Watership Down
- Details
- Written by T. Rake
As a young child we had a pet rabbit named Bigwig. He didn’t sport his namesake’s trademark hair do, but he did have a broken incisor that made him look pretty badass nonetheless. For that and other reasons, this film has always held a personal significance outside of whatever cultural consciousness viewers and readers of this tale might share. I mean, he was real and bit me at least once.
This 1978 adaptation of Adams’ 1972 novel uses hare-on-hare allegory alongside a sprinkling of Joseph Campbell-style mythology to explore human struggles in the social framework of rabbits. Coming out of the battle of social models in the 50s-60s (Communism vs. Democracy vs. Socialism, etc.) that spilled out into smaller experiments well in to the 70s (The Source Family, Gaskin’s Farm, Jim Jones’ Temple of the People, Amon Düül, etc), the larger battle for control eventually stagnated and would acquiesce to Multinational Corporatism slowly. That’s not to say these battles are unique to this era, just providing context for our story.
As the story opens, a small rabbit called “Fiver” has a psychedelic and strangely apocalyptic vision foreseeing the destruction of the warren, the labyrinth of tunnels where rabbits live. “The field. The field is covered in blood,” groans Fiver. Some inhabitants heed his warning and decide to beat feet for greener pastures.
Here we see our would-be cult of rabbits following a vision and setting off for parts unknown to start a society of their own design (not unlike when ‘St. Steven’ led a caravan of hippies around the U.S.). The camera pans out and reveals a sign for a housing project to be built imminently: we begin to understand the implications of Fiver’s visions. The home they loved is being destroyed by progress, by industry and by corporations suggesting that whatever system you create there might be conflicts with other models. A few years prior, The Kinks documented these tendencies on the LP The Village Green Preservation Society and similar sentiments and battles can be found across rural England wherever the local Council Planning Committee has expansion in mind (just ask Arthur Dent).
Not sure why, but whenever I watch films and TV I fixate on the story that is not implicitly the plot: the allegory, the metaphysical elements, why writers choose a number for an address, etc. The Masonic tradition of embedding symbols to provide meaning to those who know how to look, or more aptly, see. Here the allegorical elements are largely the underpinnings of class conflicts and how they drive and motivate individuals. There are vast worlds to survey underneath the grassy façade of the dialogue and typical plot developments. They manifest in the character’s interactions.
The “Hollywood” star of this animated film is Bigwig, who might be cast by Steve Mc Queen or Clint Eastwood. Fiver on the other hand is a runt (think of a young Anthony Perkins or Roddy McDowall) who hears voices and provides the direction and purpose for our wayfarers. Bigwig is clever and bold enough to protect his fellow travelers on this journey and Fiver’s visions help see other dangers. The two make interesting foils—both supplying each other something they do not possess without a cumbersome co-dependency.
They finally reach their new home, Watership Down, which really is a large hill in England and not remotely nautical in any respect—a nuance that was lost on me as a child—they realize that there are no does. So, back they go on a new quest. There is a nearby warren, Efrafa, which is run by a grumbling leader General Woundwart who runs the warren as a police state. Bigwig is sent in to infiltrate the organization, given his military background, and meets Hyzenthlay an independent doe looking for a better life. He convinces her to escape and leads her and a small group of does back to Watership Down so they can begin to do what rabbits do best.
The role of the doe throughout the narrative is submissive and secondary and that has drawn criticism from some quarters. I’m not sure why Adams omits does from the herd that leaves Sandleford warren but I find it to be more of a plot device to add complexities to the tale so its not just a “Goldilocks” story.
The pacing of the film is exquisite and the sense of beauty the animators convey in each frame rare in animated films. They take the time to unpack the story bite by bite. Even the scenes where blood is spilling across the field or the vision sequences, great care is taken to retain this sense of beauty. This is no small feat given the amount of death in the film.
The soundtrack, however, is somewhat bucolic, pastoral and a bit saccharine at times but seldom overbearing. However, some viewers might not be ready for Art Garfunkel’s performance of the theme song “Bright Eyes.” It is largely inoffensive, but nettlesome in that it seems a bit too precious. I immediately wanted to hear Robert Wyatt instead, but until I get a job selecting talent for films…
In the end, I think what resonates strongest are the many functional models and each has strengths and drawbacks. It really doesn’t come down to whatever model we choose, just that we choose to build our social constructs and not allow others to choose for us. Our pet rabbit Bigwig didn’t ask to be in a cage all by himself. Even though we fed him lettuce and dutifully refilled his water bottle, it’s not a life he chose and that’s maybe that’s why he bit me.