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By BRANDON JUDELL
When I was ten, I remember
walking to school looking up at the sky. There was
a cloud there that I thought was my mother, who
had died six years earlier. I started chatting
with her. I no longer recall whether this was an
internal chat or a public, external one, but I
thanked her for being up there and safeguarding
me. I bring up this memory, because I often wonder
why and when these two odd images became a part of
my life: talking clouds and angels in heaven. I
suspect I got them from watching film and TV.
In "The Phantom Empire," Geoffrey O'Brien argues
that film not only taught us how to kiss, how to
love and how to be an American, but also to see
what had previously belonged to the far less
powerful domain of words and painting.
"There was a band of them, men now old or dead who
had made the camera an instrument for
photographing the invisible. The Frenchman
Bresson, who framed the almost empty faces of
non-professional actors as if they were bait for
trapping a state of grace...The Dane Dreyer, who
stared so relentlessly at his people that it
seemed he could follow them into death and then
bring them back...The Japanese Mizoguchi, who
moved his camera in beguiling and enveloping
patterns that blocked out magical boundary lines."
And don't forget Cocteau's "Orpheus," the less
arty fare like Hollywood's "Topper" and hundreds
of others.
To this company, add director Brad Silberling's
at-times-silly, yet frequently charming and witty
"Casper." The little ghost who once only wanted
friends in his comic-book existence acquired some
metaphysical baggage in his 1995 big screen debut,
which is now on a Special Edition DVD.
Casper still hungers for chums, and he still has
to deal with those nasty ghostly uncles Stretch,
Stinkie and Fatso, but now he has a past, too. He
was once a comely lad who went sledding for too
long against his Dad's wishes, caught a cold and
passed on. But instead of going to heaven, Casper
decided to remain on earth to keep his lonely
father company. Dad, a bit of a crazed inventor to
start with, started building a machine that would
bring his phantom of a son back to life. For this
he was eventually committed.
Into this world enters ghost therapist Dr. James
Harvey (Bill Pullman) and his unbelieving daughter
Kat (Christina Ricci). Hired by the greedy
Carrigan Crittenden (Cathy Moriarty) and her
sidekick Dibs (Eric Idle) to transform a haunted
estate located in Friendship, Maine, into a
ghostless property, Dr. Harvey has a plan. His
theory is that ghosts are stuck in this world
because their previous lives haven't been
resolved. Once their unfinished strands of a past
life are tied up, poof! they're out of here. (Dr.
Harvey is also, by the way, casting about for the
spirit of his recently dead wife.) Paging Sigmund!
Little kids (there are just a few minutes that
might be too scary) and early teens should have a
blast here. There's a spiritual romance between
Casper and Christina, plenty of boos, gimmicky
special effects, a sensational set by Leslie
Dilley and a surprisingly clever script scribed by
Sherri Stone and Deanna Oliver -- plus executive
producer Steven Spielberg's magic touch. Extra
features for grown-ups include a commentary track
with Silberling, interviews with the cast from
'95, one deleted scene and cast bios; extras for
the younger set include interactive games (a
treasure hunt and an anagram challenge), two
episodes from the original animated series
("Penguin For Your Thoughts" and "Casper's Haunted
House of Halloween Fun") and a bunch of DVD-ROM
features (recipes, games, activities, etc.).
Best of all though is the comforting, absurd way
the film explains death. So unless you are a
totally matter-of-fact parent ("You die, the worms
get you, and that's it!"), station wagon your
brood to Casper's immediately. Reality has its
place, but so does the magic of Hollywood. |
