Roo's Heffalump Movie a Glorious Return to the Hundred-Acre Wood

On my twelfth birthday, I got a copy of the original Winnie-the-Pooh book, along with, if I recall right, a pair of Pooh bookends and a Pooh watch. Today I am twice that age and Pooh is still just as integral to my existence. I don’t think a birthday has passed between then and now in which Pooh hasn’t shown his friendly face in one form or another. Two days ago, it was a birthday card from my grandparents. Yesterday, it was a viewing of Pooh’s Heffalump Movie, courtesy of my best friend.

Although I was bound and determined to see both The Tigger Movie and Piglet’s Big Movie in the theater, I didn’t get there in time. So this was my first Winnie-the-Pooh movie-going experience, and it turned out to be an odd one. We were running a bit late, so I figured we’d miss a couple minutes. As it turned out, we walked into an entirely empty theater. “Hey, look, Erin!” Libbie shouted. “I rented a theater for your birthday!” The second we sat down the lights went out and the previews started. It gave me an eerie feeling of power. And this on opening day, if I’m not mistaken! While I think the venue, an out-of-the-way old theater on the east side of town, had something to do with it, I can’t help but think such a turn-out doesn’t bode well for the Silly Old Bear.

I find the title slightly off-putting, just for the reason that they’re following the pattern of naming a movie for its prominent character but apparently figure “Heffalump” doesn’t carry enough brand recognition. I think The Heffalump Movie or Roo’s Heffalump Movie would have been a better fit, and I just hate to think Disney thinks so little of our intelligence that we can’t figure out a movie is located in the Hundred-Acre Wood if it doesn’t feature one of the five most visible characters in the title.

Nonetheless, I enjoyed it. Carly Simon returned to the Wood after a successful involvement in Piglet’s Big Movie. While none of the songs are as memorable as The Wonderful Thing About Tiggers, I’m Just a Little Black Raincloud or the Pooh theme song, they work well in the movie: as an outlet for maternal affection, an anthem of budding friendship and a warning about the looming danger of Heffalumps reminiscent of Pooh’s eerie nightmare in Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day. I was also surprised – and pleased – to catch several wistful wisps of a pan flute – or was it a tin whistle? A wind instrument with a decidedly Celtic air about it.

The movie retains a more British feel to it than The New Adventures of Winnie-the-Pooh. It offers us several panoramic views of a drab yet glorious landscape, all rolling fields, babbling brooks and majestic forests with only the characters’ quiet homesteads and a wooden fence winding its way through the Wood to indicate the presence of its residents. (Where did the fence come from? I don’t recall its ever being there before. And how is it that Rabbit has been living practically next door to the Heffalumps all this time and we never knew it?) I feel like I’m stepping into the British countryside of Milne and Tolkien, purified by memory and imagination perhaps but just real enough that I can’t help but believe it exists and want to go there. (I’ll have my chance to see for myself, I guess, when I hop the pond to England this summer for six weeks. There’s no way I’m letting this trip slip by without a trip to Ashdown Forest.)

More than the setting, though, we have Lumpy, voiced by British then-5-year-old newcomer Kyle Sanger. I had read that he ad-libbed throughout the recording, in part because he had trouble remembering all the lines exactly, and they kept a lot of it because it was so cute. I couldn’t tell where this occurred most of the time, but there can be no denying that he is an adorable addition to the Pooh ensemble. His mother, when she finally appears, is the model of a doting British mum. These are the representatives of the dreaded race that lurks in the shadows of the foreboding trees that loom on the other side of the fence in Heffalump Hollow.

The movie is essentially a lesson in tolerance and stopping to get to know people before determining they are enemies. Just as the end of Pooh’s Grand Adventure revealed that all the frightening stops on their journey were only scary because of their state of mind, so Pooh’s Heffalump Movie assures our furry friends that these elephant-like creatures are nothing to fear. The paradigm shift occurs for Roo, who has captured Lumpy with the intention of bringing him home to proudly show his friends, when he realizes that Lumpy is just as afraid of Tigger, Piglet and Rabbit as they are of the Heffalumps. I’ve heard criticisms that the film tries too hard to be politically correct, but I just saw a sweet story with a couple of misunderstandings and a happy ending.

I had a hunch I was really going to like this movie in spite of my disappointment with Piglet’s Big Movie. This film is straightforward, with only a bit of self-referential narration at the beginning and end to frame the tale. I was confused to see David Ogden Stiers credited on imdb as the narrator. While he would make a fine narrator in the traditional Winnie the Pooh style, I am certain that it was Pooh himself who narrated this movie. An error on the website’s part? They did fail to mention Lumpy in the cast list altogether.

