Skip to main content

What's This? What's This?

It seems to me that "The Nightmare Before Christmas" is about an artist. It's about a guy well-versed in his trade, longing for something new. It's like the story of Sondheim, around the time of "Merrily We Roll Along."

Like any good musical, "Nightmare" gives us a colorful setting. "In Our Town of Halloween": A literally two-faced mayor, The Thing Hiding Under Your Bed, an oppressive old woman endangered by Deadly Nightshade, a doll-human in need of stitching, an Oogie-Woogie (really just some worms), a superhero (part-pumpkin, part-skeleton).

Jack, our protagonist, has his big "I Want" moment: longing for new inspiration. And then, as in any great story, our protagonist goes on a journey. From Halloween Town to Christmas Town. A fish out of water. Inspired. Except that Jack doesn't fill out his red suit properly; his "gifts" are terrifying specters; he forcibly exerts his will on Santa Claus, who does not approve. (One of the great treats in this movie is the fact that the three little thugs do not understand the words "Santa Claus." They think they are hearing: "the Sandy Claws," which is of course what you would imagine if you lived in a perpetual Halloween.)

Life is what happens while you're making plans. Jack's endeavors are disastrous--or *are* they? Certainly, the residents of the Town of Christmas are momentarily miserable. But something is salvaged in this journey. Stretching himself, Jack rediscovers the areas where he really excels--and he is able to return to Halloween Town with new vim and vigor. Sally, his friend, goes to great lengths to keep Jack safe--and it's through the thorny discussions Jack and Sally have that the two iconic characters are fully able to discover their love for each other.

Phillip Lopate says: When you're writing a personal essay, you must aim high. You must attempt to think on the page, to reach for profundity. Even if you fail, there's something noble in the effort.

That's how I see "Nightmare." An artist stumbles--and, in stumbling, he attains a weird new grace. You need manure if you're going to nurture new plantings. There's truth in the idea, and even if you're not thinking along these lines, you can enjoy the larger-than-life roulette table, the slotted spoon, the ghost-dog.

"Nightmare." 4:20 today at the Union Square Regal. Join me....if you dare.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...
2 comments
Read more

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...
Post a Comment
Read more