Deer Hunter

“I just wanted to make it better.”

“How did that make it better? You’ve done the worst thing that anyone’s ever done, ever.”

“Ah now, that’s going a bit far -”

“No it isn’t. You killed Bambi’s mum.”

“Well, I didn’t actually kill her -”

“You wrote her death into the script. You might as well have fired the rifle yourself.”

“There wasn’t any actual rifle. It’s just a cartoon.”

“I know it’s a bloody cartoon. And thanks to you it’s literally a bloody cartoon. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that the story needed a bit of pathos.”

“If you wanted pathos you could have had Bambi knock out a tooth when he fell on the ice. Or land on his goolies, which come to think of it he must have done – that would have had both comedy and pathos. Instead you decided to kill off one of the most loved creatures of all time. It’s as if Tiny Tim had said ‘God bless us, everyone’, and then keeled over.”

“Lots of cartoons have deaths -”

“Yes, but they’re not real deaths. Snow White comes back to life. Baloo the Bear comes back to life. Bobby Ewing comes back to life.”

“Er, that’s not actually a cartoon.”

“See? Even in adult shows with real-life actors, no-one’s really dead. They’ve invented zombies and vampires and ghosts so that even people who do get killed don’t fully die. Like I said, what were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that the whole thing was mush, that it was all ‘twitterpated this’ and ‘drip, drip, drop little April shower that’. It was all too nice.”

“Yes, well if you can’t draw anything nice, don’t draw nothin’ at all.”

“See? It was full of that kind of Pollyanna shite.”

“Look, there are only three rules in cartoons – the Prince is a twit, true love conquers all, and you don’t kill off the main character’s mum. It’d be like killing off Ma Walton, or Forrest Gump’s mother – well, actually that wouldn’t be too bad, she was a real pain.”

“She might not be dead.”


“Bambi’s mother might not be dead. All you hear is a rifle-shot. You never see her body.”

“So now you’re suggesting she faked her death so that she could elope with the young buck from the next village? Oh, that would be so much better – Bambi coming from a broken home. We could have him sing ‘the sun’ll come out tomorrow’.”

“Good idea.”

“Shut up, I was being sarcastic. Look, we’ll never be able to show this. It would traumatise a whole generation of children. It would be like them all finding out on the same day that’s there’s no such thing as Santa – or worse, that there was, but that Rudolf’s nose exploded and killed him. It’ll never get a PG Cert. It won’t even get an 18 Cert. They’ll invent a special “Over-35s-accompanied-by-an-adult-whose-heart’s-been-replaced-with-a-block-of-stone Cert” just for us. I’m telling you, young Tarantino, you’ll never work in the movie business again.”


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