If I were stranded on a desert island I would die. Quickly. Within the first eight minutes of landing I’d be dead of starvation and would be a new wild animal snack food.
I say this because I recently watched Swiss Family Robinson for the first time since I was very young. It’s still a great movie, with all sorts of really exciting contraptions, exotic animals that, biologically speaking, would never co-exist on the same island and a few really mean baddies that are not your usual pirates, but make great cultural stereotypes. Plus, there was this great Swiss family that seemed to consist of two British parents and a bunch of American kids.
They built this amazing tree house in the middle of an empty island, complete with running water, satellite television and broadband Internet access, which really pissed off their neighbors in upstate New York who have been waiting for broadband for years.
This was done to show how well the family adapted to their new environment. Apparently, in their sinking ship they carried the whole series of Time Life Driftwood Architecture books. How some effete Swiss with his annoying children and his slowly over boiling sexpot of a wife knew how to build a house in a tree is beyond me. In fact, it should be well beyond them, but I don’t suppose it ever occurred to the author.
They found food on the island, probably at the Deserted Island Chicken Shack because they never hunted, fished or gathered food. Yet, they appeared to be in good health and happy, despite the fact that the swimming hole they adopted probably had generous amounts of dysentery floating around in its brackish, brownish-green depths. They captured plenty of edible animals that their youngest son adopted as pets and they never thought twice about not eating. Personally, I’d look at the Ostrich and think of burgers with 80% less fat than cattle. And the pigs? Floating playmates, not bacon.
This is why I’d never survive being stranded, if Disney produced my shipwreck. I’d line up those animals and come up with my meal plan until a luxury liner came to rescue me. Fluffy the pig would quickly become a pork chop feast. Screw Disney morality. I’m friggin’ hungry! Nothing’s too cute to eat at that point.
So, Uncle Walt would never hire me. Of course, Uncle Walt is rather dead, so I doubt he’d be able to.
Naturally, if the film was made today, it would be produced by Jerry Bruckheimer and contain some wondrous explosions.
That was pointless. Oh well.
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