Being savaged by delinquent gulls in Hitchcock's The Birds must have given Tippi Hedren a masochistic approach to wildlife. In Roar, the brainchild of husband Marshall, the hapless woman is pursued around an African jungle holiday home by 150 assorted Big Cats and a couple of jumbos. The narrative is a farcical melange of pseudo David Attenborough and Disneyspeak, married to equally fickle camerawork. The bizarre contradictions insist that the film be evaluated as a curiosity. Its value is as an ingenuous documentary portrait of the Marshalls as mega-eccentrics and misguided animal lovers (they have more than 100 lions and tigers as pets at their LA pad). Who can deny the grisly charm of Noel explaining what wonderful human beings leos are as a pride member playfully gnaws his leg?