Jean-Jacques Annaud’s animal adventure earns our affection, then sometimes presses too hard for it. The bears are absorbing company, and Philippe Rousselot’s location photography makes this worth an evening if the genre appeals.
The Bear is a good animal adventure, although it sometimes insists on feelings the bears have already earned. Jean-Jacques Annaud builds his film around an orphaned cub’s struggle to survive, trusting animals to hold our interest where another director might hurry back to the people. The danger with that premise is easy sentiment. For much of its 97 minutes, the bears need little help keeping us interested.
Douce the Bear, credited as Youk the Bear Cub, gives the film its most immediate appeal. We were moved by the cub’s vulnerability: the effort simply to survive makes his smallness matter more than his charm. Bart the Bear, as The Kodiak Bear, has a quite different physical authority, and the two animals give us plenty to watch. Their expressive presence does more for the film than its occasional insistence on how we should respond.
Philippe Rousselot’s location photography is a substantial pleasure, though beauty on its own would soon turn this into a rather long diversion. What works is the attention he gives the bears within their surroundings: they command our interest without making everything around them irrelevant. The landscape looks worth spending time in, but the animals remain the reason to look. There is enough visual interest here to support the director’s confidence in telling the story through them.
Noëlle Boisson’s editing has the less conspicuous task of making animal behaviour carry a dramatic sequence, and it largely succeeds. We can follow the feeling without having every response put into words. Yet there are moments when the arrangement of those responses feels too tidy, as though a bear has been assigned precisely the emotion the scene requires. The wish to make the animals understandable occasionally leaves too little room for them to be animals.
Philippe Sarde’s music has the same problem at times. Its warmth suits the film, but the emphasis on tenderness can feel unnecessary when the cub already has our sympathy. Gérard Brach’s screenplay, drawing on a novel by James Oliver Curwood, is strongest when survival is enough to hold the attention. A little less encouragement from the score would have helped, especially when the animals are already doing the work.
As a family adventure, the film asks for more patience than a string of animal tricks, and rewards it. It takes the cub’s survival seriously, which is the right reason to make an audience care about him. The family label should not suggest that an orphaned animal’s predicament is merely decorative. We would be guided by a child’s response to that premise rather than assuming that a bear cub guarantees a comfortable evening.
At 97 minutes, The Bear gives this simple adventure a sensible amount of space, even if the emotional prompting occasionally becomes tiresome. Its bears are expressive enough to justify the attention they receive, and the photography deserves a large screen. We recommend it to anyone content to spend an evening watching animals. Enjoy the bears, and forgive the occasional nudge from the score.