Reading the several reviews herein, I perceive no middle ground. Reviewers either hated this film or loved it. Haters decry poor acting, poor story-line, pointless deaths and wanton frustration, and, most damning, imitating Out of Africa. The comparisons are just too many to ignore. Lovers, on the other hand, wax romantically about feeling like "being in Africa," the poignant love story, the tragic deaths and the courage of a woman under the strain of living against the sage advice of her dear old mum.
Well, sports fans, I worked in East Africa for over 20 years and there is damn little to find romantic about it. Beautiful? Yes, Afica is that. Wild? Yes, beyond your wildest dreams. Frustrating. Same answer. I've never met an old Afican hand who did not at once love and hate that continent. [I could go on for hours on that subject, but back to the film:]
I fall in with the critics in that I found this film to be most unsatisfying. There are many fine treatments of the subject of women dealing with the frustrations and challenges of living in a land where if anything can go wrong, count on its occurring twice. Isak Denisen's and Elsbeth Huxley's books are greatly superior to Kuki's story. For my part, I found any ethnic connection being carried over into the story very unconvincing in both the book and this film, both of which come off as second rate. Look, Denisen and Huxley could write. We can leave it there. Out of Africa and The Flame Trees of Thika are classics...I dreamed of Africa is a whining wannabe tragedy, as a book and a badly acted film. Everybody's performance was weak and unconvincing in light of earlier treatments of the same subject.
Romantics will still gush and choke up at this story. Critics will still hold noses and give Bronx cheers. As for me, count me among the latter.
Well, sports fans, I worked in East Africa for over 20 years and there is damn little to find romantic about it. Beautiful? Yes, Afica is that. Wild? Yes, beyond your wildest dreams. Frustrating. Same answer. I've never met an old Afican hand who did not at once love and hate that continent. [I could go on for hours on that subject, but back to the film:]
I fall in with the critics in that I found this film to be most unsatisfying. There are many fine treatments of the subject of women dealing with the frustrations and challenges of living in a land where if anything can go wrong, count on its occurring twice. Isak Denisen's and Elsbeth Huxley's books are greatly superior to Kuki's story. For my part, I found any ethnic connection being carried over into the story very unconvincing in both the book and this film, both of which come off as second rate. Look, Denisen and Huxley could write. We can leave it there. Out of Africa and The Flame Trees of Thika are classics...I dreamed of Africa is a whining wannabe tragedy, as a book and a badly acted film. Everybody's performance was weak and unconvincing in light of earlier treatments of the same subject.
Romantics will still gush and choke up at this story. Critics will still hold noses and give Bronx cheers. As for me, count me among the latter.