Fe, Fi, Fo, Huh?
“If you aren’t remembered, then you never existed.” ~ Arisu Mizuki, “Serial Experiments: Lain” (via Chiaki Konaka)
When I was a wee nibblet, video games were limited to pong, cable TV hadn’t yet hit the “must have” mainstream and there were only so many Nancy Drew books a girl could read in a week. Such background is important for this entry because they are the only circumstances that can possibly explain why I subjected myself to watching the 1974 anime version of Jack and the Beanstalk over and over again. On Beta, no less.
Recently, while playing YouTube roulette, I encountered the full-length English-dubbed feature which I couldn’t help watching. If you’re morbidly curious, it’s broken into ten parts (the first of which starts here) and runs about 90 minutes. I’m sure this violates any number of copyright laws, so I’d view sooner rather than later.
This movie represented my first exposure to anime, and even though I hadn’t seen it in about thirty years (how the HELL can it be thirty years) I was struck at how much I’d never forgotten. The witch, Madame Hecuba, was (and remains) one of the creepiest all-time evil characters from my childhood memory. The woman freaked me out in ways Chernobog and Maleficent never could. The haunting paper doll wedding court still pops up in my dreams from time to time, although until a few days ago, I’d have sworn they were an army of ghost gumby dolls.
The audio definitely made the experience of rediscovering this film ten times more disturbing. It’s like listening to the theme song from the first Halloween movie — instant chills up and down my spine. I found myself giggling at a sudden urge to hide behind the sofa. The music plucks around in that surreal only-in-the-70s psychedelic way and mingles the lazy cheap riff rock with strange synth/lectric squeaks and rattles. The sound effects are macabre, even when they’re trying to be innocent.
I can’t figure out how this movie managed to frighten me as much as it did, or why it compelled me to watch it over and over despite those fears. I remember popping the tape into the machine and working myself up — like you would for terrible-tasting medicine. Perhaps I was merely intrigued by how strange it was in comparison to other childrens’ fare; after all, Mickey and Bugs cartoons were nothing like this, and even my silently smirking Pink Panther, for all his oddity and mishap, never freaked me out to this extent.
Was it the peculiar Oedipal overtones? The King Kong factor? The realization that the dog has more character than any of the humans? The not-so-subtle way “under a spell” seems to translate to “being drugged?” The fickle and not-so-noble nature of the “hero?” The annoying way that the princess is dressed like a rag doll while the human-turned-mouse character is dressed like a princess? And while we’re on that subject, what’s with the princess’ hair? How the hell did Hecuba manage to birth Tulip? What exactly is Tulip planning to do with a princess 1/100th his size on their honeymoon? What good is it to be queen if you’ve got no one to boss around but a son that wants to squish you? Why is that gypsy guy so nightmarish?
Had I eaten far too many red M&Ms that year?
Jack predates Dark Crystal, Black Cauldron and Heavy Metal in my pop culture consumption history. It set the stage for all anime that followed. I still remember the lyrics to every stupid song and found myself muttering along to each and every one. After. Thirty. Years.
It’s crap like this cluttering up my brain that kept me from passing calc. And I’m as bewildered at its appeal now as I was then.
Watching it as an adult did yield an unexpected perk; one of my great childhood mysteries is solved. I’m convinced the giant is named “Tulip” in the English version as some in-joke homage to Tiny Tim. Why he ends up wearing heart boxers in the closing sequence is one of those questions I’m willing to leave unanswered.