Vincent, de Tim Burton (1982)
Adoro Tim Burton, e adoro este curta-metragem que ele fez em 1982, que conta a história de um menino chamado Vincent Malloy, que tinha 7 anos, e que queria ser Vincent Price. Ele me lembra outro menino que também criava seus mundos, que realmente acreditava que eles existiam, e neles vivia dia após dia. Esses mundos ainda estão lá, esperando que ele os acorde.
I once was a young boy, somewhat, like Vincent Malloy.
Vincent, by Tim Burton (1982)
Vincent Malloy is seven-years-old,
He's always polite and does what he's told,
For a boy his age, he's considerate and nice,
But he wants to be just like Vincent Price.
He doesn't mind living with his sister dog and cats,
Though he'd rather share a home with spiders and bats,
There, he could reflect on the horrors he's invented,
And wonder dark hallways alone and tormented.
Vincent is nice when his Aunt comes to see him,
But imagines dipping her in wax for his wax museum.
He likes to experiment on his dog Abercrombie,
In the hopes of creating a horrible zombie,
So he and his horrible zombie dog,
Could go searching for victims in the London fog.
His thoughts though aren't always of ghoulish crime,
He likes to paint and read to pass some of the time,
While other kids read books like Go Jane Go,
Vincent's favourite author is Edgar Allan Poe.
One night, while reading a gruesome tale,
He read a passage that made him turn pale,
Such horrible news, he could not survive,
For his beautiful wife had been buried alive!
He dug out her grave to make sure she was dead,
Unaware that her grave was his mother's flowerbed.
His mother sent Vincent off to his room,
He knew he'd been banished to the Tower Of Doom.
Where he was sentenced to spend the rest of his life,
Alone with the portrait of his beautiful wife.
All alone and insane, incased in his doom,
Vincent's mother burst suddenly into the room.
She said, "If you want to, you can go out and play"
"It's sunny outside, and a beautiful day."
Vincent tried to talk, but he just couldn't speak,
The years of isolation had made him quite weak,
So he took out some paper, and scrawled with a pen,
"I am possessed by this house, and can never leave it again."
His mother said, "You're not possessed,
and you're not almost dead!"
"These games that you play are all in your head!"
"You're not Vincent Price, you're Vincent Malloy!"
"You're not tormented and insane, you're just a young boy!"
"You're seven-years-old and you are my son,"
"I want you to get outside and have some real fun."
Her anger now spent, she walked out through the hall,
And while Vincent backed slowly against the wall,
The room started to sway, to shiver and creak,
His horrid insanity had reached it's peak!
He saw Abercrombie, his zombie slave,
And heard his wife call from beyond the grave,
She spoke from her coffin, and made ghoulish demands,
While through crackly walls, reached skeleton hands.
Every horror in his life, that had crept through his dreams,
Swept his mad laughter to terrified screams!
To escape the madness, he reached for the door,
But fell limp and lifeless down on the floor.
His voice was soft and very slow,
As he quoted The Raven, from Edgar Allan Poe,
"And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor,
Shall be lifted--Nevermore!"