"My name is Laura Ingalls, and this is my story. . ." - Kyle Chavarria as Laura Ingalls
Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House on the Prairie DVD Review
By Christopher W. Czajka
In the darkest hours of the Great Depression, New York City's Harper & Row Publishers released a new children's book. Written by the aging mother of popular and irrepressible globe-trotting journalist Rose Wilder Lane, the novel, titled Little House in the Big Woods, carried readers back sixty years to the frontier forests of western Wisconsin. Little House in the Big Woods was so popular that young readers deluged Harper & Row-as well as the author, Missouri farm wife Laura Ingalls Wilder- with letters begging for more stories. Throughout her sixties and seventies, Wilder penned eight more Little House books, detailing every aspect of her girlhood on the vanishing American frontier. By the time of her death at age 90 in 1957, Laura Ingalls Wilder's autobiographical novels had gained her international fame and a devoted worldwide following.
During the 1930s and 1940s, film studios approached Wilder about adapting the Little House books for the big screen. Wilder refused all offers, fearing that Hollywood would sensationalize her life story and radically alter the themes and characters in her novels. She chose instead to let her novels stand as a lasting memorial to her pioneer father, Charles Ingalls. When Wilder died, she willed the rights and royalties of the Little House series to her daughter. Eleven years later, when Rose Wilder Lane died, she in turn willed the rights and royalties to Roger Lea MacBride, a Philips Exeter and Harvard-educated attorney, who had befriended the aging journalist and political theorist and become a protégé of sorts. Within a few years of Lane's death, Laura Ingalls Wilder's fears were realized, when MacBride sold the television and movie rights to the Little House books to producer Ed Friendly (Laugh-In) and executive producer Michael Landon. Friendly bought the rights to the books after discovering they were his daughter's-and wife's-favorite novels of all time.
The original Little House on the Prairie series debuted on NBC in September 1974, to popular acclaim and critical annihilation. Shortly after the series began, Ed Friendly and Michael Landon reportedly had a creative falling out, which included Landon insisting that Wilder's books were largely unfilmable (one insider claims he said, "I can't make a TV show based on nine pages of Caroline Ingalls baking a cake"). Within a few episodes of the series' debut, Little House on the Prairie took a radical departure from Wilder's original novels. While preserving the heart and spirit of the books, Landon and his fleet of writers larded characters and plotlines onto her simple stories that would've made the Ozark farm woman wince. Though Little House on the Prairie did much to spark reader interest in the original novels, the series became a sort of idealized, Old West fairy-tale that explored the dominant social trends and problems of the 1970s, including drug and alcohol abuse, racism, rape, and women's liberation. Landon's idealized vision of family life and gift for creating emotionally affective melodrama-which largely ignored Wilder's life and stories—struck a chord with audiences, and made Little House on the Prairie one of the most durable and adored hits of the 1970s and early 80s.
Though they have consistently been top sellers, in the late 1990s, a Little House renaissance of sorts took place, spurred by HarperCollins Publishers (formerly Harper & Row), and the Wilder/Lane estate, still controlled by Roger MacBride. MacBride wrote a series of "next generation" Little House books, which detailed the growing-up years of his mentor, and the "Little House Heritage Trust" licensed additional novels about the lives of Laura Ingalls Wilder's mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. The franchise was further strengthened with the creation of an entire Little House product line, featuring paper dolls, calendars, artsy-craftsy kits, and picture books. In 1999, CBS broadcast the first of two biographical films about Wilder, detailing her young adulthood and not directly based on the novels (dramatic rights to which were still held by Ed Friendly). Perhaps riding on this wave of renewed interest in Wilder's life and books, Ed Friendly announced his intentions to executive produce a new "faithful to the original" TV version of Wilder's second novel, Little House on the Prairie, in 2003.
Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House on the Prairie hit the airwaves in the spring of 2005 as a special presentation of ABC's Wonderful World of Disney. Critics and audiences alike responded fairly favorably to the sprawling, six-hour miniseries, but drew unavoidable and inevitable comparisons to the 1970s television series. Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House on the Prairie is an ambitious, admirable effort, which remains largely faithful to Wilder's original novel, features an appealing cast, and paints an epic portrait of life in the pioneer West. Simultaneously, the charm and spirit of the story is weakened by a handful of newly created plot contrivances and characterizations, overly stylized, distracting direction, and some truly horrendous music.
