Slap Happy Larry

picturebooks, apps, eBooks, short stories

Picturebook Study: And To Think That I Saw It On Mulberry Street by Dr Seuss (1937)


This was Ted Geisel’s first book. Well, he’d written an abecedary but failed to interest publishers in it. It took a while to find a publisher for this one, too, but compared to what author/illustrators are up against today, I’m guessing 20 rejections is actually pretty good.

Dr Seuss may never have moved into picture book world if Geisel had not ran into an old college classmate, who had just become juvenile editor at Vanguard Press. When I hear stories like this I wonder how many other wonderful writers and illustrators never see widespread success due to plain old lack of luck, and I feel the self-publishing movement is therefore a great thing.


Legend has it that Geisel came up with this story on a ship. To ward off sea sickness he concocted a story. The rhythm is inspired by the ship’s engine. Of course, Geisel continued to write his picture books in that signature rhythm — a rhythm many writers have subsequently tried to pull off — perhaps more young rhymsters should take a cruise on a clunky old-timey steam ship??

(Why did we not see a movement of poetry inspired by a dial-up modem in the late 90s? Haha.)

Perry Nodelman has this to say about the rhythm and ‘curious reversal’ of Mulberry Street:

The regular rhythms […] have the strong beats and obvious patterns we usually expect of pictures in sequence; and as usual in a Dr. Seuss book, the action-filled cartooning does much to break up the regular rhythms inevitable in a pictorial sequence. But as the boy, Marco, adds details to his complex story of what he saw on Mulberry Street, the pictures become more and more complex, more and more filled with detail — but always in terms of the same basic compositional patterns: the elephant is always in the same place on each spread, and so on. So the pictures both build in intensity and maintain their narrative connection with each other, as the words in a story usually do; in each picture we look for new information to add to old, rather than having to start from scratch about what we are seeing each time, as usually happens in picture books. At the same time, the segments of text get shorter and tend to be interrupted by more periods. The result is a curious reversal, in which the text adds the strong regular beat and the pictures provide a surprisingly inter-connected narrative intensity. Indeed, many fine picture books create the rich tensions of successful narrative in pictures that strain toward the narrative qualities of text and in texts that strain toward the narrative qualities of pictures: they have repetitive rhythmic texts, and pictures with accelerating intensity.

Words About Pictures, Perry Nodelman

The details in this story plant it firmly in the First Golden Age Of Children’s Literature.

Modern stories of the imagination don’t tend to include Rajahs riding elephants and ‘Chinamen’.



A boy imagines a series of incredible sights on his way home from school so that he will have an interesting report to give his father.



Marco is fanciful. He’ll lie about something in order to make his life more interesting. Some may see this as a weakness; the weaknesses of picturebook characters often have very benign psychological weaknesses — a big imagination is more properly considered a strength.


He wants to impress his father.

Throughout his work, Geisel seemed more at home writing about the typically male experience and it’s true here, too, with an understanding of how sons naturally want to impress their dads.

This book, of the Tall Tale type, is an historically masculine form.


The father is a kind of opponent in that he has no time for Marco’s fanciful stories.


He plans to make up a story that’s far more interesting than reality.


In a cumulative, imaginative, carnivalesque story such as this, there may not be any big battle between the child and the other characters. Instead, the ‘battle scene’ will be ‘the moment of extreme chaos’.

This is the illustration with everything in it.



In a chaotic, carnivalesque plot, ideally there will be a ‘breather’. Here, the self-revelation comes with the image of the crossroad.


Note all the white space — the picturebook equivalent of a musical sequence with no dialogue in film.

Humans have been fascinated by crossroads since crossroads existed. In each case there is a spiritual significance. Something about crossroads has made earlier cultures superstitious:

  • Ghosts/apparitions appear at crossroads
  • Crossroads mark hallowed ground
  • Witches secretly meet at crossroads to conduct their nasty witchy stuff
  • Zeus hung out at crossroads
  • etc

None of this is going on here, exactly. In modern stories (like this) crossroads have lost their spiritual meaning but remain a psychological metaphor. Marco must make a decision very soon: Will he lie to his father or tell him the truth? In other words, crossroads in modern stories mean choice.

The self-revelation is that Marco has the power to make his own choice.


