BABE

Revisiting 'Babe' for this retrospective, this notion of Babe's "unprejudiced heart" made me think about James Gunn's wonderful reboot of 'Superman', and its conceit that to be a good person leading with kindness now seems like an act of radicalism. That isn't far from the effect of Babe on the Hoggett farm. There is an ecosystem very much in place on the farm, a hierarchy built on assumptions of the roles each animal must play. A number of these roles, particularly between the sheepdogs and the sheep, are built on antagonism and elitism, the assumption from each species that they are better than the other. Even Farmer Hoggett (the Oscar-nominated James Cromwell, TV's 'Succession') leads the farm in almost a state of apathy, allowing it to run as it always has. Leading with kindness isn't initially rejected in such a direct way it is in 'Superman', but it is something that has been mostly forgotten on the farm, and as with 'Superman', Babe acts as a catalyst for shifting towards collective kindness and understanding because he is an outsider. He has the ability to question why things must be the way they are, both for the farm and for himself. Why do the sheepdogs have to be mean to the sheep? Why can't Ferdinand the Duck be a rooster? Why can't Babe work with the Boss and help with the sheep? Why is his only destiny apparently to die and be eaten?

And here we have another feature of Miller's filmography (though this film is pointedly not directed by Miller but by his protege Chris Noonan, which we will get to) - the constant presence of death. As is the case on any farm, death is a given at every turn, whether that be natural, unnatural or, in the case of Fly losing her puppies, metaphorical. I'd suggest that this is actually integral to selling the Oscar-winning visual effects of the animals talking - it isn't how good the effects are, it's that the actions and motivations of all the animals are so decidedly animal, recognisably related to their species, and the matter-of-fact approach to mortality is a large part of that (as it was in Chris Sanders' 'The Wild Robot'). It is accepted that death is the inevitable end of all things, and that one's actions are simply biding time until it arrives. Part of Babe's rejection of his pre-ordained pig role is his rejection of death as the primary consideration, to just eat and get fat until it happens. Babe is a proponent of life because his determination is to live a life. It isn't just about embracing the life of a sheepdog, but any new experience or relationship that comes his way. His lack of prejudice does lead him to break the farm's social hierarchy in disruptive ways, but in turn, this leads him to find something new and distinctly his own within the farm ecosystem.

Babe is a beautifully crafted character, voiced rambunctiously by Christine Cavanaugh (TV's 'Rugrats') with open-hearted warmth and emotion, but the power of him as a character is the way he unlocks those around him. For Fly, it is offering her a way through her grief when the puppies are sold and finding a sense of who she is outside of the cycle of birth, rearing and adoption. For Rex (Hugo Weaving, 'The Lord of the Rings' trilogy), the patriarchal dog who initially rejects Babe's desire to be a sheepdog, it's finding a way through his anger and frustration at his disability, an anger that at times is subconsciously directed at himself. And for Farmer Hoggett, it is the shattering of his routine and, consequently, the withdrawn personality he has crafted for himself. The Hoggetts are an interesting pair - on one hand, they fulfil another expected stereotype of the moody farmer and his bubbly wife (Magda Szubanski, TV's 'Kath and Kim'), but on the other, there's a lovely complexity to their relationship, that her personality is there in some ways to compensate for his and, in a way, protect him. That's why Hoggett's obsession with training Babe unsettles her. It isn't only the humiliation they might suffer in the community, but perhaps more so the damage it will cause him when he fails. Much of the blossoming and emergence of Hoggett happens when his wife is away (as if he needs the extra space to grow), and this makes her reaction to his success all the more moving.

And of course, we have the moment when, in an effort to raise Babe's spirit, Hoggett sings and dances for him. It's such a breathtaking moment, so openly emotional and joyful, and in many ways is the lynchpin of the film. For Babe, it's the proof, at his lowest possible point, that this man really believes in him and that he'll be there with him until the end. For Hoggett, it's a needed gesture of love, where his shell cracks open and he reveals a passion in himself that he'd probably long forgotten. And for us, the audience, it's a moment of release, a burst of frivolity to make us smile and laugh and for our hearts to beat faster, preparing us for the miraculous final minutes of the film where all the pieces will come together so beautifully. It's sentimentality at its best, and this, for me, is the clearest reason why 'Babe' isn't a George Miller film, certainly not for where it falls in his filmography. Miller's cynicism is an important ingredient to 'Babe', but Noonan's optimism and sentimentality is the necessary balance to it, and what he crafts (with the help of the late legendary cinematographer Andrew Lesnie, 'The Lord of the Rings') is a lush romanticism, a pastoral idealism that places 'Babe' within the magic realism of Kenneth Grahame or Beatrix Potter or A.A. Milne. If Miller's career has proven anything, making a film for children isn't his strong suit, and so Noonan's delicate touch is necessary here.

It's important that 'Babe' is a family film, because what Babe offers is a pragmatic optimism for following your dreams. He isn't gifted with special abilities (though, increasingly, kindness is feeling more and more like a superpower), but with an inquisitiveness, an openness and a determination to learn. He isn't born a sheep-pig, he becomes a sheep-pig by practice, ingenuity and imagination. He isn't just Wilbur sitting in his pig pen while Charlotte weaves her articulate webs above him. Babe makes his own destiny. He works hard to get there, stumbles and falls and bleeds, loses friends and family along the way, but when the moment of triumph comes, it is through his actions (with maybe a little help from Rex and the sheep back on the farm).

And this is what makes that final minute so astounding, why it still makes me cry when I watch it. The cheering crowd are on their feet because they think they've seen a miracle, but we who have travelled with Babe on his journey know differently. We know how he got there, what it took and the satisfaction he can now feel in what he has achieved. And Farmer Hoggett knows it too. As Nigel Westlake's gorgeous score comes to its rousing finale and a beam of light falls on them, he looks down at the pig, beaming with pride, and in his simple way acknowledges everything this little creature has done to carve out his place in the world. He began as a piglet ripped away from its mother, found his footing in a new home and family, set a dream for himself and achieved it, proving he was greater than perhaps even he thought he could be.

'That'll do, pig. That'll do."

Now tell me that's a film that shouldn't have won the Oscar for Best Picture.