Babe

Who doesn't love talking farm animals? Okay, so maybe I know a few select people who will inevitably tell me these things terrified them to no end, but on the whole they have a lot going for them in the cuteness department. Funny little voices, cute scurrying movements, hilarious misunderstandings of real-life situations through their animal-brain lens. What's not to like?

Babe was one of those movies that could have been a triumph or a disaster, and it managed to come out as the former. Believe it or not, movie technology in 1995 was not quite everything it was today. Technological prowess aside, talking animals have a tendency to go one of two ways: overly cartoony and amusing to only those in the under-ten set, or heartwarmingly adorable in a way that makes you want to "awww" through the whole movie. Babe managed to pull it off, earning not only some well-deserved "awwws" but also some seriously positive critical acclaim.

The movie is an Australian film about a little pig who wants to be a sheepdog. Like most good family films, the premise is simple and uncluttered. Sure, there are some cute B-stories, but it's not an especially complicated plot. The straightforwardness of it appealed to parents and children, and the movie showcased classic themes and values with one corkscrew-tailed twist: a pig protagonist. I'm willing to bet a lot of kids forwent the BLTs at their post-film dinner trips. He was just so darn cute, it was hard not to see him there, waving feebly between the leafy greens and ripe tomatoes.





Ohhh my gosh, when that little Babe cries, "I want my m-o-o-o-om", I die a little inside from the incessant adorability. Could they have chosen a cuter protagonist? The correct answer is no, no they could not have. Babe is the best. He's not just cute and cuddly, he's also naive, strong-willed, stubborn, and determined. In short, he's a perfect entertainment for children because he's exactly like them. Parents were pretty keen on him too, most likely won over by this amazingly endearing version of Jingle Bells:



Babe was not, of course, the only featured farm animal in this film. The movie had a slew of barnyard pals to entertain and enthrall us. The movie begins with our cuddly future pork product is separated from his siblings by chance and selected to be in a booth at a county fair. Farmer Hoggett, the adorable Australian farmer who looks like a moderately more huggable version of pitchfork man in American Gothic, feels an immediate bond with Babe and correctly guesses his weight for the win. He brings home his new prize runt and allows him to nest with the sheepdogs, a cocky breed who clearly know themselves to be the farm favorites.

He is befriended by Maa, a maternal sheep, and Ferdinand, a misguided scheming duck. Ferdinand had been playing resident rooster, and was very upset at the introduction of the mechanical rooster--that is, alarm clock. He ventures with Babe on a covert mission to stop the dreaded mechanical rooster, resulting in mild antic-rousing and some downright messes. Meanwhile, the sheepdog matriarch Fly mourns the loss of her sold-off puppies, and Babe requests to call her Mom. Oh my gosh. The cuteness. The cuteness. I'll give you a minute.

Despite many pork-crazed visiting relatives, Mr. Hoggett inexplicably befriends Babe and protects him from uncertain dinner fate. Unfortunately, they go with duck a l'orange, incidentally the tender meat of Ferdinand's gal pal. Ferdinand peaces out at this point, determined not to become the next duck a l'orange. Babe encounters some men trying to steal some of the Hoggetts' sheep, and in watching the family sheepdogs gather up the herd is enthralled by the possibility of sheepdoghood.

Mr Hoggett takes notice of Babe's special interest, giving him the opportunity to give a go at herding. The sheepdogs warn him that sheep should be treated roughly, but after biting Maa his adorable guilt is just too much to bear. No, our pal Babe opts for asking them politely to please fall in line, to which they graciously comply. The other dogs are pretty pissed and a fight breaks out, leading to some seriuos barnyard drams.



Farmer Hoggett thinks about entering Babe in sheepdog trials, and everything seems to be going very well. Then of course, there is a series of events that are heartbreakingly sad and which I will intentionally omit not just for brevity's sake or spoiler consciousness, but because they make me a cry like an overgrown infant. I'll let you rent the movie or Netflix it or whatever newfangled thing you kids are doing these days to get ahold of classic films, but I'll spare you some of the sadder details. You're welcome.

Babe gets signed up for the sheepdog trials under the auspicious stage name "pig". Before his grand performance, he finds out that (gasp!) people just like his beloved Mr. Hoggett actually eat pigs. I know, I know. I'll give you some time to digest that. Not literally, though, I hope. Hoggett sings the 70s hit "If I had Words" to try to make it up to him. A small consolation, no doubt, but he goes for it. After some tense moments, Babe performs beautifully in the sheepdog trials, earning the praise and admiration of the crowd. And of course, he gets the ultimate show of affection from Mr. Hoggett himself, who tells him, "That'll do, pig. That'll do."

I leave you with the mice rendition of If I had Words, certain to make you smile or make your eardrums burst depending on your tolerance for helium-infused voice work.