In order to keep his father happy, the boy makes the decision to keep these fanciful imaginings to himself. He tells his father what he really saw.

Extrapolating somewhat, this boy seems embarrassed about his imagination running away on him, so I expect he’ll hit adolescence soon and leave his imagination behind.


811 words

Between 30 and 40 pages long, depending on the edition

It’s interesting to see that the front cover has been published in varying shades of blue:


And then it came out in yellow, and the recognisable red and white spine, along with the rest of the Dr Seuss collection:



The Dr Seuss collection is available as a series of apps on the App Store. These are sold as early literacy apps, with the interactivity limited mainly to words popping out above the objects shown in the illustrations.

Mulberry App Icon


Marco appears again, ten years later, in McElligot’s Pool.


Picturebook Study: Thidwick The Big-Hearted Moose by Dr Seuss


“Extra moose moss” for Helen, the dedication page reads, because Theodor and Helen were still married in 1948 when this was published.

I always like (dislike) to remember that Helen Palmer Geisel ended her own life in 1967 after some serious illnesses and also because her marriage with Ted (Dr Seuss) was falling apart. He had moved on to another woman.

I also like to remember the fact that Helen was a great first editor for Seuss, and encouraged him in his art.


As is common in many picturebooks, the author starts in the iterative, telling us how life is. Then one day… (switches to the singular).


These moose are more personified than the moose in, say, This Moose Belongs To Me, which is about a very human boy and a very moose-like moose.

The story structure is partly of the There Was An Old Lady type, in which a small thing happens then the situation gets worse and worse. These are known as ‘cumulative tales’. This tale isn’t as repetitive as There Was An Old Lady, which is actually a song.


from A Picture Book Primer: Understanding and Using Picture Books By Denise I. Matulka


Thidwick the bull moose is a pushover, which is antithetical to our idea of a bull moose — huge, dangerous creatures who fight each other for their place in the moose hierarchy.


Even the name Thidwick sounds like the name of a loser — perhaps because characters with low social capital are quite often depicted with a lisp in pop culture. Actors with lisps will never be the leading man, though as Sean Connery proved, other kinds of speech differences can work to your advantage.


He needs to figure out a way to deal with others taking advantage of him.


He wants to go on doing moose things, which means leaving with the other moose when the moose moss runs out. The part of the story where the moose friends dump him is important to the desire line of the story.



All the little creatures who decide to move in and make his antlers their home.

Another more deadly form of opponents appear with the start of hunting season, and the men with their guns.


Finally, looking down the barrel of a shotgun, Thidwick makes a plan.

He’ll ditch his antlers.

If you’d like to see footage of a bull moose losing an antler, see here.


Although the animals in his antlers are annoying and not good for his social life, they are too comical to make a worthy opponent in and of themselves. It was a great choice to bring in the human hunters. In this picturebook we get a classic battle scene (with guns).


I’m not sure Thidwick really learned anything. If he had it wouldn’t have been pretty: “Your friends are quick to ditch you.”

In picture books the self-revelation is often had on the part of the young reader, who realises what the moral is. Here we are invited to judge Thidwick for being a pushover. Perhaps the young reader takes the side of the friends, who walk off when Thidwick puts up with an infestation on his antlers.

The lesson is that there are limits to your kindness. This makes a nice change from all the picturebooks out there teaching children to be kind.


Reminiscent of The Three Billy Goats Gruff, this moose is now happy eating the moose equivalent of grass with his own kind.

What’s The Difference Between Science Fiction And Fantasy?

The major distinction between fantasy and science fiction is, simply, that science fiction uses one, or a very, very few new postulates, and develops the rigidly consistent logical consequences of these limited postulates. Fantasy makes its rules as it goes along . . . The basic nature of fantasy is “The only rule is, make up a new rule any time you need one!” The basic rule of science fiction is “Set up a basic proposition—then develop its consistent, logical consequences.”

— John W. Campbell (1910–1971), American science fiction writer, editor of Analog Science Fiction and Fact

Many disagree with this distinction. That was written in the 1960s and speculative fiction has come a long way since then.

Today, a genre gender bias is clear.