The miniseries begins in Pepin, Wisconsin, in the mid 1870s. Charles Ingalls (Cameron Bancroft) is a rough-and-tumble woodsman and trapper, basically tired of working for The Man. Charles feels that the Big Woods around his home are becoming a little too crowded and civilized. Despite the coziness and warmth of his little house, and the nearness of family and friends, he decides to take his young family West and claim a farm on the plains of Kansas. Along for the ride are his patient and gentle wife Caroline (Erin Cottrell), and his two young daughters: prim, fearful Mary (Danielle Chuchran) and feisty, tomboyish Laura (Kyle Chavarria). Charles' wanderlust and thirst for adventure are mirrored by Laura, whose impish curiosity and utter fearlessness anchor the series.
After an arduous overland journey filled with close calls (their covered wagon nearly crashes through the ice on the Mississippi River, they nearly tumble down a steep hill, the family dog almost drowns, and one of their horses is bitten by a rattlesnake, to name a few of their troubles), the Ingalls family settles on the wide and wild prairie along the Verdigris River. With a combination of grit, determination, and steadfast love, they begin to carve a life for themselves out of the wilderness. They soon meet a handful of other nearby settlers, including grizzled "wildcat from Tennessee" Mr. Edwards (Gregory Sporleder), and Mr. Scott (James Cosmo), a Scotsman with a piggish, bloodthirsty wife (Gina Stockdale). The Ingalls family is also under the close scrutiny of the local Indians, who apparently live just over the hill in their backyard, and are less than thrilled with the family's sudden arrival.
The Ingalls' year on the prairie is a constant battle against the environment and the elements. They struggle to raise their cabin, dig a well, build a fireplace, celebrate Christmas in the wilderness. . .all of the memorable events of Wilder's original novel are dutifully preserved. Laura and Pa also have a number of run-ins with the local fauna, including being chased by a pack of wolves and a midnight attack by a fierce mountain lion.
Throughout the series, Laura regularly investigates an old trail that runs across their land. The trail, it turns out, is an Indian path, which leads straight into a nearby Indian camp. Laura often catches fleeting glimpses of a young Indian boy (Griffin Powell-Arcand), and grows more and more curious about whether or not the Indians will get mad that settlers are taking their land.
It turns out that the Indians are pretty peeved. First, a suspicious prairie fire nearly consumes the Ingalls' farm. Next, ominous drums begin beating in the night. . .the natives, so to speak, are growing restless. Then, Mr. Edwards is dragged from his cabin in the dead of night by a band of rowdy braves, who torch his house. Things get so grim that the Ingalls, Mr. Edwards, and the Scotts decide to barricade themselves inside the Scotts' home, in hopes of fending off a possible attack or massacre. At the last possible moment, the Indians decide not to go to war, and make a treaty with the US government. Unfortunately for the Ingalls family, their home is on the wrong side of the treaty lines, and they are forced to abandon their little house on the prairie. After a year of struggle, deprivation, and hardship, they load up their covered wagon and drive off into the sunset.
Surprisingly enough, the Walt Disney Company has managed to create a version of Little House on the Prairie that has more in common with HBO's Deadwood than the Michael Landon version of the story. Admirably (and accurately), the West is presented as a dirty, difficult, and above all, dangerous place. The cast is frequently caked in mud. Caroline Ingalls struggles to keep her children and clothing clean, and obsessively sweeps her dirt floor, which turns to mud when it rains. From the moment the family leaves the Big Woods, viewers are constantly reminded that going west was a perilous proposition. The Ingalls' wagon passes the graves of dead settlers, wrecked wagons, stranded pioneers, and items cast-off by earlier travelers. Death-or at least serious injury-is a constant threat, even in the midst of daily activities. When the Ingalls visit nearby Independence, it's a true frontier boomtown, complete with muddy streets, barroom floozies, and wild-eyed, vaguely terrifying mountain men. NBC's Walnut Grove it ain't.
Simultaneously, many of the series' technical elements-cinematography, costuming, locations-are quite impressive. It's very obvious that this miniseries wasn't filmed on a back lot in southern California. The wilds of Manitoba stand in nicely for the untamed Kansas prairies. The Indians also look incredibly authentic-like pictures in a history book brought to life rather than stereotypical Hollywood "Injuns."
Oddly enough, it's the principal characters who look most out of place on this gritty frontier. Cameron Bancroft and Erin Cottrell look exactly like what they are: attractive, fit, and young 21st century actors dressed up in prairie garb. Cottrell, in particular, looks more appropriate for The O.C. than she does for the prairie. At one point, she catches a glimpse of her reflection, and laments that she "looks like a fright." If we all looked similarly frightful, the world would be quite a beautiful place. Bancroft, too, seems out-of-place. Amidst the mud and muck of pioneer life, his chiseled good looks and too-white teeth are distracting, and out of synch with the rest of the production. And when Pa takes his shirt off after getting clawed by the panther, Bancroft displays a six-pack and pecs that put Michael Landon's shiny chest to shame. A little something for the moms, I guess.
Kyle Chavarria and Danielle Chuchran turn in earnest, solid performances. Chavarria, with her toothy smile and slight lisp, makes an adorable, scrappy Laura. Chuchran has the thankless task of making Mary Ingalls likable, and in Katie Ford's teleplay, that's a near impossibility. While Wilder's books portray Mary as a prim and proper "good girl," Ford's script turns her into a neurotic, bossy worrywart. You can absolutely understand why Laura wants to slap her.
Ford's script is one of the weakest elements of the miniseries. Though she doggedly includes every memorable event from the original novel (sometimes at the expense of pacing and suspense), it's her newly invented storylines and characterizations that slow the story down the most. Mrs. Scott, inexplicably, is painted as a repugnant, nasty old biddy. Jack, the family dog, has two differently colored eyes, which make him a "spirit dog" in the eyes of the Indians, and thus apparently affords otherworldly protection to the Ingalls family. And Laura's fleeting, almost supernatural run-ins with the Indians on the old trail come across clumsy and vaguely offensive. Are Indians magic? Can they disappear and reappear at will? In a production so grounded in historical authenticity, the "magic Indians" on the other side of the hill are silly.
For fans of the novel, the few departures from the original are jarring, as are several simple details that the production team apparently chose to ignore. Caroline Ingalls, throughout most of the miniseries, wears her long blond tresses down and whipping in the prairie wind. Ma Ingalls must have been turning in her grave. Though a perennial issue is made of Laura's brown hair (which she hates), Kyle Chavarria's hair appears blond in many scenes. And how hard would it have been to actually get an actual bulldog to play the role of Jack?
David L. Cunningham's direction and John Cameron's music prove to be the two most disappointing components of Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House on the Prairie. Cunningham obviously thinks that high-stress, suspenseful situations require quick cuts, herky-jerky camera angles, and dizzying, fast-paced shots. This decidedly modern technique is more than a bit awkward in 19th century Kansas.
At the same time, perhaps in an effort to foreshadow Laura's later-life writing career and attention to detail, Cunningham includes a tiring number of close-up, POV shots from her perspective. It's a nice idea that is soon overutilized. Do we really need extended close-ups of Mrs. Scott's mouth chowing down on pie? Or umpteen shots of a bucket swaying on the side of the wagon? And his artiest shots-like Laura and Mary chasing the blowing wagon canvas across the flowered prairie-seem scream out, "This is charming, isn't it? ISN'T IT?!?!?!"
The weakest link of the series, without a doubt, is John Cameron's music. Much of it sounds like tracks discarded by Enya, circa 1991. Ethereal, breathy voices quietly moan and keen throughout several of the most visually striking scenes. The fiddle music, while appropriate to the subject matter, sounds much too Irish. And by the end of the miniseries (perhaps in homage?), the soundtrack bears more than a passing resemblance to David Rose's memorable theme to the 1970s television series. Cameron's music during the aforementioned canvas-chasing scene is enough to curl Laura's dirt-brown hair.
The six-hour Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House on the Prairie is divided onto two discs. The discs are housed in a standard-sized keepcase with an interior swinging arm to hold the second disc. An insert included inside the DVD case admirably provides information on the paperback and audiobook versions of Wilder's Little House books.
The menus are simple and functional. Viewers can play all of a disc's episodes or choose an individual one. The episodes are divided into chapters, but there are no scene selection menus.
