movies. (With Cinema Paradiso the notable exception.) I’ve come to terms with the concept of pretend. And yet, Sophia Coppola’s The Black Stallion gets me so choked up, I am in danger of embarrassing myself each and every time I watch it. In this case, it isn’t cruelty, but the exquisite photography at the end of the movie, The Black free and capering on the seashore, the music swelling. The horse free and happy, a wild thing so beautiful it hurts. Damn, I’m weeping now.
Susan Wilson is the author of One Good Dog (linked to Jennifer’s review and giveaway), the story of a man who is down on his luck, and a dog who is all out of chances. Together they discover the true meaning of salvation, redemption, and unconditional love.
Who’s Your Good Dog? Post a picture and explanation of how your dog (or turtle, or human, etc!) has transformed your life and share your good dog! Readers on Facebook can participate at: http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Susan-Wilson/314299227142?ref=ts
Old Yeller was a favorite of mine growing up — strangely enough. I’m not much of an animal person but an occasional good tail, er, tale, can draw me in!
Ha–Carrie!
Thanks Susan. As proved true in your book as well, I just don’t think that animal stories work if there’s not that swell of emotion.
I loved all those movies you mentioned…I tear up just thinking about some of them!! Animal movies are the worst for me…might as well get me a box of tissues at the beginning of the movie, because I know I’ll need them through the whole thing!!!
Where the Red Fern Grows. Gets me every time.
Oh! Yes. Where the Red Fern Grows. That one awful/wonderful. I can’t watch it anymore but again — hello — WHY was I drawn to these sob stories growing up!??! Now I’m going to go off and wonder about myself for the rest of the day….