I've been reading Adam Hochschild's wonderful book, To End All Wars, and just got to the part where famed explorer Ernest Shackleton washes up on the shores of  a Norwegian whaling station after a year and a half of wandering across the Antarctic and sailing in a small boat by dead reckoning more than 800 miles from Elephant Island. Because the expedition began around the same time the Great War started, he wanted to know when and how it ended, only to learn that it was still going on. "Millions are dead and the world has gone mad,"  he was told, instantly rendering the particular type of heroism demonstrated by Shackleton and his crew obsolete.

It reminded me that I had seen a documentary some years ago about the voyage of the Endurance that contained film footage taken by a member of the expedition, Australian photographer, Frank Hurley. So I decided to track it down and watch it again.

I couldn't remember whether I'd seen the The Endurance: Shackleton’s Legendary Antarctic Expedition (2001), starring the voice of Liam Neeson, or some accidental channel-surfed episode of Nova, Shackleton's Voyage of Endurance (1999). I found the latter on YouTube and watched it in little pieces and realized the film I was remembering was, in fact, South, the silent film made by Frank Hurley himself and the one I'd stumbled across on the shelves of the late, great Video Vault, the only store of its kind in my area. Because it was the only store of its kind in my area, it was choked to death by exorbitant rent and (yes, I know) Netflix.

The photographs and stills from the expedition are breathtaking. I present some of them here in this slideshow.

The story is heroic, terrifying, deeply moving, and true. If you want to know what happened to all those dogs, please watch the playlist of (what I think is) the Nova documentary on YouTube.

I broke down and put South on my Netflix queue. But I feel sick about it.

Night of the Hunter is one of those movies I always think of as being in color and am always wrong and am always surprised that I'm wrong. Because I recall scenes — Robert Mitchum riding a horse, singing that creepy tune in the dawn light across the horizon from Billy Chapin's terrified vantage point; the children floating up river in the skiff — in rich, Michael Powelly colors. And yet, not in color afterall, which makes it, to me, a fantastic movie. In fact, I am also repeatedly fooled in this way by Powell's The Edge of the World, which is not that great, but some shots are so lovely it makes you want to cry.

There are obviously things wrong with it:  the cloying little girl; having Lillian Gish address the camera when no one else does; the frequent beating over the head with metaphors from nature; not ending when it should — when Billy Chapin breaks down under the burden he's carried and Gish carries him off; and, frankly, a good portion of the soundtrack. But so much of it is beautiful, terrifying, and dreamlike.

I watched it last night on my computer (thanks Netflix) somewhere over Denver in an airplane. We'd just passed over an impressive line of active thunderstorms and it only seemed fitting to watch an equally beautiful and terrifying picture during what I was certain were my last moments on earth. Robert Mitchum turns in one of the best representations of evil ever and Shelley Winters isn't all that bad. Yes, she winds up under water — AGAIN — but that was kind of her "thing."

Perhaps one reason the film didn't do so well when it came out is because the trailer (thanks again, Netflix) promises it to be about the wantonness of females and retribution of many types, when it turns out to be about how very hard it is to be bound to people by blood and the awesome responsibility people have (or take on) when they decide to form meaningful relationships with  one another — as a parent, a wife, a sibling, or a trusted friend.

As meddling friend Icey Spoon, Evelyn Varden reflects on the unhappy necessity of her conjugal responsibilities by explaining that she "just lies there and thinks about my canning." Her husband is standing Right Over There, by the way, shrugging. Clearly they're companionable. By the way, Evelyn Varden had a similar role in the more flawed, less chilling, but ever entertaining film, The Bad Seed.

Varden's character goes nuts (and drunk, apparently) with the guilt of not protecting her friend, Shelley Winters, from the evil Robert Mitchum and the possible destruction of her children. See? Giving crappy advice to a friend has consequences!   

And speaking of sibling attachments, my sister and I apparently share a seasonal inclination to watch The Night of the Hunter.  Here is an exchange from a blog post to my Daily Earworm that took place almost exactly this time last year.

The original question was whether my sister recalled us having the 45 of the Close Encounters theme, which she answered "nah" and included the excellent aside, "Owl. Bunny. AAAGH."  Of course I know Shelley Winters didn't drown in this film, but she was dead and under water, and that's all that counts.