As a child, I was more easily pulled into the world of literature than film. My summers were spent oscillating between New Jersey beaches and the blast-chilled alcoves of my local library, reading about tornadoes, Greek mythology and Count Olaf. But along with these cherished readings was an equally canonical set of movies. “Peanuts” holiday specials, adapted from Charles M. Schulz's beloved comic strip, were a formative fixture of my childhood that paired sweetly and synchronously with my love of books. Intellectual curiosity, emotional complexity, lingering questions about spirituality and unadulterated whimsy ballasted the world of Charlie Brown and his gang.
Watching “Peanuts,” even as a kid, was like playing a game of cerebral hopscotch. You started any of the films thinking you were simply engaging in a lighthearted holiday tradition, but soon enough, your mind would snag on a scene or a line, and you’d become totally enraptured. Bleary-eyed and punch-drunk on pumpkin pie and chocolate, you’d continue watching, only to return to that same scene or line later on in your mind, struggling to articulate your thoughts and feelings about it.