I thought the characters were much more themselves in this film. While Rabbit sternly telling Roo that he was too little to go Heffalump hunting with them, even though it was Roo who convinced them to do it in the first place, didn’t sit well with me, I guess I can accept it as a manifestation of Rabbit’s protective affection for the little marsupial. Rabbit is pretty crotchety in this movie, but that’s not unusual. Tigger is his typical bouncy self, Piglet as timid and Pooh as absent-minded as ever. But none of them are mean-spirited, as they seemed to be at times in Piglet’s Big Movie.

It’s odd for Kanga and Roo, two relatively minor characters in the Pooh canon – though admittedly Roo seems to be becoming more prominent lately – to carry a film, but I don’t mind. And while Eeyore’s presence in the film is negligible – “Why the heck was Eeyore in this movie?” Libbie asked – his bits of screen time, appearing just when everyone has nearly forgotten about him, are amusing. Relegated to the role of beast of burden, he is forced to carry the most bizarre assortment of equipment imaginable. I didn’t think that much stuff could be found among the houses of the Hundred Acre Wood’s inhabitants. I would think that Lumpy’s acquaintance with Roo would please Eeyore; it must be rather dismal to be the only one you know who walks on all fours.

Owl and Gopher are entirely absent from the film, but we don’t particularly miss them. It did seem odd to let an entire movie pass without even a mention of Christopher Robin. I guess the script-writers wanted our friends to solve this problem on their own. The trouble with all Pooh stories is that the Hundred Acre Wood is so akin to Heaven that no real peril can touch it. Atmospheric conditions sometimes threaten and visions of vile creatures may haunt the dreams of timid Piglet and hunny-hoarding Pooh, but the truth is that no bad thing of lasting consequence occurs here. I can’t say I was too surprised when, for the third movie running, the climax involved one of the characters dangling from a tree over a precipice. But it still managed to be endearing, with the heroic effort by the enemy camp a la The Russians are Coming. Of course, by this time the forest-dwellers on both sides of the fence have come to realize that they have nothing to fear from one another.

This is not an exciting movie, and most 24-year-olds would probably find themselves a bit bored by it as my friend did. Instead, I was infused with the warm feeling that must accompany Pooh when he lets a glob of golden hunny slide down his throat. The delightful slide show of further adventures with Lumpy, including an overdue introduction to Christopher Robin and a nod to Pooh’s long-ago tenure halfway through Rabbit’s front door, is the perfect finishing touch on a movie that succeeded beautifully in whisking this now-24-year-old “back to the days of Pooh.” Somehow I don’t think she ever really left.

Windy Poplars No Avonlea, But a Pretty Nice Stop on the Way Back

Before I began to read Anne of Windy Poplars, I had seen it described as a book consisting entirely of Anne’s correspondence with Gilbert. I thought that sounded interesting, certainly a change from the previous novels. But as I began to read, I found it wasn’t a change that I liked. Anne is a wonderful character, but I much prefer Montgomery as a narrator, offering her impassive observations of Anne and all those with whom she comes into contact. After 30 pages flowing from Anne’s pen, I was wondering whether I would be able to endure an entire book written in this fashion, complete with all sorts of rather awkward interjections of “darling,” “dearest,” beloved,” and all those other words that I wonder if people actually use, even when addressing their fiance. They don’t seem to fit Anne somehow and strike me as an unnatural affectation. But I suppose old chums fall into different manners of address after they’ve become engaged.

It was with relief that I observed, shortly thereafter, that this epistolary style was not sustained throughout the entire book. As soon as I fell comfortably back into Montgomery’s familiar narration, I began to enjoy the book much more and didn’t mind the lapses back into letters that continued throughout the remainder of the novel, but never more for 40 pages at a time. I even managed to avoid being too disappointed that Avonlea virtually vanishes in Anne of Windy Poplars, resurfacing only twice in order to show its transformative powers over a bitter young woman and a lonesome little girl of Anne’s acquaintance. Of the old Avonlea crowd, the only one we really see at all is Mrs. Lynde, mostly indirectly through Anne’s correspondence. Marilla and Diana are essentially absent. Oddly enough, Gilbert is too, though Anne is forever writing to him. But we are never actually in his presence at any point in the book. Anne of the Island dealt largely with Anne’s dissatisfaction in putting childhood behind her and accepting the shifting of her cherished relationships. Here, Anne seems to have come to terms with this new stage of her life. This is her real entrance into adulthood, and it seems appropriate that she is surrounded by strangers and forced to work things out on her own.

