Horton Hear a Who (Seuss and the Dangers of Prophecy)

After the disaster that was the film adaptations of both How the Grinch Stole Christmas and Cat in the Hat, I decided to skip the recently made Horton Hears a Who animated film when it came to theaters. I just wasn't sure if I could see another example of my cherished childhood stories being translated into something "hip" and modern.

Thankfully, my local Blockbuster forced me to rethink my decision. Playing across one of the screens, used to sell Blu-Ray technology, I caught the very beginning of the film. And instantly, I was reminded of just how powerful of a story the Horton fable is, as is most of Seuss' work. What I hadn't realized as a child and didn't fully recognize until watching the animated variant as an adult is that at the core of the story is a call for brave prophecy and counter-culture action.

Much criticism and analysis has been offered to the Horton story as a post-WW2 allegory for the relationship between the United States and occupied Japan, presenting the United States as the protectors of a once proud, now humbled people. But more has to be read into this from an author of Seuss' background.

Seuss did a series of fairly incendiary political cartoons that depicted Japanese soldiers in the stereotypical racist style of the time. These cartoons have become something of an infamous portion of Seuss' career, showing the darker (and more human) of an otherwise beloved figure. It is not hard to see how Seuss' could have taken the situation seriously and personally; as a German-American who found the harsh actions of Hitler's fascism as an affront to humanity, he needed someone to post his anger and hatred on. Unable to demonize the Germans, like many other Germanic Americans, Seuss turned to the Japanese. Seuss once explained his relentless attack on the Japanese this way:

But right now, when the Japs are planting their hatchets in our skulls, it seems like a hell of a time for us to smile and warble: "Brothers!" It is a rather flabby battle cry. If we want to win, we’ve got to kill Japs?, whether it depresses John Haynes Holmes or not. We can get palsy-walsy afterward with those that are left.

So how is it that this man, who saw no difference between the Imperialist Japanese and Japanese-American immigrants, can get to the point to actually dedicate one of his books, one of his most beloved books, to a Japanese friend? Especially a story with the conviction that "A person's a person, no matter how small." That is a fairly unitarian message from someone who before adopted a rather "us versus them approach."

And even within the story, Seuss acknowledges that as simple as an idiom as this might seem, it has a dangerous ring to it. Horton's love and care of the Who's is not met with great acclaim. Rather, it is seen as an affront to the status quo, to the very stable nature of the jungle. The other members of the jungle are so shocked by the fact he can hear people on the tiniest speck (thanks to his relatively large ears, Horton can hear what others can't; this does the job standing in for the Bible's preferred symbol of vision), that they actually tie him up in ropes and throw him in a cage.

Being a prophet is dangerous. It is not just dangerous for the prophet, but for the society receiving the prophecy too. But as we see in the parallel story of the Who's reluctant to listen to their wise men (in the book and original Chuck Jones cartoon, Professor Whovee; in the more recent CGI cartoon, the Mayor of Whoville), that their reluctance to listen can make things far more dangerous. It is only by finally listening and raising their voices, every last one of them, are they saved at the last moment. Indeed, the danger (and sad commonness) of people not listening to their prophets is shown on both sides of the story. In one example, Whoville is almost destroyed by their sloth and inaction; in the other, Whoville is almost boiled to oblivion by fear and ignorance.

That latter example is probably the one that hit closest to home for Seuss.

The Day the Earth Stood Still

In 1951, the original version of The Day the Earth Stood Still served as a sort of message of the cultural climate of anxiety of the time. In the still fresh radioactive afterglow of a WW2 victory, America was both excited and worried about its new found place at the forefront of an increasingly smaller Earth. The film, considered even now a classic of the golden era of 50s science fiction filmmaking, reflected on the fears of atomic power, authoritarian rule and what seemed (and still seems) like a technological advancement gone out of control.

The film also had a sense of religious and spiritual importance to it, specifically around the figure of Klaatu, wise alien visitor who's visage looked remarkably human. Played with cool authority by Michael Rennie, Klaatu's Christ-status is firmly set in the final moments of the film, where he is resurrected, delivers a final if somewhat ambiguous charge to those that have gathered around his spaceship and then accends into the sky with Gort, his robot guardian. Screenwriter Edmund North admitted to the Christ-parellels in the Klaatu character, although he always depicted them as being subtle. In reality, they are a single part of a much larger statement.

In the contemporary remake, starring the much less charismatic but far more alien Keanu Reeves in Klaatu role, similar Biblical allusions abound. The central point of the film is, like its predeccesor, a group of extraterrestial authorities have been made nervous by the actions of humans on earth. However, unlike the first film, the concern is not for the other alien planets near Earth (atomic power in the hands of such a relatively underdeveloped race makes them anxious, even more so than our own anxieties,) but for the Earth itself. The sins of global warming and poor ecological planning and stewardship are used to prove that the people of the planet Earth are unworthy to live, threatening the precious gift they have been given. "If humans survive, Earth dies. If humans die, Earth survives," Klaatu explains coldly to a reasonably concerned Jennifer Connelly, standing in as the prime defense for the fate of humanity.

The religious implications and allusions are fairly apparent in the set-up, reminding most prominently of the twin Genesis stories of Noah's flood and Sodom and Gomorrah. (In a moment of cringe-worthy exposition, the Noah comparison is bluntly explained to the viewer.) An authority (or in this case, collection of authorities) from above decide that the inferior humans are so wicked in their desires that they no longer deserve to live. They must be cleansed away for the planet and all of its other life to thrive. This judgement may seem harsh and cold, but really, it is also an act of love. As Klaatu himself explains, he doesn't come to save or destroy humanity, but rather to save the Earth. As Agent Smith from the Matrix would say, humanity is a cancer that must be exercised from the body of the planet, or it will become choked and wither.

The turn comes in the realization by Klaatu and other members of his unnamed races finally realizing that humans, for all their dangerous, destructive personality flaws, are also capable of great things, as well as capable of change. The final proof for Klaatu is the love Connelly's character has for her dead husband's son. They have no genetic bond, yet she loves him like her own. Through her love, his pain and the bond they create, Klaatu is convinced that these are a people capable of great things. In the final moments of the film, he speaks the most magic of all magic words in sci-fi, "Klaatu barada nikto", releasing humanity in the last moment from ultimate judgment.

The end is left ambiguous, much like its inspiration, leaving the fate of the earth in the hands of the audience. We are given the choice: to succumb to the great dangers of our destructive spirit, or appeal to the power of our ability for change, reform and most importantly love, for our families and our planet. And while there is no rainbow provided by Klaatu as he leaves Earth, he does explain that the direction of where we go now is our decision, with free will and commission to do great or terrible things. It is a heavy and daunting order.