The Big Game Hunt (1935/1952)

[Music] Mombasa aba bound with some of the native members of our expedition to replenish supplies and equipment. Then back to the wilderness to visit some of the primitive tribes of Africa. The jungle warriors burning coal and steam power us to a little segment of civilization in this land of the fang and claw and savage man. This land of trees, brush, grass, of mountains and plains where Martin Johnson will soon write a pictorial history of the primitive man with his camera. the camera that seen so much of the wild unexplored regions of the earth. We passed the crude straw huts of the simple natives that live and die on the great plains of Africa. Mombasa, the first city we've seen in a long time. Most of our boys have never seen a railroad station. Have never been in a city. They know only the jungles and plains. OSA and Martin Johnson, the celebrated heads of our expedition. Justly famous, worldrenowned, makers of jungle history with a rifle and camera. Unloading, each carries his share of the burden. Martin watches the proceedings carefully. Every crate is important. Nothing must be lost or misplaced. Our boys are well-trained, responsible, dependable. All know their jobs. An expedition into the jungles requires large quantities of equipment and supplies. Food, medicine, guns, ammunition, clothing, tools. All this and more is needed to survive in the wilderness that takes much but gives little in return. Our first look at a real city in months and months. Smooth paved roads, buildings, electric lights, stores, but our visit will be a short one, a prelude to adventure. After a visit to the leading safari outfitter here, our boys take over. In typical native style, they placed the heavy crates on their heads, carry them to awaiting station wagons. Tall, erect, almost soldierly, they march with their burdens, set their own rhythm as they beat the wooden boxes with short sticks. Manpower so necessary to help us endure the rigors of the jungle. Strong, stalwart men that buttress our expedition. Courageous men marching off to perilous adventure. We ride on hazardous mountain roads, move slowly, laboriously. Dense, almost impenetrable vegetation surrounds us. We trek through this primeval land that's remained the same, untouched by the passing ages. A past that lives in the present. We've traveled a long way since we left Mombasa. Covered many strange lands and places, always on the move. Through Rajaf, the land of the white rhinoceros, a freak of nature, and pygmies, the little men of the forest. On we go. Nairobi, land of Simba, Lion. The merciless jungle killer that prowls the plains, the jungles, dominates the region. Part of our trip is on inland waterways, a mighty river that flows through this wild area of the earth. Every knot takes us farther away from civilization, deeper into the primitive. In spite of the burning sun and humidity, Osa's in good humor, nothing ever seems to shake her calm. She's always happy over a hot stove. Her greatest delight is the pleasure we get from eating the dishes prepared by her skilled hands. Suddenly, food is forgotten. Hippos on the river not very far from us. Tons of giant beasts that can give us plenty of trouble. They look us over curiously. We keep our fingers crossed as we sail past them. We're not anxious for an encounter at this stage of our journey. Huge crocodiles part of the scenery. After a night's sleep in her netcovered bed, Osa dresses for the day. Stinging blood sucking insects infest this region. Wasps, gnats, tetsify flies, tiny flying killers whose bite is often deadly. The riverbank is alive with vicious crocodiles. Osa wants a picture of them at close range. And what pictures? The pitiles killers in their natural habitat. Jaws like steel traps lined with myriads of teeth of needlepoint sharpness. One snap cuts a man in half. Into the river to seek their prey, lay and wait for some unfortunate, unsuspecting animal that comes down for a drink. Protected by netting, Osa gets her pictures of the crocodile. The air is filled with flying insects trying to get in a sting or bite. And some of them do. In spite of her precautions, insects aren't the only terrors of the moment. Some gigantic elephants make their appearance on the opposite shore. Good pictures for Martin, but not so good for us if they were closer. The elephant's a most formidable foe. Difficult to shoot vitally. The chances of only wounding him are great, and a wounded elephant is something to be reckoned with. We visit the Eubangis, the headwoman, an elder of the tribe. She starts her mystic chant to ward off the evil spirits that plague the tribe, bring pestilence and death to them, kill their men, women, children, spirits that cause starvation, that bring the prowling man-eaters to raid their villages, or warriors from beyond the mountains to rob and slay them. Demons that cause their babies to die, make them drown in the river, or be eaten by the insidious crocodiles that infest it. a fantasm of fear that hangs like a cloud over their people. They chant