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The Black Robe: who are the nobel savages?

63.26.11.208

Posted by petew on November 2, 1999 at 09:28:37

In Reply to: Death, taxes and... Australian movies. The Black Robe: French? Australian? Never mind. It is great regadless. posted by Victor Khomenko on November 1, 1999 at 11:51:33:

Loved it. Is this on DVD? (no, I still haven't endured the ordeal of going to the American Appliance store to get a DVD player and satalite dish--I just can't bring myself to that "death by one thousand cuts" torture of mass-market retail).

Isn't it nice to see "indians" in a realistic setting, behaving as one might given the circumstances of their tenuous hold on life in a savage ,unforgiving land? When I see pictures like "Polka with Porkupines" and Keven Kostmore's depiction of Rousseau's "nobel savage", I have to wonder, why then, didn't the "english" adopt the ways of the plains indians (as Costner does in this movie--you know what would have saved the film?--a laugh track!)? Their lives were so free and easy and clean and friendly and nice. There were no sick, no poor, no suffering of any kind...
I've been up the far NE in the dead of winter--and "Black Robe" didn't tell the half of it. And I've been out on the great plains in the height of summer--not on the interstate--that's bullshit, I mean out on the grasslands out of sight of man's works--alone and on foot, when those deamon super-cells come screaming in from every direction out of a clear blue sky--and there's no way you'ld want to be in a buffalo-skin teepee out on the endless flat prarie with those tornadoes bearing down on you, hidden behind a solid wall of ice falling from 5 miles and driven by winds that seem to come up at you from out of the shaking earth. That's when you know why the indians say everyting is alive--when you hear the earth screaming along with you--your soul abandoned in the most absolute terror--an inconceivable fear. Just being out on the great plains, alone, on a perfectly clear and fine day is enough to make any sane man stark raving mad. And the winters in the NE are colder and crueler than anywhere on the planet--it's some evil combination of the wet winds off the North Atlantic clashing the wicked gales off the polar cap with the jet stream close overhead stirring a malevolent brew that lingers long after the will to live is broken--no wonder here that the Hurons had the well-deserved reputation as the meanist most heartless savages that ever walked the earth. I get a warm feeling just thinking about what fun it would be to torment a captive in that icy, grey frozen hell. You think that's sick? Spend a winter there alone in a safe, warm cabin well-stocked with food and drink and a satalite dish, and if you haven't cut your own throat by Groundhog Day I'll ask you again.

Movies about indians don't make any sense at all unless you take the time to tell the tale of the extreme harshness of living nearly naked to all the elements and starving 9 months out of 12-- the wild beasts both human and not praying on every unguarded moment. It's a great story. I wish there were more "Black Robes" to tell it.

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