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Paul Asay
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Movie Review

Rudger has packed a lot into his three months, three weeks and three days of life.

While most kids that age are just able to wiggle in their cribs, Rudger has run and swum and flown. He’s sailed to the tropics and ridden a sled through the snow. He’s seen dragons, fought giant birds and been yanked into the air by an umbrella.

He owes it all to Amanda, of course—his best and only friend. And, oh yeah, the girl who imagined him into the world.

Yes, it’s been a grand three months, three weeks and three days of being Amanda’s imaginary friend. The two have gone on amazing, unforgettable adventures, all without leaving the cozy confines of Amanda’s attic.

But imagination, it seems, can be a dangerous thing, too.

Mr. Bunting, a mysterious man in a Hawaiian shirt, has been literally sniffing around lately. He can smell imaginary friends, and Rudger’s scent is strong indeed. And when Mr. Bunting walks into the bookstore owned by Amanda’s mom, Lizzie, he brings with him a black-clad girl. A girl that only Amanda, and Rudger, can see.

Mr. Bunting is up to no good, that’s for sure. So when Amanda and Rudger spy him and his ghostly companion, they run. The black-clad girl chases them. And then—

Well, we’ll leave the narrative right there.

But let’s just say that Rudger’s three-month, three-week, three-day lifespan is in serious jeopardy.


Positive Elements

“Amanda and I made a promise,” Rudger tells us. “Whatever happens, never disappear. Protect each other. And never cry.”

We don’t quite know the full significance of this promise at the outset of The Imaginary, but it’s clearly important to both Rudger and Amanda. And the second part of that promissory clause comes into play rather quickly.

Amanda must face her own fears to protect Rudger from the predatory Mr. Bunting and his creepy little associate. Amanda does what she can to help Rudger. But his own turn comes soon enough.

When most imaginary friends are forgotten (as they almost always are), they simply disappear—blown to the universe like golden dandelion seeds. And early in the film, Amanda’s bonds to Rudger begin to lose strength. We see the process of “disappearing” slowly begin. But it quickly grows more powerful when Amanda suffers a life-threatening injury.

Eventually, Rudger must face two mortal dangers to help Amanda: One, he must deal with Mr. Bunting. Two, he must risk disappearing forever. But he faces those dangers head on. Why? Because imaginary friend or not, the bond that Amanda and Rudger share is (in the context of the story) both real and powerful. “I want to tell her that, no matter what, I’m always on her side,” Rudger tells someone.

Rudger gets some help along the way from a handful of other new friends: Imaginaries that avoided disappearing and instead found their way to their own world, if you will. A cat named Jinzan guides Rudger to this world. And Emily, the de facto leader of this group of Imaginaries, helps guide Rudger through it. But when Rudger seems determined to leave that relatively comfortable existence to help Amanda, both Jinzan and Emily help him face the threats at hand, often at great risk to themselves.

Meanwhile, we should point out that Amanda’s mother, Lizzie, loves her daughter—even if she’s exasperated at times by Amanda’s imagination. When Lizzie finds water tracked in the hallway, Amanda blames Rudger. When Lizzie serves Amanda some soup, Amanda demands a share for Rudger, too. But Lizzie loves her daughter’s spirit, and she ultimately plays a big role in keeping it alive and thriving.

And let’s not forget the everyday heroism she shows in just being a single mom. Lizzie balances work and family with as much grace and strength as she can muster, all while doing what she can to better the both of their lives.

Elsewhere, a salvific act comes from an unexpected quarter.

Spiritual Elements

The Imaginaries we meet in The Imaginary are not ghosts or angels or anything of the kind. But they do come with a tang of reality that pushes them closer to the realm of the spiritual. They “live,” in a sense. They “die,” in a sense. And they can even land somewhere in between, as is the case with Emily’s secret world populated by Imaginaries.

In that context, Mr. Bunting is a near-demonic force in the film—so feared that many Imaginaries insist he doesn’t exist. (Some call him a “myth”.) He’s accompanied by his ghostly girl familiar who seems, physically, to conform to a type of ghost very popular in Japanese folklore (and familiar to those who’ve seen The Ring or The Grudge): a vengeful spirit with a white face and long, black hair known as an onryō. And we should note here that both Mr. Bunting and the girl are quite scary—scarier than you’d expect to find in a PG-rated kids’ film.

Rudger wishes that Amanda had given him the ability to walk through walls and doors and such. “Like a ghost?” Amanda says, aghast. “Absolutely not!” Amanda conjures up an imaginary world that takes place in the context of Christmas—complete with a towering, decorated tree—but without any references to Jesus at all.

Rudger asks Jinzan, an Imaginary cat, if he’s the Grim Reaper. A Cupid-like being appears briefly onscreen. We hear a reference to the “sacred attic vow.”

Sexual & Romantic Content

That Cupid character flies across the screen sans clothes, and we see a glimpse of its bare behind. A sentient, old-fashioned phonograph with shapely legs strides up a flight of stairs.