a song ages old to drive it away. They sing with grotesque saucer-like lips distended from infancy with wooden discs of increasing size as they grow into womanhood to make them so ugly that no other tribe will raid their village and take them as wives, which often happened before the women were intentionally deformed. Lake Chad in the Belgian Congo is the home of the Eubangis, an extremely primitive and backward people. A peaceful tribe without any special skills or arts, poor hunters, nomads that plant no crops. For their subsistence, they depend on the higher natives, other tribes. From them, they buy food with money earned by doing odd jobs for the local government. People that live from day to day. No future, a static past. People that haven't changed in thousands of years. [Music] Weird strains issue forth from a primitive stringed instrument. Strings made from reeds that grow in the jungle swamps. Its eerie tune helps to keep the evil that surrounds them at bay. Builds an invisible wall to keep it out of their villages, their lives. All think alike. All believe in the same things. The women chant with babies in their arms. The elder sets the strange tempo. The ritual fills them with a feeling of hope and courage to face the future. Gives them new strength, determination, a stronger will to live. [Music] They pick up the coins that we toss to them. Money to buy food, their prime necessity. Scarce, almost non-existent money that they rarely see, rarely have. Money precious to the touch. Money that helps to fill their empty, yearning stomachs. The ceremony goes on. The elder continues her mystic rights against evil. Her wisdom, born of advanced age, experience, knowledge of the hidden secrets of the tribe, fit her to lead the primitive choir in their monotone song. She's a warrior of the chant that battles the strange forces and beliefs that dominate their simple, superstitious lives, an endless conflict with never a victory for them, but they never give up the fight. They pay homage to their gods with a dance. Each step is a prayer to them. closer to the source of the music. [Music] Small and slight of build, yet she holds strange powers within her that foil the pternatural. [Music] A face that mirrors sorrow, suffering. All have seen misery. Joy is an unknown emotion here. The dance to keep the spectre of death away from their tribe, their women, their men, children, livestock. They dance so that all may live. None are too young to witness this. [Music] Singing, clapping. They're carried away by the import of the ceremony. Freedom from Simba, the prowling killer. Freedom from the slinking leopard whose sharp fangs have robbed so many of them of their lives. Freedom from the venomous snake that brings sudden death with its sting. Freedom from terror. Every discordant note cuts into the heart of their oppressors. Tyrants, enemies, their foes that spare none of them. Victimize all. Men, women, children, the young and old. They follow their mentor in song. Supplicate the friendly gods to protect them from harm. Inspired by the ritual, one steps forward. Her body rise in ecstasy to the strange discordant rhythm. The effects of the primitive ritual spreads through the group, fills them all with a feeling of elation, somber elation. Each step tramples an evil spirit, crushes it, grinds it into dust for the winds to sweep away as they blow across the plains. Every movement of their swaying bodies is fraught with meaning, purpose. They dance according to the traditions of the tribe, a dance that dates back to ancient times. By song and dance, these simple people attempt to shape and combat their environment, a feutal method, for it brings no material results to them. dominated by superstition. One generation after another follows the same pattern. Martin's out to get some more pictures of one of the biggest and heaviest animals in the world, the hippopotamus. The river is full of these leviathans of the wilderness. Tons of blubber and muscle. In spite of their clumsy appearance, they're excellent swimmers. huge heads like rock islands in the river. At home under the water, too. As we cut through the water, some of them go undercover beneath the surface. Martin's having a field day with his camera. They turned the water into foam as their huge bodies cut through it. About three tons of giant hippo cruising along like a dreadnot. If he ever hits us, our boat would be smashed to splinters, and so would we. Standing in shallow water, this one shows how really massive he is. He seems to resent our presence, decides to do something about it. Goes into deeper water, heads toward us. Huge waves are set up in the wake of the swimming killer as he charges our boat. Osa lovers the rifle, but there's little chance of escape. Suddenly, almost upon us, he stops. He veers angrily away and swims off at top speed. We all breathe a sigh of relief at our narrow escape from death. Another giant, another great mass of animal, only his huge head visible. His mouth opens, a huge cavern, closes it with a crash that echoes across