Of course, no one can stay a stranger to Anne for long. She meets all sorts of interesting new characters in Summerside, where she is to be principal for three years. The town, dominated by the proud Pringle family, initially seems turned against her, but one by one Anne charms even the most ardent of her enemies, quickly becoming one of Summerside’s most beloved figures. Montgomery’s tendency towards weaving a series of vignettes is especially pronounced here, as she often entangles Anne in the affairs of a group of characters who become the book’s focus for two or three chapters and then are never heard from again. Evidently all this was a bit much for the director of the film Anne of Avonlea, who combined the threads of five such stories in order to create one of the film’s major subplots concerning young Emmeline Harris, her crusty grandmother and timid aunt, and the distant father who would fall in love with Anne. I wondered how that wisp of a romance would work in this novel, as Anne and Gilbert are already engaged, and found it interesting that in fact that entire aspect had been invented, though there were in it threads of Anne’s earlier courtship with Roy at Redmond University.

Anne’s greatest personal challenge in the book is resolved in the first half of her first year. The remainder recalls Anne of Avonlea, as she spends the bulk of her time trying to help her new neighbors out of their troubles. While many characters are only a part of the novel briefly, several play an important role throughout. Most prominent of these are Aunt Chatty and Aunt Kate, the elderly widowed sisters who own Windy Poplars, which Anne makes her home for three years; Rebecca Dew, their eccentric and contrary but ultimately loveable housekeeper; Dusty Miller, the affectionate cat frequently maligned by Rebecca Dew; and Elizabeth, the neglected, elf-like young girl for whom Anne becomes a much-needed confidante. I found them much more engaging than Anne’s Redmond housemates and grew quite fond of them by the end of the book. The dozens of characters introduced in vignettes throughout the novel are similarly well-defined and the incidents in which they are involved amuse and enthrall.

In the end, I liked Anne of Windy Poplars quite a bit more than I thought I would after those first few chapters. It seems rather isolated amongst the books, just Anne on her own without her friends in Avonlea or the old familiar landscape to back her up. I suspect it is also the most epistolary of the novels, which is just as well. For a book so set apart from the beloved Green Gables, it is ultimately quite satisfactory.

Gilbert Fills Gap Left By Green Gables

When I went to college, I attended the school where my dad has taught for years and continued to live at home with my family. Thus, the transition was not very difficult. In Anne of the Island, Anne Shirley faces a much more jarring collegiate experience. After seven years in Avonlea, she has taken Marilla up on her suggestion to go to Redmond College, for which she gave up a scholarship in favor of helping Marilla maintain Green Gables after her brother Matthew’s death. Though she welcomes the opportunity to distinguish herself in such a scholarly environment, Anne feels terribly lonesome in the beginning with no familiar faces except Priscilla, a friend from Queen’s College, and fellow Avonleaers Gilbert and Charlie, both of whom have begun acting very strangely around her. The acquaintance of boisterous Philippa helps Anne to feel more accepted at Redmond, especially since Philippa’s social connections grant Anne and Priscilla admittance into clubs and activities that would otherwise be off-limits to them.

As college progresses, Anne and her friends rent a charming establishment called Patty’s Place that soon becomes almost as home-like as Green Gables. Its cozy interior is augmented by three cats, one of whom adores Anne exclusively in spite of her early attempts to be rid of him. Feline affections cause Anne far less trouble than those of humans as Anne finds herself the recipient of proposals by five different suitors during her time in college. Of these, three are patently ridiculous as far as Anne is concerned, but the other two give her pause. One of these is the ever-faithful Gilbert, whom Anne views as the greatest of chums but nothing like her romantic ideal. The other is Royal Gardner, a dashing young man whose grand entrance halfway through the novel is reminiscent of Willoughby’s in Sense and Sensibility. His flowery poetry, bouquets of roses and melancholy good looks are exactly what Anne has dreamed of all her life. But is she willing to break her cherished friend’s heart in favor of the beau who swept her off her feet?

Anne’s isn’t the only romance to grace the pages of this novel. Philippa, so used to being fawned over by scores of gentleman and torn between two particularly earnest lads back home, finds herself falling hard for the unlikeliest of candidates, and Anne lands herself in the home of a middle-aged woman whose courtship has been 25 years running. Diana, Anne’s childhood bosom friend, marries pudgy Fred after a long engagement. Even Davy, the young twin in Marilla’s keeping, announces intentions to marry a classmate. Romance is everywhere, and Anne can’t seem to escape it.

