by Sam Adams

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Song of the South (Tue., Oct. 9., 6 and 7:45 p.m., free, Chestnut Hill Free Library, 8711 Germantown Ave., 215-248-0977) Considering that it's often ranked among the most controversial movies ever made, the most surprising thing about Song of the South is how innocuous it is. Fitting a live-action frame around animated versions of Joel Chandler Harris' Uncle Remus stories, the movie presents an idyllic picture of Reconstruction-era Georgia, complete with smiling sharecroppers and kindly plantation owners. But when you put James Baskett's sly Uncle Remus up against, say, Butterfly McQueen's bug-eyed Prissy, it's hard to see why Gone With the Wind is available as a deluxe four-DVD set while Song of the South molders in Disney's vaults.

Originally released in 1946, the movie won two Oscars, including an honorary statue for star James Baskett, but it has been nearly impossible to see for decades. Despite the studio's penchant for repurposing its back catalog, Disney has never issued the movie on home video in the U.S., and the film has not been seen in theaters since protests greeted its 40th-anniversary reissue in 1986. Rumors circulated in 1996 and again last year that the movie might finally be committed to disc, but after publicly hemming and hawing over a period of months, Disney announced there were no plans to release Song of the South in any form.

Once you've seen Song of the South, it's hard to account for its uniquely untouchable status. It's nowhere near as malicious as The Birth of a Nation, less bizarre than The Jazz Singer and less awful than The Emperor's New Groove. True, Disney has a family-friendly image to uphold, but the studio has owned up to far darker chapters in its history, notably the series of overtly racist propaganda shorts they produced during WWII, reissued with admirable contextual footnotes as part of the collector-oriented "Disney Treasures" series.

Ironically, Song of the South's popularity may be the greatest barrier to its reappearance. But reappear it should, and not only as a historical curiosity. Song is hardly a great movie, but Baskett's lively performance shows the intelligence behind Uncle Remus' tales, here conceived as parables to help the son of the plantations' owners weather his parents' threatened divorce. Even in their animated versions, Remus' tales reveal their roots in African folklore, and Gregg Toland's cinematography ingeniously soups up the live-action colors to match their ink-and-paint vibrancy. Opening their 34th season with dual free screenings, the Chestnut Hill Film Group shows why they remain a vital part of the city's film culture.

(s_adams@citypaper.net)