Gone to Earth was cut from 110 minutes for its American release, and several new scenes were added. Rouben Mamoulian directed the new footage while, as Challis recalls, 'tremendous arguments about the script caused a lot of reshooting — pretty well the whole of the end sequence and additional scenes too'. Selznick eventually discarded all but 35 minutes of Gone to Earth even eliminating some characters altogether until — with yet another new title, The Wild Heart and running at only 82 minutes — it was finally released in May 1952. This version differs from Gone to Earth by the addition of a spoken prologue (by Joseph Cotten) — a typical Selznick device — and a few non-essential plotlines, but loses much of the poetic imagery and mystical quality of Powell and Pressburger's version. Despite Selznick's efforts, The Wild Heart failed with US audiences although, perversely, this version was released in the UK on home video in 1980, with the original unavailable until the NFA's glorious new print was seen at the 1985 London Film Festival.

"... a visually spellbinding romance. Christopher Challis' photography evokes Shropshire and the Welsh borders so that you can smell the earth. Menace, the bloodlust of the chase (of the fox or the outcast sinner), is omnipresent as trees bend and wild creatures panic before an unseen primal force. ... the haunting dreamlike consistency recalls that other fairy story of innocence and menace, The Night of the Hunter."
— Martin Hoyle, TimeOut

"The book resounds with elemental imagery through which states of mind and impending events are reflected in natural phenomena — not so much pantheism as Darwinian materialism, seeing physical drives rather than spiritual ideals as determining human life. Low-angled shots of black trees swaying ominously are accompanied by a soundtrack of hunting music, thudding hooves and chanting voices whose reverberations have almost physical impact, both evoking the Black Meet in Hazel's mind and creating a more general sense of dark, hostile forces threatening humankind. When the same soundtrack is heard over Reddin's relentless pursuit on horseback of Hazel, this is no facile symbolism. Hazel is attracted to what she fears most, as her reaction — a mixture of terror and exitement — shows; she is implicated in her own fate. The association of Reddin with the Black Huntsman, with the forces of death — manifested in his need to dominate, possess and control — is a reflection of his class as much as his masculinity. The film, like the novel, sees evil not as an abstract entity but as materially present in social institutions, in people's minds and hearts."
— Pam Cook, Monthly Film Bulletin, November 1986, vol. 53, no. 634

"... une fable superbe, d'une grande légèreté et simplicité qui contrevient à la réputation de complexité du cinéma de Powell. Une célébration magique de la nature. Œuvre harmonieuse sur l'harmonie universelle, le film est audacieusement littéral ... Le film devient fascinant en décrivant un monde où la sensation, le pur instinct, les forces telluriques, le magnétisme animal dépassent la raison et la passion. ... Plus profond qu'il n'y parait, le film est directement en prise avec les éléments. Voir la scène d'une grande poésie où Hazel invoque les esprits de la montagne a propos de sa relation avec Jack Reddin, hobereau ténébreux, chasseur un peu diabolique qui la poursuit de ses assiduités. Suivant scrupuleusement les instructions du grimoire hérité de sa mère, Hazel contourne cérémonieusement un rocher où elle a déposé son châle, dans l'attente d'une musique divine qui sera le signe favorable : scène d'incantation païenne inédite dans le cinéma hollywoodien, qui rappelle presque certains trips de Kenneth Anger revus récemment. Mais au-delà de l'opposition entre christianisme et paganisme, le véritable enjeu est la lutte entre le principe masculin l'instinct sexuel du chasseur — et le principe féminin — la terre, à la fois gouffre et matrice de la nature. Powell suggère cela avec grâce. Reste la pincée de perversion qui pimente le film. Notamment quand Reddin espionne, un sourire concupiscent aux lèvres, la jeune fille qui essaie des robes de princesse dans son château. Le Powell du Voyeur pointe alors le bout de l'oreille... Mais guère plus, car ce drame magique est avant tout une poétique leçon de chose.
— Vincent Ostria: Découvrir La Renarde de Michael Powell. Cahiers du cinéma n°511 - mars 1997

Film: **** out of *****
DVD: **** out of *****