Last Friday featured an intriguing thought from the mind of A.O. Scott:
Over the last few years, in the course of many parent conferences andelementary-school curriculum nights, I’ve become familiar with the concept of the “just-right book.” This, my children’s teachers patiently explain, is a book that is perfectly suited to a child’s reading ability: neither too easy, in which case he or she will grow bored, nor too difficult, which risks frustration and confusion.
I defer to the pedagogical expertise of the professionals, but something in me nonetheless rebels against the idea that the books children choose should always be safely within their developmental comfort zone. There is pleasure to be found in bewilderment, in the struggle to make sense of what is just above your head, and there is wisdom as well.
I was raised in a film-friendly household. My siblings and I were introduced to films by my parents the same way were introduced to things like solid food and bike-riding. My parents made a judgement about what was appropriate and what was not for me and my brother, and made rules accordingly. I was introduced to Tim Burton with Edward Scissorhands (PG-13) when I was far younger than 13. Was I traumatized by the vague sexual references and moderate violence and the fact that there was no Disney ending for Burton's tragic hero? If I was, I don't remember. All I remember is that I was fascinated with the fantasy suburbia Burton created, with his pastel homes and kindly Dianne Weist as the Avon lady. All I remember is the sadness I felt for Edward in his loneliness. It was the kind of loneliness that I could identify with, being a skinny dorky child with bad teeth who read too many books.
And I was shown the original John Waters' Hairspray when I was probably too young to register the irony of the fact Devine was playing Edna Turnblad. Did the sight of a transvestite corrupt my young mind beyond the brink of insanity? Nope. I was just charmed by a lovely tale of outcasts triumphing over adversity. And the sight of a guy in a dress became something "normal"- something that deserved tolerance and respect. Plus I was always a sucker for coordinated dance numbers.
Of course there are films that are not meant for children. It's not like I'm advocating the little tykes all take a nice school trip to a showing of sex, lies and videotape. I just think that there shouldn't be a lot of unnecessary guilt attached to showing a film that may challenge your child, or frustrate them- or, God forbid, get them to ask you questions. You know, about life, or whatever. If we truly believe that film can be a medium for artistry, a medium that can engage people, why not young people?
In fact, whenever I decide to fulfill my biological imperative and spawn my own little mavens, I think the only films I'll steer my kids away from are those that feature tired plot lines and stereotyped characters.
Or anything made by Brett Ratner. That's just cruel.
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