As an upper-class celibate from Denmark, graced with Meryl Streep's delicate traits, Karen never strikes as a person who'd feel like fish in water in African land. But it's a credit to "Out of Africa"'s intelligence not to let us jump to such hasty conclusions.
It actually is in Denmark where Karen's life meets with a social dead-end: she has education, looks but lacks money and reputation. She finds a husband who can provide both in Baron Bror Blixen. This is not about love in the Latin-romantic (and cinematic) definition, but an opportune juxtaposition of friendship and convenience, marking Karen's rebirth as a Baroness with a meaning to her life: a farm in Africa and what more adequate setting for a rebirth than the cradle of humankind?
Indeed, Africa is this magical place where all civilized instincts are inhibited, a return to the basics for any human being. No one owns, everything belongs to time, and men are only passing through while only Nature lasts. But Africa's privilege also made it the perfect target for European imperialism. And when Karen arrives in 1913 in British East Africa, aboard that long train penetrating savanna's immensity, we understand that Africa's virginity has already been soiled.
But Pollack doesn't fall into the Manichean trap; there are basically two types of Europeans: the colonizers who believe their duty is to 'tame' Natives as parts of the wilderness, and those who embrace Africa as a free land, for new opportunities. Karen's marriage set her free from both social conveniences and her husband who cares as less about his marriage as the farm, preferring the thrills of safari. His only involvement will consist on turning the project into a coffee plantation, without even consulting Karen.
"Out of Africa" chronicles Karen's attempts to get accustomed with Africa and lead the farm on her own. Her motto is to own something and make the best of it on a personal and collective level. The film's recurring line is "I had a farm in Africa", which emphasizes her pride over owning a parcel of a sacred territory carrying all the mysteries of humanities. But this pride is less driven by selfishness than a strong desire to translate her experience into something meaningful. This desire takes a new significance after the syphilis episode that annihilated her chances to have children.
To fulfill her maternal instincts, Karen treats the Kikiyu tribe like her own children by healing them, instructing them, offering a part of their land that she owns, a so revealing paradox of how strangers to the meaning of 'owning' Natives are. Karen's attitude isn't 'patronizing' or reflecting the colon's zealous trials to civilize the wild out of Christian goodness, deep in her heart, she tries to inculcate enough strength to resist the invasion. But this is the African paradox; its vulnerability hides a much greater force that shall not be corrupted, not according to Denys anyway.
This is where Denys' character is significant; he's a handsome and free-spirited big-game hunter who emulated Masai's faithfulness to human nature and Nature itself. Inevitably, any of his encounters with Karen leads to a debate over European presence in Africa. Why should she turn the Kikuyus into British? What makes them ignorant? Both make valid points as if the African exoticness and civilized instincts, putting Karen and Denys in the crossroads of nature and civilization, translated the eternal conflict into an endearing romance, asking the same question: what will triumph?
A romantic conflict indeed Denys is like a roaming lion that Karen tries to keep close to her, they both embrace Nature and ironically, it's with a civilized engine, a perfect incarnation of the miracle of science, that they can contemplate Nature's magnificence. John Barry's mesmerizing score, so simple and magic reaches an emotional highlight during the unforgettable biplane sequence, conveying a drunkenness of freedom, unique and ephemeral, before civilized matters end up burning the wings.
Karen's odyssey meets with misfortune when the plantation burn leaving her bankrupt. Meanwhile, Bror's extramarital affairs lead to a friendly divorce, all in all, making Karen's life in Africa difficult, except if Denys accepted to marry her. After having lost everything, the only possession of Denys' heart would mean deliverance for her, but this is the only thing he wouldn't allow, being obliged by a piece of paper. The greatest romances are the doomed one and never has this dilemma been so intellectually challenging.
Yet like a lousy deus ex machine, something we call a twist of fate in real life, Denys dies in a crash, permanently sealing Karen's fate. Ironically, losing all the ties is the last stroke that forge her personality and decide her to write about Africa, learning how to lose to understand the land where nothing is to be possessed, the land of Masais: nomads, hunters and adventurers, which she ultimately became.
And that return to basics oddly applied to Sydney Pollack on a cinematic level. In 1982, he made "Tootsie", an old-fashioned comedy à la Sturges and Capra, tailor-made for the 80's but he lost to "Gandhi". Three years later, he'd win the Best Picture Oscar with his epic movie, whose escapism also borrows from Hollywood's Golden Age. Yes, there is something of Scarlett O'Hara in lioness-hearted Meryl Streep, something of Rhett in the detached and charismatic Redford, something of "Gone With the Wind" in that love-and-hate triangle formed with Klaus Maria Banderer.
And yes, there is the thoughtful portrayal of African people, illuminated by the performance of the dignified, dedicated and gentlemanly Malick Bowens as Karen's servant and butler. His relationship with Karen highlights this extraordinary bond that can grow with the passing of time between two different persons. And the last exchange between them seals forever this sacred link with Africa, when he finally calls her by name, this is Karen's indestructible root in Africa's soul.
