Navigating the Tricky Waters of Childhood Memories

Last updated on: March 17, 2017 at 3:08 pm by Joseph Susanka

Navigating the Tricky Waters of Childhood Memories 2017-03-17T15:08:50-06:00 Joseph Susanka

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Childhood nostalgia can be a harsh taskmistress — powerful emotional responses triggered by memories that are not entirely clear, and sometimes completely unremembered until the very moment the trigger event takes place.

I just had one of those moments.

Two of Sundance 2012’s breakout stars are preparing for another adventure, as the “Safety Not Guaranteed” team of Colin Trevorrow and Derek Connolly have been hired to rewrite Disney’s “Flight of the Navigator” remake, which will be developed with as a potential directing vehicle for Trevorrow.

…

“‘Flight of the Navigator’ wasn’t a seminal movie of my childhood but I remember liking it and the original meant a lot to Colin as a kid, so it’s really his baby. It’ll be good to have some balance so it’s not two fanboys writing the movie,” Connolly told Variety.

Overwhelmed by the nostalgia-fueled flood of emotions that swept through my heart, I grasped at the first rational response that came to hand: “Bloodsuckers! Blue Blistering Bell-Bottomed Balderdash! Billions of bilious blue blistering barnacles! Are you people NUTS?”

Incredulity quickly turned to despair and even anger at the fact that half of the writing team just stated publicly that “Flight of the Navigator” “wasn’t a seminal movie of my childhood.” Translation: I have no soul. Pass me your childhood, that I may stomp on it with my thugish jack-boots.

Is nothing sacred?

…

I might be overreacting.

Stepping back from the ledge for a moment, it’s clear that Trevorrow is a fan of the original film, which means there is at least some soul involved in the project. Plus, his name has been widely discussed of late, and almost always with a healthy dose accompanying praise. Also, I’m not at all sure that the original is worth preserving unscathed on the basis of its “objective cinematic worth” alone. Remove Silvestri and Reubens, and I’m not even sure what would be left. But I do know that it is dearer to me than all the non-Ustinov/non-Russell experiences of my most formative movie-viewing years.

I will now spend the rest of the afternoon listening to this as I struggle to pick up the shards of my newly-shattered past.

Music

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