Maximum capacity.
When I was really young, maybe four, I saw a black-and-white version of Frankenstein, probably James Whales' 1931 rendition (kudos to Wikipedia for holding so much meaningful trivia at the ready). Unremarkably tame by today's standards, it nonetheless set my histrionic imagination on fire, causing me no end of nightmares and daydreams about gargoyles and giant flies tromping single-mindedly down my street, intent on stealing me from my bed and entombing me forever in their dungeons and feasting on me through time eternal. I was an overly-inventive child with a flair for the dramatic, well-suited to the snares of horror films' tactics and conceits.
I cringe at news stories about young kids so overstimulated by video games and horror movies that the interested industries up the ante constantly just to keep them engaged. I rent at Blockbuster (don't judge me), and it's getting harder and harder to find gore-free films in the New Releases section; scanning for pastel colors on the DVD jackets is no longer a fool-proof strategy. What's happened to us, to our innocence? Why are we so addicted to shock value? What happens to our individual sense of right and wrong, anesthetized as it is by popular culture that only costs $3.95 at the video store?
Don't misinterpret me; I'm not Tipper Gore, and I'm not going to pitch a hissy about back-masking and rap music. But it's true that messages ring true after we hear them for the hundredth time, because we stop noticing how different they are from what we used to believe. They creep up on us. We adjust. It's part of how we survive.
If I watched that movie now, I wouldn't think twice about it the next morning. I'd get up, have coffee, go about my day. You couldn't pay me to watch "Saw," though. Or "Saw II" or "Saw III." I have a little innocence left yet.
When I was really young, maybe four, I saw a black-and-white version of Frankenstein, probably James Whales' 1931 rendition (kudos to Wikipedia for holding so much meaningful trivia at the ready). Unremarkably tame by today's standards, it nonetheless set my histrionic imagination on fire, causing me no end of nightmares and daydreams about gargoyles and giant flies tromping single-mindedly down my street, intent on stealing me from my bed and entombing me forever in their dungeons and feasting on me through time eternal. I was an overly-inventive child with a flair for the dramatic, well-suited to the snares of horror films' tactics and conceits.
I cringe at news stories about young kids so overstimulated by video games and horror movies that the interested industries up the ante constantly just to keep them engaged. I rent at Blockbuster (don't judge me), and it's getting harder and harder to find gore-free films in the New Releases section; scanning for pastel colors on the DVD jackets is no longer a fool-proof strategy. What's happened to us, to our innocence? Why are we so addicted to shock value? What happens to our individual sense of right and wrong, anesthetized as it is by popular culture that only costs $3.95 at the video store?
Don't misinterpret me; I'm not Tipper Gore, and I'm not going to pitch a hissy about back-masking and rap music. But it's true that messages ring true after we hear them for the hundredth time, because we stop noticing how different they are from what we used to believe. They creep up on us. We adjust. It's part of how we survive.
If I watched that movie now, I wouldn't think twice about it the next morning. I'd get up, have coffee, go about my day. You couldn't pay me to watch "Saw," though. Or "Saw II" or "Saw III." I have a little innocence left yet.
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