Here’s a little bit of honesty for you: I broke my
parents’ VCR when I was a kid by watching “Hook” too many times on it. Like,
putting the VHS in, watching it through, crowing at Rufio, crying when he died,
and then IMMEDIATELY REWINDING IT so I could watch it again. I think I did this
about 20 times in a row before the VCR basically quit on me, which, you know, I
get it. No technical instrument can handle that much Robin Williams in tights
and Dustin Hoffman in eyeliner. No hate for you, VCR. I feel you.
But after my obsession with “Hook” had run its
course, I had another: 1995's “Casper.” My parents had wised up by then and weren’t
allowing me to sit in front of the TV all day (still rude, I think), but I
probably watched this friendly ghost saga as many times as I dived into Neverland.
For the most part, my picks for our 30 Days of Halloween series have been kind
of macabre—“The Craft,” “Suspiria,” “The Nightmare Before Christmas,” the “Halloween”episode of “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”, "Sleepy Hollow"—and trust that they will, for the most
part, get darker as we get closer to Oct. 31. But “Casper” is a different
story: It’s family-friendly, its supernatural elements are more life-affirming
than they are murderous, it’s basically a teen love story. Who doesn’t adore
teen love stories?! As someone who gladly sat through “Roswell,” “Dawson’s
Creek,” “Felicity,” and basically anything the WB threw at me, I am proudly carrying
the flag for teen love stories. I was just the right age to get sucked into that TV subgenre, and I apologize for nothing.
Well, I have one such show I skipped over entirely: “Gossip Girl.”
Fuck you, Blake Lively! I refuse. That's an essay for another time, but ugh. No.
Anyway, away from my Lively hate and back to “Casper.”
We can all pretty much agree that Christina Ricci, much like she was perfect
for “Sleepy Hollow,” is perfect for this part, as the misunderstood, lonely
Kat, struggling to deal with her grief over her mother’s death and with her constantly
on-the-road father Dr. Harvey (Bill Pullman! The President!), who drags her to
live in Maine’s Whipstaff Manor because of the ghost activity there. And man,
are there ghosts: The insufferable Stretch, Stinkie, and Fatso, who take a
liking to Dr. Harvey, and Casper, the young, loveable one with the oh-so-high
voice. Casper and Kat grow close to each other as they try to understand
the afterlife, and when they learn that Casper’s father was working on a
machine to turn him back into a real boy, Pinocchio-style, it seems like maybe
their friendship can exist in the real world. But then tragedy strikes with Dr.
Harvey, and Casper’s wish doesn’t seem so important anymore—not if he wants to
spare Kat more pain.
I don’t know; I guess you could call “Casper”
supremely hokey. It is an uneven mix of a really precarious situation (the
prospect of Kat being an orphan is a serious deal) and goofy silliness (what
else would you expect from three characters named Stretch, Stinkie, and
Fatso?), and there’s no question that Kat and Casper will, in some way, end up
together. (Young Devon Sawa? Swoon!) But as a kid, I was so into this movie. Maybe because, like Kat, I felt like an
outsider at my elementary school, being the only Middle-Eastern kid. Maybe because, like
Casper, I wondered about the reality of the afterlife; it’s a question I still
struggle with, since I haven’t decided if I actually believe in the Islam I
grew up with or if I’m more of an atheist. And maybe because, like all children
of a certain age—like all people, really—I wanted to believe that love could somehow
conquer death; that such a finality could be tempered with devotion and
affection.
That’s all heavy stuff, but I was a weird kid, and I’m
definitely reading into “Casper” more than anyone probably intended. But whenever
Halloween comes around, I remember sitting in front of my VCR, enthralled with
this movie, with Kat’s lacey white dress (so Miss Havisham!), with the
relationship she had with her parents, with the friendship she built with
Casper. “Can I keep you?” God, I love that shit.
