Nostalgia is a powerful tool that not a lot of filmmakers have been able to harness particularly well, at least not in the sense of creating films that can be revisited later on and remain as resonant as they were when they were released, which is a tricky process that very few have managed to master in any substantial way. In the case of Babe, we find director Chris Noonan (who collaborated with George Miller, a director whose only truly consistent quality was his refusal to be pinned down to a particular genre or style of filmmaking) crafting a film that has remained as endearing and compelling as it was when it was first released over a quarter of a century ago, becoming an instant sensation and setting the gold-standard for family-oriented filmmaking. I recently revisited the film for the first time in quite several years and was not at all shocked to discover that the same level of charm and upbeat brilliance pulsated through this film, even when viewed through slightly more mature eyes, which is an immediate sign of a film that has not only aged well but solidified itself in the history of cinema in a way that is never anything short of absolutely deserved. Based on the novel The Sheep-Pig by Dick King-Smith, which adorned many a classroom bookshelf for most of us in the Anglophone world, the film is a delightful and heartfelt comedy that takes a very simple story and develops it into an enduring masterpiece of family-based filmmaking, functioning as one of the most captivating explorations of friendship, as seen through the story of an unexpectedly heroic little pig who proves that champions come in any shape and size and that no one should ever be counted out since the moment we underestimate the underdog is the moment when they prove us wrong. Brilliantly captivating and nothing short of a masterpiece, a term that may be thrown around liberally when discussing any film that achieves greatness, but certainly is not unearned when looking at Babe, which has maintained its reputation as one of the most impactful works of family-based filmmaking produced in the past thirty years.

There are many ways to make a strong family film, but perhaps the most simple (albeit the one that most tend to overlook) is found in the very name of the genre – these films need to be not only appropriate for the whole family but actively entertaining for everyone, regardless of their age. Babe is one of the best examples of this concept in practice, since this is a film that pays attention to every viewer, and ensures that everyone is given something of value. This entails finding the right balance between the comedy – there is a lot of juvenile humour, but it is never immature, while there are many jokes that are targeted at older viewers that are off-kilter but never bawdy or inappropriate. Striking the right balance between the two was vitally important, and helps us understand precisely why this film has always been viewed as a major success, and one that can easily be revisited by viewers of all ages, since it offers solid, reliable entertainment for everyone, never pandering to one group over the others, making it one of the purest and most sincerely moving comedies of its era. There is an intelligence to this film that we don’t initially notice at first – what we see throughout the story may seem simple, but as we immerse ourselves deeper into this world, we start to notice smaller details, whether in the main storyline or the several humorous interludes that are inserted in between to help pad the story and add nuance to an already very captivating film. Noonan and Miller’s partnership as the creative minds that chose to adapt a quaint novel to the screen results in a film that has a lot of heart, bringing out the humour in the most unexpected of situations by refusing to neglect that there are many other ways to tell such a story without needing to depend on the same level of humour, since there is a natural and logical progression that allows a film like Babe to be both familiar and inventive in equal measure, maintaining the same level of consistent charm but shifting in creative ways.

Is it not peculiar that one of the most humane films of the 1990s comes in the form of a story centred primarily on a farm animal? We often find that the most resonant films are those that take a slightly more unorthodox approach to exploring certain themes, and Babe is certainly not an exception. Beneath the humourous exterior, there is a very meaningful film, and even if we watch it well into adulthood, we still find ourselves profoundly moved by the emotional content which drives this story and makes it so thoroughly engaging we may often find that having experienced adulthood in some way forces a lot of these themes to be far more impactful since it not only makes us yearn for those carefree days of youthful innocence but allows us to see the smaller details that make up the foundation of this story and make it so cohesive and captivating. It would have been extremely easy (and perhaps even expected) for a film like Babe to be overwrought and filled to the brim with the most heavy-handed emotions, and while there are certainly many scenes in which we find the story tugging on our heartstrings with some degree of intensity, it all feels very genuine, almost as if this is intentionally provoking a certain reaction, one that is quite notable but always authentic, which helps elevate the material and make it seem so much more complex than we may have initially have anticipated. This doesn’t preclude Babe from being very funny, but rather the balance of humour with slightly more melancholic moments adds a degree of complexity to the proceedings, which in turn assists in this film feeling much more engaging and enticing in ways that we may not have remembered from encounters with this story in our earlier years. Noonan has a strong directorial eye, and he brings this novel to life with such incredible ease, that it isn’t difficult to understand precisely why Babe has remained so cherished over the many years since its initial release.

Part of the appeal of Babe has always been the titular character, who is the very definition of an unconventional leading star. When W.C. Fields quipped that his most sage advice for young people in Hollywood was to “never work with children or animals”, he didn’t realize how they can make for profoundly interesting protagonists, as made very evident by this film. What we see throughout this story is a protagonist who is not at all traditional – a juvenile pig that has to be conveyed as some immensely poignant hero, defying the odds and proving to be an unexpected champion that none of us could have anticipated. Considering this film runs the full 90 minutes and doesn’t deviate from showing the character of Babe as the focus (to the point where other actors in the film notoriously argued with the studio about their attempts to convey them as the leads of the film when in reality the pig was the sole protagonist), a lot of work needed to be done to capture our attention – and while it may not be a particularly impressive performance in a conventional sense, outside of the adorable use of the pig actors and Christine Cavanaugh’s lovely vocal performance, the film works around some clear obstacles to create a story that is deeply meaningful and always very resonant in how it portrays its main character. Another very distinct performance comes on behalf of James Cromwell, who is possibly the heart of the film – while he isn’t the focus, he brings such humanity and depth to a relatively simple character and brings about some very meaningful moments that would otherwise have gone unnoticed had the role been played by someone who didn’t realize the humanity that underpins this character. Rather than constructing the film as being based on a range of wacky animals, the film prioritizes meaningful characters that are both funny and endearing, which may seem like a simple concept, but are oddly quite rare in broad family films, in which archetypes are all too common.

Every time a majorly successful family film emerges and does well both commercially and critically, it is labelled as being the next Babe, a film that crosses generational boundaries and unites audiences under a common cause. Except for a few animated projects over the years, as well as The Paddington (which is the closest the current young generation has to a film that mirrors the same level of success), nothing has quite come close to the cultural phenomenon that was this film, which has truly stood the test of time better than most. It is a sweet, sentimental comedy with a lot of heart and even more genuine curiosity – it may be the best film Noonan has directed, which may seem like a slight against his skills, but is the complete opposite, being a resounding celebration of his impeccable talents and unquestionable willingness to do something different with unexpectedly deep material. There are many versions of this film that could have manifested, but we are fortunate to have been given perhaps the best one – a captivating, moving and hilariously funny film, anchored by strong characters that are three-dimensional and always captivating, driven by a sense of genuine charm and an atmosphere that feels perfectly aligned with the sensibilities that drive this film. Babe is consistently cited as being one of the best family films ever made, which is certainly not something with which anyone would dare to argue, and this sentiment is built on much more than just nostalgia – objectively, this a wonderfully quaint, endearing little film that manages to be as hilarious as it is heartfelt, and even when it does veer towards certain emotions, they feel real and contribute to the overall ideas that propel this story. It was a delight to revisit this film, which has aged better than the majority of family films, which proves that sometimes the most effective approaches are the ones that seem the most simple in theory, but have an abundance of merits that make for stories that cross generational and geographical boundaries, ultimately resulting in a deeply moving and sentimental examination of humanity, as seen through the eyes of the most unexpected protagonist.