The Snow Goose

Having been brought up just a few minutes from the Essex sea marshes, this film has always had a special poignancy for me.

I first saw The Snow Goose during the Christmas holidays in 1971 and it has remained the most moving film I have ever been privileged enough to watch. Everything about the film is as near perfection as it is possible to get. Richard Harris gives a masterful performance as Philip Rhayader and the young and incredibly beautiful (then and now) Jenny Agutter matches him scene for scene with a maturity beyond her years. I have a lump in my throat every time I watch it and I watch it at least once a month.

It is criminal that this film is not commercially available for generations yet unborn to revere as do all those who were fortunate enough to see it. If ever a film deserved a ten plus, this is it.

Postscript: In October 2007, almost 36 years after first watching it, I had the most memorable moment of my film viewing career when I saw a perfect version of The Snow Goose at the BFI, London, while sitting next to my friend Jenny Agutter. Tears were running down my face at the end.

What a relief to find I'm not the only person on whom 'The Snow Goose' had such deep and lasting impact. It's quite simply one of the best films ever made and the importance of its availability cannot be overestimated. This is one of the few movies which can, literally, change lives, and yet seems to be the one thing unavailable. While I esteem Mr. Gallico immensely for writing such a magnificent story and screenplay (who wouldn't?), one can't help but question why he would have written the screenplay did he not wish a filmed version to be created for posterity. To the marrow of my bones I believe the re-releasing of his movie would be honouring Gallico's memory. This is honestly a sort of crusade as far as I'm concerned. It goes far beyond just wanting a copy for myself (though, of course, I do!). 'The Snow Goose' should be a gift to the world: like air, water, beauty, and grace, available to all. Perhaps if enough of us join together and petition Hallmark, the Beeb, Gallico's estate, etc., we could save this splendid creature. Individuals joining together over something worth a struggle can have remarkable results ... Just an update to let everyone know I've started a facebook group, 'Fans of The Snow Goose,' hope you'll give it a look. It's really boring now because I'm actually the only member! Sorry!

This 1971 Hallmark Hall of Fame television production was a priceless gift to those viewers lucky enough to have seen it. The program was run at least twice in the '70s but is now "lost" to the public --- no VHS, no DVD. What a shame. The values that Gallico's story presents are timeless, and Richard Harris and Jenny Agutter were never better. And wrenching? I remember well a room full of adults, men and women alike, sobbing at the conclusion of the program. Folks, THAT"S what a great film is all about.

Other Hallmark productions can be seen on VHS or DVD, but not "The Snow Goose." If only Hallmark would "care enough to send the very best" back to us.

I read the short story in middle school and saw the TV version as an undergraduate. I will never forget either. Now that the late, great Richard Harris has recently passed away, won't someone look into offering this on DVD or Video? I look for it each and every Christmas on PBS. Some thirty years later, it still haunts me. It will break your heart, but is so worthy of attention.I look forward to comments from other baby boomers who remember the PBS movie. A little gem of a film.

A simple, beautifully-filmed story about a reclusive, hunchbacked lighthouse keeper (Richard Harris) and an orphaned girl (Jenny Agutter, whose beauty shines through her masculine clothing) brought together by an injured snow goose. The story is played out against the backdrop of early Second World War England, but the primary story is about these two outcasts and how their friendship, and their care for the goose, allows them to overcome the pain the rest of the world has inflicted on them. Tragic, unforgettable, yet never mawkish, and never a false note.