Summary
A maelstrom of toddler id, Little Miss Mischief channels the primal howl of a dethroned princess. Baby Peggy—face as elastic as a silent-screen metronome—etches her jealousy into parlor wallpaper with a charcoal grin, then flees the domestic court where a usurper infant now guzzles affection. The city’s night entrails swallow her: junk-yards, ash-caked alleys, the hulking silhouette of a scrap-sultan who cages children like cracked porcelain. She becomes a nocturnal feline, meowing under moon-bleached windows until chamber-pots, candlesticks, and worn-out dreams rain down; her wagon swells with the detritus of strangers’ lives. Escaping the gnawing maw of servitude, she sprints back to the pastel prison she loathed, only to find the front door ajar, the cradle quiet, and her parents’ arms a cathedral of forgiveness—yet the camera lingers on her eyes, still feral, already plotting the next upheaval.
Synopsis
After making all the mischief that she can, Baby Peggy runs away from home. All this because of jealousy. A new baby brother has made his appearance in her home and is taking away a good deal of attention from her. Out in the cruel world she is captured by a junk dealer and set to work. She manages to fill her wagon with junk by going into the yards at night and meowing like a cat. Windows are thrown open and all kinds of things are thrown at her. At the end she escapes and returns home.
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