Bomba, the Jungle Boy (1949)
These movies were very popular, it might be important to understand why. Of course there’s Johnny Sheffield himself, fetching in leopardskin (I found a stock photo of him with chest hair, but in this film he’s shaved clean; fascinating what a fetish we make of that). Sheffield was 19 when he first impersonated Bomba, after playing ‘Boy’ with great success in the Tarzan movies, and audiences were glad to have him back. It’s the same fantasy, and a very appealing one. The notion is very much of the Rousseau variety; and related to environmentalism, and also Adam and Eve. If Barthes was around, he would tell us that is what the Tarzan movies mean, and why they are so comforting. The big bad hunters are always appearing, and they are white — but they are not us, we — the audience — are good white people, who identify with Bomba — kind to the natives, and of course ‘at one’ with the animal kingdom. These films speak to us of the inherent innocence of humans in their natural habitat, which means The Garden of Eden. When Peggy Ann Garner (Bomba’s Jane) first tries on her leopard-skin dress (as IMDB notes, Sheffield hands her a raw animal hide and a minute later she returns modelling a flattering and tasteful chemise; she’s obviously handy with a needle) and he inquires if she likes the jungle, and she says “I like it too much.” There’s not even a hint of sex between them; we are to assume that Bomba — being a virile young man with recently shaved chest hair —is too innocent to lust after her, and probably has something going on with the monkeys (is this the origin of AIDS?). At any rate, before finding her a leopard-skin, Bomba generously offers her his own. She demurs in shy fashion, but what she might have said is: “It wouldn’t be right, Bomba, for you to stand in front of me, naked — in all your 19 year old post-adolescent splendour — I know you do not understand, because of your jungle innocence, what that might lead to, so let’s just say it would be best if you kept your loincloth on.” When she dons her leopardskin apparell, the monkeys naturally (oh those monkeys!) steal her clothes and try them on; this makes Peggy Ann Garner and Johnny laugh. (Monkeys also entertained Tarzan and his family, and that seems to be what they were put on earth for, to keep us in an endless state of bliss.) But it’s important to remember that this vision of the world is a fantasy, just as environmentalism is a fantasy, because ever since mankind graduated from hunting and gathering (and the verb ‘graduated’ is not meant to be a value judgement) we have wished to tame the world and put it to use. I am not suggesting that environmentalism is not a good idea, or that it’s best we should continue raping the planet, only that (how to tell you this?) putting your plastic bottles in a separate bin from your paper boxes may not solve the problem right away (oh, and don’t forget black plastic does not go with other plastics, it goes in the garbage). Environmentalism is partially based on the romantic fiction that the animal world is kinder than the human world, and that anyone who lives in a so-called ‘primitive’ way is also kind and unspoiled. This is not true, and is a kind of reverse racism, valorising tribal people, because we are all tribal, and that’s not necessarily a good thing. To this movie’s credit not all the monkeys are laughing — some are shrieking — and there is a moment where a pride of lions ravages some poor hyena. But there must be the final moment when Peggy Ann Garner and her father (Onslow Stevens) watch Bomba walk off into the jungle, and Onslow remarks that it is odd, “him turning down all we have to offer — for a home in the hills, and flock of wild animals.” We nod and smile, thinking how uncivilised we so-called civilised people are, and how much kinder and more innocent we would be, if, like Bomba we were always in some sort of natural habitat, left to our natural ways. But if you have been reading these blogs (I’m sure you haven’t) then you would know that I’m not convinced that most people are by nature, inherently good. There are, sadly, some flaws in Rousseau’s ironclad notion of the benign ‘general will’: one of them involves the family. The family is not something that Bomba knows. When Peggy Ann speaks of family, he says ‘What-family?’ (which I must translate because it is in Bomba’s mangled English). What Bomba means to say is ‘What is family?’ (you’re welcome). So ‘family’ -- as a concept -- is unknown to Bomba. And similarly, when she says that Onslow Stevens is her father, Bomba asks “ What-father?” She explains this concept to him ingeniously, saying “I’m his — cub” and then the light dawns for Bomba. But does it for us? Because when she tells him what her father is up to Bomba says “Father bad’ which again is terribly distorted English, but hopefully you’ve got the picture. The problem is that fathers can be bad, and it’s something imperfect about the notion of humans being without vice in a state of nature. Then when Bomba has understood the concept of father, he tells her about ‘Cody’ who raised him, and consequently died, but who lived alone in the Jungle and didn’t like people. Peggy Ann calls Cody a ‘misanthrope’ —which Bomba doesn’t understand. I'll explain for her. ‘Well, Bomba, a misanthrope is someone who hates people, so the man who raised you hated people, and he probably did so for good reason. I hate people too, especially this morning, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be around them, and have sex with them occasionally (which I haven’t done in awhile, which is probably why I’m so cranky about them). But you know, Bomba, you can’t love people by idealising them, it’s best to realize that they, like you, are fools, and that all we can do with other humans is try and help them when they inevitably drop their requisite arrogance and discover they’re own fallibility, which also means having a sense of humour about themselves, because nothing is to be taken too seriously, as nothing is real, especially your hopes and dreams. And everything changes Bomba, and all you can ask of beauty is that you get to admire it, and screw it, now and then. And that’s today’s quite imperfect lesson — in an imperfect world — my dear, dear Bomba.’
