{"id":5873,"date":"2015-10-17T17:04:45","date_gmt":"2015-10-17T16:04:45","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/verityholloway.com\/?p=5873"},"modified":"2015-10-17T17:04:45","modified_gmt":"2015-10-17T16:04:45","slug":"for-children-perhaps","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/verityholloway.com\/?p=5873","title":{"rendered":"“For children… perhaps.”"},"content":{"rendered":"

This post is brought to you by a cocktail\u00a0of painkillers, hypnotics, and\u00a0anxiolytics, administered by a lovely NHS anaesthetist whose name I can’t remember – only the sight of\u00a0her leaning over me with a smile: “You’re going to forget my name.”<\/p>\n

Just some routine Marfans stuff. But two days later, I’m still swimming through dreams. I like to think the lingering hypnotics are giving me the authentic Rossetti experience, minus the raccoon hiding in the wardrobe. And the genius.<\/p>\n

Hanging onto the tail of this wooziness,\u00a0I want to talk about childhood, but also\u00a0about Jan \u0160vankmajer’s gorgeously surreal 1988 film, Alice<\/em>: “A film for children… perhaps.”<\/p>\n

\"alice\"<\/p>\n

Years ago, a counsellor complimented my socks. They were pale blue and white striped, up to the knee, and they were perfect, she said, “because you’re Alice in Wonderland.”<\/p>\n

This probably wasn’t wise of her.<\/p>\n

Like a lot of only children travelling with military parents, I was prone to dissociation. That’s the psychology term for intense daydreaming. And I mean<\/em> intense – to the point that reality was almost entirely blocked out for the majority of every\u00a0waking day. Mostly, it was paradise, but there were snags.\u00a0Teachers found they had to full-on yell to catch my attention. I once kicked a cannonball-sized hole through a porter cabin wall without noticing.<\/p>\n

Dissociation is a creative coping mechanism for when life is unstable or lonely. It’s very much like the intravenous sedative experience – a protective measure that picks you up and whisks you away.\u00a0Eventually, children who habitually dissociate grow up to remember more about their dream worlds than the reality of the past. Some of them become writers. Ahem.<\/p>\n

Onto Alice. As a chronically fantastical child, I was rankled by the Disney version of\u00a0Alice In Wonderland<\/em>. It was all so very pastel, so very clean. Nothing pristine, I knew, could ever be magical.\u00a0Childhood is frightening, and nonsensical, and inappropriately hilarious – much like the original Wonderland tales.<\/p>\n

\"alice<\/a><\/p>\n

Children inhabit another planet. Lewis Carol knew that.<\/p>\n

So on the other hand, you have Jan \u0160vankmajer’s Alice<\/em>. A film for children… but probably not for parents. The White Rabbit is taxidermy, leaking sawdust. Socks have teeth and the jam is full of drawing pins. Wonderland itself is a wreck of broken china and splinters, pickled specimens, potted tongue (prone to slithering), and other Victorian relics. Alice – the only living person\u00a0in the film – has a way of turning into a decidedly spooky china doll and back again, tearing off the chrysalis of painted skin and making a run for it. Like the doll, her facial expression never changes. She never\u00a0smiles or frowns. Those are things you do for others, and this Alice is content to be alone with her imagination.<\/p>\n