Movies About Animals: Not Just for Kids

Every year a handful of movies get made about animals’ relationships with humans.  I like to see these kinds of movies.  But why is it that the humans involved in the story are always children?  Why does every animal movie have to be considered a children’s story, made for a family (read: children brought in by an adult or two) audience?  The only exceptions that come to mind are Day of the Dolphin (made many decades ago, and only adult because it was based on an adult bestselling thriller), Dragonheart (possibly because the dragon is mythically associated with grownup knights and maidens?), and A Boy and His Dog (because it was based on the adult post-apocalyptic Harlan Ellison short story).  I’m not counting the true stories, such as Gorillas in the Mist, Never Cry Wolf, and Marley and Me.  They’re true, by the way, because adults lived them, not precocious children.

With stories about animal-human relationships, we as a society have regarded this subject as childish or child-centered, it seems.  What a sad loss—to alienate our grown up lives and feelings from the animals who share our lives—at least when it comes to the glory and richness of cinematic storytelling.  I think this has come about because we’re taught that as mature adults we’re not supposed to love animals as much as people.

But why not?  Is it such a radical idea to suggest that animals deserve our devotion and love, just as much as we deserve (possibly, if we behave ourselves) their devotion and love?

I’ve never wanted children for as long as I can remember.  I wouldn’t play with dolls, but loved to play with stuffed animals.  And when I grew up, real animals took their place as my playmates.  I have “owned” (or possibly they have owned me) lizards, dogs, a horse, a pigeon, various wild birds, a parrot, and one of my best friends, as I have mentioned elsewhere, is a wild red tailed hawk named Tennerin, who has spent the past eleven winters with me.  At one point in my life, two Pacific white sided dolphins were my closest friends.  I would love to see a grownup film of a story starring any of the above species (or others).

I often get inspired by movies—an absolutely real motivating, life-energizing inspiration (as with Star Trek), and movies can be a source of knowledge and inspiration to shift one’s attitude in a good, earth-changing way.  Gorillas in the Mist is a great example.  Before the film, the general public had little knowledge of gorillas’ gentleness and intelligence, and their loyalty to family and friends.  They had no knowledge that gorillas are critically endangered by poaching and habitat loss.  It is different now, and the gorillas’ lives have been much changed for the better as a result of the dissemination of that knowledge, along with the determination to help their plight that the movie inspired in many future researchers and conservationists.

A few years ago I was a speaker at a self-help group.  I could have talked about almost anything, but I brought up the story of my friendship with those two white-sided dolphins and then the relationship I have with Tennerin.  The room was rapt with attention.  I called for questions and instead received enchanting, heartfelt answers. An old man raised his hand and told of his special, secret friendship with a crow who shared his breakfast each morning on his apartment balcony.  He had tears in his eyes by the time he had finished his story.  More people spoke up, telling about their dogs or their cats, or their awe-inspiring encounters with wild creatures.

As the stories came, the power of the feelings in that room swept through all of us.  It shifted from a simple speech into a cathartic event. None of the adults had been able to tell these stories before, for fear they might be thought of as childish or foolish.  They were afraid, in many cases, that they would be told their pet was psychologically merely a substitute for a human child.

This last judgment is particularly vexing to me.  I have to agree with one of my favorite authors, the nature writer Sy Montgomery, who said in her book, The Good, Good Pig: The Extraordinary Life of Christopher Hogwood: (which would make a fine movie, by the way)

“These psychologists have identified a group of physical traits, such as the flat face and big eyes of pug dogs, that they call “baby releasers” and claim the sight of these activate a torrent of misplaced maternal feelings toward animals.  This suggests that any friendship between a human and an animal is really just some kind of wiring mistake, a person’s thwarted yearning for a human infant—a simple-minded view, that in my opinion, insults mothers, diminishes animals, and underestimates the complexity of love.”

Love is a mysterious, multi-dimensional emotion, as ephemeral as a chimera, as strong as an ocean.  No one, old or young, human or animal, is untouched by it. Whatever love is, it has power over any story.  I hope that we will evolve in our views on the importance of our relationships with the animals we love, realizing that no matter what our age, they are amazing, inspiring and worthy of more cinematic expression for mature humans of every age.