Simba: the King of the Beasts (Martin & Osa Johnson, 1928)

 

Martin and Osa Johnson’s silent 1928 African-made Simba: the King of the Beasts remains fascinating viewing, at times poignant in the abundance of life before the camera (will anyone ever photograph rhinos in such quantities again?), amusingly quaint in such shots as the vintage cars struggling to stay upright on rocky terrain or to make it across a river; it’s at its best in simply observing elephants or lions in their naturally sustainable (if eternally parched and brutal) ecosystem. Martin Johnson is a largely reticent figure, certainly in contrast to his often gun-brandishing wife: she brings down several magnificent animals in the course of the film (the deaths are all presented here as them-or-her necessities, but who knows…), while also finding time in the final moments to bake a celebratory apple pie. The film sadly comes with much attitudinal baggage, ranging from a reductively anthropomorphic approach to the animals (variously described as among the happiest on earth, as being inveterate trouble-makers, as declaring “Wait for me,” etc. etc.- and of course the Johnsons are hardly cinema’s only offenders in this respect) to a relentlessly belittling attitude toward indigenous Africans (the very first shot of Osa shows her seeming to needlessly chide an over-burdened servant for dropping an item), labeled among other things as “half-savage,” or “half-civilized” (interesting notions, if they were at all interrogated); the film tells us there are more lions in a particular area “than any Black man” can count to, opines that an aging Queen is “no beauty,” and stupidly compares the local dress to that of the then fashionable flapper girls, just to give a few examples. Still, despite those not insignificant caveats, and notwithstanding the overly repetitive insistence on the mortal danger in which the Johnsons willingly placed themselves, the film easily earns one’s overall admiration.