It's hard to know what to say - what to start with - when trying to describe this film. I could tell you that you definitely need to see it; that you will laugh, cry and want to shout at the screen; that by the end, whatever your feelings on Disney, you will love and adore the characters and hope that Emma Thompson writes all future scripts for all movies. "Saving Mr Banks," as well as being the story of how the much loved children's book "Mary Poppins" was made into an equally - if not more so - loved Disney film, is about a (now grown up) little girl and her relationship with her father. It is about how your past haunts you into adulthood, and if you aren't careful and willing to let it go, all through your life. It is about love and loss, about watching your parents screw up their lives and, by extension yours.
I have to confess I didn't cry while watching it. I didn't cry as two small girls watched their father drink himself closer and closer to death and then eventually, gently even, slip over the edge. I didn't cry as the oldest daughter saved her unstable mother from a suicide attempt. I didn't cry as P. L. Travers, now a fully grown-up woman and a successful writer, crumpled into tears watching her childhood brought to life in a magical, moving film that somehow made all of that pain as close as it would ever be to alright. In fact the closest to tears I got was as she hugged a Mickey Mouse cuddly toy all alone in L. A. and realised how just how very lonely she was.
Trust me, you need to watch this film. If you love the story of the nanny who blew in with the east wind, carrying a magic carpet bag; providing the spoonfuls of sugar needed to help the life lessons go down, then you will enjoy seeing a whole new element to her creation brought to life. If you are yet to be won over by the singing and the dancing, the mystery and adventures - the dancing penguins and the flying kites in London skies, the suffragettes, the chimney sweeps and the echoing cathedral with it's swooping birds - prepare to have your opinions changed. Emma Thompson is totally magical and has written a movie that will sweep the most hardened Disney haters off their feet. Tom Hanks is ideal as Walt Disney - the storyteller who makes dreams come true and characters dance off the page and into imaginations all over the world.
The songs that make "Mary Poppins" so wonderful are all here. From Chim-Chiminey to Supercallifragilistic to Feed the Birds (sobs) and Fly A Kite, you can easily spend the whole film singing along and will come away feeling oddly reminded of your childhood, however distant it seems day to day. Personally, among others such as Annie and The Sound of Music, Mulan, Peter Pan and Pocohontas, "Mary Poppins" was one of the films I watched with my sister about 743682 times when we were little. It's really rare to see something that perfectly appreciates what's so wonderful about the original, but adds to it beautifully, expanding on the themes you were only partially aware of, when watching curled up on the sofa, having begged to stay up past bedtime to finish the ending. It allows you to love it again in a whole new way; seeing it with fresh, grown-up - or at least closer to it - eyes.
And finally, no. She didn't come to save the children. She never did. Excuse me while I go and cry over how perfect "Saving Mr Banks" is, re-watch "Mary Poppins" and spend the next three weeks raving about it to everyone I know.
There's this story I have from when I was little - the kind of age when you wear flowery dresses over jeans and princess welly boots without even thinking about it; the age when best friends are forever and ever; the age when boys are smelly, the tooth fairy really was real and school involved colouring in as actual lessons - the kind of age, essentially, before life has any consequences whatsoever. I must have been five or six - and I clearly remember this bit even now - I was lying upside down on the sofa, probably watching CBeebies (who remembers that?!) as the phone rang. One of my two bestest best friends had been hit by a car. I remember my mum telling me she had been knocked over so hard she flew feet into the air. I remember she had broken more bones that I knew the names for. I remember it was quite unlikely she might get to carry on being alive.
She did, luckily, and get to live on and finish off being ages six and seven and eight and grow up happily ever after (as far as I know - sadly we lost touch when she moved away.) But having that happen to your child, to your big sister - and even to your best friend - is something hard to deal with, especially at age six, when life has never been quite this serious before. She should have been giggling in the playground and chasing her constantly escaping pet rabbits round her back garden. She shouldn't have been in an ambulance with flashing lights and having paramedics tell her mum that if she didn't survive the journey to hospital, she might not get her daughter back. She - if you want to get really picky - definitely shouldn't have run out into the road. The one road in our town where people drive as if they think they're on a motorway. But you don't know these things, not when you're six.
