Disney's The Kid
by Sasha Stone

I can see her if I take the time to look. She's not very pretty; her teeth are so crooked she smiles sideways. She's slightly pudgy, with three deep scars on her left knee. She spends most of her afternoons at the movies or watching TV. School is hard. She is too shy and doesn't fit in. But the day she stopped presenting her vulnerability was the same day she became afraid. And the day she became afraid was the day her stepfather pulled the car over, turned around and said: "If you ask one more question I'm going to beat the living shit out of you."

Looking back, he was too young to be anyone's father, let alone stepfather. The girl was probably annoying, too, asking an array of meaningless questions designed to draw attention to herself. But that single exchange would leave its imprint for decades. That girl would always be afraid to ask questions to teachers, to employers, to friends, to lovers.

I never wondered whether or not that day meant anything to me until I saw Disney's The Kid, a tragically misnamed film directed by John Turtletaub and starring Bruce Willis. Apparently the studio didn't trust the film enough to remove its large behind from the title, which is probably the worst thing about it. Young kids will be bored, while adults, ostensibly along for the ride, will be almost too embarrassed to admit they're touched.

The premise is this: Man (Bruce Willis as Russ) meets his inner child (Spencer Breslin as Rusty) essentially, at the tender age of eight, when there was still a layer of little boy yet to disappear. Russ is about to turn 40. He fancies himself "together," but in truth, he's a cold fish, more Scrooge than George Bailey. How did the pudgy, endearing Rusty become the lifeless Russ? It happened in stages. First the kid was picked on, then bullied, then he got smart but he was still ugly, then he got rich and cute.

After the disgust finally wears off, Willis' Russ figures there must be a reason for his eight year-old self to come knocking. It's simple, if you know the rules of American movies. Whether we're talkig about It's a Wonderful Life or Groundhog Day, something is wrong with our hero's sense of self. He's lost all of life's meaning and some quirk of the universe needs to set it right.

On the one hand, this is a decidedly narcissistic way to view the universe. What self-respecting universe would give one expendable human the time of day? It is also a film that, in many respects, takes the easy way out by giving us nothing but cliches and references from other films. On the other hand, it is a film that creeps inside your psyche and will only come out if you take a good long look at yourself. And perhaps shed a few tears along the way.

What is nice about this film is that it takes you places you don't expect it to. You are as surprised as Russ when he travels back in time with his eight-year-old self to relive the awful day that left him forever changed. It's also refreshing to see a film that deals with the shame of being an overweight kid. It doesn't back off the disgust Russ feels when he looks at himself. These truths, particularly where men like Bruce Willis are concerned, are usually left on the cutting room floor.

The credit must go to the writer, Audrey Wells, who hit it big with The Truth About Cats and Dogs, another film with two people who form one identity, mistakenly thinking one has what the other does not. Here, the hard-body Russ is mortified by the pudgy Rusty, while Rusty is mortified by Russ' loser lifestyle (no dog, no lady, stupid job). In the end, just as in Cats and Dogs, the two refer to themselves as a "we." Each has something to provide the other, and both, ultimately, find happiness. Wells, being female, is naturally concerned with the idea that we value beauty over all else, even substance. She seems convinced that underneath it all, we are all the same.

Director Jon Turtletaub will probably set the tone of his career with this film, as it is his most sentimental, and contains his trademark goofy girl (Emily Mortimer as Amy), his trademark smirking guy (Willis) and his seemingly haphazard sense of story. What's odd about Turtletaub's films (While You Were Sleeping, Phenomenon) is that they feel like a mess while you're watching them but they sneak up on you, and by the end, you'd swear Turtletaub was a genius.

Willis is good in the role, particularly once he's able to shed his mean self and become a puppy-loving kid again. His best moment comes right at the end. The look on his face says it all.

Of course, it would be easy to hate this movie, easier to never see it in the first place. What's not to hate? A grown man cries, big deal. Cute little kid who screams all the time. Somewhat predictable plot. Or, you're one of those people for whom childhood was a cedar-lined box full of warm, happy memories or loving arms and sympathetic peers so that a movie like this seems pointless.

But me, I had to remember. I had to. Like Rusty, that one memory of mine wasn't even the worst. Far from it. There were many before and many after. Certainly, there was nothing I could have done to change what happened that day or any other day. People suffer. Children are mistreated and unloved. One movie can't really change the world. But it sure can change a day.

CineScene, 2000