A few weeks ago I made the mistake of taking my six-year-old son to see Frozen. At the time, it was a nice idea: a bit of father-son bonding, a good film, a seething hatred of anyone who dares eat in the cinema. Seriously, food should be banned. But that’s another story.
But now I realise that this was a grave mistake on my part, because ever since that day he has not stopped singing songs from the film; and once lodged inside your brain they refuse to leave, like a squatter in an old basement, or a stubbornly blocked loo. They’re catchy…so catchy that one of them even won an Oscar recently. I can only presume the judges thought that in giving the song an award it would eventually leave them alone, and stop them from tearing their own ears off in demented anguish.
But the endless songs are not the most annoying thing about Isaac’s new-found love for animation; it’s the way he sings when he’s belting his heart out to them. He misses the odd note, that’s fine, I can live with that. What I can’t live with is the nasally American accent he sings with.
“Let it go,” he sings, mostly through his nose. “Let it go, cayn’t hold it baaek anye moooore…”
He even adds little trills and key changes which are so Disney-esque that it’s almost like Walt himself farted in our living room, and he even does that thing that American female singers do when they squeak a little at the end of each sentence. Every time I hear it my extremities shrivel and I feel this overwhelming sense of rage.
It’s not his fault, of course – most of the music he hears comes from the mouth of an American. But his innocence doesn’t make it any less irritating. Fortunately for me, it seems I’m not alone.