the water. The telephoto lens gives an excellent close-up of the huge brutes. Another one with mouth wide open, his giant tusks exposed. We leave this perilous area while the going's good. We meet the Nitsi tribe, stalwart warriors, expert hunters of the jungle beasts. They stare at Martin's camera with eyes that have never seen a machine of this kind before. They're about to begin the ceremony of the hunt, a ritual to invoke their mongus, their gods for protection and victory over the man-eaters of the jungles. Before they start, the hunters pose for Martin. Strong, wellproportioned men of the jungles. Their faces radiate strength, courage, determination, strong will. The warriors that defend their tribe against the ravages of the prowling marauders, the raids of other warlike people. The cabala begins. Others rise and take part in the beating of the drums, then lower themselves to the ground behind the drums. Every beat of the drums is a pagan prayer to their gods. A musical message to them that flies through space into the great unknown. A peculiar rhythm that reaches the dark world of the supernatural, [Music] begging for strength and courage. Stamina, keen eyes, sharp ears, steady hands for aggression and defense against their enemies. Land of brush and thicket. The going's rough and tough. The terrain's not for walking. A huge wild man-like animal and ape watches us. The tall, tough jungle grass resists our every step and snarls as whipss our bodies as we trek through it. The thickets conceal danger. But the big ape doesn't take us unawares. He leaves evidence of his presence. Heart of palm, favorite food of the herculium beasts. Only halfeaten, the ape must be close by. a large hairy hand that grips the vine so tightly with killing strength. There must be a colony of them in the vicinity. But the ape sees us long before we sight him. Trouble. The ape moves stealthily through the dense brush, keeping us under close scrutiny all the time. Martin and Osa decide to search out the ape and capture it alive if they can. The big game hunt begins. very big and very deadly game. The great ape's young is here too, closely followed by his father and mother. The vines of the banyan tree support his tremendous weight. He vents his anger on some fallen branches. The monstrous brute pounds his chest in rage, screams his defiance, fearful sounds that penetrate the jungles for miles around up a vine of the banyan tree for a better vantage point. But this one stands his ground for a while. Suddenly, a fight breaks out between two Titanic anthropoids. With their long, strong arms, they try to crush, strangle each other. Locked in a terrible embrace of death, they whirl around, each trying to finish the fight quickly. The very earth rocks with a vicious contest. They fight on while another giant watches them. The battle rages. Heavy blows are struck on both sides. Sharp fangs are brought into play. Crushing forces are unleashed. They scream in fury and the terrible give and take of the fight. Each absorbing blows that would kill instantly a man. Their struggles bring them close to the trees. The vanquished ape escapes up the vine. The victor runs off into the jungles to nurse his wounds, recoup his spent strength. Deep into the dense wilderness, followed by another killer that takes advantage of his weakened condition. The little one loses his parents in the mele. Finds himself alone for the first time. Lost, he walks aimlessly about, feeling very insecure. Back to the thickets. Martin close behind directs his boys in the search. A baby ape is a rare prize. He's spotted. Aping his elders, the little one beats his chest in victory. His chest swelled with pride. The young anthropoid goes off into the jungles. his first encounter and victory over man. But he's still only a baby and needs his parents. And there they are, way up in a tall tree. The big apes far out of reach for the first time. Watch us. The time for action is here. We begin our great capture. Osa and Martin shout orders to their boys. Put their plan into effect to capture the apes. With sharp axes, they set to work to chop down the fortress of the huge anthropoids. The apes are imprisoned in their own refuge. Their security diminishes with every bite of the keenedged axes. A limb falls, hits the earth with a loud crash, brings them right down to the midst of us. We inspect one of our prizes. A big one stronger than 10 men. Securely trust with strong ropes, the ape is rendered helpless. how he'd like to get his hands on us. [Music] Osa attempts to soothe the captive. An impossible task. We're all happy over this unexpected prize trophy. Unfounded fury, limitless anger. He tries to sever his bonds with sharp fangs, bites him with powerful jaws, but to no avail. The jungle supplies us with materials. All pitch in. A tough job in a tough place. Every part of the bridge is handmade. In the jungles, you build your bridges before you come to them. Build them out of the materials furnished by nature. Strong vines, giant trees. It takes a lot of husky men to carry