Out of Africa
(1985)
I did not warm to Out of Africa on my initial viewing, which would probably have been
a few years after its theatrical release. It was exactly as the publicity
warned, said my cynical side; a shallow-yet-bloated, awards-baiting epic
romance. This was little more than a well-dressed period chick flick, the
allure of which was easily explained by its lovingly photographed exotic vistas
and Robert Redford rehearsing a soothing Timotei advert on Meryl Streep’s distressed
locks. That it took Best Picture only seemed like confirmation of it as
all-surface and no substance. So, on revisiting the film, I was curious to see
if my tastes had “matured” or if it deserved that dismissal.
Well, I think it’s a slightly more interesting film that I did in then. But it remains
a problematic one outside of the shelter of its star-powered romance. Colonial Kenya
(or British East Africa, as it was when Streep’s character first moved there) is
explored in only the most limited of ways, as it must always defer to the main
theme. Corrected sentiments are espoused with the benefit of hindsight, but only
enforce the air of an ever-so palatable fantasy Africa.
Based on the experiences of Karen Blixen
(played by Meryl Streep), who wrote under the pseudonym of Isak Dinesen, the
film follows her from native Denmark to Africa. There, she marries a friend,
Baron Bror Blixen (Klaus Maria Brandauer), a tie that suits their mutual
convenience. She sets to work on their coffee plantation while Bror does his
own thing, such that she contracts syphilis as a result of his illicit affairs.
Once she has recovered, she asks him to move out of their farmhouse. At which
point her friendship with big-game hunter Denys Finch Hatton (Robert Redford)
burgeons into romance, albeit one where he refuses to be tied down and she
becomes contrastingly possessive.
Pollack and screenplay writer Kurt Luedtke
are shy of putting Blixen’s attitudes too harshly under the spotlight. Her
proprietorial qualities are touched upon, such that she even assumes that she
owns the Kikuyu tribes people working on her farm, but her nurturing instincts
set her up more as their great white protector than someone to be criticised for
ignorance (she tends to the sick, and even ensures the tribe have land to live
on when she returns to Denmark).
And, since Denys takes the role of the
gently mocking far-sighted seer, it is implicit that the filmmakers think they
have all bases covered. Denys is, of course, an utterly romantic figure as
personified by Redford (who is neither British nor bald, but one can see why
that might be nixed as a potential turn-off), and curiously contradictory
(promoting the safari – and ivory – trade on one hand but preaching the gospel
that the white intruders won’t endure on the other).
Crucially, Blixen is portrayed as a brave,
headstrong, forward-thinking woman; she’s something of a role model to women
everywhere, see? We know this because she treks across dangerous territory to
deliver supplies to her husband, and all the chaps have such respect for her that
when she departs Africa for good she is invited for a drink in their men-only
club. And when she and Denys
encounter attacking lions (in slow motion!) she doesn’t hesitate in bagging one
of the blighters. What a gal! Pollack wants us to be a bit in awe of her. It’s
a film that can have it both ways, of course, since she goes weak at the knees
whenever Denys is on the scene.
Which seems to be a lot, after Redford
comes on board properly at about the halfway mark. Pollack reunites with
Redford for the fifth time and it’s a stroke of genius casting in terms of box
office (this wouldn’t always be so, of course; their next collaboration, Havana, fizzled); here he represents the
ultimate female fantasy figure, wandering in just when Blixen needs him and
lighting up her life. And then, washing her hair by a river! Taking her on
elaborate picnics! On jaunts in his plane! And, as mentioned, Denys is
portrayed as insightful beyond his era, with a great affinity for “untamed” Africa
(he is given a particularly memorable anecdote about Massai tribesmen being
locked up). As the American in the cast Redford’s character gets to sit in
judgement of the British and not be sullied; it means Pollack can have it both
ways, acting all wistful about the period without falling prey to accusations
that he is portraying it as some kind of lost idyll.
The wandering in thing, though; this is a highly episodic narrative, bizarrely so
at points. Blixen contracts syphilis, leaves for treatment and when she returns
WWI is over! The last half of the film is essentially Denys dropping in and
then leaving repeatedly, which cumulatively makes the viewer think he’s always
there. This is a problem if you’re anything less than enraptured by their affair,
as it takes approaching three hours to tell it’s unhurried story (it’s an epic;
it has to be that long!)
There’s no denying the chemistry between
Streep and Redford, and it makes the fairly inconsequential nature of their tryst
agreeable viewing. Brandauer is also very good, as is Michael Kitchen (playing
Denys’ friend Berkeley).
Streep’s accent, of course, is a different
matter. Widely identified to be anything other than a Danish accent, and coming
at a point when her priority appeared to be roles requiring funny voices (the
slog of Sophie’s Choice was just
behind her, a dingo waiting to steal her bay-by lay ahead), it’s fair to say
that her choice is only distracting for the first ten minutes or so. Whether we
would be quite so forgiving if Redford too had forged ahead with his proposed
English accent is another matter. Likely anyone with even a vague knowledge of
the film will be able to reel off “I hahd
a fahm in Ahfrica” in an approximation of Meryl.
Ultimately, as confirmed by that nostalgic
refrain (which both introduces and closes the movie), this is all about the
rose-tinted view. As such, the romance will likely yield dividends if you’re
willing to ignore all the prickly subjects surrounding it. Pollack and co most
certainly do. And it is beautifully
made, bathing luxuriously in a sumptuous John Barry score. If orange sunsets,
open vistas and a golden haired Robert Redford giving you a rinse (better hurry
up, though, he’ll be 80 in another couple of years) are on your to-do list this
will push many of the right buttons. Otherwise, you’re not missing much.
**1/2
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