The Digital Reader explains that SF written by women is more likely to be called fantasy:

In 2013, the judges of the Arthur C. Clarke Award, Britain’s most prestigious science fiction prize, disqualified a number of submitted books on the basis that they were not “technically” science fiction. They were deemed by the judges to be fantasy – a genre that does not require the realism of science – which has twice as many female authors compared to science fiction. As Damien Walters has observed, women’s writing is “dismissed as fantasy, while the fantasies of men are granted some higher status as science fiction”.

Rats In Children’s Literature


That’s a gif from Reddit.

I’m reminded of modern children’s literature, in which an underdog, much maligned character has his/her own back.

It’s pretty funny until you read the top commenter, pointing out that the rat probably has toxoplasmosis, a disorder of the brain. On the other hand, mice and rats alike aren’t timid at all when you consider how small and vulnerable they are compared to us, and how they hang around humans anyway.

Compared to mice, rats are relatively uncommon in children’s literature.

There are a number of reasons for this:

First, mice are cute, and serve as stand-in children owing to their small, vulnerable size. Rats have long, worm-like tails and look at you as if they’re about to murder you. Their paws are large enough for us to notice they are uncannily like human hands.

Mice are widely represented in folktales, both as protagonists and as helpers. Apparently, there is a subconscious identification on the part of children’s writers of a small and helpless child with one of the smallest animals, also know–maybe without reason–for its lack of courage. While rats are in many children’s stories presented as ruthless enemies, mice–in reality similarly harmful–are portrayed as harmless and sympathetic. The emblematic meaning of animals in art and literature deserves special attention there is an enormous diversity between cultures. However, in most ancient mythologies, mice are chthonic animals, worshipped as powerful and benevolent towards humans.

Maria Nikolajeva, From Mythic to Linear: Time in Children’s Literature

Second, there’s a long history of tropes depicting rats as baddies, and the antihero isn’t very well explored (yet) in literature for young children.

See also: A list of rodent tropes at TV Tropes

Third, there’s no Aesopian precedent for personified rats. Aesop has a much bigger influence on modern children’s literature than we might think. Take a look at the following word cloud, from a site which catalogue’s Aesop’s fables and you’ll notice that rats are entirely absent. Even mice aren’t all that common.


However, there are still many children’s books featuring rats. Here are some of the better-known works.










Antiheroes In Storytelling


Definition of Antihero

Anti-hero is a slippery term that can cause a lot of confusion. Simply stated, an anti-hero is not the opposite of a hero, but a specilized kind of hero, one who may be an outlaw or a villain from the point of view of society, but with whome the audience is basically in sympathy. We identify with these outsiders because we have all felt like outsiders at one time or another.

The Writer’s Journey, Christopher Vogler

Howard Suber in his book The Power Of Film argues that there is no such thing as an antihero, only those who act heroically and those who do not. He says that the word ‘antihero’ makes it sound like a character who is ‘anti’ (against) the hero, but this is not the case. Characters called ‘antiheroes’ are generally characters who are ‘not yet heroes’. Perhaps Suber would prefer the term ‘unhero’:

The un-hero is most similar among the types of heroes to the everyman, with a key exception: he rarely ends up being a proper hero. Generally, the un-hero is in all the wrong places at all the wrong times and does more to hinder the cause of good/justice/world-saving than to help it. Somehow though, through cosmic confluence or the intervention of a more traditional hero, everything works out in the end and the un-hero is heaped with the credit.

This is generally a less serious heroic form and should be reserved for a less serious work.

J.S. Morin

Snyder calls a subcategory of this The Fool Triumphant:

…an underdog… and an institution for that underdog to attack.

A Brief History Of Storytelling That Lead Us Here: To The Age Of The TV Antihero

In the 19th century, you maybe spent an hour a day reading a novel, two hours a month watching a play. That was all the storytelling done by professionals for you. People now see that much storytelling every day. Theater became Broadway, then radio, movies, and TV. It all happened in the 20th century.

All the arts in the 20th century exhausted themselves technically. By the time Ad Reinhardt painted a canvas black from edge to edge and said it’s a painting, the form was over. Music had been explored down to noise. Every technical possibility had been explored. All possible techniques.

So I was thinking, Since all the arts have reached the black canvas, what was going to become of story? Where would writers go in the 21st century?

I realized there is one aspect of human nature that really hasn’t been exploited and explored: evil. You have dark characters like Iago, great villains who are diabolical and evil, but it’s a pure evil. Human beings are very rarely pure evil, and storytelling hadn’t truly explored the complexity of realistic evil.