I made her a get well soon card - as soon as we knew this was definitely going to be an option - wrote xoxoxox inside in smudgy felt tip pens, coloured in the outside, and as a last thought, added a message in messy, primary-school, joined-up handwriting. Something along the lines of.... feel better soon, love from Jessica. Oh and P.S. This chocolate is for you but if you don't feel like eating it you can always give it back to me at school. Innocent, six-year old logic. My parents dropped it off at the hospital for me and her dad told them it was the first thing that had made them laugh since the accident.
This tiny, random memory colours so much of my attitude to life now I'm older. I'm just as bad as anyone else at using the phrase "let me know if there's anything I can do." We're all guilty of it, when a friend needs help, when someone is ill or has lost someone or even is just having a rough time. I should try harder not to say it though - I know first hand just how irritating this meaningless combination of words can be - even when meant with the best intentions, in cards saying "With Sympathy," with bunches of flowers that slowly die, from faces that just don't know what else to say.
Do something. Don't ask the sick person, or the family that have just lost someone "if there's anything they need." Of course they need something - they need their daughter out of the hospital, or their friend not to be dying or for the person they love to be alive and well. So do something, don't ask. Even if you just buy them some chocolate. Or make them a cake, everyone loves cake. And then you've done something and you don't have to say those meaningless words any more. Make people laugh, even when they're sad, Actually, especially when they're sad. Laugh through your tears and they dry a lot faster.
It's a truth (pretty much) universally acknowledged that the only time I ever want to sit down and write on this blog is when I should be revising/writing an essay/insert activity that I'm supposed to do to pass exams, leave sixth form and be allowed to live an adult existence. (Yes, that was a Jane Austen quote... sorry.)
It feels so strange that in just a few weeks I'll be 18 - and legally allowed to do basically anything - but still live in exactly the same way, going to lessons, arguing with my family, being stressed about UCAS. Life isn't going to change dramatically in any way at all, which doesn't help to explain why I'm dragging my heels so much right now.
Learning things - for some reason - feels entirely pointless. This is an incredibly bad time for this to happen. In September, I and everyone else currently aged 17/18 and wrestling with the annoyingness of the UCAS track and admissions offices, will supposedly be heading off to university. Towns all over the country will be filled up with new students, cars full of families dropping them off and driving away waving goodbye, anxious parents, brand new friends, duvet covers, posters on the walls of new rooms.
Nights out in cities seen with fresh eyes because the high street isn't the same one you've been wandering up and down since you were 14. Cooking meals and doing laundry feeling exciting for some bizarre reason - because you're doing it all by yourself. Lectures, independence, student loans, new experiences and homesickness (even if you won't admit it...) On one hand I wish it could all start next week, but on the other I am honestly, really, completely freaked out.
I should probably also stop dealing with the anticipation of this by refusing to be motivated to work. You can tell its a real bad mood when inspirational quotes aren't helping...
Doing things regularly. It's the perfect plot device, ensuring drama on a weekly basis and making sure there's always something to talk about. From the Gilmore Girls (MY MOST FAVOURITE THING EVER), having "Friday night dinners" at their grandparents' house every week - honestly barely an episode of that show goes by without one - to Olivia Pope's Sunday catch-ups with her dad (not all that much more scary than a meal with Emily Gilmore if you ask me...) many shows rely on the regularity and familiarity of ritual, of entrenched expectations to allow the pace to continue.
But in real life? Not so much. Apart from religious, borderline obsessive watching of my favourite TV shows, there is very little I'm capable of doing routinely. I marvel at Youtubers who are able to promise they "post new videos every Wednesday," or, god knows how, even daily. I can't stomach the idea of a nine-to-five job, a boring career, the thought of commitment to a life lived in one place. As cute as Tom and Giovanna Fletcher's lives are, from the wedding speech and now the pumpkin baby announcement video, the idea following the pattern of job, marriage, family, etc. etc. literally makes me feel ill. I can't really picture how I want my life to look in the future, especially as I barely even have a handle on what I'm supposed to be doing next week.
