The sun peeked through the trees, and birds chirped softly against
the whistling wind as the last of the long, August days came to a close. My
chest rose and fell heavily, as my eyes slowly but surely fogged up with warm
and stinging tears. My voice trembled, my hands shook, and I stared right at my
best friend, feeling exactly the same way, as we attempted to find the words to
say goodbye for the first time in our lives. We would see each other again, and
talk on the phone almost every day, but we still knew that this was the end of
a chapter in our lives. So, as I mustered the strength, I told him he was my
best friend in life, I loved him like a brother, and I’d miss him, and he said
the same; the beautiful sadness of course was that we felt such grief then due
to equally positive, if not more powerful, experiences in our past. It was this
ability to love one another, even simply as friends, that so much raw emotion
could arise, as well as so much good being done for one another. Looking back,
I realize that this is the case in so many other scenarios, not the least of
which is Jamie Uys’s The Gods Must Be Crazy. Whether it was Steyn, Kate,
Mpudi, or even just Xi with all living things, they provided irrefutable evidence
in their words and actions that love is not only a driving force for goodness,
but a powerful enemy to evil, and through its strength one can find a life
truly worth living.
It’s almost too glaringly obvious to say that there are good guys
and bad guys in this movie, but the more interesting fact to explore is the way
in which the characters are depicted as members on polar ends of the spectrum.
The Kalahari Bushmen are characterized as being “pretty, dainty, small and
graceful” (Uys, 1:33). They know only peace and an unselfish love for most, if
not all, living things around them. They allow time for conversation, leisurely
activities, and even when they work, they do so both happily and cooperatively.
Additionally, when the Coke bottle falls to the earth and disrupts this contented
and fulfilling lifestyle, the Bushmen know enough, and more specifically love
one another enough, to openly discuss their issues with this “evil thing” and
decide to be rid of it. This purity they share, and the strength found within
it, is more than enough to combat the nefarious Coke bottle, and achieve their
goal of removing it from the earth. Alternatively, however, those without such
kind-hearted emotions come to less than positive outcomes.
Sam Boga, arguably the most blatant and dangerous antagonist of
the film, holds very little love in his heart, at least when viewed through the
perspective of how he treats those around him. Whether it be those who he
crosses paths with, the children he takes hostage, or even the very men working
for him, Sam Boga is consistently unhappy, shouting and barking orders in an
almost crazed sort of tone. His disregard for the lives of essentially everyone
other than himself leads to his ultimate downfall. In fact, it is because
of the love the other characters share for one another, even in a
general sense, that they are able to outwit Sam Boga. Kate’s devotion to
keeping her students safe as well as Steyn, Mpudi, and Xi’s need to save both
Kate and the students and their general trust in and care for each other allows
them to overcome the ferocity of Sam Boga and his criminal underlings. Even
relationships that are not perfect, such as Steyn and Kate, for instance, can
maintain a level of love which defeats the thought that isolation is key. I
would know.
My car came to a puttering halt, and as I unbuckled, and turned to
face my oldest friend, who had been my neighbor since birth, I felt my stomach
doing flips and swirls the likes of which would make a roller coaster seem like
a carousel. We stepped outside, the stars shining through a clear August sky,
and despite the warmth the night still provided, I could feel a bitter chill
with my every move. For the first time in our lives, he and I hugged and promised
we would see each other again soon. I told him he was my brother; not that he
was like a brother, but that he was my brother. I was always the more
openly emotional of the two of us, so he didn’t say much, but from what he did
and from what I could see, I knew the feeling was mutual. And as I rode back to
my friend’s house, where we had left just minutes before, I felt the same kind
of sweet sting I’d feel in departing my best friend weeks later.
My mom once said to me: “You’re so close with the other guys, you
hardly ever fight, but you and [my oldest friend] always argue. How can you say
you’re really that close?” (Giancioppo, 2016). I understood her trepidation,
but as I’d always tell her, close friends don’t argue that much, but brothers
always bother each other and they always get over it. We fought all our lives,
and constantly had ups and downs; we had periods of time where we would not
want to even see each other, let alone talk. Sometimes it was my fault, other
times his, and some issues were more serious than others, but all the same,
despite almost everyone claiming disbelief we would ever fix things, we always
did. We loved each other, even with all the complications through the road we
walked, because we walked through it together. We always made things
better, and better was always good enough to keep an almost nineteen-year
friendship going strong. Yet, despite better being just that, good enough,
it seems that for society as a whole, it never can be. Instead, the world
strives for perfection through cultural conformity, and in that search finds
only reluctance, emptiness, a lack of love, and thusly, a lack of strength.
As Morgan Morrill explained in her own essay, “The Ironic
Hospitality of the Kalahari Desert,” society, or rather the “industrialized
world,” is going through a “happiness famine” (Morrill, Par. 5). She states
that even smiles are few and far between in the modern world, whereas the
Kalahari Bushmen are living a much more joyful, albeit simpler kind of life.
Morrill goes on to provide statistics of the rising rate of diagnosed
individuals suffering with depression in the United States alone, and she claims
it’s highly due to the stress humanity puts upon itself to further society
rather than their own necessities in life. With such a lack of empathy and such
a focus on success and progress, we allow ourselves neither the time nor the
love for what really matters in this world: each other. “No wonder some people
go off the rails a bit” (Uys, 8:08).
Speaking of going off the rails, the rather disconnected members
of society in Nicolas Roeg’s Walkabout share a strikingly similar
mindset. Morrill suggests that not only the urbanized members of The Gods
Must Be Crazy do, but that many of us in the real world do as well. The
father of the two children, who is arguably the most far gone of any character
in the film, has such a distinct lack of love for his children, it’s painfully
obvious: inappropriate glances at his daughter, attempting to kill both her and
his son, and then taking his own life, all within a matter of minutes!
Alternatively, the hunter, brother, and sister all come to care quite deeply
for each other. Through this devotion to one another, they are able to travel a
great distance, learn a great deal, and survive the dangers of the outback, all
while forming a strong bond, and even enjoying themselves throughout. To be
certain, this idea of love---and with that, a lack of it---carries over in a
number of scenes and only exemplifies the power it may hold in either
direction.
Life can be hard, and there is no getting around that. It can feel
so easily like it gives more than it takes, and it is much easier to just fall
into autopilot and leave emotion out of the equation altogether just to get by.
However, if you allow yourself to open your heart and see the virtue in true
love---not just romantic but familial and platonic as well---the world and
those within it may in turn open themselves up to you. Just as Xi, a leader of
the Bushmen, does with all he comes across, we too can use the power of love to
drive us toward a better, more fulfilling life. So far as I’m concerned, doing
so in my own life has brought me more than I could ever have asked for; it has
given me a life worth living, filled with people worth loving. Not only has it
made me a stronger person, but more importantly, loving has made me a better
person more than any kind of hate or ignorance ever could. After all, better
may not be perfect, but it’s good enough, and good enough is better than a life
without love to begin with. When you carry such strength, you may find that’s
all you ever need things to be: good enough.
 |
| Aaron Frongillo and author Danny Giancioppo |
Works Cited
Giancioppo,
Karen. Conversation. 2016.
Morrill,
Morgan. “The Ironic Hospitality of the Kalahari Desert.”
Taking Giant Steps.
N.p., 14 Mar. 2018.
Roeg, Nicolas,
Dir. Walkabout. 20th Century Fox, 1971,
Uys, Jamie,
Dir. The Gods Must Be Crazy. 20th Century Fox, 1980.
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