Cultural education

Some things they just don't teach you at school. That's why your parents are there with a bundle of late-80s and early-90s films and music to make sure your education is nicely rounded out.

My mother tried this, I suppose, when she started playing her Beethoven records at me, in the hopes that one day I'd be able to identify the Eighth and the Ninth and the Pastoral and so on. It didn't work. As far as I'm concerned, all classical music is divided into, "I've heard/played/sung that somewhere before" and, "Huh. Violins."

Last Sunday, B tried once more to show The Princess Bride to Monkey. In the past, this has not gone so well. From the time Monkey was three or so, and first expressed an interest in the gentlemanly art of fencing by demanding a foam sword rather than just using one of the many sticks at his disposal (stick collection: out the side door, look left), B has been trying to get him to watch the pinnacle of swashbuckling magnificence that is the Man in Black's fight with Inigo Montoya towards the start of The Princess Bride. Monkey, freaked out perhaps by the fact that this was a live-action movie rather than the cartoons he's more familiar with, wouldn't let him get past the first few seconds before running away in terror, yelling, "Turn it off, turn it off."

But now he's older and wiser, and something or other that was said on Sunday made B think it was time to try again. Monkey's older and wiser too, after all.

The Man in Black got to the top of the Cliffs of Moher (sorry, Insanity) and the fight began. Monkey ran away yelling, "Pause it, pause it!" I thought this was a good sign, so I followed him. "I promise," I said, "that nobody gets hurt. You just have to watch it."
"But who wins?"
"I'm not going to tell you. You have to watch and find out."
He came back, cautiously.

Every few minutes as the swordfight progressed, and then as we moved on to the encounter with Andre the Giant, I'd have to run back to the bottom of the stairs and shout up it, "Nobody dies! It's okay!" Which of course is exactly what Peter Falk says in the film, reassuring his grandson when he's looking worried about the giant eels. Then we got to the part with Vizzini, and I had to check myself. "Okay, he does die. But he's a baddie. And it's funny. "
"And listen," added B, ready with some distracting trivia. "He's the voice of Bob's boss in The Incredibles."

Monkey made it through the fire swamp and past the ROUSes, with only slightly less fortitude than was afforded Westley himself, and then we were out in the calm valley of Act Three, with just the peculiar anatomy of the six-fingered man to explain. Every now and then, with a scene and costume change he'd get confused and ask if that was the princess.
"There's only one girl in this film. If you see a girl, she's the princess."
"Except the crone." B corrected me.
"Except the crone. And Miracle Max's wife. Okay. Only one nice-looking girl."

We fast-forwarded past the torture scene, because that might actually have been a bit scary, and were quick to reassure Monkey that, as he would soon hear, Westley was not actually completely dead. By the end of the film, he was really quite enjoying it, and not running away any more at all. At least, not all the way upstairs, though maybe just into the kitchen once or twice.

Later, after the satisfying ending ("They all have horses," said Mabel; and what more could you want?) Monkey was still turning over all the fight scenes in his head.
- So, when the black guy ...
- The Man in Black.
- When the Man in Black was fighting the pirate...
- The pirate? There aren't any pirates. Unless you count the Dread Pirate Roberts.
- The pirate. With the long hair.
- Inigo Montoya, you mean?
- Yes. When the black guy was fighting Inigo Montoya, ...
- [Sigh]

and so on.

Next up: Star Wars. He's had a light sabre for a couple of years now, and they both know who Yoda is, so I think it's time. A rousing chorus of "Star Wars Cantina," please.