Blurring the Lines

Do you ever dig into your reactions and realize you have no idea why you feel a certain way? Have you ever tried to figure out why you dislike something and come up with no better answer than a gut-feeling of I just don't like that? I've started this blog about ten times and the right words keep evading me as I'm trying to pin down why I'm so bothered by people who blur the lines between fantasy and reality for fun. There's no harm in it, it isn't hurting anyone, so why does it bug me?

For example: The movie Rango. I was perfectly interested in seeing it, but then I found out that the voice-track for this animated feature was created by putting all the actors into half-assed costumes and having them play out the action on a soundstage in a giant game of Let's Pretend. Not for action capture, just for, I don't know, authenticity? There is no rational reason why that should bug me, but it was a total turn-off. Why? Who knows? I encourage creativity in my nieces and nephews and love when they engage in imaginative play - so why this objection to the same thing?

In another case, a woman on the recent season of The Bachelor entered the show with fangs. Seriously. Fangs. And she turned out to be a pretty quality chick, but listening to her talk about having been turned into a vampire on national television that first night - there was much eye-rolling in Casa Andrews, let me tell you. And that from a paranormal author! Shouldn't I be more tolerant? Ren faires, live-action role play games - some participants take them very seriously, but why do those who seem to buy into their own acts a bit too much make me recoil?

Or character interviews in which we are all supposed to pretend a figment of someone's imagination is a real person. Not in the "If I could ask John Galt three questions..." kind of way but in the "I wandered into Wonderland and sat down with the Red Queen last week" kind of way. Former, cool and interesting. Latter? I'm sorry, but it just feels creepy and disgustingly twee to me. I don't want to join in the delusion. I like my boundaries.

But I love books about bridging them. The Eyre Affaire, Inkheart... so why this visceral, almost instinctual objection to the playful blurring of the lines? I have an active imagination (real surprise, eh?), so maybe the need for the boundaries is the only way to keep that piece from overrunning my mind. That way lies madness. Is it self-preservation? Or something more judgmental (and much less pretty to admit to)?

I'm fascinated by the relationship between life and art, reality and fantasy, but I need to keep the concepts clean and separate. And it's hard to stop my reflexive swing toward scorn when others smudge the lines.

What's your take? Do you ever find yourself slightly annoyed by being invited to join in a grown-up game of pretend? Or am I the only judgmental cow around here?