Gilbert haunts the pages of this novel as he did in Anne of Green Gables. Anne constantly finds herself thinking about him in spite of her determination not to. His presence is never forgotten as it occasionally was in Anne of Avonlea, where he occupied that pleasant role of friend with none of the complications of the feud that preceded it or the attempted courtship that followed it. He allows for what is perhaps the most interesting part of the novel, Anne’s awakening awareness of what real romance is all about.

If Gilbert’s increased presence is satisfying, the infrequency of Avonlea’s appearances in the novel is disappointing – though not unexpected. When Anne does go back, she is met with changes. During the first summer back, her old friend Ruby Gillis appears pale and sickly and Anne must eventually reconcile herself to the fact that Ruby is dying. As Ruby herself finally comes to grips with this notion, Anne strives to comfort her with some of the most theological passages in the series thus far. Though it is a happier occasion, Diana’s wedding is a source of great sadness for Anne as it signals a chapter of childhood that has closed behind her. There is still some room for some good old-fashioned mishaps, most notably Anne winning the prize to a contest she disapproves of after Diana alters and enters her story. When her school breaks allow it, the trips back to Avonlea are refreshing for the reader, but they don’t occur often enough and when they do they are tinged with a feeling of gloomy emptiness.

I was once again struck by how little correlation there was between this book and the film. From what I understand, the movie Anne of Avonlea draws from the second, third and fourth books, but Redmond College does not factor into the film at all. The city of Kingsport in which the college is located is retained, but it serves an entirely different purpose. The only events that make it into the movie occur in Green Gables, and some dialogue, such as Mr. Harrison’s criticism to Anne regarding her writing style and Davy’s announcement that Gilbert is dying, is transferred to other characters. The end of the book, however, is the end of the film, so I can only surmise that the bulk of the film is drawn from Anne of Windy Poplars.

I enjoyed Anne of the Island, particularly the resolution of the long-lingering question of what would happen between Anne and Gilbert. But as cozy as Patty’s place was, I missed Green Gables, and I didn’t find any new characters in Redmond that were nearly as interesting as those left behind in Avonlea. I especially missed Marilla and Mrs. Lynde, not to mention the landscape that is like a character (or several) in itself. I have a hunch that the further Anne moves into adulthood, the less enthralling I will find her adventures. But I still give this book five stars, if only because of Gilbert.

Older and Wiser, but Always Lovable Anne

I recently decided to take it upon myself to read the eight books written by L. M. Montgomery concerning Anne Shirley. From what I recalled, I had only ever read the first two books. Now that I’ve finished the second volume, I can’t be sure I ever read even that one. Certain parts of it rang familiar, but I suspect that is only because of the second film and the series Road to Avonlea, which I caught on TV a couple times. Most of it seemed new to me, and I was struck by just how far the film Anne of Avonlea strayed from the books after such a close adaptation of the original. Precious little from this book made it into the film, and the most memorable event – Anne accidentally selling her neighbor’s cow – is transferred to the established Mrs. Lynde, omitting altogether the new character this incident introduced.

Quite a few new characters spring up in this second installment. The aforementioned Mr. Harrison moves into the farm near Green Gables and seems at first to be quite the crusty old curmudgeon, but Anne soon finds that this eccentric, outspoken fellow is a kindred spirit after all. She spends a good deal of time with him throughout the novel discussing local politics, and at one point she is indirectly responsible for bringing about a major change in his life. Another new face is Miss Lavendar Lewis, a middle-aged woman who lives in a charming stone cottage with her young helper, devoted Charlotta the Fourth. Anne comes upon her home by accident and discovers a woman whose imagination is just as fertile as hers and whose eyes are just as young, if her hair is a bit grayer. Her interaction with Miss Lewis eventually leads to what might be called the book’s climax.

Anne has grown into a sparkling young woman, still romantic and imaginative but not quite so disaster-prone. Lest there be too much calm in the previously sedate Green Gables, Montgomery introduces twins Dora and Davy, orphans of one of Marilla’s cousins. They are six years old when Marilla takes them in, and while Dora is so prim and dutiful as to be nearly invisible, Davy more than makes up for her good behavior. He is always getting into trouble and asking dozens of frustrating questions, but his affectionate nature keeps Anne and Marilla from being too aggravated with him; in fact, they confide in one another that they both prefer Davy over Dora in spite of his rambunctious nature. In contrast to Davy is a wisp of a boy named Paul Irving. Though Anne tries not to choose favorites among her pupils, she can’t help loving Paul most of all. Wise and sensitive, Paul also possesses a most extraordinary imagination and is wholeheartedly devoted to his teacher.