Sometimes its all I can do to remember to eat meals at the "normal" time of day. Is there anything really wrong with eating cereal for dinner or ice cream for breakfast? - not on my planet. I don't know whether its that I get bored easily or just that my daily life is really uninteresting, but when days go by, each one incredibly similar to the last, I start feeling trapped. And then I feel the need to go and do something crazy, like get something else pierced, run off to Reading Festival with a weeks notice, quit my job or get seriously behind with my school work only to panic, sit up until two am doing an essay and get to my 8.30 am history lesson just to realise I answered the wrong question.
I don't handle boredom well and I do admit to having a very low threshold for enduring things I don't want to do. An allergy, an intolerance, or just a severe distaste. I'll sit there, roll my eyes, force myself to get through another Thursday that will be exactly the same as the one before, and exactly the same as the one in another seven days time. My worst nightmare is predictability and the only thing I like less than knowing I'm going to be living right where I am now for the next year, sleeping in the same bed I've had since I was a child, is that I still don't know where I'm moving to. All I want to do right now is escape off round the world, without any idea when I'll be back.
Many of my friends are experiencing this same feeling as I am - probably they're capable of handling it slightly better than I am. To be honest, I think its perfectly common around age 17 to 18 to suddenly realise your whole life is ahead of you and the pressure to know what to do with it can feel completely overwhelming. Its like staring out into uncharted water, or off the edge of a cliff into a massive abyss ominously labelled: Your Future. "What happens now?" we all think. Since when do we make the decisions, decide the course of our own lives. I didn't sign up for this - no one asked me if I wanted to be born and now there's potentially eighty more years of this bulls*** that I have to plan out? (You can see why I feel other people are dealing with this collective emotional crisis a bit more maturely...)
So once I'm done with my ironically timed toddler-style tantrum about the fact I exist, I had better get on and start making some choices. Smart, useful ones that might actually get me somewhere. Not something I'm famous for being great at, but its probably time to start giving it a go. To do some preparation for the entrance exam I have to take, to sit down and deal with the mountains of work I need to do, to stop helplessly refreshing the UCAS track page in the hope it will tell me what to do with my life. If you feel yourself getting into this state (no judgement here, if you've made it this far you can tell that I am clearly losing the plot anyway...) I have one piece of advice for you. Watch Danisnotonfire's videos on this topic, and have a cup of tea. If this doesn't make you feel even slightly better you are probably in need of professional help that I am in no way qualified to give.
Today has been a weird kind of day. I dragged myself out of bed, after pressing snooze a few times, went downstairs and ate what I usually eat for breakfast, swallowed my iron supplement tablet with a mug of green tea and got dressed. I found some clean jeans and chose the rest of my outfit from the mess of clothes, make up, books and magazines on the floor of my (not-usually-quite-this) messy bedroom. Messed around with my hair, put some make up on my face, plugged my headphones in, grabbed my bag and left the house. So far, so normal.
This is where it changes. I walked into school - early for once in my life - and waited around for my appointment. My appointment to send off my UCAS form. My university application, personal statement, results, predicted grades and reference are currently being sent off to the five places I have applied to. It's all done, it's all finally finished and I can have my life back. It may sound a bit dramatic and it probably is, but I have always been someone who doesn't deal very well with even the idea of change. And this change is a big one. This time next year (hopefully/fingers crossed) I will be finally moved out and living at one of my five choices.... and no, I'm not going to tell you what they are! It's safe to say I would be extremely happy getting into any one of them but for various reasons my application had to be sent off early so, along with everyone else from my sixth form in this position, October 15th has been a big deadline hanging over my head. And now, with under 12 hours to go, it's all done and I can stop worrying. I can go back to spending too much time watching the Gilmore Girls, never quite enough doing notes and essays and coursework and dance around my bedroom or go for a run without feeling guilty that I'm not redrafting my application for the millionth time.