tons of tree trunk felled by sharp axes. It takes a lot of energy and sweat to convert nature to your own needs. Plenty of brawn and muscle. A big crew is needed for this job. The area teams with manpower, our workers busy in combating stubborn nature that resists our advance through its domain. At last, nature is conquered. Gives way as our station wagons cross the crude but adequate bridge. Once again on our way across the plains and jungles of Africa on rolling wheels. In the vastness, the immensity of the untamed wilderness, we feel like tiny mites, very insignificant, it sometimes deflates our ego. Another water barrier, but shallow enough to ford. Our faithful boys come to offer their aid. We're fortunate in having such a dependable crew. After many months in the wilderness among the jungle warriors, the wild animals, months of adventure and thrills, we head for civilization, home. Bring back our pictures and stories. But soon we'll retrace our steps back to nature in its wildest state, to more adventures in the land where adventure never ends. The tropical jungles, the plains of Africa. A peaceful section of the African wilderness where we settle down for a while. A place of tranquility and beauty that holds us under its spell. The natives tend their herds, domesticated animals that supply them with food and drink. It seems almost impossible that violence and death is a reality here, far more real than this idilic setting. The crane takes life easy in the marsh. Plenty of food, sunshine, freedom, not a care in the world. Osa Johnson is getting a much needed rest in this paradise. Chickens just like home and then some. We share this land with the birds, hospitable creatures that bid us welcome in their own language. A native makes himself useful. The produce of Osa's garden. Homegrown carrots, cabbages, and other vegetables. Succulent watermelons cultivated by her. Big fellows loaded with sweetness. every bite of joy. Juicy tomatoes, too. What nature doesn't provide here, we grow ourselves. This is Martin Johnson, one of the world's greatest outdoor photographers. OSA's broad-minded on all subjects, but when it comes to cooking, she has the first and last word. Some lastminute instructions from the master of the culinary arts. We look forward with pleasure to some very delectable fair. This industrious chap so busy with his shoveling, digging into the earth. What's he looking for? What's buried here? Gold, silver, diamonds, a uranium deposit? Let's watch him while he works, and we're sure to find out his secret. Success. Patience is rewarded. A small sack. What does it contain? What hidden untold wonder? What rare treasure? What is it that can drive a man to work so hard under the hot tropical sun that bakes him crisp? That bathes him in his own sweat. Ah, he unties the precious bundle. Soon its mysterious contents will be revealed. Just another knot or two to be untangled and will have the answer. An African fowl buried in the earth for seasoning purposes. Truly a delicacy well worth the sweat of a man's brow to obtain. Carefully he plucks the feathers off the tasty bird. Tonight we dine on royal fair. [Applause] Beautiful scenery. Lofty mountains. We could easily be persuaded to remain here forever. Wild flowers growing by the millions in this garden of Eden. Daisies, a whole golden field of them. Osa picks an armful of them to take back to camp. Trees, ponds, nature untamed, untouched by civilization, human motives, undisturbed for eons. Our boys bring in fresh supplies to exist in the jungles. Many things are needed from the outside world. The flora abounds, sprouting from the bosom of mother earth. A lake, a natural swimming pool warmed by the sun. [Music] A body of water that's been here for thousands of years, long before even prehistoric man trod the earth. A witness of the passing ages. The flow of history. Spectator of time in motion. Part of the great wilderness that remains on our globe in a continual state of evolution. Shaped by flowing time. The winds, the rains growing and shrinking under the impact of the passing ages. A small animal catches Osa's attention. It runs off as her binoculars focus on it. She takes in, absorbs the pictures scenery, the tall trees, woods, pristine nature. Osa has spent most of her life in the wilderness, but she never loses her zeal, her interest. Nature's always new, fresh, different, fraught with wonders, thrills, new experiences, exciting adventures. And a brilliant stream races through the jungles, washing its banks, spraying the soil. An incessant flow always in motion. Water with the power to wear its way through the earth. Cut through rock as hard as steel. Osa is here with rod and reel and hooked line. The little monkeys watch with interest. Amusing little fellows, their antics are always good for a laugh, but at times they get out of hand and have to be chased off. The chatter and den of these little imps threaten to scare the fish away, but OSA has to put up with them, make the best of it. There's fish here and Osa is going to get some. Monkeys