Luca Paguro isn’t so different from other twelve-year-olds in 1950’s Italy. He’s curious and loves learning about everything he can get his hands on. He can often be spotted training on his bicycle for the local Portorosso Cup race. And he’s obsessed with Vespas—whether that means trying to save money for one of his own or helping his best friend, Alberto, build one in the meantime.
Not so different from other kids at all.
Oh, and he also never gets wet. No rain. No swimming. Not even a spilled water glass.
Because if he did, everyone would see that he’s actually a sea monster. (Albeit one with a remarkable ability to look human when he dries out.)
I’ve been excited for Pixar’s Luca since the trailers launched. (You may not have known this, but I’m a bit of a Pixar nerd.)
However, a lot of my peers said it didn’t quite have the sparkle of a Pixar movie. That it didn’t quite have that feel.
I watched it anyway and loved it. (I thought it very much seemed like a Pixar movie.)
One of my favorite scenes is the “silenzio Bruno!” scene. Slices of it were used in trailers and other marketing. You can watch the full scene below.
It seems cute enough (if not deadly) in that clip. And sometimes it is just little irrational fears that tug at us.
Not that “I was just thinking maybe I might die” is an irrational fear.
And for the record, if Bruno is telling you not to put something in your mouth, you might want to listen. Good? Good.
What were we talking about?
Right. Then there are the bigger fears. As we see in Luca, often the biggest struggles hide behind carefree faces. Without giving too much away, the kids in Luca are dealing with some big problems: bullying, parents’ separation, and abandonment by a parent, for starters.
Can we really silence our inner doubts when we’re stuck in the middle of those big things? Can we silence Bruno when it hurts?
You Have More Reason Than Anyone Else To Say It
Once again, for the record, sometimes we do need to listen to Bruno. Sometimes he’s warning us and/or leading us towards a good change.
But more often than not, Bruno wants us to doubt ourselves.
You’re not good enough.
And worse, he wants us to doubt the One Who cares for us.
You are a child of God. A child of the true King, the Leader of angel armies. And it’s that Father Who stands by you in every fear you face, big or small. He doesn’t leave when the crisis is over, either. He stays with you in every aspect of your life, the mundane and the insane.
He has a plan in all this. And it doesn’t feel good at the time. But because He is good, because He’s been good for a million other people a million times before, we know His plan is good.
He’s the reason that you’re good enough, because His sacrifice made you worthy.
He’s the reason you can, because He gives His power to you.
You can go to that youth group and meet others your age.
You can be gracious and merciful to the cruel person in your life.
You can bear up under abuse or bullying, always knowing where your worth is.
With Someone like that on our side, why on earth should we listen to Bruno?
So I don’t care what you say to him, or why his name is Bruno. Just shut him up.
Because you have a reason that you can say, “Silenzio Bruno.”
*What is your Bruno? Have you seen Pixar's Luca? What did you think of it? Share your adventures in the comments!*
I remember watching Pixar’s Monsters, Inc. with my younger siblings for the first time. While it had been a movie I loved when I was younger, I had actually worn out the DVD with how often I watched it, and it just never got replaced.
We had told my younger siblings about this, and they all settled in on the couch or the floor, excited to see what might follow.
Once we sat through the (INCREDIBLY LONG) (but there was a catchy song, so it was okay) opening credits, the screen lit up with a picture of an average child’s bedroom.
Mom said goodnight.
The lights went out.
That’s when the terror began.
A slimy tentacle draped over a chair. Curtains rustling in the wind. And a pair of slanted red eyes glaring from beneath the bed.
By this point—not even five minutes into the movie unless you count those opening credits—one of my elementary-aged brothers, who had struggled with night terrors for years when he was younger, was cowered behind the couch pillows, peeking across to the rest of us, probably trying to figure out what exactly he’d signed on for. (“Watch Monsters, Inc. they said. It will be fun, they said.”)
The enormous monster loomed over the bed. The child screamed.
And, uh, so did the monster.
And before we knew it, said monster was skidding across the floor into a pile of jacks. (Punctuated by said brother’s hysterical cackles in the background.) Then the wall lifted to reveal it was all a simulation.
It’s October. Some great things happen in October. Fall decorations start popping up everywhere. Pumpkin spice dominates each and every restaurant. I went to my first For King and Country concert.
But the majority of the month is dedicated to celebrating fear.
October is a month where storytellers go to great lengths to come up with the darkest and scariest stories they can. (Something I never saw much point in. Who wants to be scared all the time? We get enough of that in real life.)
October’s festivities aside, fear permeates our culture now, especially since the 2020 lockdown. (Should I capitalize lockdown? Is it that serious?) It reminded us that our world—and all the things we thought were untouchable—can change in an instant. And with that reminder came fear.
No need to wait until October. Fear is alive and well all year round.
Fear is power.
In the context of Monsters, Inc., the ones who harness fear’s power are a group of colorful and quirky monsters who really just need kids’ screams so they can start their car in the morning.
In real life, though? There’s nothing quirky or colorful about the one who wants to use our fear to power his empire.
Fear is powerful. It holds us back from the things we love the best. It shuts us down and keeps us in a dark place. It overwhelms us.
But as I watched Monsters, Inc. with a boy who used to refuse to go into any room of the house after dark without a light, who used to never spend the night in his own bed, who used to leave the room over visuals in even G-rated movies—as I watched him laugh his way through the film, I realized something alongside those quirky and colorful monsters.
Joy is more powerful than fear.
Why write stories of fear and despair when we can celebrate joy? When we can point to the pinprick of Light shattering the inky dark? When we can break free of the black prisons that we cower oh-so-comfortably in? When we run outside into the light and discover both new things and old things that truly don’t change when the whole world is flipped upside down?
It’s hard to uncurl from that ball and take a step outside. But maybe this October, we’ll find ourselves celebrating the power of joy—not fear.
(P.S. That boy I mentioned? He hasn’t scurried out of his room at night for years.)
Hi, I'm Rachel! I'm the author of the posts here at ProseWorthy. Thanks for stopping by!