Perri (1957)

 

Walt Disney Studios made a series of acclaimed documentaries entitled True-Life Adventures that purported to show nature at its most intimate and realistic. Perri, which follows a year in the life of a female pine squirrel, was designated instead as a “True-Life Fantasy,” the only such film to be so identified by Disney’s filmmakers. Perhaps they wished to acknowledge that they were creating a narrative from what they had captured, a narrative that perhaps required some severe manipulation of the imagery in order to follow the outline of the source material, a 1938 children’s book. The film ascribes thoughts and intentions to the animals depicted, something that some of the other True-Life films had also done, but not to the extent found in Perri. Doing so raises some troubling questions. Are animals always truly aware of the threats that they face? Are they self-conscious? Are squirrels capable of the kinds of emotions we recognize in humans, such as love? Do animals dream or fantasize? The film, perhaps following the novel’s direction, doesn’t truly answer these questions, but then again, the intended audience (most likely, younger children) would be more inclined to accept such possibilities without question anyway. We follow Perri’s life from when she is a baby and learns to venture out into the world beyond her home within a tree. She fumbles a few times along the way, of course, but she learns. It’s very early in the film that one of the most dominant themes emerges: the constant threats of danger and violence and death in nature. A marten is clearly meant to be the movie’s primary villain, especially given its relentless pursuit of squirrels, particularly Perri. But the forest presents many dangers: foxes, raccoons, wildcats, weasels. The quest for food seems endless, but the threats are not limited to merely other animals. A forest fire and a harsh winter storm also endanger Perri and the other forest dwellers. As you can see, the film is not meant to be merely entertaining. We manage to learn a few bits of interesting information along the way. For example, male squirrels behave like bachelors. They do not live with their families after mating even though they tend to stay nearby just in case danger presents itself. Porro, a young male squirrel with whom Perri finds love (if such a thing is possible), mirrors the behavior of Perri’s father, who lived near his family and even sacrificed himself to protect them. Despite its efforts at realism, though, Perri just has too many moments that force adult viewers to wonder about what they’ve just seen. For example, when Perri first sees a flying squirrel in action, does she truly dream of flying the way that they do? Do squirrels really dream, as Perri does during an extended sequence involving being hunted by owls in a snowstorm that features disappearing rabbits? The presentation of this sequence is the most obviously artificial moment of the film, but it makes you wonder just how much more the filmmakers have toyed with the events on screen. To be honest, I’m not even sure that it’s the same squirrel portraying Perri throughout the film. The coloring seems somewhat inconsistent. Still, you have to acknowledge and appreciate the amount of time the filmmakers spent acquiring the footage that resulted in this movie. The cinematography is exquisite, reflecting the changing seasons with beautiful shots of the scenery, and it is accompanied by a lovely musical score and a series of gentle songs that reflect the transition of those seasons.

Oscar Nomination: Best Musical Scoring