Inside is a family that you would never assume could live comfortably in a little box house. Not one of the three boys wears anything less than a size 14 shoe. The youngest, a girl, already wears a size 10 shoe and she is just 10 years old. The mother wears a size 7.5. The father a size 9.5. Obviously Tim Burton has a sense of humor.
The living room is filled with overstuffed furniture that should never have been chosen for a little box house, emphasizing more contradictions that puzzle the viewer. When it is filled with the six family members, say on New Year's Eve, it feels a lot like a shoe closet. Even the audience grows itchy and tries to stretch out just to make sure they aren’t also stuck in the little box house too.
The film begins with a nice wide shot of the gray outside, and pans to the inside where the family begins the annual New Year's ritual of the weird food buffet, which is why the movie is so popular. Everyone wants to know how in the world they came up with that particular menu for New Year’s Eve. Who in the world would have thought that shrimp cocktail, potato chips and onion dip, thin mints, overdone brownies, peanuts and ginger ale would go together anywhere but in the mind of say, a teenager? Only in a Tim Burton film could you combine that kind of culinary disaster and come up with genius that equaled slightly crazy.
And add to the craziness, the piano bench table. The entire buffet fits on a small piano bench that the family used as a coffee table just for his occasion. Everyone sits on the small sofa, the single chair, or the floor. They will eventually devour the shrimp, everyone except the older boy who would go into anaphylactic shock if he ate shellfish, but hey, who cares about him? He wasn't the star of the movie after all.
The theme of the film is a little bit off kilter, a tiny bit suspenseful and disturbing. In the little box house, you begin to get a sense that something was off with the parents. And sure enough, at 11:30PM right when everyone was supposed to gather around to celebrate, the parents have an awful fight, loud and full of acrimonious words that could punch the gut and leave you breathless. Audiences would stop the popcorn flow midair when that happened. A hush would fall over the theater, because while most people have witnessed their parents arguing, no one had seen it accomplished quite this way. The words they used in the film were as powerful as weapons that kill other humans, practically shattering their souls into fractured pieces. They escalate until finally at ll: 45PM doors slam making everyone in the audience jump even though they knew it was coming.
The tension on the screen is felt throughout the audience. Some had tears in their eyes as they watched the children hiding in their bedrooms, ears to the door waiting for détente. The odd buffet remained untouched in the shoebox living room, the tin cups holding ginger ale glistening from condensation making bleached circles on the wooden bench.
The Burton film photography is stellar. It pans to the outside where sleet is falling mimicking the unsettled storminess inside the house. It zoomed back into the house, first to the empty living room and the lonely buffet, to each room where a child would peek out from their doorways looking for hope. And then to the closed doors where the parents had each gone.
Then you see the smallest child, the girl emerge from her room and quietly move first to her mother's closed door. She turns the knob and sticks her nose through the crack of the door and then her curls follow. She finds her mother in bed, scrunched up small under the covers quietly crying. She goes to her and simply offers her hand. Her mother quietly turns to her, and offers a hug. They stay that way for a few seconds, and the camera catches the mother holding back tears of frustration and embarrassment. She takes the girl's hand and they move to the door and you see them make their way to the small living room. They collect the boys along the way. Everyone is silent still. The camera moves to the clock. It is 11:50PM. The girl moves to the other closed door and squares her shoulders. She turns to the others and they nod. Her mother smiles weakly. The audience sees the pain in the mother’s eyes because she knows that it should be her job and not the child's, but she lets it be.
The girl’s head is moving, in her flannel nightgown and giant slippers, her curls actually do most of the nodding. She tells her father that everyone is waiting for him and that the shrimp will go bad soon. She knows that he values the shrimp more than anything else in that room tonight and he will come back to the family because of the seafood. To waste it would be a sin. And she wins. He nods, snuffs out his cigarette and moves past her to the living room where everyone waits.
11:55PM. This is a good night. She did her best time this New Year’s Eve, plus two minutes for her best record from year’s past. Everyone will have time to actually chew the food rather than just swallowing it. The rule stands that one minute after midnight the buffet must stop and everyone has to go to bed. The camera follows the father as he takes his place on the single chair and reaches for a shrimp. That is the cue for the others to join in. Five minutes of feasting, watching the television tuned to Time's Square, quiet conversation consisting mostly of comments about the food.
12:00AM. The family counts down together holding up their tin cups filled with ginger ale, waiting the moment to toast the New Year. They cry out Happy New Year to each other, clink together the tin cups and sip, or in the case of the boys, gulp down the ginger ale and grab as much food they can in the next minute.
The parents have wished each other a happy new year and have made up. For that night at least. The camera watches them as they kiss each other and stand with the foreheads touching. Without words they demonstrate to everyone watching, that with so much emotion to hate, the other side has to be love. The audience gets to see it as clearly as though they were right in the room with them.
The film ends with a fade-out of that New Year’s Eve and a fast-forward to two weeks later. Only this time, the family is now 5. Three boys, and one small girl, and the father walk single file, solitary forms, in the sleet and snow laden skies behind a casket which holds the mother, in a cemetery that is filled with skeleton trees burdened with mounds of snow and ice, the headstones colder than the granite they are made from. They trudge through the snow to the gravesite where they bury their mother, their wife.
There will be no more New Year’s Eves for that family of six.
