by Emma Willibey
Nine years, eight months and twelve days ago, my pride and joy entered the world. Raised among jumpsuit-clad juveniles in a bitter wasteland called Camp Green Lake, its chances for success were meager. Nevertheless, its depiction of Camp Green Lake’s intricate history attracted international intrigue. Millions flocked toward tales of cryptic prophecies, lipstick-marked murders and loneliness as deep as Green Lake. For 118 minutes, it tracked a pair of shovel-hoisting heroes as they redeemed Camp Green Lake’s desolate past. For 118 minutes, it spun a story known as Louis Sachar’s “Holes.”
I will not fall asleep. I will not fall asleep.
Midnight lurked, but my third-grade eyes stretched defiantly against the television glow. Though the film flickered to a blank screen, my imagination whirred as I sat in silence. For 118 minutes, I struggled to process a world of empty water jugs, yellow-spotted lizards and generation-spanning secrecy. But more difficult to absorb than Camp Green Lake itself was my attachment to it. How, in less than two hours, did I forge a bond with curly-haired delinquents and hostile camp supervisors? Like the movie’s momentum, my eight-year-old awe ignited at seven hesitant words.
“Well, I’ve never been to camp before.”
Before fifteen-year-old Stanley Yelnats’ consideration confined him to merciless hole-digging at Camp Green Lake, he could have pursued a normal life. Well, normal for “Holes” standards. Within the film’s first minutes, Stanley’s hazardous apartment (courtesy of his father, who concocts foot odor remedies) and last name (which spells his first name backward) snap the viewer’s vision of normal. The ensuing storyline defies reality at a greater length, launching with Stanley struck by falling sneakers and screeching to a “rags to riches” finish. But monumental plot twists aside, character details like those attributed to Stanley supply the strength of “Holes.”
From the Warden’s feisty “Excuse me?” to camper Zig-Zag’s electrified hair, Sachar stuffs his characters with quirks that straddle the line between tacky and ingenious. Before viewers know it, the traits that initially incite eye rolls mature into lovable trademarks. Although Sachar explores each figure, “Holes” draws its audience to main characters most, including personal favorite “Zero.” Each time I watch underdog Zero whack arrogant camp director Pendanski with a shovel, irrevocable pride surges through me. However, the movie’s endearing characters and their resonance with viewers also produce its most poignant scenes. When nineteenth-century schoolteacher Kate Barlow confesses, “Oh, Sam, my heart is breaking,” to her forbidden love, Sam provokes tears with his signature “I can fix that.”
But the attention to detail “Holes” exhibits would be useless without its skill in linking each element. From fortune teller Madame Zeroni cursing the Yelnats family to Stanley unearthing his great-grandfather’s treasure, all aspects intertwine. The result is a film that redefined my eight-year-old boundaries of creativity and cohesion. And more importantly, a film that toys with these limits seven years later. Though I search “Holes” for the key to composing an equally seamless narrative, its dynamism distracts me. It’s time I accept the truth: me, my children, and my children’s children will dig for a hundred years, and we will never find it.
