MUFASA, or how to genuinely reconnect with our inner child

An idea has been running circles in my mind for a couple months now: I started to think about the circle of life. This probably happens to every person in their thirties since we are almost in the middle of our lives. We look back, trying to fix as many good memories in our minds as possible, but also trying to visualize an idealized future suitable for our wishes and goals. I could describe it as a middle ground in which we fight to not get stuck in the past but also to avoid planning the future too much.

During the last couple of months, two friend couples had their first son and, when I first saw the eyes of that human being who didn't seem to understand absolutely anything around him, I comprehended that the same had happened to me, to my friend, to his partner and to almost everyone. We aren't exempted from living a repeated life, but there are certain experiences that make the difference. With this in mind, I watched Mufasa: The Lion King today, a sort of prequel in which Rafiki, the old wise mandrill we all know, shares with Kiara, Timon and Pumba the story of how Mufasa got to rule the kingdom while a storm rages outside the cave.

For two hours, I became a kid again. My brain fully disconnected, my senses immersed in an epic and exciting story for 120 minutes and I left every possible technicality aside. I was in the jungle, jumping, playing and running. I felt like that little Jeronimo who used to go to the cinema with his parents, excited about watching a movie, even though unaware of which one it was going to be. Where did that innocence, that lodging for the unknown, that hunger to devour the world go to?

I talk to myself, but I can't come up with an answer. Maybe that's life, which slips through my hands like sand while I try to decipher why I came to this world. Our protagonist, who is the iconic Mufasa I cried a river for when Scar threw him into the air in the middle of a gathering of gnus, also has some of these unanswered questions. Between the storm's noise and the calm of its impact, Rafiki apparently tells the story to the innocent supporting characters, as if he were our grandfather, but he's actually narrating the story to all of us, preventing us from forgetting the storytelling.

Director Barry Jenkins—who I initially didn't understand why he got involved in the project but then I finally did—avoids every "copy and paste" like the one Jon Favreau presented in his 2019 work that seemed more like a National Geographic documentary with a dramatic story casually titled The Lion King, one of Disney's many attempts to evoke cheap—and pretty profitable, by the way—nostalgia. Jenkins employs an array of stylistic resources like POV* shots, a few intended slow-motion moments and some of his signature close-ups and interweaves them in a solid story, which doesn't solely depend on Easter eggs and tributes to the past. He even dares to introduce a metalanguage to interact with the audience through some dialogues between Timon and Pumba, understanding that it's also healthy to laugh at oneself.

How did Mufasa turn into Mufasa and why is Scar like that? These doubts have never made me lose sleep in all these years, but certain consciousness reflection prompted me to want to investigate. Sure, everything depended on how prepared the audience was to welcome back with open arms part of that story Disney presented 30 years ago, but this story has actually been narrated since Shakespearian times and, if I get cocky, I would even say as from the Viking Age. Nonetheless, I can't forget that blushing kid who uncontrollably cried about everything and unstoppably laughed when Hakuna Matata was pronounced or that, maybe, had learned something about one of the things that fascinated him so much.

This prequel fully immerses us in Mufasa's story and his journey to understand why he came to this world, something we can all relate to. How do we reconnect with reality after experiencing loss? During the movie's first minutes, there's a pure innocent childhood moment, which is also tragic. Who remembers feeling lost when you were little, when your mom or dad weren't next to you, and everything was chaos? Then, you saw them a few feet away and felt that family warmth once again. Precisely this "family" meaning is masterfully reflected by a director who knows how to portray human connection like few others.

I'm not one of those people that likes to freely spoil others, so I would rather summarize the movie by saying: "this is Mufasa's story, from his tragic childhood to his adulthood, with several obstacles on the way, a foreign family that sees him as an outsider, a love interest and a vengeance." I have always found giving away plot details kind of rude and useless for those willing to read. Why reveal everything in great detail when I can just subtly present my perceptions over what I saw?

I know that Mufasa: The Lion King will be a box office success, and I'm not really interested in that. Beyond every advertising campaign or economic interests, many times I believe in the simple idea that we have to let ourselves be carried away by what we feel in front of a big screen. In this case, I blindly compromise with what my inner child is loudly demanding, and I can't say no to. But Jenkins' movie doesn't pretend to use part of our memory to feed us a spiritual placebo or pat our backs like silently telling us: "So nice you came, thank you for supporting me." No, the director rather inspires the audience's engraved feelings through a genuine restoration. The movie feels like a new halo or a breath of fresh air; an immersive experience that simply—and unexpectedly—makes it to my personal 2024 top.

There are certain stories that stick with us, that get into our DNA and start to link to it, intertwining with other genetic codes. There are moments and experiences in our tiny existence that make it great and valuable. But most importantly, we live in an era in which, with so much criticism for nostalgia, Mufasa: The Lion King teaches us lessons we thought we had already learned. Long live great stories.

*POV means "point of view", a technique used to make us feel like we are in the protagonist's shoes.

Posted on DECEMBER 24, 2024, 19:18 PM | UTC-GMT -3

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