And then, a few years later, came all these great long-form series, which opened an exploration of evil. There was The Wire and The Sopranos andBreaking Bad, even Mad Men. With all these great series, you get complex, good/evil characters.

Robert McKee in a Vice interview



Further Reading

1. Are You Sick Of TV Antiheroes from LA Times

2. The Top 10 Fictional Antiheroes from Litreactor. It would seem most antiheroes are male, but this list includes some women.

3. A great definition of antihero, and a list of examples, can be found at TV Tropes.

4. The Likability Trap: We like to root for the antihero, but not for the antiheroine, from Bitch Media

5. A Day In the Life of a Troubled Male Antihero from Toast

6. Writing The Antihero (And Why So Many Authors Get It Wrong) from The Passive Voice

Toddlers, Picturebooks and Dieting

Children’s stories are full of weird food messages, but perhaps the weirdest to me is the idea that a preschool market can — and should be able to — get jokes about dieting.


from The Song of the Zubble-wump written in Dr Seuss style by children’s TV writer Tish Rabe

The obvious answer is that these jokes aren’t really meant for kids — they’re meant for the adult co-reader.

You’ll probably only find them in relation to anthropomorphized animals. Large animals such as elephants and mammoths are most likely to be the butt of this joke. Being built that way by nature, dieting simply won’t work, and that’s the root of the humour. In one of the later Ice Age movies Manny tells Ellie (both mammoths) that her butt is big. The joke is that Ellie doesn’t realise at first that he means this as a compliment. She takes offence, as all female characters must, because being fat is the absolute worst.

And that’s the message here, right? That being big is unacceptable, even if you’re naturally so.

It doesn’t take any experience with dieting to get that. Young readers get that.

Picturebook Study: Pig Tale by Helen Oxenbury (1973)


I’ve already taken a close look at The Three Little Wolves and the Big Bad Pig, which is one of my favourite picturebooks of all time. That was written by Eugene Trivizas and illustrated by Helen Oxenbury, probably because she already had a reputation for being a great illustrator of pigs.

Even if you think you’ve never seen Helen Oxenbury’s work, you will have, at least if you’ve ever read a Walker book because it was Helen who came up with the Walker Books logo — you know the one? The bear carrying the candle.

Helen explains in this video that although she drew the bear walking in the left direction, in every logo, Walker Books has the bear walking in the right direction. This makes perfect sense when we consider the ‘unmarked’ position of picture book characters in the West — characters move right through the story because that is the direction of the page turn. Characters only face left when there’s some good reason to, such as when the illustrator wants to create some sort of block/stoppage in the story flow.

If I had to make a wild stab, I’d say Helen Oxenbury appreciates the simple things in life, and does not approve of a life built around the pursuit of money. Such is the ideology of this particular book, which she both wrote and illustrated.

It’s written in rhyming verse, with pretty good but not perfect scansion. A few reads through would afford the reader sufficient practice to get it right.

Although many picture books are still illustrated as if the story is set in the 1970s (with mothers in aprons and a disproportionate number of white nuclear families), this book is authentically of the 1970s.



There’s a word for it these days — these pigs have affluenza. We see them looking over their fence onto a road where a flash (1970s era) car zooms up the road. The homestead across the road has a swimming pool and a caravan — everything you could possibly want.


They want these flash new things for themselves.


It’s tempting to say the opponent is ‘themselves’, but that’s never quite good enough to make a good story.

The pigs’ weakness is definitely exploited along this mythical journey as they encounter characters all too eager to take their money. But of course it’s true that these pigs really only have themselves to blame — the grovelling waiter and the car salesman and so on, they are the personifications (animal-i-fications?) of the pigs’ own weaknesses.



The inciting incident is finding the treasure. After this, they plan to go spend it on luxurious things to improve their lives.


The battle scene culminates in the food processor which throws food all over the kitchen.


These luxurious new things are making them unhappy.


You knew this was going to happen when you started the story, didn’t you? The pigs return to the simple life on the farm.

Picturebook Study: The Three Billy Goats Gruff

Can you guess which country this “eat-me-when-I’m-fatter” produced this fairytale? I’ll drop some clues:

  • Goats have historically been very important to this country, for their meat, milk and cheese.
  • It’s not a fertile country, which is always better for goats than for cattle and sheep.
  • It’s a land of mountains.


