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Yesterday was Mother's Day (hi, Mom!). As a treat, my ten year-old daughter suggested we go see the documentary Babies, showing at the art theater in downtown Champaign. I was very excited to see it. I love babies. Just love them. And the NYT said it was good. This morning, I note that Salon says it is good. If you haven't heard, the movie is a documentary that follows babies born in Mongolia, Namibia, Tokyo and San Francisco for about 18 months of their life. There is no narration or subtitles. As the owner of the art theater told us before the show, the makers of the movie wanted to make a wildlife movie about human babies. So, just like the old Walt Disney nature films about bear cubs and otters, just with human babies.

So, I have to say that laughed really loud sometimes. Mostly because my daughter and I filled in with our own dialogue, which I'm sure those around us really appreciated. Some of the vignettes are really funny, like home movies or YouTube clips. You always know what's going to come next (unlike the baby, the bear cub or the otter), so you laugh in anticipation. But would I see it again? Probably not. In fact, we took another mom with us, and she caught a little nap. You really have to love babies, you see.

So, the obvious theme of the documentary is the juxtaposition of the urban (San Fran) baby Hattie and the ultra-urban (Tokyo) baby Mira with the rural (Mongolia) baby Bayarjargal and the ultra-rural (Namibia) baby Ponijao. The urban babies have a lot of gear, a lot of safety gear, and a lot of scheduled sensory stimulation. The rural babies by contrast, have less gear (the Namibia baby has no gear), less safety supervision, and entertain themselves most of the time. I think my daughter thought the Bayarjargal would surely die. Between his rough older sibling, being tied to stationary objects with a rope at times, his own curiosity and the cows and goats that wandered around him much of the time, we thought he was a goner. He was even taken home from the hospital on a motorcycle, his father driving, his toddler brother on the front, and his mother holding him him on the back. The urban babies are always being supervised, molded and guided. Ponijao eats from a communal bowl with his hands along with many other children. Hattie is fed a banana by a father who dutifully removes all icky strings and brown spots.

The documentary seems to want us to walk away thinking that Mari and Hattie got the shaft here. Mari's parents are shown as young and more interested in cell phones and computers than in their daughter, whom they seem to put in day care (gasp!). Hattie's parents are also portrayed as "book people," who rely on parenting books for their guidance and on children's books ("No Hitting!") for Hattie's guidance. Bayarjargal and Ponijao are cuter babies than Mari and Hattie; they are also shown laughing more. But surely it is not an ethnocentric notion that chewing discarded animal bones you found in the dirt might not be good for you and that leaving your toddler alone in the yard with horned animals could end badly.

Of course, the stated theme of the documentary by its creators is that all babies are alike. Ponijao plays with the things he finds on the ground -- animal bones, rocks, a discarded water bottle that has seen better days. Mari plays with the things she finds on the floor of her Tokyo apartment -- CDs, CD cases, printer paper. All the babies are taught to talk and to walk by loving parents. Three of the babies have a family cat that is very patient with their respective babies. Ponijao has a dog that he similarly treats with exuberant affection.

All in all, not a bad way to spend Mother's Day, but not a particularly substantive one. I didn't learn as much as I did from watching nature films, but there was much less peril and death! My daughter for one had her fill of watching moms breastfeed and babies find their genitals. That was a little too much for her.

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Yesterday was Mother's Day (hi, Mom!). As a treat, my ten year-old daughter suggested we go see the documentary Babies, showing at the art theater in downtown Champaign. I was very excited to see it. I love babies. Just love them. And the NYT said it was good. This morning, I note that Salon says it is good. If you haven't heard, the movie is a documentary that follows babies born in Mongolia, Namibia, Tokyo and San Francisco for about 18 months of their life. There is no narration or subtitles. As the owner of the art theater told us before the show, the makers of the movie wanted to make a wildlife movie about human babies. So, just like the old Walt Disney nature films about bear cubs and otters, just with human babies.

So, I have to say that laughed really loud sometimes. Mostly because my daughter and I filled in with our own dialogue, which I'm sure those around us really appreciated. Some of the vignettes are really funny, like home movies or YouTube clips. You always know what's going to come next (unlike the baby, the bear cub or the otter), so you laugh in anticipation. But would I see it again? Probably not. In fact, we took another mom with us, and she caught a little nap. You really have to love babies, you see.

So, the obvious theme of the documentary is the juxtaposition of the urban (San Fran) baby Hattie and the ultra-urban (Tokyo) baby Mira with the rural (Mongolia) baby Bayarjargal and the ultra-rural (Namibia) baby Ponijao. The urban babies have a lot of gear, a lot of safety gear, and a lot of scheduled sensory stimulation. The rural babies by contrast, have less gear (the Namibia baby has no gear), less safety supervision, and entertain themselves most of the time. I think my daughter thought the Bayarjargal would surely die. Between his rough older sibling, being tied to stationary objects with a rope at times, his own curiosity and the cows and goats that wandered around him much of the time, we thought he was a goner. He was even taken home from the hospital on a motorcycle, his father driving, his toddler brother on the front, and his mother holding him him on the back. The urban babies are always being supervised, molded and guided. Ponijao eats from a communal bowl with his hands along with many other children. Hattie is fed a banana by a father who dutifully removes all icky strings and brown spots.

The documentary seems to want us to walk away thinking that Mari and Hattie got the shaft here. Mari's parents are shown as young and more interested in cell phones and computers than in their daughter, whom they seem to put in day care (gasp!). Hattie's parents are also portrayed as "book people," who rely on parenting books for their guidance and on children's books ("No Hitting!") for Hattie's guidance. Bayarjargal and Ponijao are cuter babies than Mari and Hattie; they are also shown laughing more. But surely it is not an ethnocentric notion that chewing discarded animal bones you found in the dirt might not be good for you and that leaving your toddler alone in the yard with horned animals could end badly.

Of course, the stated theme of the documentary by its creators is that all babies are alike. Ponijao plays with the things he finds on the ground -- animal bones, rocks, a discarded water bottle that has seen better days. Mari plays with the things she finds on the floor of her Tokyo apartment -- CDs, CD cases, printer paper. All the babies are taught to talk and to walk by loving parents. Three of the babies have a family cat that is very patient with their respective babies. Ponijao has a dog that he similarly treats with exuberant affection.

All in all, not a bad way to spend Mother's Day, but not a particularly substantive one. I didn't learn as much as I did from watching nature films, but there was much less peril and death! My daughter for one had her fill of watching moms breastfeed and babies find their genitals. That was a little too much for her.

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