When I was 11 years old I was sent from the cozy blandness of the suburbs of Santa Rosa to what I thought was the wild, unruly countryside, about 20 minutes outside town. Out there in the uncharted boonies was a horse camp for kids, a small ranch stocked with the gentlest, most patient horses you could hope to find. They had to be; their patience was tested every week of every summer by a new batch of 30 loud, rowdy, snot-nosed kids—a sort of equine purgatory.
For just one week I picked hooves, combed manes, bridled, de-bridled, fed, groomed, rode and cleaned up after the only poor beast who managed to show any kindness to me, or at least a reasonably comforting brand of indifference.
For that experience, I am just a bit more attuned than I otherwise might have been to the pleasures of John Korty's new film, My Friend, My Horse, showing this weekend at his Take 2 theater in Point Reyes Station. Korty, an Oscar and Emmy winner for an eclectic range of work spanning animation, documentary, feature films and television, has been working on the film intermittently between other project deadlines for about five years.
Before attending that camp, horses, for me, had been merely theoretical. In my mind they weren't so much animals as vehicles for cowboys, or engines for carriages and wagons; they were background objects in history and in movies. But in that brief period of just five or six days, I learned to see them much differently. I learned to gauge their emotions by observing the positions of their ears, the loll of their heads, the whites of their eyes. And I discovered their crafty side: I learned to sneak up on them after having saddled them, to quickly cinch the saddle tighter before they had a chance to bloat themselves up again to keep it loose.
And I learned that, once out on the trail, I was no longer in charge. For not only did the horse know every twist and turn through the woods, he also knew the location of every minor obstacle—every fallen tree and small, winding stream. I remember the mix of panic and exhilaration the first time that horse took off without my asking, picking up the pace from trot to gallop for some unknown reason. I simply held on for dear life, hunched over the horse's back, white knuckles grasping the saddle horn as he rounded a bend and then, with a sudden rush, leapt into the air, stretching to his full length as he hurdled the trunk of a fallen oak. Afterward he seemed to slow down only reluctantly, twitching and stamping his feet with pleasure and possibly in anticipation of the next one, which I would soon find out was just half a mile away.
John Korty's film is full of stories like this, of the excitement and trepidation of first encounters and of the joys of long-term acquaintance with these animals. It's a local film, locally made and featuring local people. A parade of West Marin faces—Pam Carr, Bryn Byer, Warren Hellman, Sandy Duveen, Ann Grymes, Alessa Lopez, Steve Hadland, Alli Smith, Hilary Smith, Ellie Genazzi, Victor Miranda, Jette Jarl, Mira Brock, Alan Margolis, Pat Healy, Boyd Stewart, Ed Brennan, Sophie Dixon, Carlisle Rand, Anne Sands, Maddie Murphy, Susie Rowsell, Peter Meyer, Fielding Neale, Lily Neale, Meagan Neale, and Casey Cambell, Stewart Campbell and Amanda Wisby—regaling us with stories of their lives among the thousand-pound beasts. From billionaires to former jockeys, from old-timers to pre-teens, everyone's got a horse story, some of them simple and humorous, others surprisingly emotional.
To the uninitiated, the whole thing may seem a bit odd. Isn't this just anthropomorphism? The horse seems like such a stoic creature, and one that requires restraining apparatuses, besides.
At times, while the virtues and spiritual qualities of horses are being noted, the film cuts to images that, to a horse lover, may serve as a perfect illustration of the point. But others, looking at shots of horses staring balefully at the camera, may wonder if it isn't all in the eye of the beholder, if we're not simply projecting our notions of horsiness onto an animal that knows nothing other than horsiness, that is biologically engineered for nothing else. Why do we attribute such nobility and wisdom to these animals?
As several of Korty's subjects point out, part of the answer is in the fact that we ride them, and that once we entrust our bodily safety to an animal we'd like to think the animal isn't taking the responsibility lightly. For when you spend time riding on the back of one of these giants, putting yourself at the mercy of the whims of a (nearly) wild animal, you can't help but feel there's some sort of understanding between the two of you. You have to. At that point, it's essentially a survival skill.
To order My Friend, My Horse on DVD, see www.myfriendmyhorse.com.
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