Partner and I saw the new Narnia movie last weekend. I read the whole Narnia saga in my early teens, having been lent the whole set of books by an earnest missionary-type neighbor during one of my stabs at Christianity. I remember only bits and pieces of the story, but I do remember that the character of Eustace was entertainingly unpleasant (Lewis likes writing about bad children, and does it pretty well).
The movie, though pretty, is pretty unmemorable. But the boy playing Eustace is terrific. He's a perfectly normal-looking little boy, but he spends most of the movie with an unpleasant expression – something between a smirk and a scowl. And his voice is a cajoling peremptory whine, like a car alarm in the middle of the night.
But he's fun to watch. Unfortunately, he gets reformed (in Narnia, we are all about Redemption with a capital R). He's much less fun after he becomes nice.
But there are all kinds of unpleasant children in the movies. “Meet Me In St. Louis” was on TCM the other evening, and I was horrified once again by the monstrous little Margaret O'Brien, with her goofy expressions and her ain't-I-cute? voice. She is an imp from hell. Partner came out at one point, studied the TV screen for a moment, and said: “My mother always hated her.”
“Your mother and I are right in tune on that one,” I said.
My favorite child actor is Pee-wee Herman, anyway.
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