The most simultaneously romantic and melancholy 3 minutes of film from my youth, from a time when an airplane trip was the event of lifetime, when Tahiti was a far-away place only experienced through books and movies. It was a period that fit neatly between the overacted wooden Clark Gable version filmed through a Western lens and the overacted jaded Mel Gibson version layered with sexual orientation psychobabble.
David Lean was planning a version, even built a Bounty replica that still sails today, but alas it was never filmed.
In my opinion, Trevor Howard and Marlon Brando (and the entire cast, including the islands) are the best presentation of this true story.
Fletcher Christian's descendants live still live in Pitcairn to this day.
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