or not, take them right out of the water. Osa is patient as a good fisherman should be. These waters hold treasures worth waiting for. With her line sunk deep into the stream, OA bides her time. She knows that sooner or later, curiosity will tempt the fish to nibble. A ruthless killer watches, too. The wartthog, one of the most dangerous, nastiest, eviltempered animals in the jungles. He roams the plains and jungles, ever ready for a battle. Attack him at your own risk. Even the vicious lion and leopard are wary of this slashing bull. The rod bends under the strain as a fish is hooked, but he's a goner. A beauty, a big fat one. Next stop, the sizzling frying pan and a bath in hot butter sauce. Suddenly, Osa slips. A crocodile scared off. Thank heaven. Moving day. We've been here long enough. Now, it's back to work. Martin's got to get his pictures. He little suspects what pictures. [Music] First, he catches some giant hippos with his ever alert lens. There's not much that he misses, but it would be rather difficult to miss anything as large as a hippopotamus. Into the river for a cooling swim, showing off to their audience. No sign of stage fright. The river is their stage. We watch them from a comfortable distance. On the surface or under the water, it makes little difference to them. A combination of dreadnaugh and submarine. Versatile swimmers. Small animals driven by curiosity scurry over the ground for a quick look at us. Our preparations to build a tree platform for observation attract some of the local natives. Even here in the jungles, building activity attracts many onlookers, gapers, sidewalk superintendent. It seems that people are the same the world over. Tree platforms are very useful in the jungles. Some of Martin's best pictures were taken from them. And OSA has brought down many a fierce killer standing on her high observation post. Startled and unnerved by some unknown terror close by. They lone member of the herd. One that stray away. A monkey puts on a show for us. We string up a tightroppe and he walks it with grace and agility far beyond that of the most accomplished circus performer. All alone. Want to play? Rough stuff. The baboon's pretty tough and so is the cheetah. Look out. There's many a bite in jest. You call this fun? One more round. While the others play, Mother Baboon is busy rearing her son to take his rightful place in jungle society. The little fellow doesn't seem to care much about this. He'd much rather be in a rough and tumble game right now. Listen to Mama or Mama Spank. The terrible drought that's descending on the jungles brings forth a crisis. The old chief makes one of his rare public appearances to give royal sanction to the ceremony that's about to begin. The strange mystic dance of the rain gods. The medicine men invoke the spirits to drive away the curse of dryness. Bring rain to the tribes. Lifegiving water to quench their thirst. Irrigate their land so crops may grow. Water for the decimated livestock. Open sky and let the torancet pour down on our arid land that turns to dust. The medicine man goes into a frenzy as he dances madly, pleading with the rain gods to free them from the scourge of the drought. The water hole grows more shallow. Soon it'll be empty, as dry as the land that surrounded. Their flocks grow smaller. The great herds shrink. Even the camels feel the pangs of thirst. Animals, wild and domestic, all with one craving. Water. Water. Water. All on the move, searching for the same thing. A liquid that's the most plentiful thing on the earth. Water. Oceans of it. Rivers, streams, brooks, but none here. The little they have dwindles. Fast disappears. The direction they take. Does it matter? Where can they go? Where to turn? The camels, the ships of the desert walk the arid plains mile after mile in search of the precious fluid. All seeking for an unknown oasis. The plains team with great herds of wildlife. Martin's camera takes in this amazing sight. Wild animals as far as the eye can see. Stretching far out across the plains in all directions. Refugees of the drought. Stunned with fear. Victims of impending doom. And snared in a catastrophic web. They're gathered here a great mass meeting of the animal kingdom. confused, helpless, in the grip of something beyond their comprehension. Ruled by the law of the survival of the fittest. Suddenly, the wilderbeast go into action, stampede across the ved. The earth trembles under the impact of their pounding hoofs. No longer passive, they cover ground. Instinct tells them that motion is the only solution to the problem. Keep moving until water is found. Keep moving until you drop dead in your tracks. Never before in their many years of exploration in the African jungles, the tropic wilderness, have OSA and Martin Johnson witnessed such a mass assemblage of wild animals. Never before have they seen such a tremendous concentration of the animal kingdom. Countless thousands of hapless beasts driven out of the jungles by a growing thirst that throttles them one by one with every tick of the clock with