Fruit Stripe Gum

Kids aren't usually the greatest long-term planners. Instant gratification is most likely the only type of satisfaction they know, regardless of the longstanding consequences of their actions. If you ever doubted that kids favor the immediate over the enduring, look no further for evidence than a fluorescent hued-stick of Fruit Stripe Gum. Case in point, the gum offers a mere three minutes of desirable flavor time followed by a persistent output of bland non-flavor for the duration of the chew. But hey, it comes with tattoos. That's got to be some sort of consolation, right?





Fruit Stripe Gum was nothing less than a candy craze, launched in the 1960s but enjoying a serious rejuvenation of popularity throughout the 1990s. The brand and its zebra mascot Yipes are decidedly kid-friendly, luring in children with promises of an enchantingly colorful sugar high. The alluring five juicy flavors drew us in time after time. We never learned, particularly if we'd purchased a rather large pack of the gum. Even though we'd experienced multiple times for ourselves the flightiness of the flavor, we continued to chew our beloved Fruit Stripe on the premise of its novelty alone.

Is it not the most fantastically beautiful gum you've ever seen? Huh? Is it?

Though the gum claimed to come in a wide variety of fruity flavors, in reality it tended to come in a variety of fruity colors. You'd have to be a taste connoisseur to distinguish between these subtle differences, so we relied on the vibrantly colored sticks of gum to show us the way. We could only assume that the red was in some way vaguely symbolic of wild cherry and a yellow/green combination of hues represented the lemon lime delegation. The system wasn't perfect, but it was sweet, which is usually more than enough to satiate even the most precocious of children.

It was wonderfully convenient that the gum tended to come in a large pack as it provided a handy solution for its minuscule flavor life. It didn't take a genius IQ to figure out that adding another stick would freshen the ever-growing was of gum slowly taking over our cavernous mouthal cavity. Run out of flavor? No problem. Simply add another stick. Then another. And one more. Alright, so this clearly was not the perfect solution and our teeth weren't bowing down in enamel-depleted gratitude, but our parents probably were big fans of this trick. After all, a kid can't speak with a mouth chock full of Fruit Stripe gum. Sure, there was a minor choking hazard, but that's a small price to pay for ten minutes of silence in the car.

The Fruit Stripe people knew it would take more than a lamely-flavored albeit colorful gum to pique the fancy of children. They weren't taking their novelty product halfway, they were going for gold here. Hence the inclusion of the tattoo. Oh, the coveted tattoo! It was inexplicably desirable, despite the fact it was both worthless and blurry. Each stick came with its very own temporary tattoo, because what kid doesn't want a semi-permanent splotch of color smack dab in the middle of their cheek? I know I was keen.




The magic of the Fruit Stripe gum tattoo was in its pure, unadulterated simplicity. There were no bells and whistles on this thing. The instructions were brief: simply wet the tattoo (nearly all of us subbed the verb lick at this point), and apply with pressure to the desired skin surface for about 30 seconds. What could possibly go wrong?

Apparently, lots of things. The temporary tattooing process was not quite as straightforward as they'd led us to believe. We usually ended up with more of a smudge than a zebra. It was time for us to take drastic measures. Namely, to put the tattoos on our tongues. Yes, that's right. This non-toxic ink blob clinging to our taste buds was usually our greatest and wisest alternative. Sure, it wasn't necessarily the most attractive, or tastiest, or functional, or sensible, or...wait, where was I going with this?

Regardless of our questionable Fruit Stripe tattoo practices, the gum remained amongst our favorites for years. It was certainly a cheap thrill, and a short-lived one at that. It was one of those food fads for which we liked it because we liked it, and don't bother asking us any probing questions as to why. We'd suffer through endless wads of gooey, chewy, tastelessly bitter gum so long as it was colorful and came with a cheerful zebra on the package.




Like so many of our favorite snacks and candy in the 90s, we were foolishly lured in by a fast-talking anthropomorphic cartoon animal and vibrant neon colors. If they made it look fun in the commercial, you could bet we'd make it fun in real life. That's simple deductive logic. It didn't matter if a cereal tasted like cardboard or a gum tasted like unscented Silly Putty, it was ours. We as kids took ownership and laid full claim to novelty foods and there was nothing adults could do to stop us. We'd sooner loyally defend our beloved novelty sweets than cave to adult logic. Unless, of course, we had the entire pack of Fruit Stripe in our mouths.*



*This was a likely situation given the instantaneous flavor loss. Sure, you couldn't talk back to your parents, but you could blow a head-engulfing bubble. All in all, sort of a toss up.

Edward Scissorhands

Many things scared me as a child, but rarely did anything frighten me on the nightmare-inducing level of a Tim Burton film. Yes, yes, now I realize he's probably brilliant and his muse Johnny Depp is a dreamboat and Burton can juggle all sorts of complex symbolism and irony, but at the time it was much more like, "Wait, a guy has scissors...for hands? A little kid pulls a shrunken head out of his Christmas present? And God help me if I ever accidentally utter 'Beetlejuice' thrice." Hell, he even scared me a little bit with Pee Wee's Big Adventure.