Imaginaries are imagined by one person. But they can, under certain circumstances, become the imaginary friend of someone new. And when that happens, their appearance can change dramatically. Rudger undergoes such a change—turning from a boy to a girl for a time. Initially, he forgets that he was ever anyone known as “Rudger,” forgetting his past entirely and transforming into the new Imaginary his new friend wants and needs him to be (and that would be a very pretty, feminine ballerina). But Rudger eventually does remember who he was, which pushes him into sort of an in-between stage: The girlie makeup on his face vanishes, but he’s still bedecked in golden curls and a ballerina outfit.

These scenes are played for comedic effect. And given that Imaginaries are literally products of a child’s imagination—taking the appearance of everything from pink hippopotami to sentient toilets—this transformation wouldn’t seem to come with a lot of cultural baggage, at least in the context of the story. Still, it’s something to be aware of.

Violent Content

Yeah, Mr. Bunting and his cohort are very spooky. And that’s before Bunting opens his mouth. When he does, watch out. He’s in the business of eating Imaginaries, and he tries to vacuum them up and in, with his gullet turning into a strange, ultra-dimensional wormhole. And his girl can transform into black vapors and clouds of bats.

Encounters with Bunting can be physically violent as well, with the ghost-girl holding a victim as Bunting tries to consume that Imaginary. People can be hit and pushed and knocked down.

Someone is hit by a car and leaves the scene in an ambulance. A character lands on the hood and window of a car. Two people are “shot,” with one apparently dying. A snake terrorizes and threatens one person, enveloping her in its colorful coils. Someone gets hit by a purse.

In an imaginary world, a character fights several hostile spacecraft and ultimately disables them. In another realm, a giant bird chases and harasses its bite-sized prey. In still another, a character is grabbed by a giant, white-haired creature and hung on a huge tree. (Other beings have their lives a bit unended by the creature as well.)

Crude or Profane Language

None.

Drug & Alcohol Content

Amanda names an imaginary musk ox after her mother’s favorite beer, Green Lager. (We later see a can of the stuff on a table.)

Other Noteworthy Elements

An Imaginary that’s shaped like a toilet expresses consternation as the water in her bowl sloshes about. We hear that a child’s father has forgotten about her birthday. Some characters lie.

Conclusion

Based on a 2014 novel by A.F. Harrold, Netflix’s movie The Imaginary is an homage to the beauty, joy and power of a child’s imagination. It tells us that our ability to imagine is both precious and fleeting—a gift we should treasure when we’re children and appreciate in our children when we’re adults.

It’s interesting that The Imaginary was released so closely on the heels of IF, another story about forgotten, discarded imaginary friends. Perhaps it speaks to our own era’s unique social sicknesses: how children (and adults, too) can feel so alone; and how we escape that loneliness not in the folds of imagination, but in our flat, small screens. It feels as though all those imaginary friends remind us of what we’ve lost—and what, perhaps, we might find again.

It’s a lovely little film, but it’s sometimes a sad and scary one, too. It that might give your own imaginative youngsters a few terrifying images to think about when they get in bed and turn out the lights.

Some parents might also be a concerned with a sequence that perhaps evokes the idea gender-swapping—which might, for those parents, smack of transgenderism. And again, the movie can be quite sad. The Imaginary deals with grief and goodbyes, which gives the film a poignancy that sticks with you.

But The Imaginary comes with another, more complex issue burbling under the surface as well—one worth a cautious mention.

“Sometimes, it doesn’t matter if it’s true or not,” someone tells Rudger. “In life, it’ worth believing what one wishes to believe.”

That, in the context of the film, feels sweet and fitting. But that statement is, ironically, not true itself. Not if you’re a Christian, and not according to what our faith teaches. As the Apostle Paul wrote, our faith is pinned to the fact that Christ came back from death. If He didn’t—if it’s only a fantasy that we wish to believe—“we are of all people most to be pitied” (v. 19).

Imagination is a beautiful, joyful thing. Think about all the artists and authors, many of them Christian, who’ve enriched our lives through their boundless imaginations. Bach, Michelangelo, Dante, Tolkien and countless others have given us precious treasures spawned by their own imaginings. And we, whether we’re child or adult, can join in the fun.

But those creators used their gifts to point to the Creator. Those visionaries used imagination to point us to truth—not to replace it.

As lovely and poignant as The Imaginary can be, that’s something to remember as you watch and talk about it with your family. This Netflix film has its imaginative merits. It, like a dream, can be both beautiful and terrifying. But we must never lose sight of the truth, and never make it up ourselves.


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Paul Asay

Paul Asay has been part of the Plugged In staff since 2007, watching and reviewing roughly 15 quintillion movies and television shows. He’s written for a number of other publications, too, including Time, The Washington Post and Christianity Today. The author of several books, Paul loves to find spirituality in unexpected places, including popular entertainment, and he loves all things superhero. His vices include James Bond films, Mountain Dew and terrible B-grade movies. He’s married, has two children and a neurotic dog, runs marathons on occasion and hopes to someday own his own tuxedo. Feel free to follow him on Twitter @AsayPaul.

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