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Could there be a progressive mole in the feature–length animation industry?

Last week, I sat down with my niece and together we watched Chicken Run, the barnyard parable from the people who brought us Wallace & Gromit. Consider the following exchange between Edwina, the radical chicken, and her not–so–forward–thinking friend:

Edwina: So, laying eggs all your life, then getting plucked and roasted is good enough for you?

NSFTF: It’s a living.

Edwina: The problem is the fences aren’t just round the farm, they’re up here in your heads. There is a better place out there. Somewhere beyond that hill. It has wide-open spaces and lots of trees. And grass. Can you imagine that? Cool, green grass.

NSFTF: Who feeds us?

Edwina: We feed ourselves.

NSFTF: Where’s the farm?

Edwina: There is no farm.

NSFTF: Where does the farmer live?

Edwina: There is no farmer.

NSFTF: Is he on holiday?

Edwina: He isn’t anywhere. Don’t you get it? There’s no egg count, no farmers, no dogs and coops and keys, and no fences!

NSFTF: In all my life, I’ve never heard such a fantastic load of tripe!

What an idea! Taking responsibility for one’s own destiny. Along the way, Rocky the Rooster (played by Mel Gibson) miraculously appears with the promise of salvation from Mrs. Tweedy’s diabolical pie–making machine. All the chickens place their hopes on Rocky, who assures them he can teach them to fly. But Rocky the Rooster gets demystified as it slowly dawns on Edwina that the Rooster doesn’t really have any special ability and the chickens are never going to literally fly. But that doesn’t mean salvation is impossible – just different. When the chickens learn to cooperate, they discover that they can, indeed, fly the coop; it only requires a little imagination.

A more recent animated film touches on other progressive themes, but instead of chickens, we have penguins to deliver the message. Since time immemorial, the great Guin has smiled upon his tuxedoed children, giving them all the fish they need and giving them the gift of singing. All the important events of life – birth, coming of age, mating – are accompanied by song. All the penguins enjoy this musical gift – all of them, that is, except Mumble, whose best efforts at singing come out as glass–breaking screeches that leave the other penguins pressing their wings to their ears. Instead, Mumble has the dubious gift of Happy Feet. He, too, feels the music – but differently. Naturally, the orthodox elder penguins see this as blasphemy and try to suppress Mumble’s rhythmic compulsions. They banish Mumble into the Antarctic equivalent of the diaspora, and in his wanderings, he discovers a wider world and an order of things far more complicated than the elder penguins could ever have imagined. He realizes that no amount of fervent devotion to the great Guin will ever make a difference to their most pressing problem – a dwindling supply of fish. There are powerful creatures beyond the Guin’s control who sail the oceans in great vessels and gobble up all the fish.

Mumble turns out to be something of a progressive ecumenist who doesn’t mind learning from others who are different. During his travels, he discovers that there are different kinds of penguins (who happen to be short and latin) who couldn’t care less about singing, but seem to manage things no problem. It is these other penguins who teach him a couple important lessons: first, singing or no singing, Mumble is fine just as he is, and second, they help him learn about the fish–gobbling humans. It turns out these humans have a thing for dancing penguins. Alone, Mumble’s happy feet don’t have much influence, but when he returns home and teaches all the other penguins his slick moves, then they get some attention. By rejecting the old beliefs, by working together and looking to the future, they make a difference.

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