I don’t think Walt Disney intended for Pinocchio to be an absolutely terrifying experience for his audience, but to me it certainly was. Living wooden puppets with bugs for consciences and creepy old men who are really into making said puppets and also other creepy old men that are really into taking said puppets and turning them into slave donkeys and some fairy chick who essentially just popped in from time to time when things get especially fucked to say “I told you so” and bail?
I’m pretty sure that movie was my first drug experience.
I was about five or so when I first saw the film and heard the song “I’ve Got No Strings,” but it wasn’t until my early twenties that I got anything out of either (aside from sheer terror). In college, I developed a fondness for the Bildungsroman and picaresque novel, two forms of storytelling that I related to on a personal level. Read the rest of this entry