Comments
this is one of those posts where your finger hesitates over the "publish" link. I closed my eyes and hit it. I had no idea at all that this would be one of the hardest pieces ever to write. It's been four hundred years already and it still feels like a minute ago. Myrtle's art makes me keep it posted, so there you have it.
"She knows time is running out and she must get him to the celebration or the whole year will be ruined. "
I can hardly stand it. Rated for good writing. And grief.
I can hardly stand it. Rated for good writing. And grief.
Definitely one that will stay with me as I try to figure out more about the family. What a writer leaves out can be as haunting as what she puts in. Rated.
Reading this story felt like a very long journey, emotionally speaking. Wow... this will stay with me for a while.
very insightful, and wonderfully written
p.s. great art! :)
p.s. great art! :)
VERY imaginative. Great job!
RATED!
Happy New Year
Greg
RATED!
Happy New Year
Greg
This hit me like a punch in the gut. Oh my gosh...just two weeks later? I can only imagine how difficult this must have been to write but you've done it beautifully. I'm sure your mom would be proud. Thanks for allowing us to share such a painful memory.
One more thing - I saw this in the feed yesterday but I thought it was a recipe and decided to save reading it for New Years's Day. I'm really glad I read it today.
This is one of those pieces of art that you read and wonder "how is this not on the front page?" Then you remember the mechanics of the site, the volume, the varied audience---all those things we don't have to worrry about cause we're the writers.
And it helps you to remember that reaction or numbers don't tell the story of the art. At all. (I have to remind myself of that about oh every 10 minutes. . . .)
So the next thought becomes---tell this person (you!) that this story came alive in every sip of ginger ale and every swallow of pain.
You captured me totally with this. Some of the best writing I've seen on the site.
I hope putting it down brought you even a small bit of peace---because it brought me a busload of admiration for your talent and courage in being able to share this.
Congratulations Lisa. You've created something beautiful from all that pain.
And that is not easy. PLease keep writing. Whether you have one reader or a thousand. Keep writing!
Roger
And it helps you to remember that reaction or numbers don't tell the story of the art. At all. (I have to remind myself of that about oh every 10 minutes. . . .)
So the next thought becomes---tell this person (you!) that this story came alive in every sip of ginger ale and every swallow of pain.
You captured me totally with this. Some of the best writing I've seen on the site.
I hope putting it down brought you even a small bit of peace---because it brought me a busload of admiration for your talent and courage in being able to share this.
Congratulations Lisa. You've created something beautiful from all that pain.
And that is not easy. PLease keep writing. Whether you have one reader or a thousand. Keep writing!
Roger
Beautifully done. A dark side of life which is so common today also, with all the frustrations of our time.
Happy New Year!
Happy New Year!
Thank you all so very much.
Roger, your words cheered me! Thank you. Putting it down wiped me out frankly, but now that it is out, it gets easier by the moment.
Lisa - it can be a recipe of sorts, like how to not screw up the kids....yeah, 2 weeks later. Looking back, shouldn't have been much of a surprise - she was worn down to the bone from his push/pull craziness.
Lea - yep. And here's to letting it go now so that the new year can begin differently.
SeattleK8 Thank you so much.
Lemuridae - very true!
UK- a long long journey.
Greg - thanks and happy new year to you too!
JL - thank you too. I appreciate it very much.
Roger, your words cheered me! Thank you. Putting it down wiped me out frankly, but now that it is out, it gets easier by the moment.
Lisa - it can be a recipe of sorts, like how to not screw up the kids....yeah, 2 weeks later. Looking back, shouldn't have been much of a surprise - she was worn down to the bone from his push/pull craziness.
Lea - yep. And here's to letting it go now so that the new year can begin differently.
SeattleK8 Thank you so much.
Lemuridae - very true!
UK- a long long journey.
Greg - thanks and happy new year to you too!
JL - thank you too. I appreciate it very much.
Going to try this again.
This was very powerful, Lisa, and I'm glad you pushed the "publish" button.
This was very powerful, Lisa, and I'm glad you pushed the "publish" button.
Bump for the feed, this deserves more readers.
lulu quite a talent you are hiding there. i am so glad i read it, and i can imagine how it is still hard all these years later.
totally off topic, forgive me - that chicken dish was wonderful and we will have it again.
totally off topic, forgive me - that chicken dish was wonderful and we will have it again.
bump for some fine writing.
Thanks so much for the support you guys.
Jane, glad the Chicken & Rice turned out ok.
Jane, glad the Chicken & Rice turned out ok.
You had me right there with you in that little gray house, with the piano stool/ buffet table, the war of words, the peacemaker at work. Tough stuff. Beautifully told.
Very, very evocative tale (I grew up in one of those little box houses, too, complete with a piano bench that doubled as a table). I was stunned by the ending. Is this a true story? Your story?
Rated.
Rated.
Thanks M. Hey Laurel. Sadly, yes.
But I must say, writing it out seemed to take the wind out of me for a few days. I was surprised that after all these years it was as large and looming as it felt writing it. But after a few days I am feeling much better. A little tired, but sort of like leaving the baggage in the locker at the bus station, tossing away the key, and continuing the journey sans the heavy baggage.
I had no idea.
But I must say, writing it out seemed to take the wind out of me for a few days. I was surprised that after all these years it was as large and looming as it felt writing it. But after a few days I am feeling much better. A little tired, but sort of like leaving the baggage in the locker at the bus station, tossing away the key, and continuing the journey sans the heavy baggage.
I had no idea.
Gorgeous
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