There is a wise quote from The Hobbit which could be applied to Anne of Avonlea and explain the director’s reasoning for using so little of it in his sequel. “Now, it is a strange thing, but things that are good to have and days that are good to spend are soon told about, and not much to listen to.” The second installment of the Anne books is very pleasant but a bit dull in comparison with Anne of Green Gables. I still enjoyed it a great deal, but I missed Anne’s ridiculous propensity for getting into scrapes and the melodrama of her early adolescence. She remains a passionate person, but already she is far more sensible and tactful than the 11-year-old waif who first talked Matthew’s ear off on her first ride to Green Gables. As a result, the most outrageous incidents generally are initiated by Davy, not Anne.

Anne of Green Gables was full of childhood milestones, all the more thrilling because the first 11 years of Anne’s life were so desolate. By Anne of Avonlea she has grown so used to her new life that it seems it has always been hers, and the bulk of the book is two years in which not too much happens to Anne. She is a part of a village improvement committee, she helps raise Davy and Dora, she serves as schoolteacher for the Avonlea children. But these are ongoing tasks and for the most part, monumental events occur to others in the community, though Anne’s vicarious nature allows her to experience them with as much vigor as the participants themselves.

Marilla and Mrs. Lynde remain characters of great importance. Both seem to have softened up a bit since Anne’s arrival; Marilla is less stern and Mrs. Lynde less judgmental. They were the first major characters Anne met in the first book, aside from the dearly departed Matthew, who I missed in this novel. I suspect the book would have played out far differently, however, had Matthew still been alive. The climactic event in Anne of Avonlea is joyful and half the book in the making, but it cannot match the emotional impact of Matthew’s death in the first book. Still, it sets us up nicely for the next book and the hints of romance that will begin to creep into Anne’s life. We see too little of Gilbert once again. Though he may actually appear more in Anne of Avonlea, his presence doesn’t pervade the book as it does in Anne of Green Gables, where Anne’s refusal to forgive him is a dark blight on her otherwise magnanimous soul. I almost forgot about poor ol’ Gil until the end of the book, whose last page was once again occupied with a change in the relationship between Gilbert and Anne.

Looking through my books, I discovered that I have all the Anne books through the sixth, so it will be a while before I must invest in the last two in order to see this feisty heroine’s adventures through to Montgomery’s conclusion. Though I probably will not love any quite as much as the first, the lush language and engaging characters will keep me coming back six more times.

Hide Yourself from Hokey Horror

I rarely post negative reviews here on Epinions, so I figured I was about due to come up with a movie I can genuinely say deserves a low rating. I caught Hide and Seek on TV one night a while back just as it was starting. If there's one kind of movie I hate, it's horror, but there was nothing else on and my parents and I decided to leave it on for the time being. We wound up watching the whole thing, though I nearly gave up on it several times. Besides being grotesque, it is one of the most absurd movies I've ever seen.

The film stars the usually gorgeous Daryl Hannah as Anne, a most unfortunate woman who spends most of the film looking - and feeling - half-dead and utterly wretched. This is with good reason, as she is kidnapped at the beginning of the film by Frank (Vincent Gallo), a quiet surgeon with a sadistic streak and a fierce fear-driven loyalty to his wife Helen (Jennifer Tilly). Having rendered Helen unable to give birth after a botched abortion, Frank selects Anne to be an unwilling surrogate, intending to keep her chained in the basement until she gives birth.

Though at first Frank seems the movie's villain, it becomes increasingly clear that Helen is the one to watch out for. When she flies at Frank in a rage and bashes him to death with a baseball bat, it seems like a fortunate turn of events for Anne, but in reality Helen is much harder to handle alone than when Frank is there to keep her somewhat grounded.

Watching the film, I was quickly reminded of Misery, though I think that movie was done much better. Hide and Seek is uncomfortable to watch, focusing as it does on one extremely bedraggled woman desperately fighting to stay alive and another who is nothing short of psychopathic. Moreover, she seems to be indestructible and conveniently surrounded by people who are either to stupid or too scared to put an end to her reign of terror. As her hysteria increases and she pursues Anne out of her home to a desolate truck stop and a hospital, the scenarios become more and more absurd. It is Tilly who carries the film, leaving the audience aghast at her freakish antics.

This does not strike me as the type of movie that would have appeared in theaters. It plays like a low-grade made-for-TV movie, complete with gaping plot holes, especially toward the end. While not as patently ludicrous as Critters 3, it is just over-the-top enough that it's never really scary. Seek this movie out for Tilly's psychotic performance, then hide it away where no one will ever see it.