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September 23, 2002, 9:00 a.m.
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The Four Feathers.

By S. T. Karnick

n the wake of September 11 and in the midst of the war against terrorism, a remake of a classic British film set at the empire's zenith might seem to have special significance and audience interest. But the fact that the 1939 version of The Four Feathers — by far the most fondly remembered of the more than half-a-dozen film adaptations of the story — lauded duty, honor, loyalty, and other such passé notions makes it a tough sell for contemporary audiences.



  

But you should see it. Zoltan Korda's 1939 version (produced by Alexander Korda) was cheeky and self-confident but also sober and philosophical, just the thing for a Britain rapidly divesting itself of its empire and gearing up to fight for its life in a war with Nazi Germany. The current version, directed by Shekhar Kapur (best known for the 1998 film Elizabeth, starring Cate Blanchett), is much more somber and measured, with an epic, David Lean style including plenty of pomp, grandeur, beauty, and grimness. The characters' emotional lives and personal motivations are given more detailed attention than in Korda's quite excellent version. It's the perfect approach for a bruised but still determined people such as today's America.

The story follows the same general lines as Korda's film, as both were based on the novel by A. E. W. Mason. Harry Faversham, a young British officer in the Royal Cumbrians (played by Heath Ledger in an Oscar-worthy performance), resigns his commission just as his regiment is about to be shipped out to the Sudan. Three of his best friends and his fiancé, Ethne (in a drab performance by Kate Hudson), each send him a white feather indicating, of course, their disdain for his cowardice. Ethne's stings him the most, as would be expected, and when the reported casualties mount, Harry disappears from sight.

The film is careful to give both sides of the argument a fair hearing. Harry explains to Ethne, "It [a military career] isn't what I wanted for us. You're all that matters now." Ethne succinctly replies, "It's not just about us." Shortly thereafter, Harry is in the Sudan in disguise, accompanying the British army as a native laborer, in search of the three former friends who sent him feathers. In the course of his adventures there, he is rescued by Abou (compellingly portrayed by Djimon Hounsou), a muscular Sudanese who has served as a scout for the British and takes it upon himself to look after Harry.

The politics of the situation in the Sudan are given only the briefest gloss, though we do get the message that the Muslim warrior-leader, the Mahdi, is a very bad character indeed, quite as cruel and violent as any of our present-day enemies. As in the Korda version, the war is really just a backdrop for the real story, Harry's attempt to redeem himself. The current version does not take a direct stand either for or against colonialism, though one cannot help but sympathize with the protagonist and hence his country's cause. In fact, its position is quite clear even though not made explicit — which helps explain some of the criticism it has received. For example, Kapur uncritically shows a vicar praying, "The victories you provide us over the heathen are the victories of the nobler soul of man." The scene does not explicitly endorse this particular sentiment, but subsequent events prove the vicar's assessment reasonably accurate.

In pursuit of self-redemption, Harry rescues each of the three former friends, as well as his pal Jack, the only one to stand by him earlier. In making penance for his earlier cowardice, Harry endures hunger, thirst, desert heat, battles, beatings, and like privations, and barely escapes with one of his ex-friends when a British regiment is routed in a harrowing scene reminiscent of the excellent 1964 British film Zulu. In these sequences, the costs of empire are shown far more vividly than in Korda's version, as might be expected in the present era of open conflict with Islamic terrorists.

In the end, of course, Harry amply proves his courage, and although Ethne, believing him dead, becomes engaged to Jack (who was blinded during the massacre from which Harry rescued him), we never feel inclined to give up hope that Harry will end up with her. We never do find out what happens in the Sudan, but that seems of little importance.*

That is because the film has in the meantime brought up a much more important subject. Harry's rescuer and guardian, Abou, might seem to be a politically correct element, like Morgan Freeman's character in the Kevin Costner film Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, but he is in fact quite the contrary. For Abou is central to what seems to be the true mission of the film, a strong interest in another sort of redemption. Shortly after Abou rescues him, Harry asks, "Why are you protecting me?" Abou replies, "God has put you in my way. I had no other choice."

Harry’s reply ironically acknowledges God’s sovereignty while offering Abou an opportunity to step away from his mission: “An Englishman and a Christian—you must have done something terrible to offend Him.” Abou, however, is too devout even to consider turning down a God-given duty—which is, of course, exactly what Harry did at the beginning of the film.

This is merely the beginning of Harry's spiritual pilgrimage. Unlike Korda's film, Kapur's is full of Christian imagery, allusions, and statements. Throughout his travails in the desert, the bearded, increasingly bedraggled Harry evokes countless artistic representations of Jesus traveling the Seven Stations of the Cross. He deliberately places himself in the enemy's hands, endures beatings without complaint, and even "dies" and is resurrected.

Abou, a Muslim, also serves ironically as a Christ figure, as Harry's rescuer, or savior, of course, but also more explicitly when Harry sends him to warn a British regiment that it is about to be massacred. The commander disbelieves Abou and, thinking him a spy sent by the Mahdi to deceive them, has him beaten. Harry later tells the commander, "I sent a man to warn you, and you had him tortured for his pains." Before leaving on their mission, Abou prostrates himself in the desert in prayer. When Harry and Abou eventually part company, Harry asks, "What are you going to do now?" Abou replies, "Whatever God has chosen for me."

In the end, Harry repeats Abou's statement about God having put someone in his way, in another, much lighter context but with clear reverence. It is a rather rare and surprising thing to see a film that is as fair toward the British Empire as this one is. To have all that in a film with this one's respect for religious faith is a precious thing indeed.


*For a compelling film treatment of that aspect of the story, see the 1966 historical spectacle Khartoum, starring Charlton Heston and Laurence Olivier.

— S. T. Karnick, editor in chief of American Outlook magazine, published by the Hudson Institute.

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