It's amazing to think about how much has changed in the last couple of years. Everything from my favourite books and music, to the people I'm closest with (except for an amazing few who have stayed the same) and the things that interest me most are completely different. It's really hard not to feel like a different person when so little about my life actually feels recognizable to me. When I was fourteen - aside from the fact I was still convinced I could become a ballet dancer, don't laugh too much - I thought I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life. When I was fifteen I thought having a full fringe and short hair was a good idea and when I was sixteen getting my nose pierced was the scariest thing I had ever done. Luckily that one did turn out to be a good decision, and I hope as I finish up being seventeen the good decisions are starting to outweigh the bad ones.
My friendships have changed beyond recognition, I no longer spend hours of my life perfecting barre exercises or learning solos and fixing new ribbons onto ballet shoes. I talk far more than I used to, and while my family are unsurprised as they complain that I never shut up at home, teachers in sixth form and people I had never bothered trying to get to know are surprised that I have "come out of my shell." I think change is a good thing now. I get bored if I haven't moved my furniture around in a while, constantly need new posters for my walls and feel that live isn't really worth living if I haven't got something new to look forward to just around the corner.
There are so many plans I have, so many things I want to do before this year ends. I need a new job for starters, I need to save up some money and finish learning to drive. I really really need a new phone. I need to go to Washington DC in February for my Year 13 Politics trip. I need to see Taylor Swift when the Red Tour comes to London (thank you God, for amazing people who buy me tickets for things!) I need to have a lovely Christmas with my family, the last proper one before there are only two people living in our house all the time. I need to make sure I don't worry about them too much but at the same time, set up Skype on my laptop and come home to visit every now and then. I need to go travelling next summer, I NEED to go to Reading Festival again, I need to find my wristband from this year and put it on my pin board, I need to get a new camera and take so many pictures of all the things and people I want to remember. I need my hair to grow some more, I need a lovely prom and a happy ending to being "in school." I don't particularly want to be eighteen and have to start being an "adult," but it's going to happen anyway and I might as well try and love it.
I used to say I hated where I had grown up, that it was boring, that I wished I had lived somewhere else but I think I actually might be starting to realise how much I'll miss it. I think my resistance to any kind of change comes from the insecurity I have from being moved around the world so much when I was little and being afraid to put down roots and have to leave again. I don't remember it, of course, I was one and two when we moved from England to Hong Kong and back again and three when we moved to where we live now. But I remember the anxiety I had throughout my childhood of people disappearing, of moving away and never coming back. One of my close friends in primary school moved to Italy, another to the other end of the country. Others I have lost touch with since then, Year Nine friendships break up and people move on, things change and there is nothing I can do about it. I remember waving goodbye to my dad so many times from windows and airports and trains - jobs with constant travel are really good for building abandonment issues into your children. I remember how much easier that made it to say goodbye to him permanently and how much I hated it, and tried to miss him more, on purpose. I remember all of these things and how they have made me into myself.
I hate looking through my old pictures because I hate how I used to look. I hate hate hate myself with short hair and I have still not quite gotten over it yet. I'm working on it, they were not happy years for me and maybe that was reflected too poignantly in those photos. But there are one lot I found: pictures from my trip to Italy this last summer. I spent nearly three weeks with my mum and little sister and the in photos from this holiday we look the happiest I've ever seen us. I don't know why this is, a combination of sunshine and exploring in a beautiful place? The amazing food, the friendly people, the feeling of being so far away from anything about home? Whatever it is, I intend to capture that feeling and spend as much as possible of the rest of my life being exactly that happy.
It's hard to know what to say - what to start with - when trying to describe this film. I could tell you that you definitely need to see it; that you will laugh, cry and want to shout at the screen; that by the end, whatever your feelings on Disney, you will love and adore the characters and hope that Emma Thompson writes all future scripts for all movies. "Saving Mr Banks," as well as being the story of how the much loved children's book "Mary Poppins" was made into an equally - if not more so - loved Disney film, is about a (now grown up) little girl and her relationship with her father. It is about how your past haunts you into adulthood, and if you aren't careful and willing to let it go, all through your life. It is about love and loss, about watching your parents screw up their lives and, by extension yours. 