Maybe I was a bit deficient in the imagination department, but these movies scared me to no end. In some ways, I suppose that speaks to their power; Burton's movies are certainly affective. That lingering feeling of creepiness and uneasiness speaks largely to his dark prowess as a filmmaker. Many of these movies that terrified me in my younger years I now recognize as deep and interesting and original. Okay, and a little scary. I'm sorry. Scissors for hands? That's frightening stuff. No two snips about it.

Overall, the film is poignant and touching, which is probably what scared me so much about it in the first place. As a kid, we don't want movies to make us feel. We want them to make us smile as little woodland creatures sing us songs before diving into a wooded thicket. Nuance and subtlety are not exactly the way to a child's heart. I don't know about you, but I was big into happily ever afters, which doesn't tend to happen a lot if a film is trying to make a statement in the way that Edward Scissorhands was.

With this film began the torrid love affair between Depp and Burton that continues to frighten and intrigue us in the present day. Prior to his role in Scissorhands, Depp was something of a teen idol, the likes of whose pinups may have been torn from J17 or Bop! Magazine and plastered the walls of smitten late-80s teenage girls. Depp's roles in TV's 21 Jump Street and the 50's-themed musical Cry-Baby had elevated him to teen hearthrob status, a title that left Depp less than satisfied with his career choices. Determined not to be packaged and sold as a teen stud, his fledgling professional relationship with Burton allowed him to break out of this boxed-in career path. Oh, and frighten some young fans with the cunning use of stage makeup and scissor hands.



How's that trailer for dramatic? I'm a big fan of Danny Elfman themes, but this is really just the heartstring pulliest. You can just tell it's going to be so sad. And a little disconcerting.

Before delving into the movie, here's a handy Arsenio Hall interview with Johnny Depp and Tim Burton regarding Edward Scissorhands. Yes, yes, it's informative, but mainly I've included it because it would undoubtedly win any contest for three best 90s hairstyles ever. Just watch the way Johnny's hair moves. It's very antennae-esque. Sort of frightening, sort of intriguing, oddly attractive. Like Johnny, in the film. You can begin to see why the role was so well-tailored to his personal character.



Edward Scissorhands is ultimately a tragic comedy, as its both heart-wrenching and sort of giggle-inducing. Edward is not actually a man, but an unfinished project of an enterprising inventor, as we learn from our grandmotherly narrator. Following his inventor's death, Edward continues to live in his sprawling mansion unnoticed until the unexpected intrusion of Peg the Avon lady. Peg insists on taking him home with her. And who wouldn't? He's a deathly pale, scar-faced, scissor-handed freak. He definitely sounds like someone I would want around my loved ones in their natural habitat. Well played, Peg. Well played indeed.

Edward had a natural penchant for all sorts of fun clippery, particularly in the areas of foliage manipulation and perm reduction. He is clearly ill at ease while integrated in society, and is largely perplexed by the norms and mores that rule society. He dodges the seduction attempts of a lonely housewife, only to be smacked with rape charges. He helps Peg's daughter's boyfriend in his criminal misdoings and is picked up by the police. The officers, however, declare Edward to be void of a moral compass but believe him to be ultimately good. Those rape accusations weren't winning him any friends, though, and his neighborhood star falls nearly as quickly as it had risen.

After Edward accidentally injures Peg's daughter Kim, her no-good boyfriend Jim is out for revenge. The scene escalates and there are all sorts of misunderstandings that reiterate the townspeople's growing distaste for Edward. In what is turning out to be a fight to the death, Edward kills Jim. Kim and some of his other defenders manage to imply that the two killed each other, but Edward was still alive and doing his snow-making thing. And for your spoiler alert (p.s., you've been alerted), we find out the old woman from the beginning is Kim and she's loved Edward all along, though their ultimately doomed relationship was not conducive to them maintaining their romance. I know, I know. It's sad. I'll give you some time.
We all have those movies that we saw as children that we thought we understood until we saw them as adults and realize we hadn't a clue what was going on. Edward Scissorhands is one of those movies. For anyone who saw the movie at a young age, it was confusing and mildly terrifying. I was vaguely aware that it was supposed to be sad, but I was too worried about the inevitable insomnia-provoking nightmares that were sure to result from hearing that incessant snip-snip-snip sound.

Ultimately, Edward Scissorhands is touching, resonant, and gutsy with its out-on-a-limb themes and metaphors. Okay, so none of us were quick to plaster our walls with Edward Scissorhands pinups*, but it certainly paved the way for both Johnny Depp's and Tim Burton's resultant cinematic successes. Maybe it didn't have the happy ending some of us selfishly demand of movies, but it did have heart. Oh, and scissors. Big, giant scissors.


*Most of us waited until he became a pirate to reinstate his hearthrob status