Yes, it’s Norway.

  • From ca. 1700 until 1850 the human population as well as the number of goats and sheep of this country  almost tripled.
  • The increased pressure on the natural resources worsened the living conditions for people and animals alike.
  • A characteristic feature of this period was the herding of single flocks by children. During the daylight hours, this was a precaution against predators as well as a way of keeping the animals off the areas meant for the harvesting of winter fodder. At night, the small flocks were in some places gathered in mobile corrals guarded by adults with dogs.
  • The Three Billy Goats Gruff was first published between 1841 and 1844, when goats were important to survival. The idea of a creature taking the life of a goat was not so far removed from taking the life of a child (due to the resultant starvation).


My childhood version of The Three Billy Goats Gruff was unfortunately — I see now — not a good one. It’s the small format Little Golden Book published in 1982, retold by Ellen Rudin. (The 1980s were chocka block full of retold fairytales.)


Rudin has a good sense of rhythm, and has retained all the things that are fun about this story as a read-aloud, but I feel the point of it is lost.



This is not clear from the text of the Little Golden Book version, but the goats need to get to the other side of the bridge because there is nothing to eat on their current side. Perhaps if I’d looked at the pictures more carefully as a child I’d have noticed all the rocks on the left, contrasting with the healthy green growth on the right. But I just assumed the goats happened to be standing on a pile of rocks and that the greenish hue of the background was perfectly good grass.

The stakes were much higher than that.

Here is a page from a completely different version, illustrated by Paul Galdeone. “There was very little grass in the valley” offers a clear need in the text (as well as in the illustration.)

Notice these goats looking left. In the vast majority of Western picturebooks the main characters look right, encouraging the reader to look forward to what’s overleaf.



These goats have to cross the bridge. They’re not doing it for the adrenaline rush.

They desire food.


The troll under the bridge.

Trolls featured prominently in Norwegian myth and legend. They were originally believed to be actual supernatural beings who lived in isolated rocks, mountains, or caves. They lived together in small family units, and were rarely helpful to human beings. Later they became more concretized. They became more evil and although they were often ugly, it was also thought that trolls would walk among us, undetected. Like vampires, they have trouble with sunlight. I suppose this is why the troll in this fairytale lives under a bridge.

Roald Dahl was influenced by such mythology. You’ll find aspects of trolls in some of his stories (along with witches, of course). The Trunchbull of Matilda feels a bit troll-like in her one-sided badness and ugliness. So do The Twits.


One day the littlest Billy Goat Gruff said, “I cannot wait any longer. I am going t cross the bridge and eat the sweet, green grass.”

“We will come, too,” said his brothers. “We will be right behind you.”

This is the most problematic part of the retelling, because it always seemed to me that each goat genuinely attempted to sacrifice the older one in order to save himself. I feel the ‘plan’ should be made clearer here. These brothers are working together strategically rather than looking after self-interests.


“Then I am coming up to eat you!” the troll shouted. And he climbed onto the bridge.

Big Billy Goat Gruff was not afraid.

“I would like to see you try!” he said.

He rushed at the troll and butted him with his horns. The troll fell off the bridge and disappeared, leaving no trace.

Since trolls can’t be exposed to light, the simple act of coaxing the troll out from under the shade of the bridge may have been all that was needed!


For me this story failed, because I had no revelation. I was supposed to realise at the end that these goats had worked together. Instead I wondered why the older goats didn’t spend the rest of their lives holding grudges against the younger ones.

I was supposed to learn that working together can defeat evil.


After that the three Billy Goats Gruff crossed the bridge whenever they liked and ate their fill of sweet, green grass.

And the horrible, mean troll never bothered them again.

The Useless Donkeys by Lydia Pender and Judith Cowell (1979)


At first I thought this was going to be a more realistic, earlier version of Walter The Farting Dog in which an adult threatens to get rid of a family pet, but over the course of the story the pet(s) prove their true worth and end up staying with the children.

I was a little off in my prediction. Instead, these donkeys are donkeys in the realistic sense. There’s nothing anthropomorphised about them at all. So they just wander around being donkeys, without ever proving their worth. Instead, the oldest daughter in this story happens upon what’s nowadays known as ‘The Benjamin Franklin Effect‘, in which the more you do for someone the better you like them.

