Savages

Arguably one of the most bizarre films Merchant-Ivory ever produced, "Savages" is definitely a product of its times (the late '60s/early '70s), yet it still holds certain charms. James Ivory may have come up with the original idea, but it's screenwriters Michael O'Donoghue and George Swift Trow who made the most of the concept, offering up examples of all types of physical and verbal savagery.

The film's a little slow at the start -- after the opening credits it runs like a silent black and white film (with title cards and everything) for some time -- but stick around long enough and it becomes sepia-toned and finally full color as the Mud People take on the outward appearances of high society while still retaining their primitive identities.

Recommended for fans of O'Donoghue's acid wit and anyone who isn't afraid of satire.

Director James Ivory's worst film, an absurd allegory which hopes to juxtapose the different (and yet oh-so-similar) worlds of a primitive culture of half-naked forest savages and a decadent group of sexually-ambiguous high society turnips of the 1920s. The screenplay by George Swift Trow and (of all people) Michael O'Donoghue, from Ivory's story, gives us stock characterizations without any personalities of interest, and the amateurish look of the film--part "Cold Comfort Farm", part D.W. Griffith--is confounding and ridiculous. Social satire needs more than just 'uncommon' common ground, it needs spirit and a dash of wit. Ivory clumps through this menagerie with very little grace or humor, however he is helped by Joe Raposo's (suitably) bizarre music. A curio, nothing more. * from ****

Having read that this unusual James Ivory-Ismail Merchant production was a pseudo-Bunuelian concoction, I thought I’d acquire it for my long-planned Luis Bunuel tribute on the 25th anniversary of his death (which occurred on 29th July 1983). Now that I’ve watched it, apart from the obvious thematic allusions to ROBINSON CRUSOE (1952), I’d say that it’s also a half-baked inversion of THE EXTERMINATING ANGEL (1962) which, apart from the occasional amusing passage, fails to entertain or enlighten the viewer, much less do justice to its intriguing subject matter.

For being such a radical stylistic departure for them (even at that early a stage in their careers) and the film’s own satirical intent, it might not be as surprising to learn that Merchant-Ivory here engaged two young writers from the “National Lampoon” school – George Swift Trow and Michael O’Donoghue (later also of “Saturday Night Live”) – to pen the script, not to mention the title track! The latter plays over an animated dramatis personae which introduces us to an archetypal assortment of upper-class citizens complete with clichéd monikers typical of Silent cinema (a bully, a capitalist, a decadent, the limping man, etc.). After this lengthy prelude, a curiously-drawn intertitle “The Mud People” plunges us in a black-and-white world of a group of scavenging prehistoric people. We follow their rituals for the next ten minutes or so (including the yearly ‘death by stoning’ of their queen’s consort) until a flying croquet ball unaccountably lands in front of them. The repercussions of this mundane event are, for a little time at least, as life-altering as the monolith had been to the apes in Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY (1968) or the Coke bottle would be to Jamies Uys’ African bushmen in THE GODS MUST BE CRAZY (1980)…but again, the end result hardly proves itself as enthralling as the former or as funny as the latter.

Admittedly, the interesting ensemble casting of Susan Blakely, Thayer David, Salome Jens, Martin Kove, Sam Waterston and Kathleen Widdoes does work rather admirably where – as inexplicable as the central conceit of THE EXTERMINATING ANGEL itself – we see these brutes coming upon an abandoned mansion in the woods which they start exploring and, seemingly soon after, change into the socialite-types seen in that prologue with the requisite immaculate English diction! The screen also reverts back to color at this point setting the stage for a long society party segment with its typical show of the malaises of the civilized world in this ‘modern’ age (greed, lust, power, jealousy, etc.). Within the film’s context, I guess, the fact that one (or perhaps two) of the guests seem to be in drag for no good reason can be excused but I have to say I was startled to see included towards the end a steamy lesbian encounter in a car which, unsurprisingly, heralds the start of the savages’ regression to their original uninhibited state.

Blimey. Well, I saw this years ago, and it's just one of those things that stays with you. Why? Well, here's why: Pythonesque premise meets Merchant-Ivory production values and stylings; weird silent-movie captions; weirdly (and very British) perversity; fresh-as-cress approach and general feeling of a bunch of hugely talented students having a right old lark; mud-caked savages who are, of course, nothing of the sort when you hold them up to typical toff behaviour in civilised society. Like David Lynch's Mulholland Drive, you don't want to be watching this (as I was) when you're at home with 'flu: it does tend to make you think you're iller than you are, and maybe hallucinated something weird happening on TV. Altogether brilliant. A one-off.

The primitive tribal mud people are startled by a croquet ball that emerges from an unexplored region of their forest. The set out to find the origin of this alien sphere, and happen upon a lavish(and abandoned)estate. Bewildered by this strange place and all the things within it, they quickly "evolve", assuming the roles of bourgeois aristocrats. They do, however, retain many of their ritualistic customs and sexual behaviors, and, in one of the film's more inclement moments, respond to death with a discomposed, uneasy silence. These scenes might lead the viewer to query just how far removed people really are from their autochthon ancestry.

SAVAGES is about as surreal and strange as movies come, but not at all lacking in depth, substance, or humor(chiefly in a subtly saturnine, cynical vein). Certainly not suited to all tastes, but strongly recommended to those with a slant toward wry absurdist cinema.

7.5/10