The other weekend, while snowed in, I sat down and re-watched the psychedelic nightmare that is The NeverEnding Story for the first time since I was maybe ten years old.
Bastian is a young boy with a dead mother, that steals a book from an old man. After a bunch of kids throw shade his way, he sneaks up into the attic of his school, and gets lost in the novel.
The film is full of creepy, mystical creatures, but the least believable part is how he stays up in the attic for like three straight days. He has a single sandwich, no water, no bathroom, and apparently a total dick for a dad. Although there were a lot of times in my childhood that I wished that my parents would just lay off, if I got stuck in a book for days, I would hope that they would come looking for me, as well as the police and a good psychiatrist.
It's official. Thanks to my never ending cynicism, the magic of old fantasy films is dead. Adulthood is weird sometimes, you guys.
~sarah p.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
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