Masters of the Congo Jungle

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05/25/2011 Orson Welles sounded like he had more fun doing commercials for Paul Masson than he did narrating this dreary, uninformative documentary about natives of an isolated patch of the Congo jungle. To liven things up a bit -- or satisfy some sort of clause in Welles' contract requiring him to only do half of this movie, it's unclear which -- another voice shares duties, with a booming yet dulcet-toned series of interjections coming from black singer William Warfield of "Show Boat" fame. Warfield sounds a hell of a lot happier to be narrating this film than Welles; he's certainly more enthusiastic. Perhaps that's because Welles seems to be saddled with the monotone, dispassionate ramblings describing the wild life and environment of the Belgian Congo while Warfield is entrusted with the livelier descriptions of what the humans are up to. Regardless of Warfield's exuberance, you too will be as bored as Welles sounds watching a movie about a group of people whose relationship with nature isn't particularly noteworthy or interesting (why not go the Mondo route and just clumsily cross-cut between multiple indigenous cultures and metaphorically link them to the post-Industrial world?) and whose story is catalogued by filmmakers whose eyes for the truth are dull and whose eyes for the sensational and bizarre border on nonexistent. See more Read all reviews

Masters of the Congo Jungle

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