Movies: The Black Stallion (1979)

Francis Ford Coppola’s production of Walter Farley’s forties novel

Curiously and mysteriously, this 1979 motion picture opens in the desert as wind brushes the sand to reveal a small replica of a great black horse in Greek mythology. How the trinket came to the desert, why it’s there and its proximity to the story is unknown, undisclosed and, by the end, enigmatic. The opening shot forecasts the movie’s coda: the boy who was Alexander the Great and the black horse he came to conquer, ride and gallop, roust and trot as he took on the world.

The next shot frames the sea from the vantage point of a ship’s deck. This film could’ve been set on an epic scale and it is not; instead, The Black Stallion’s narrowly focused on a boy, a horse and their worlds. It’s an African American story—without the ubiquitous hyphen—beginning in Africa, ending in America and bonded in solitary struggle. The bond seals, strengthens and holds. At one point, the muscular, black animal comes to and goes after the boy as the child’s stolen away against his will—as if to rescue the one he’s come to trust. If you saw this movie in theaters in 1979 as I did, you may be moved again in new scenes for different reasons. Based upon the novel by Walter Farley, which I suspect is the reason the film endures, The Black Stallion is set in 1946.

The year is also part of the spell it’s able to cast. This masterpiece studies change—from wild one to a being of warmth and affection, from boy to adolescent, from grieving wife to wise widow, from fat, old farmer to revitalized teacher, from a nation ravaged by poverty and war to one glowing in grit, resolve and industry—rooted in mythical romanticism made possible by beginning at the brink of the middle of a dark century. As a boy, I recall being involved, particularly during the first third of The Black Stallion, which is quiet and loaded with lessons, wisdom and symbolism. As an adult, the wisdom is more threaded than I recalled. It’s woven into every scene.

The direction is not flawless. The style can be too clipped, cutting and abrupt. But pictures of wonder amplify and magnify insight and action throughout The Black Stallion. As Alec, Kelly Reno delivers one of the great child screen performances. Mickey Rooney was never better. The late Teri Garr is perfect as the mother. Like another 1979 film about racing and competition during a boy’s coming of age, Breaking Away by Peter Yates, The Black Stallion relishes racing as climax. But there’s much to appreciate about this film in its metamorphosis from wild horse to racehorse.

Notice the photography, which is often excellent. Notice the sound which, from the creaking of a ship and underwater gulps to sounds a horse makes and the whimpering of a boy in distress, stirs the suspense and ignites the imagination. Consistency through contrast distinguishes this 1979 film; Alec is both strong and vulnerable. His father guides, instructs and protects while he also neglects, abandons and endangers his son. Playing cards appear throughout The Black Stallion, from poker as a way to game international relations with potential friends and foes—a timely point amid tariffs as bluff and trading chip—to solitaire and a third playing card cue. The wardrobe is on point. Clothes matter.

Despite its reputation—and this seminal film never gets credit for this—material possessions matter in The Black Stallion. Throughout the motion picture, the manmade slowly and brilliantly shows its superiority to nature. A pocket knife permits emancipation. A barn, a cube of sugar, a gentleman’s office, ropes, trophies, a stopwatch and parallel lines of railroad tracks, as well as gears, rotors and machinery with close-ups of ships, smokestacks and motor cars, not to mention toys and things given, treasured and made meaningful—every effort man makes to create and to gauge, master and conquer nature takes on additional, even reverential, significance. In retrospect, I think this owes to producer Francis Ford Coppola.

This is not to minimize the gallantry of the horse and his natural environs and endowments. Cliffs, rocks, waves, seaweed, a cave, a cobra—all are depicted with skill. The Black Stallion is primarily about the boy who rides in pursuit of knowledge, growth and triumph. One need not worry about what’s become of the horse as the movie begins and ends with child and horse as the focus of a legend—yet even in this the stallion is mythologized in metal given by a father to his son. How wonderful to see a boy’s story within the context of men who threaten, protect and come to defend his life and honor, and all that can be possible to him—with woman, for a change, finding the male mysteriously, wondrously, perfectly perplexing as a catalyst for change to become the source that moves the world—as the boy becomes himself.

The Black Stallion is a tale of the one who goes it alone with consistency, clarity and curiosity, seeking only warmth, laughter and companionship from others who deserve it and nothing more. The smallest details in character, including the muddying of a media star’s lily white slacks and shoes and the ripping away of a black costume and mask to ride and live free, afford a sense of play everywhere from an African island to an arena of riders and aristocrats. The Black Stallion depicts labor, too, with parenting as a mother must make a choice. And there’s the art of teaching what you know without betraying that you might’ve known better and without succumbing to the temptation to impress and spoil the child for life. The Black Stallion dramatizes these with elegance and individualism in a story which can only be cast in America.

During an interview after the film, in which I participated, director Carroll Ballard, who credits Mr. Coppola, criticized Farley’s original novel which had excited Coppola as a young filmmaker, following Coppola’s success with The Godfather (1972). Ballard referred to the novel as “Leave it to Beaver with a horse” and some in the audience laughed in mockery. But his intended jab is a compliment if you know the television show and what it means. It depicted a wholesome, loving family with a father, mother and sons whose love, support and parenting are a springboard for a lifetime of goodness. Somehow, I think Mr. Coppola, whatever his darkness, must have recognized this. He produced this exceptional film, which he made possible, as Ballard admits. The Black Stallion may be Francis Ford Coppola’s purest work of art.

Here’s an additional bonus for reading my review. I had forgotten that the Walt Disney Studios had contracted the director of the environmentalism and whale-themed Free Willy to direct a prequel to The Black Stallion, which I reviewed for Box Office Mojo during my tenure there. Disney partnered to release the movie in IMAX theaters. You can read my review of The Young Black Stallion (2003) here.

---

Related Episodes, Links and Articles