The Zookeeper's Wife

Some animals are peaceful, others, ferocious.

Without researching the subject too seriously this evening, I would make the claim that vegetarian animals are generally less hostile, while those who eat meat are more instinctively vicious.

Bearing in mind Yann Martel's analysis of zoos in Life of Pi, and various observations I've made while observing wildlife behaviour, I've come to the conclusion that many animals don't mind living in zoos, especially if they have an abundance of food and lots of space to move around in, unless they are instinctively vicious, or are the resident alpha of an otherwise chill vegetarian herd.

Tigers are less friendly than bison for instance.

A raccoon (raccoons are omnivorous) makes a better fit for a zoo than a wolverine.

But when deciding whether or not an animal makes a good zoo fit, perhaps it's best to see how they react as individuals to suddenly being confined in a limited space that sharply contrasts their wild environment.

They may not travel very far in the wild; they may have a limited range.

But they do have the option to travel far and wide should they so desire, and, psychologically speaking, that makes a big difference.

If an animal is introduced to a zoo but continuously misbehaves and bites it's obvious that it doesn't belong, and should therefore be returned to the wild.

But if it doesn't seem to mind so much (animals, like humans, can be lazy), then the zoo can become its new home, and curious humans can benefit from the opportunity to see them chillin' doin' their domesticated thing, from time to time, should they choose to visit one.

Whales or giant sea creatures obviously don't belong in zoos or sea parks because it's quite difficult for them to grow accustomed to living in a bathtub, as Blackfish brilliantly demonstrated.

A lot of the larger fiercely independent animals like lions, bears and elephants don't seem to like them much either, although there are exceptions to the rule.

Love can play a key role in helping an animal adjust to zoo life.

In Niki Caro's The Zookeeper's Wife, Antonina Zabinski (Jessica Chastain) clearly loves her animals and is amorously devoted to cheerfully caring for them.

World War II commences however, and she's forced to suffer as her animals are grossly mistreated.

Fittingly, her family proceeds to resist Warsaw's Nazi occupation and turns their zoo into a refuge for those seeking to escape to allied territory.

Their self-sacrifice saves countless lives and functions as a shining historical exemplar of how to boldly fight back peacefully.

Come on Chechnya.

The film expertly contrasts the horrors of war with the benefits of community to create a dark sombre narrative that doesn't gratuitously focus on violence.

The terror is present but so is the love, and by revealing how communities can multiculturally come together in virulent times to humbly support one another, extremist mechanics seem pathetic by comparison.

Jessica Chastain delivers a captivating performance.

There were moments when I was thinking, "this response is bound to be cheesy," but the sophisticated way in which she timidly yet confidently stated her replies masterfully transformed the melodramatic into something tender and tragic, which helped me to understand why she's been so successful in film.

First rate.

Balancing the tender and the horrific in a way that clearly demonstrates the revolting nature of war without grotesquely showcasing its gruesome characteristics, preferring to celebrate friendship and collegiality without being trite or melodramatic, instead, is quite difficult to do, and Niki Caro's The Zookeeper's Wife remarkably accomplishes this feat.

Discourses of the solemn resiliently resisting.

If I'm ever in Warsaw, I'm spending the day at the zoo.