Director: F.W. Murnau
Writers: F.W. Murnau, Robert J. Flaherty, Edgar G. Ulmer
Photography: Floyd Crosby
Music: Violeta Dinescu, Hugo Riesenfeld, W. Franke Harling, Milan Order
Editor: Arthur A. Brooks
Cast: Matahi, Anne Chevalier, Bill Bambridge, Hitu, Ah Fong, Jules, Mehao
It would probably be more accurate to give this picture a subtitle like A Story of Star-Crossed Love. “The South Seas” is merely the setting. The story feels much more rooted in Western or even Hollywood preoccupations, a boy-meets-girl romance in a world too cruel for love. Will it ever change? But Robert Flaherty is also on hand as producer, cowriter, and general exotic documentary influence. He directed Nanook of the North in 1922, an important movie in film history several ways, and he brings a sense of sideshow authenticity to this picture, nearly all of which was shot in the South Pacific. It is duly noted, in the opening credits, that “only native-born South Sea islanders appear in this picture with a few half-castes and Chinese.” Wikipedia calls Tabu “docufiction.”
OK, fair enough. The location and native cast bring a lot of interesting texture to a somewhat ho-hum love story, thwarted by rank native superstition and barbarism. Matahi plays “The Boy,” a skilled young fisherman and diver full of high spirits. He feels like one model for the Tarzan movies that would start in 1932 with Johnny Weissmuller. French-Polynesian Anne Chevalier plays Reri, “The Girl.” They are deeply, passionately in love. Life is good and they are full of happiness. Then Reri is declared a sacred maiden by native elders, subject to the “tabu”: “man must not touch her or cast upon her the eye of desire.” It’s quite a predicament. Stop me if you’ve heard this before.
It would probably be more accurate to give this picture a subtitle like A Story of Star-Crossed Love. “The South Seas” is merely the setting. The story feels much more rooted in Western or even Hollywood preoccupations, a boy-meets-girl romance in a world too cruel for love. Will it ever change? But Robert Flaherty is also on hand as producer, cowriter, and general exotic documentary influence. He directed Nanook of the North in 1922, an important movie in film history several ways, and he brings a sense of sideshow authenticity to this picture, nearly all of which was shot in the South Pacific. It is duly noted, in the opening credits, that “only native-born South Sea islanders appear in this picture with a few half-castes and Chinese.” Wikipedia calls Tabu “docufiction.”
OK, fair enough. The location and native cast bring a lot of interesting texture to a somewhat ho-hum love story, thwarted by rank native superstition and barbarism. Matahi plays “The Boy,” a skilled young fisherman and diver full of high spirits. He feels like one model for the Tarzan movies that would start in 1932 with Johnny Weissmuller. French-Polynesian Anne Chevalier plays Reri, “The Girl.” They are deeply, passionately in love. Life is good and they are full of happiness. Then Reri is declared a sacred maiden by native elders, subject to the “tabu”: “man must not touch her or cast upon her the eye of desire.” It’s quite a predicament. Stop me if you’ve heard this before.
Tabu never recovers for me from this fatally familiar storyline. It’s redeemed to some extent by the locations, which are documented well by cinematographer Floyd Crosby, though with limitations of 1931 technology. But then it is undermined again by its patently colonial condescension toward natives, who are treated more or less like ignorant children—simple, fun-loving, and dumb in all the fundamental ways by which you survive (never mind they survived perfectly well and sustainably in the South Pacific islands for centuries).
I was unfortunately intrigued as usual by this era’s treatment of nudity. I’ve seen other ‘30s movies where bare breasts on native women are allowed (and encouraged!)—often whole groups of them, dancing or otherwise. Tabu elects to keep Reri’s appearance chaste. She is always fully covered, as are most of the women. But one woman featured in a dance provides an eyeful for oglers like me distracted by them. It feels like a feature of the movie that could be whispered about word of mouth and sell many tickets while for the most part keeping it otherwise on the up and up.
