Those damn fire ants...

 THE NAKED JUNGLE (1954)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

For my level of interest in pure adventure tales, Byron Haskin's "The Naked Jungle" fits the bill to a tee. It is a jungle melodrama with all the trappings of a pulpy B-movie, complete with a firm, tough, pistol-packing Charlton Heston, a beautiful flame-haired dame, lots of stock Indian natives, a luxurious house on a South American plantation, the cliched jungle creature sounds, and lots of nasty fire ants (yes, Indiana Jones fans, this is the genesis of the hungry fire ants attacking humans in the last Indy flick).

Heston, never a great actor but a towering, raging, full of gusto and self-important kind of actor, plays Christopher Leiningen, a plantation owner of cocoa fields who gets a mail-ordered bride from New Orleans. The problem is that he might have expected a brainless bimbo and instead he gets a cultured woman named Joanna (Eleanor Parker), who knows several languages and can play the piano. Christopher is an impotent man who spent too many years in the jungle without a woman. Thus, he is immediately scornful of her due to her independence and ability to stand up to him, yet he slowly begins to like her. Of course, this couple is mismatched and so he is ready to send her home until fire ants, known as the Marabunta, are scurrying their way through his plantation and cocoa fields. Chris, the man of action, is ready to destroy these ants with dynamite and this makes him potent and ready to kiss his leading lady without compromise. Nope, she is not headed back to New Orleans.

Crisply directed by Byron Haskins ("War of the Worlds), "Naked Jungle" spends a lot of time on the developing relationship between Chris and Joanna. Precious little time is devoted to Chris's imperialist attitude and his acceptance of these natives, whom he doesn't abuse which is why they work for him in the first place - all they might do is shrink a head or two. It is a typical adventure movie of the 50's where the white man is the savior among a supposedly inferior race. The feminists are likely to fret over Chris's machismo that is rejuvenated by a woman of taste and elegance. At least she is ready to give up her white umbrella to the natives.

Pulp is never meant to be taken seriously, nor is this movie, originally based on a Carl Stephenson short story. A truly terrifying climax and a supple supporting acting turn from a less hefty William Conrad as the Commissioner are major pluses. A highlight is seeing Chris apply ointment to Joanna's skin so as to protect her from the ants, and another highlight is watching Chris violently douse his own plantation-made perfume on her. As I said, if you know what to expect, prepare to be entertained. As a sheerly high-pitched melodrama that they don't make any more, it works. Those seeking political correctness, stay far away (though Joanna is smarter than most of her 50's counterparts). Either way, watch out for those creepy fire ants that will make your skin crawl and itch.