When Pleasantville hit theaters 15 years ago, it had a profound impact on my pre-adolescent mind. And the lessons learned are just as valuable today.
There is beauty in the details you overlook.
Living in a big city, it's hard to appreciate the natural beauty that surrounds you. Pleasantville simplifies things by transplanting the city kids to an idyllic small town, and brightening the world bit by bit in gradual pops of color. It's a lot easier to remember to stop and smell the roses when they're bright red against a grayscale bush.
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Art is a form of protest.
Outside of nature, there's manmade art, which can be equally easy to ignore when you're a kid. Pleasantville captures the transgressive power of art: It's a stunning form of protest, an ability to address and subvert societal norms without violence. And the results can be gorgeous, like the mural painted by Mr. Johnson and David toward the end of the film.
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Reading is essential.
Reading is another form of protest, which is radical information to anyone who previously regarded it solely as homework. Books offer knowledge, but also the ability to escape past your surroundings. The boundaries of Pleasantville disappear when the teenagers start opening their minds, and that happens when the books fill in with words.
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Everything has more meaning when shared with someone else.
Ah, young love. While Jennifer brings sex to Pleasantville, David finds love. Real love, that is — not just baking cookies for the star player on the basketball team. But it was always under the surface, like the forbidden longing between Mr. Johnson and Betty. Just like that, color floods the scene. A life without love feels a little meaningless — or, you know, black and white.
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