Heidi House
Indeed, there is much comfort in Heidi House–in terms of emotions and, apparently, material things. Arneson’s character–presumably the young Arneson herself–lives in a house on a lake where idyllic summers and childhood adventures unfold. She has a large TV, her own room, and lots of time to play with the other kids in this affluent suburb. As in Peanuts, adults are disembodied voices that come from the ceiling or the sky, way above Heidi’s head. Arneson has large, expressive eyes–Dondi eyes, actually, big and black and deep from the audience’s perspective. We believe her wonder, her fears, her utter delight–it’s all in the eyes.
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It’s amazing that Arneson doesn’t connect these elements, amazing that she doesn’t seem to see that we might find some mild horror in them. Of course to acknowledge any of the things suggested by them would bring Heidi House crashing down–it simply couldn’t sustain the weight. But that Arneson goes blithely along, oblivious to the combustibility of these two factors, makes us wonder what else she might have missed along the way. If she’s so blind to this, could her childhood really have been so great? Does her prism let only the bright colors through?
