In the span of anyone’s childhood, there are surely cinematic landmarks that define an era of carefree recklessness and magical tales that shape our imaginations. For many of us these movies become the gateway to a world of discovery, that first ignition that paves the way for unlimited possibilities through the medium of storytelling.
I stumbled onto my personal childhood landmark by chance earlier this summer after having forgotten about it for many years. Having only seen the dubbed version in Persian as a child, rediscovering this movie after all this time felt like unearthing a treasure of sorts.
A quaint French animation, Raining Cats and Frogs was released almost under the radar in 2003. The movie tells the story of the zoo animals caught up in the midst of a biblical flood that lasts 40 days and nights and the group of frogs that predict the onset of the disaster. What proceeds the flood is equal parts a delightful story of mutual companionship, a fun-filled romp, as well as a cautionary tale of environmental fragility.
Even though it was successful in garnering critical acclaim and enjoying a short but relatively profitable run in French cinemas, it’s still one of modern animation’s greatest forgotten masterpieces. The absence of streaming options and access on a large mainstream market is a clear indictment of this.
The story itself is thought to be a loose interpretation of the tale of Noah’s Ark. And while traditional elements of the biblical story, such as the presence of paired animals, are still intact, director and writer Jacques-Rémy Girerd took the skeletons of a plot everyone knows all too well and reinvented it into a frankly impressive exploration of contemporary issues.
Upon rewatching the movie all these years later there are some profound details. For example, in one scene the carnivorous animals deplore the idea of living with the others in the barn, initially expressing their desire to eat the rest of the animals and humans on board. But with the threat of extinction looming, they keep at bay any division that may threaten the survival of everyone on board. The issue comes to a head with the revelation that 28 tons of potatoes are what the creatures must survive on until the water recedes, laying the groundwork for a series of bitter rivalries and infighting between a group of eccentric characters.
To draw parallels between the grapple of the various groups on board to modern-day factional politics may seem like a stretch of the imagination. But if art imitates life and vice versa, what Girerd achieved with this fascinating animation was by all accounts a complex portrayal of ecological degradation and its social fallout under the guise of a light-hearted hand-drawn animation.
However, it would be premature to ignore the larger 21st century trend in small independent animations that delve deeper than the larger studios with their glossy sheen seldom do. Opening the medium up to become a fountain of knowledge and empathy and not just an explosion of meaningless color and noise. The raw honesty of Vincent Paronnaud’s and Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis (2007) and the heartbreaking tragedy of Nora Twomey’s The Breadwinner (2017) are other more recent worthy examples.
It is a surreal experience to watch the movie in 2020, where the threats of global warming loom over daily life and where whole ecosystems are on the brink of collapse. This seemingly small contribution to animation serves as a cautionary tale of sorts in the face of arrogance and divisive rhetoric. The promise of movies teaching us things that we never considered is as old as the medium itself, which Girerd honored with this underrated gem.