The front matter tells us the illustrator, Judith Cowell, is a perfectionist and spent two years working studiously on the watercolours of this book. As you’d expect, they’re worthy of framing.


Perhaps this is why Cowell seems to have produced only two books in her lifetime. I suspect you can find more of her artwork here.



This storybook world is something between English and Australian. I couldn’t decide whether the author was Australian or English, in fact, so wasn’t surprised to look her up and find she was English born but spent most of her life in Australia.

Lydia Pender was the daughter of George Herbert and Ethel Podger. She came to Australia with her parents and four brothers in 1920. They lived in Sydney and she went to St. Albans Church of England School, Hunters Hill, completing the Leaving Certificate. Pender won a scholarship to do a bachelor of Arts at the University of Sydney but did not complete it.

There is something quite English about the diction, and the way the full names of the children are used. Then there’s that heavy rain, of course, which is often absent from Australian picturebooks set on farms. (See for example Two Summers.)

This is a cosy homestead, a small farm with a big, bustling family. The house provides safety, and the children are healthily excited about the rising river.


We have a newspaper reading father and a mother dressed as a 1940s housewife, tending to the family.



Donkeys are one of the main animals in Aesop’s fables. (They’re often referred to as an ‘ass’, which has fallen out of favour for some weird reason.)

Asses, no surprise, are often depicted as hapless victim types, with no brains. They fall into traps easily, and they are drawn towards fun with no thought to consequences.

Donkeys in real life have been important to us since the age of agriculture, but only if they can be put to work. Unlike horses and ponies, donkeys in children’s literature are primarily for working rather than for companionship. Donkeys don’t save the day very often. It’s no surprise, therefore, that the donkeys in this story are actual donkeys, not people in the form of donkeys.



A pair of donkeys are useless and a bit annoying.



The mother and children want to keep the donkeys.



The father. This guy is a farmer type who values animals only for their utility.


The two eldest children row to the ‘island’ and spend the night keeping the donkeys company.



The storm sequence.

A storm can symbolize the turmoil in the character’s psyche.

The Rhetoric of Character In Children’s Literature, Maria Nikolajeva

The reason for that watery watercolour technique, with those large splashes to add texture, becomes clear when it starts raining in the story and the river rises.


The more you do for somebody, the more you like them. It applies to babies and it applies to animals.



The donkeys will be allowed to stay. We know this because the father gave the final say to the more sympathetic mother.

This part of the story is implied rather than shown.


The Best Quiet Children’s Films

By ‘quiet’ I mean the anti-Dreamworks of yak-yak that drives you crazy when you’re listening to it in the background. These films will help a child to feel calm rather than revved up, especially if viewed without fizzy drink and choc-tops.

These quiet movies are set close to nature, feature classical soundtracks relatively little (if any) dialogue. (For some reason the mother is usually absent.)

Please bear in mind that by ‘quiet’ I don’t necessarily mean ‘appropriate for all kids all of the time’. Quite the reverse. Some of these quiet films are confronting, because when something horrible does happen in a quiet film, it feels all the worse for being isolated from all that babble. That said, my 8-year-old daughter has seen all of them numerous times, and she saw some of them when she was quite young. She tends to absorb story to the extent to which she can understand.

Some of these stories are not for children specifically.

Notice these quiet but often disturbing films are not coming out of America? For a fulsome list we must leave Hollywood.


1. THE BEAR (1988)



My father took me to see this in the cinema when I was ten. It’s still great. Like many classic stories for children, the mother dies. But the mother bear dies on screen, so it’s not like Cinderella or something like that, in which we never even mourn for the dead mother. The other note about this: There is a bear mating scene. I remember asking my dad in the theatre what they were doing. “They’re mating,” he whispered. I still didn’t really know what that meant, but I knew enough not to enquire further right there and then!

It’s essentially a father/son story. It’s actually pretty unrealistic if you know the real truth about male grizzlies, who are in reality inclined to eat their sons. So in fact this is an anthropomorphised story which glamorizes fatherhood after getting rid of the pesky mother (a story we see all to often, even in modern films).

For some reason I still love it.