For, despite the title, Karen will never be 'out of Africa'.
It actually is in Denmark where Karen's life meets with a social dead-end: she has education, looks but lacks money and reputation. She finds a husband who can provide both in Baron Bror Blixen. This is not about love in the Latin-romantic (and cinematic) definition, but an opportune juxtaposition of friendship and convenience, marking Karen's rebirth as a Baroness with a meaning to her life: a farm in Africa and what more adequate setting for a rebirth than the cradle of humankind?
Indeed, Africa is this magical place where all civilized instincts are inhibited, a return to the basics for any human being. No one owns, everything belongs to time, and men are only passing through while only Nature lasts. But Africa's privilege also made it the perfect target for European imperialism. And when Karen arrives in 1913 in British East Africa, aboard that long train penetrating savanna's immensity, we understand that Africa's virginity has already been soiled.
But Pollack doesn't fall into the Manichean trap; there are basically two types of Europeans: the colonizers who believe their duty is to 'tame' Natives as parts of the wilderness, and those who embrace Africa as a free land, for new opportunities. Karen's marriage set her free from both social conveniences and her husband who cares as less about his marriage as the farm, preferring the thrills of safari. His only involvement will consist on turning the project into a coffee plantation, without even consulting Karen.
"Out of Africa" chronicles Karen's attempts to get accustomed with Africa and lead the farm on her own. Her motto is to own something and make the best of it on a personal and collective level. The film's recurring line is "I had a farm in Africa", which emphasizes her pride over owning a parcel of a sacred territory carrying all the mysteries of humanities. But this pride is less driven by selfishness than a strong desire to translate her experience into something meaningful. This desire takes a new significance after the syphilis episode that annihilated her chances to have children.
To fulfill her maternal instincts, Karen treats the Kikiyu tribe like her own children by healing them, instructing them, offering a part of their land that she owns, a so revealing paradox of how strangers to the meaning of 'owning' Natives are. Karen's attitude isn't 'patronizing' or reflecting the colon's zealous trials to civilize the wild out of Christian goodness, deep in her heart, she tries to inculcate enough strength to resist the invasion. But this is the African paradox; its vulnerability hides a much greater force that shall not be corrupted, not according to Denys anyway.
This is where Denys' character is significant; he's a handsome and free-spirited big-game hunter who emulated Masai's faithfulness to human nature and Nature itself. Inevitably, any of his encounters with Karen leads to a debate over European presence in Africa. Why should she turn the Kikuyus into British? What makes them ignorant? Both make valid points as if the African exoticness and civilized instincts, putting Karen and Denys in the crossroads of nature and civilization, translated the eternal conflict into an endearing romance, asking the same question: what will triumph?
A romantic conflict indeed Denys is like a roaming lion that Karen tries to keep close to her, they both embrace Nature and ironically, it's with a civilized engine, a perfect incarnation of the miracle of science, that they can contemplate Nature's magnificence. John Barry's mesmerizing score, so simple and magic reaches an emotional highlight during the unforgettable biplane sequence, conveying a drunkenness of freedom, unique and ephemeral, before civilized matters end up burning the wings.
Karen's odyssey meets with misfortune when the plantation burn leaving her bankrupt. Meanwhile, Bror's extramarital affairs lead to a friendly divorce, all in all, making Karen's life in Africa difficult, except if Denys accepted to marry her. After having lost everything, the only possession of Denys' heart would mean deliverance for her, but this is the only thing he wouldn't allow, being obliged by a piece of paper. The greatest romances are the doomed one and never has this dilemma been so intellectually challenging.
Yet like a lousy deus ex machine, something we call a twist of fate in real life, Denys dies in a crash, permanently sealing Karen's fate. Ironically, losing all the ties is the last stroke that forge her personality and decide her to write about Africa, learning how to lose to understand the land where nothing is to be possessed, the land of Masais: nomads, hunters and adventurers, which she ultimately became.
And that return to basics oddly applied to Sydney Pollack on a cinematic level. In 1982, he made "Tootsie", an old-fashioned comedy à la Sturges and Capra, tailor-made for the 80's but he lost to "Gandhi". Three years later, he'd win the Best Picture Oscar with his epic movie, whose escapism also borrows from Hollywood's Golden Age. Yes, there is something of Scarlett O'Hara in lioness-hearted Meryl Streep, something of Rhett in the detached and charismatic Redford, something of "Gone With the Wind" in that love-and-hate triangle formed with Klaus Maria Banderer.
And yes, there is the thoughtful portrayal of African people, illuminated by the performance of the dignified, dedicated and gentlemanly Malick Bowens as Karen's servant and butler. His relationship with Karen highlights this extraordinary bond that can grow with the passing of time between two different persons. And the last exchange between them seals forever this sacred link with Africa, when he finally calls her by name, this is Karen's indestructible root in Africa's soul.
For, despite the title, Karen will never be 'out of Africa'.