Wow, I thought of this film recently and remember it fondly. So, I looked it up on IMDb, hoping that this hadn't been a dream, and that it really existed. I wish I could see this film again today.
A little boy is chosen by a red balloon, which colours his otherwise dreary, grey days. I was shown this film in class in kindergarten (late '70s) and again in grade school, I believe. When I first saw it, it was with a rather existential, perhaps detached, view of it. Not much reaction, really. I didn't quite know what to make of it. Fortunately, I didn't rely on a little gang of pals to tell me what to think about it. I had never seen anything like it. It struck me that it was foreign. I liked that about it. The foreignness intrigued me, also the fact that it was old. It always impressed me how kids wore little grown-up shoes in '50s Europe. The quietness of the little boy, Pascal, also had a profound impact on me. I never understood the need for us kids in the U.S. to constantly yak about endless bull**** in order to feel secure. We never enjoy the silence. This carries on into adulthood. There's meaningless small talk, endless jibber jabber, all in an effort to hide, behind voluminous verbiage, our true sensitive selves from the big bad world. There's an existentialist problem for you. If there are any xenophobic misgivings against "the French," it's because they've long faced the human condition in a way that we as "Americans" are far too infantile as a culture to do; and, at this point, far too stunted with cultural arrested development to ever hope to do so.
I suppose the cruel little boys in the film symbolised the barbaric/insensitive "American" sensibility which I had grown used to. And the story the film conveys through such brilliant, yet simple, symbolism illumines such a range of themesfrom xenophobia, alienation, solitude and introspection to friendship, loyalty and sacrifice. Simply brilliant. This film probably taught me more than a handful of my first years of schooling combined. By the time I saw this film the second time my eyes were filled with wonder and, toward the end of the film, welled over with tears.
A little boy is chosen by a red balloon, which colours his otherwise dreary, grey days. I was shown this film in class in kindergarten (late '70s) and again in grade school, I believe. When I first saw it, it was with a rather existential, perhaps detached, view of it. Not much reaction, really. I didn't quite know what to make of it. Fortunately, I didn't rely on a little gang of pals to tell me what to think about it. I had never seen anything like it. It struck me that it was foreign. I liked that about it. The foreignness intrigued me, also the fact that it was old. It always impressed me how kids wore little grown-up shoes in '50s Europe. The quietness of the little boy, Pascal, also had a profound impact on me. I never understood the need for us kids in the U.S. to constantly yak about endless bull**** in order to feel secure. We never enjoy the silence. This carries on into adulthood. There's meaningless small talk, endless jibber jabber, all in an effort to hide, behind voluminous verbiage, our true sensitive selves from the big bad world. There's an existentialist problem for you. If there are any xenophobic misgivings against "the French," it's because they've long faced the human condition in a way that we as "Americans" are far too infantile as a culture to do; and, at this point, far too stunted with cultural arrested development to ever hope to do so.
I suppose the cruel little boys in the film symbolised the barbaric/insensitive "American" sensibility which I had grown used to. And the story the film conveys through such brilliant, yet simple, symbolism illumines such a range of themesfrom xenophobia, alienation, solitude and introspection to friendship, loyalty and sacrifice. Simply brilliant. This film probably taught me more than a handful of my first years of schooling combined. By the time I saw this film the second time my eyes were filled with wonder and, toward the end of the film, welled over with tears.