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1996, the best year in movie history, pt. 97: Casper

… “the first feature film to have a fully computer-generated … character in a leading role,” according to the IMDb.

Indeed, when ghostly young Casper is granted a few hours of re-embodiment, his human portrayer is less winsome than the computer-generated spirit. This is a mark of technical virtuosity.

Along with Casper, there are three other principal ghosts: “Fatso,” “Stretch,” and “Stinkie,” Casper’s loutish uncles. Physically, they’re like overgrown soap bubbles. They’re corporeal, but just barely. You can see them – and see through them. If you touch them, they dissipate. (No harm is done; they easily re-form.) Fat or thin, they’re rounded: there’s little angularity, and no severity, in their faces.


The uncles are malicious but jovial. Casper himself would be cuddly were he more than minimally solid. Such is his plight: he can love, but he can’t be embraced by his beloved.

The movie is a child-friendly version of the classic story of a romantic encounter between a human and a god (an angel, a space alien, a sprite, etc.). The themes are inaccessibility and yearning.


The girl is 1990s “Child Scare-Queen” Christina Ricci (The Addams Family; Sleepy Hollow). Casper sees her and falls in love. (That’s also how I felt when I saw her in the mid-nineties.) She is Kat, the daughter of Dr. Harvey (Bill Pullman), a psychologist who specializes in therapy for the dead – or, as he calls them, the “living impaired.” Ghosts, he explains, are people who fail to fully “cross over” because of “unresolved issues.” Dr. Harvey has an unresolved issue of his own, which is that his wife’s death has dialed up his eccentricity to eleven. He drags Kat across the country so that he can talk to ghosts and track down his wife’s spirit.

Dr. Harvey and Kat end up in Maine, in the run-down, Gothic dwelling of Casper and his uncles, at the behest of treasure-hunters played by Eric Idle (Monty Python) and Cathy Moriarty (most famously, Robert De Niro’s chilly wife in Raging Bull). Idle and Moriarty are involved in the movie’s funniest scenes, some of which also benefit from cameos by Saturday Night Live icons – a conceit repeated by director Brad Silverling in his Land of the Lost.

For example:


The uncles delight in frightening people; Casper tries to befriend them. The effect is the same. The living flee in terror. Until the Harveys arrive, that is. They weather the initial storm. Soon, Casper is cooking Kat breakfast, and the uncles are taking a shine to the Doctor. So much so, in fact, that they plot for him to die so that he can join their posse. Kat, meanwhile, is grateful for Casper’s attention, although she’d rather be with the local flesh-and-blood heart-throb (cue Carrie references). Will Casper win her over? In the spirit of Ray Bradbury, yes and no. Carefully attend to Casper’s re-embodiment. It becomes clear that Kat would accept Casper only under conditions that he couldn’t permanently satisfy. And rightly so, perhaps. The movie is bittersweet.

It also has more swearing and gross-out humor than your average children’s movie. (Again, see Silberling’s Land of the Lost, which, wisely, targets an older audience.) Casper’s plight may be at the movie’s center, but the prevailing tone is set by those hedonistic vulgarians, the uncles. Which is just as well; the core is perhaps too sad.

I liked the set design best. The run-down mansion is exquisite. There are lots of visual references to old movies – to Oz, especially. Afterward, I wanted to watch Casper again, to see how many I could count; Land of the Lost, too.

An entry, posted late, requiring every ounce of strength to type

Notable World Cup “tuneup” results:
  • Ecuador 1, Morocco 1 (cracker of a game)
  • Brazil 1, France 2 (France dominant)
  • England 1, Uruguay 1 (tedious)
  • Colombia 1, Croatia 2 (dunno)
  • South Korea 0, Ivory Coast 4 (look out for the “Elephants”)
  • USA 2, Belgium 5 (too soon to gloat, alas)
Tomorrow promises to be grueling; today already was. Lily, Karin’s sister, will be married tomorrow afternoon. It’s the childcare that vexes. Samuel, at least, is accounted for: he’ll bear the rings. He successfully brought the cushion down the aisle during today’s rehearsal.

Abel and Daniel are another matter. The last thing the ceremony needs is a chorus of squawking. I scouted the building today for possible retreating-places. There aren’t many.

Today, before I chased around and, ocassionally, strong-armed Abel and Daniel, I’d already tired myself loading a humungous, old brush pile – which had plagued our backyard since we bought the property in 2021 – into our pastor’s trailer. Pastor Josh and I took the debris to the church and tossed it into the forest next to the parking lot. It’s not every day you get to dump stuff in a forest.

This has been a grueling entry to type, too, because my “shift” key has been sticking.

Preview: Irish reading

Here is my list of Irish people to read in 2026–2027. (And afterward.)

Who’m I overlooking?
  • John Banville, a.k.a. Benjamin Black
  • Samuel Beckett
  • Elizabeth Bowen
  • Anna Burns
  • Joyce Cary
  • Erskine Childers (Mayfair-born)
  • Roddy Doyle
  • Maria Edgeworth
  • J. G. Farrell
  • Tara French
  • Seamus Heaney
  • James Joyce
  • Claire Keegan
  • C. S. Lewis
  • Brian Moore
  • Iris Murdoch
  • Edna O’Brien
  • Flann O’Brien
  • Sally Rooney
  • George Bernard Shaw
  • Jonathan Swift
  • J. M. Synge
  • William Trevor
  • Oscar Wilde
  • Cecil Woodham-Smith (Welsh-born, Irish-sired)
  • William Butler Yeats
I’ve read, or at least tried to read, all of these people but Bowen, Cary, Heaney, Edna O’Brien, Synge, and Trevor. I wouldn’t mind trying out everybody on the list.

I’m leaving Franks McCourt and O’Connor off the list. For now.

I also want to read a history book, The Rise and Fall of Christian Ireland. (Woodham-Smith’s Great Famine also is a work of history.)

My mother-in-law also has scheduled various Irish books to read this year. Amazingly, nothing on her list is on mine.

The idea for this project came from viewing Atom Egoyan’s excellent, unsettling Felicia’s Journey (1999) and reflecting that the source novel’s author, William Trevor, has been pretty well off my radar all my life.

Prolongation of woe

I.e., puking. Only Abel has been spared. We’ve brought the TV upstairs so as to get to the toilet promptly. Karin gallantly has been letting the children use the toilet first. She makes due in the hallway with her bucket.

Daniel, poor boy, is on his second cycle with this bug, having been symptomless one glorious week.

I’m well enough right now. I dread the second cycle.

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I’m teaching Samuel how footnotes work, using Barbara Holland’s Hail to the Chiefs. He’ll grow up thinking that studying history is fun.

Other reading:
  • François Mauriac, A Kiss for the Leper (a mini-book)
  • Voltaire, Candide (a re-read; a mini-book)
  • N. T. Wright, God’s Big Picture Bible Storybook
  • books, as yet unfinished, mentioned in previous entries
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

R.I.P. Chuck Norris, aged eighty-six. And Robert Mueller.

Body-text fonts, pt. 49: ITC Garamond

The Iranians are trying to have their World Cup games moved from the U.S. to Mexico.

Good. Luck.

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Six-year-old Samuel, whom we don’t allow to use social media, has been talking about giving up social media for a week. 🙄

Not for Lent’s sake. For a Klondike bar. (“What would you do for a Klondike bar?”)

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Chubby ITC Garamond is this month’s typeface. (This link is to the darker version, and this link is to the lighter version.)


My children are less “Charlie Bucket,” more “Mike Teavee.”