It starts when we’re young. We have a blanket we can’t go to sleep without. Our stuffed animals are our best friends. We have an attachment to inanimate objects.
It’s completely normal for kids to have it. There comes a time, though, when each kid grows up. Theygo all Toy Story 3 on their once-cherished teddy bears and safety blankets. And, sure, maybe there’s the occasional pep-talking a car through a blizzard, but most interaction for adults comes from real people: classmates, comrades, elders. (Although in this day and age it’s pretty likely to also come from a tiny beeping rectangle in your pocket, amiright?)
In 2007, Ryan Gosling starred as the title character in the dramedy, Lars and the Real Girl. Quite far from his dangerously handsome, romcom roles, Gosling plays the socially inept Lars who falls for Bianca, a lifelike blow up doll he ordered off the internet. Lars’ brother (Gus), his wife (Karin), and the whole town are completely shocked and somewhat disturbed by his affixation. The ending is a total downer that pretty much made me reassess everything in my life.
The first time I watched LatRG, I was pretty weirded out…and sad. I felt bad for Gosling’s character, who was so reliant on this plastic bag filled with air. I mean, if he was like, twenty years younger and the object was perhaps a less-creepy, less sex-dolly version of Bianca, there would be no movie; it would’ve been a normal story of a boy and his beloved Barbie. (Get your gender-typed ass out of here.)
I don’t want to get into the psychology of it all, but the story of Lars’ life reminded me of my own. I mean, I don’t still talk to my stuffed animals; actually they’re all in a plastic bag in my basement, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure my nineteen year old sister, Karalee, still does. She has three main stuffed animals: a creepy, giant baby named Dill from Rugrats, a panda bear named China (racist), and a blue bear aptly named Blue Bear. I guess she also has some weird whale, stingray-thing named Kenzo and a carrot named Carrotlee. They must go to college with her because I don’t see them a lot. The rest of her childhood stuffed animals sit on a shelf on the opposite side of her room as her bed; she sits them so that they don’t face her. (God forbid they should watch her sleep.)
Of course, this doesn’t mean my sister will become the female version of Lars. But, actually, she loves this Japanese TV series called Absolute Boyfriend, in which this girl signs up for a trial and gets a robot boyfriend in the mail and he’s like, the perfect mate. Holy crap, does this mean I’m Gus?