Just watched Big Fish for the second time.
It’s weird, I remember watching it when I was smaller. I smiled at the side show characters and guffawed at the town of Spectre and the other wonderful people Edward Bloom met through his kindness and travels. I thought it was innocent and seeing it that way I really didn’t have the first clue about the fact that it was a story leading you into a mans death. I just saw the majesty of his tales, I put the emphasis on his life rather than his death and loved the story because he lived, purely. Now, as I re-watched I couldn’t help myself from crying through the second half. Because as I watched, I slowly came to realize that his son is, at least in small part, in all of us. We aren’t captivated by the stories our parents/guardians tell us, we’re more entranced in our own lives and the stories we’re creating. Before you know it, the stories you’ve been told as a child when you weren’t really listening are forgotten, and with them, the details of the lives of people who for better or worse, are our loved ones. The stories aren’t always fairy tales and sometimes, the prince turns out to be you, not them and realizing that that’s probably the moral of their story might even hurt when you figure it out. But the truth is that the stories are always of value because they helped guide your “person” to who they are today. And in the end, I think everyone would agree, that if they could be sent off as a special/significant piece of a life-long story, reimagined with you and their other loved ones dancing around the tales, that it would mean that in some small way. They lived happily ever after.