Damn you, Pixar – you’ve done it again. You’ve gone and played with my emotions once more, you slimy fuckers. I blame Walt Disney, ol’ Mr Freeze himself. That fucker (or at least, the corporate machine that lives on as a hybrid money vacuum/avatar) now owns 98.5% of the known universe. By the time you read this sentence, Disney will probably own you too. And why not? I’ll happily sell out to the highest bidder too. Who am I kidding – I’ll probably sell to the lowest, and I’ll throw in some sexual favors to sweeten the deal.
Having sired a lovely daughter seven years ago means that many of the movies I watch these days are aimed at children. Pixar seems to understand that young children are accompanied by adults to cinemas, meaning that half or more of ticket sales are grown ups.
We watched Inside Out a few days ago, and both of us enjoyed it. But it also made me consider something else, something infinitely more crucial: my daughter is growing and changing at a rate that I can’t possibly fathom. Her opinions and perspective on the world is evolving at a pace that I can’t relate to, while my worldview has been pretty much constant – anger, with a liberal dose of crippling panic – since I was thirteen. In fact, my daughter mused upon leaving the theater that I reminded her of the Anger character, voiced by Lewis Black. I’m not sure how I felt about that then, and I’m still not sure now. Do I want my daughter, with all her innocence and purity, to openly consider me to be an emotional volcano, liable to erupt at a moment’s notice? Probably not. Perhaps she was joking. Probably not.
We returned home and my wife asked if we liked the movie. I replied that I enjoyed it very much, but that we were never moving interstate or overseas while our daughter is living under our roof.
And while I got a lot out of the movie, it wasn’t the first to tackle the “voices inside the head” theme.
I give you Herman’s Head, starring the incomparable William Ragsdale: