I love a good story. Always have. But if there's one thing that I love more than a good story, it's a good storyteller. If only they weren't so elusive...
When I listen to my students tell stories (something certain kids love to do), they all too often inject their tale with lies and half-truths because they lack confidence and live in fear that their audience will turn against them. My son, who's seven, tends to lose track of where he's headed, and I generally (and impatiently) take over, leaving him to fill in the blanks. But my daughter? All three years of her? That little girl can spin the most elaborate tales I've ever heard.
Too bad they're all make believe. Like, over-the-top dogs broke into my room and bit all my dresses level of imagination. Hopefully, I'll still be alive...
...when she finally starts telling the truth.
Kubo and the Two Strings isn't like any other animated movie you'll see this year. While the breathtaking visuals and stellar voice-cast are beyond reproach, other top-tier animated films can boast similar accomplishments. Kubo distances itself by not only having a living, beating heart and soul, but a willingness to explore what it is to be alive...when everyone you care about is dead.
Despite living with overwhelming adversity in his daily life, Kubo is a good kid. A really good kid. When he finally reaches town each day (after a brutal hike from the cave he lives in with his sick mother), he earns what little money he can by wowing the villagers with brilliant tales of mystical heroes. While any good storyteller can make their characters feel alive, Kubo's actually are. Sort of, anyway, as he possesses the ability to make beautiful origami creations actually act out his captivating narrative. It's a great show, and even the most downtrodden members of his village get the chance to escape their troubles for a moment and be enthralled with the adventures of Hanzo the legendary samurai. Good storytelling, it seems, is pure magic.
But so are the evil forces that are coming after Kubo when he fails to come home before dark.
When I listen to my students tell stories (something certain kids love to do), they all too often inject their tale with lies and half-truths because they lack confidence and live in fear that their audience will turn against them. My son, who's seven, tends to lose track of where he's headed, and I generally (and impatiently) take over, leaving him to fill in the blanks. But my daughter? All three years of her? That little girl can spin the most elaborate tales I've ever heard.
Too bad they're all make believe. Like, over-the-top dogs broke into my room and bit all my dresses level of imagination. Hopefully, I'll still be alive...
...when she finally starts telling the truth.
Despite living with overwhelming adversity in his daily life, Kubo is a good kid. A really good kid. When he finally reaches town each day (after a brutal hike from the cave he lives in with his sick mother), he earns what little money he can by wowing the villagers with brilliant tales of mystical heroes. While any good storyteller can make their characters feel alive, Kubo's actually are. Sort of, anyway, as he possesses the ability to make beautiful origami creations actually act out his captivating narrative. It's a great show, and even the most downtrodden members of his village get the chance to escape their troubles for a moment and be enthralled with the adventures of Hanzo the legendary samurai. Good storytelling, it seems, is pure magic.
But so are the evil forces that are coming after Kubo when he fails to come home before dark.