every passing day that brings no relief. Martin gets it all on film. Real after reel of amazing, terrifying pictures. Martin uses a slow motion camera to catch the grace and agility of gazels in motion. Running with their characteristic leap. Beautiful flee-footed animals, gentle and timid, they depend on speed for self-p protection, but to little avail. They too are caught in the drop. Yes, they too must seek water lest they become an extinct species. The giraffes are panicstricken and bound off through the jungles. Tall, ungainainely creatures running for their lives. Whole families, the young and old, on the run, resting when their energy is spent. standing now, but soon they'll be off searching for the most elusive substance in the jungles, water. Every tribe in the jungle prepares for the ceremony of the rain dance. All are afflicted by the terrible blight. Their only way of fighting this thing, an appeal to the supernatural. Ruled by superstition, they put their hopes, faith in the incantations of the medicine man. The dance is wild and impassioned, the tempo savage. It beats its way through the entire tribe. Gives them courage, hope, faith that rain will soon fall and wash away their misery. [Music] Even the little children too young to understand dance. All united in a common cause. Across the length and breadth of the plains, jungles, every tribe dances, beats out on the drums of prayer to the rain gods for water. Water that doesn't fall. OSA and Martin Johnson here in the midst of this great crisis waste no time in preparing to cover the area to make a living photographic record of this catastrophe that affects the flora, fauna, human beings so drastically. They quickly take to the air with loaded cameras, fly high above to photograph the great drama that's being enacted below. Nature against man and animal. nature withholding her beneficence. Even the fearless lions, the king of the beasts, are transformed into cowards, terrified by the awful dry spell that's descended on their domain. The powerful wild beasts find themselves as helpless as a most timid animal in the jungles. We circle over the grim tragedy below, cameras grinding away. A huge herd of zebras, thousands of them running across the plains. A great exodus of frightened animals fleeing in terror from their stricken land in search of another place to live. Animals that have been here generation after generation, now suddenly uprooted violently by a whim of nature, forced to become nomads, forced to search for water. Water always so plentiful, but now so very scarce, so non-existent. On they go, berserk, dashing madly across the arid, merciless sunbaked bell. On they go with parched tongues, seeking the relief of cool water, courarssing down their tortured gullets. A loping herd of giraffes follows the zebras in their flight as they flee the bone dry area. A grotesque sight that adds to the nightmarish effect of the awesome events. Every living thing is affected. None are spared. All share a common fate. A herd of giant elephants caught in the maelstrom, accompanied by a flock of everpresent white herands, birds always with a huge beasts. Powerful, formidable beasts of herculan strength. Yet they too must lumber along, traversing the land in search of water to keep life in their huge frames. These titans of the jungles that can hold their own, take anything in their stride. Victims of a freak of nature. Mountains and forest can't stop them. No obstacle is too great to overcome. No barrier too difficult to surmount. Fearsome beasts that command the respect to the wilderness, the big game hunter, the native tribes, heavy brutes that rock the earth with every step, yet helpless now, confused by this sudden change in their way of life. Osa and Martin fly over this vast tract of arid land. Barren earth that can support no life. Mile after mile of desolation, a monotonous stretch of terrain unbroken by a river, stream, brook, not even a water hole in sight. We keep flying. There must be water ahead. A miracle, salvation, water. After hundreds of miles of searching, water, the willbees stand in it to soothe their hot hoofs, beaten by the long migration. The jungles are the great testing grounds for courage, heroism, the fittest. Those that live in it must always struggle to survive. The gigantic elephants drink greedily, suck up the water through their long trunks. Almost a panorama of the entire animal populace of Africa. herd after herd that traveled along arduous, dry, dusty miles in search of water. Many fell by the wayside and provided food for the oncoming beasts of prey. Here were the survivors, the fittest, tough, strong animals that grappled with nature and came out on top victorious. Living creatures that could stand the strain of privation. Mute heroes. Our pictures will sing their praises. The great drama ended. We take off for civilization with the most remarkable jungle pictures ever photographed. Pictures that will ever remind us that life is very uncertain in the tropical wilderness that still remains on the face of our earth.