Tabu is divided into two parts, called “Paradise” and “Paradise Lost.” It becomes a tragedy in the second half. The couple cannot give up their love for one another. They flout the tabu and flee where they think they will be accepted, leaving behind everything they know and making their way to an island under French control. There they can rely on The Boy’s fishing and diving skills to live. But they don’t understand Western economics and are soon trapped in debt—a very old Western story that really is the story that should be told more. In the end, Reri is collected again by her people to serve out her role as sacred maiden. The Boy finds out too late and swims out after the boat until, exhausted, he drowns.
Hitu plays “The Old Warrior,” who is responsible for moving Reri into her role. He doggedly pursues her even after she has run away. As with most of this cast, Tabu was apparently the only movie Hitu ever did, but his long face and sad countenance are memorable. Murnau inserts him in places almost like a ghost figure haunting Reri. We’re not always sure when it is him and when it is Reri imagining him out of anxiety. His kindly face is belied by his grim mission and he’s an effective presence here.
Tabu was the last picture by director and cowriter F.W. Murnau. He died soon after its completion in an auto accident, only 42. With Nosferatu (1922), Sunrise (1927), and more already to his credit it’s not hard to see what a significant loss to movie history his death represents. And Tabu is an interesting collaboration between Murnau and Flaherty, who has his own claims to cinema history with Nanook. Tabu feels like a Murnau picture, especially Sunrise, which has been given a Flaherty setting. The dramatic ending is powerful and almost worth the predictable story, but in the end Tabu feels more to me like an in-between picture for Murnau. He was perhaps still not ready in 1931 to utilize dialogue. Tabu is a “silent” picture in that way, with skillfully minimal intertitles. But note that four composers get music credits and the score is actually quite good, so Murnau was not unmindful of the potential for sound. This one’s good for both Murnau and Flaherty completists.
I was unfortunately intrigued as usual by this era’s treatment of nudity. I’ve seen other ‘30s movies where bare breasts on native women are allowed (and encouraged!)—often whole groups of them, dancing or otherwise. Tabu elects to keep Reri’s appearance chaste. She is always fully covered, as are most of the women. But one woman featured in a dance provides an eyeful for oglers like me distracted by them. It feels like a feature of the movie that could be whispered about word of mouth and sell many tickets while for the most part keeping it otherwise on the up and up.
Tabu is divided into two parts, called “Paradise” and “Paradise Lost.” It becomes a tragedy in the second half. The couple cannot give up their love for one another. They flout the tabu and flee where they think they will be accepted, leaving behind everything they know and making their way to an island under French control. There they can rely on The Boy’s fishing and diving skills to live. But they don’t understand Western economics and are soon trapped in debt—a very old Western story that really is the story that should be told more. In the end, Reri is collected again by her people to serve out her role as sacred maiden. The Boy finds out too late and swims out after the boat until, exhausted, he drowns.
Hitu plays “The Old Warrior,” who is responsible for moving Reri into her role. He doggedly pursues her even after she has run away. As with most of this cast, Tabu was apparently the only movie Hitu ever did, but his long face and sad countenance are memorable. Murnau inserts him in places almost like a ghost figure haunting Reri. We’re not always sure when it is him and when it is Reri imagining him out of anxiety. His kindly face is belied by his grim mission and he’s an effective presence here.
Tabu was the last picture by director and cowriter F.W. Murnau. He died soon after its completion in an auto accident, only 42. With Nosferatu (1922), Sunrise (1927), and more already to his credit it’s not hard to see what a significant loss to movie history his death represents. And Tabu is an interesting collaboration between Murnau and Flaherty, who has his own claims to cinema history with Nanook. Tabu feels like a Murnau picture, especially Sunrise, which has been given a Flaherty setting. The dramatic ending is powerful and almost worth the predictable story, but in the end Tabu feels more to me like an in-between picture for Murnau. He was perhaps still not ready in 1931 to utilize dialogue. Tabu is a “silent” picture in that way, with skillfully minimal intertitles. But note that four composers get music credits and the score is actually quite good, so Murnau was not unmindful of the potential for sound. This one’s good for both Murnau and Flaherty completists.
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