Young viewers may need to be reassured that no animals were harmed in the making of the film.

Fly Away Home also has a shock opening and follows with a quiet story, but I can’t really recommend it here. My kid finds that one not only quiet but boring.



There’s no talking in this — the sound effects can sometimes be a bit noisy, because the insect world is depicted using human traffic sound effects, but overall this is a great before bed movie and I can’t think of any particularly disturbing scenes. It’s the safest of the films listed here. You’ll even empathise with a spider.



There’s very little talking in this, which is good, because if you’re watching in English you can see they’ve dubbed it pretty badly! (It doesn’t matter.) This appears to be a calm, nature-loving story — until the battle sequence. My eight-year-old fox loving kid burst into tears. But then it gets better… I feel it’s a shame they did this.

Spoiler alert:

[The fox appears to be dead but then it’s not really.]

The moral of the story is that you can’t tame a wild animal. You have to appreciate nature for what it is without anthropomorphizing.



I could list a bunch of Studio Ghibli films here.

In My Neighbour Totoro, we again have an absent mother (sick in hospital), and a story that glorifies the relationship between a father and his two little girls, who move to the country to be near the mother as she convalesces. They enter a spiritual world which feels very Japanese but is wholly imaginative, and meet some cuddly creatures.

This appeals to the younger set, even preschoolers. Another in the same vain is Ponyo. I write in detail about that film here. The mother isn’t entirely absent in that one — the father is.



This is one of the Ghibli films for an older audience (compared to Totoro and Ponyo). The scene where the parents are turned into pigs is confronting for a little kid. But overall the pacing is slow and dreamlike. The parents eventually reunite, after Chihiro learns to work hard. (I thought this was a peculiarly Japanese characteristic of story until I read Brian Selznick’s Hugo Cabret!)

I won’t list all of the Ghibli movies — all of them are on the quiet side. Their latest film (2016) is The Red Turtletheir first non-Japanese production (though not the first non-Japanese adaptation).



This historical story is the first live action on the list. Of course, the movie poster features the face of a white dude, rather than the Australian Aboriginal children it actually stars. This isn’t specifically a children’s film.

7. MARY AND MAX (2009)


Another fine Australian film, claymation, so appealing to kids but really it’s not specifically for kids. It mixes real life scenery with animation (claymation), similar to the Minuscule movies.

It’s said this movie is not for kids. I think this needs saying because we expect claymation to be only for kids. I say it’s a movie for everyone.



While we’re on the topic of neurodifference, I totally recommend this biopic of the world’s most well-known autistic woman.

I wasn’t a huge fan of Clare Danes as an actor — I felt she touched her hair too much in Homeland — but after watching her play Temple Grandin, I have a renewed respect for her breadth.

Children with sensory processing issues will identify with Grandin. (And may be the reason you were looking for a list of ‘quiet’ children’s movies in the first place.)



Perhaps not what you’d recommend for a kid? It’s true that not all stories about children are for children, and this is a film for adults, based on a short story for adults. Nevertheless, my daughter loved it.

Since it’s about a girl watching on as her parents go through a divorce, I’d not recommend it to a child in the middle of similar trauma themselves.

The entire film rests on the acting abilities of the child actor, who does an amazing job.



Speaking of the wonderful Julieanne Moore…

This is the least ‘quiet’ of all the films above, because it centres on the life of a big family, told from the perspective of a mother’s grown-up daughter. It’s based on the daughter’s memoir. I’d like to include it in this list to bolster the number of mothers. Overall it’s a feelgood film, though the scenes with the moody father might be a bit confronting.

11. WAITRESS (2007)


I’ve written about that film here. After watching this my daughter started an imaginary game of cafes, wearing an apron, writing menus and making food out of plasticine.

It will require prior knowledge of, or a discussion about, babies and where they come from, and how women sometimes end up with babies they didn’t plan, and have to make the decision about whether or not to keep them. This is something which can prey upon young girls’ minds anyway, so I feel such a discussion is never a bad thing. Overall, the message is conservative. The waitress ends up with a daughter, played by the writer/director’s real life daughter. The writer/director was subsequently murdered in real life by a man, but no need to mention that to your kid.

As I keep coming back to, real life is way worse than fiction. Might as well scaffold real life with slightly confronting fiction.



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