The story centers around a warren of rabbits, a group of which decides to leave because one of their number, a timid, fragile runt named Fiver (Richard Briers), has a vision that convinces him that the warren is about to be destroyed by “something bad.” Led by Fiver’s brother Hazel (John Hurt), the rabbits leave their known life behind and head out into an uncertain future, where death lurks around every corner in the form of hungry rats, swooping birds of prey, vicious dogs, prowling cats, and, of course, humans, with their snares and heavy machinery. The prominence of death is established in a stylized prologue that presents us with the rabbits’ genesis mythology, which involves a sun god named Frith and a legendary rabbit named El-ahrairah who, like Adam and Eve, is both the sire of all rabbits and the cause of their pain and suffering (this prologue, which looks completely different from the rest of the film, is the only discernible contribution by animation veteran John Hubley, who was originally hired to direct the film but, depending on which account you read, was either fired by Rosen for lack of progress or died while still working on the film).

And there is much death and threat thereof along the way, both sudden (as when a rabbit is snatched by a bird) and protracted (a rabbit struggling after being caught in a snare is one of the film’s most powerful sequences). The rabbits also encounter several other warrens, including Efrafa, which is quickly revealed to be a despotic police state that is run by the grizzled, militaristic General Woundwort (Harry Andrews). Rosen allows for almost no softening of the film’s harder edges, and its vision of perpetual conflict is one of its most important and unnerving qualities. While peaceful existence is the ultimate goal, there is so much bloodshed and trauma along the way that any sense of resolution is tainted with the burden of what has been lost. This is not to say that Watership Down is despondent, but rather that it is realistic and knowing; it acknowledges the violence of the world while proffering hope for at least temporary peace. Like the book, Rosen also leavens the grimness of the story with bits of humor, much of which comes from an acerbic gull named Kehaar (Zero Mostel) who would be the rabbits’ mortal enemy, but because of the kindness they show to him when he is wounded, becomes one of their greatest allies.

Conveyed with hand-drawn animation against watercolor backgrounds that vary from the highly detailed to the nearly abstract, the action in Watership Down may appear somewhat crude to modern eyes accustomed to the three-dimensional photorealism of computer-animated films; however, a close inspection reveals a commitment to art and craft that many supposedly “better looking” movies lack. The attention to detail in the rabbits’ movements and behaviors makes for a completely convincing experience; the fidelity to the realities of animal behavior merges, rather than conflicts, with the rabbits’ sense of humanity, which is both noble and flawed. The main characters are indelibly drawn individuals, which can be partially attributed to the superb roster of British actors Rosen recruited to provide the voices, including John Hurt, Ralph Richardson, and Denholm Elliott.

Rosen, who produced, directed, and adapted Adams’s 400-page novel into the streamlined 92-minute film, had previously co-produced only two films, one of which was Ken Russell’s film of D.H. Lawrence’s Women in Love (1969). Watership Down was very much a labor of love for him, and it probably never could have happened without someone who believed so fervently in the material. By any stretch of the economic imagination, Watership Down was going to be tough sell, given its release at a time when animation was not a particularly popular medium (even Disney’s animation department was struggling mightily at the time) and in a culture in which the animation automatically signaled “children.” Children certainly understand Watership Down, if primarily on an emotional rather than a political level, and it leaves its mark. There are violent images from the film—Fiver’s vision of a field running with blood, Bigwig (Michael Graham Cox) caught in a snare and almost dying, the horrifying, surrealistic depiction of the warren’s destruction, and the final, bloodied battle between Bigwig and General Woundwort—that stuck with me for decades and that I don’t expect to ever lose. It is a grim film, no doubt, but never nihilistic. The darkness is palpable, but so is the light.

Copyright ©2015 James Kendrick

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