Frozen
Friday night we took G to his first in-theater movie. We’ve tried—and often failed—to limit the amount of screen time he gets, and at three-and-a-half years the grand total of feature-length films he has seen is three. Finding Nemo we showed him in the summer, and he wasn’t ready for it, but two weeks ago we showed him Cars, and he loved most everything about it: the races astonished him, and in gender-stereotypical fashion the idea of talking machines was every bit his cup of tea. Just as novel to him was the experience of ordering pizza and eating it in the living room; he’s talked about that ever since. K and I were eager to take him to the theater after that. Good reviews and this adorable trailer inspired us to give Frozen a go.
Though Frozen had more romance, emotional handwringing, and Deep Talks About Family than G could follow, its action, comic relief, and nonhuman characters were strong enough that he enjoyed it immensely. (He also enjoyed getting popcorn and lemonade.) He sat in my lap for much of the film because he’s still so small he couldn’t stop the seat from folding him up like a pen knife. If you had been in my place, then during the previews, the opening Mickey Mouse short, the opening titles, and much of the feature’s first half hour you would have seen the black silhouette of a little boy’s head as he leaned forward, rapt. You would have felt him jump in surprise and heard him laugh nervously as the action picked up, and during the sequence with Snowball the monster (a “snowtroll,” he took to calling it afterward) who pushed down trees and “knocked people off the bridge,” you would have held him close as he turned to you in fright (if not fear). You would have smiled at his delight with the Mickey Mouse short and Olaf. You also would have noticed when he misunderstood the things he saw, such as when Anna, a little girl, was struck in the head and he laughed.
