The Adventures of Milo and Otis

We all remember one of our childhood favorites, "Milo and Otis" (1989). If you know me at all, you'll know I am a kitty fiend, and as a child I was not so picky so I vastly enjoyed books and films about dogs as well. And orcas, dolphins, and pandas. "Milo and Otis" (in the same vein as "Homeward Bound" (1993)) features both cats and dogs, which automatically renders it superior to lone-canine tear-jerkers like "My Dog Skip" (2000) and "Old Yeller" (1957). Most of you probably don't know that "Milo and Otis" is a Japanese film released in 1986 as "Koneko Monogatari." I certainly did not. Leave it to the Japanese to pioneer talking animals, though.

So anyway, I was watching this beloved childhood classic the other night, and I could not help but notice how fucking terrified the kitten appeared in almost every single scene. Floating down the river in a crate? Check. Attacked by a crab? Check. Mauled by a bear? Check. Drenched in a freak storm? Check. The film reportedly had the approval of the American Humane Society prior to filming, but I cannot help but wonder how many Milo and Otises the director went through by the time 90 minutes were up.

Anyway, sometimes I ponder the nature of such films in which different animals are required to interact with one another. Most of the time the circumstances for a bear to "play" with a kitten and a pug to come to the rescue do not present themselves by nature. So how are these movies made? My guess is that hours and hours of footage of the animals doing their thing are taken and the story kind of follows. What do you think?

Apart from the adorableness factor, the Japanese naturalist cinematography is pleasing to the eye, and Dudley Moore's subtly silly narration is enjoyable. None of these things overshadowed the winces I experienced every time Milo meowed in obvious terror. Or maybe I've just outgrown the charm of the talking animals.