Lots of you know that I write movies. But what you might not know is that the single greatest influence in my life as a screenwriter is a dark children’s movie that came out in 1984, when I was six years old. That movie is The Neverending Story.
Let me tell you why.
On the surface, the movie is about a troubled boy who dives into a fantasy world through the pages of a mysterious book.
But it’s so much more than this.
SO. MUCH. MORE.
It’s dark. Depressing. Horrifying. It’s got strange creatures and an ivory palace and a princess who’s got no jurisdiction whatsoever. It’s got a flying dog dragon who likes to have his ears scratched, and ice statues with full-on boobies and laser eyeballs.
Weird, right? It should be noted that this movie was produced in Germany. I don’t mean to stereotype an entire people but… somewhere in between backpacking across the world keeping hostels in business and trancing out to house music, these Germans came up with a delightful tale about the metaphorical destruction of the imagination.
I know. You’re so excited about this.
Where do I start? What’s the entry point for something that has sunk so deep into your psyche that you can no longer remember a time before it? My life began with The Neverending Story and it will likely end there, too. I’ll be the lunatic at the nursing home with The Neverending Story on a loop in my room. My last word will be “Moonchild” as my roommate chokes me to death for calling her “Morla” one too many times.
OK LET’S DO THIS.