Bubble boy in a glass proof cage.

The 90’s classic animation of Beauty and the Beast by Walt Disney films cultivates a certain unattainable freedom, its combination of both polarity in a linear story telling seem to unfold a simple cry of letting go not in a manner of the physical incarceration hence metaphysical outburst of inner creatures long been hidden by proprieties contracted by the fearful society and designated to fallen geniuses needing of the old smell of relevance.

The Prince Beast under the cursed of an insecure witch, and Belle the ever envy of Venus like beauty has left the imagination of child like audience open for suggestions that innocence can be attained like spell being lifted; for all of them including the castle’s characters and the village people under the spell of both unseen forces surrounding their involuntary acceptance of the undeniable possession of glittering attributions freely given to them by generations of Historical redundancy.

The era of classical genre for animation reinvented every ten years by filmmakers and producers suiting the demanding yet savory new taste of its ever bored audience. Like ‘Bolt’ the contraptions of its characters and story conflict are all in the same format; only the physicality of its look and texture enhanced through the 3D evolution invites further development in the technical aspect of filmmaking.

Linear cunning films can dilute hardened hearts into liquid fluids of hope, after all innocence when not granted can be allotted into forgiving oneself like the unending catharsis of every human being, which a simple realization that choice makes a corresponding responsibility unexcused tie-up into realm of circling renewal.

Seeing the real world’s wonderland like when I watch television or films, is just one hope that remains daily in my heart. Tied up by proprieties made for me as seem as destiny if not a curse. The hope that the day will come I will face the realities of the market place head up, unashamed of the impressions permitted by people who consciously patronize my presence in a waterless fish bowl like bubble boy not inside the elastic ballon but in a breakable glass full of unending contraptions.

When the day comes that freedom becomes less of a myth rather than a fictional show; I will be the happiest person who ever lived in a planet inside a castle full of diverse characters ever amusing the waiting I indulge myself to attain soon. Until then I suppose I just need to play with rules.