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Edward Scissorhands is an anti-Christmas movie, I suppose. Here we have a creature whose “handicap” separates him from human contact — the scars on his face attest to the fact that he can’t even touch himself. At the time of year when the ideas of spreading cheer and opening our hears are meant to be the dominant ones, the “good” people of an all-American suburbia reject his plea for love and companionship, and cast him out.
Maybe because A Christmas Story, based on writings by humorist Jean Shepherd, concerns itself with the universalities of childhood, at least as it existed in America in the 20th century. From the mysteries of life — like, Does a human tongue stick to a frozen flag pole? — to the ‘unthinkable disasters’ of youth that are hilarious in adult retrospect, A Christmas Story taps into the bewildered and not-so-innocent child still in all of us.
In fact, Dickens might have written something like Scrooged, an 80s, greed-isn’t-good update of the Dickens classic. The wittiest satire of television since Network, Scrooged gives us Frank Cross (Bill Murray: cradle, rushmore), the ‘youngest president in the history of television,’ the maniacal — and megalomanaical — head of the IBC TV network.
I still mourn for Kermit — and for Jim Henson — though. The lamentable Bob Cratchit seems the ideal character for the creature who sang the melancholy and winsome “It’s Not Easy Being Green.” The Muppet Christmas Carol never achieves the delicate pathos it might have if Jim Henson had still been there for his froggy alter ego.
Okay, so it’s not a movie. But Blackadder’s Christmas Carol is my favorite variation on the beloved Charles Dickens story of one man’s dramatic change of heart. Remember, though, dear reader, to take into account that I am a heartless bitch — anyone with an ounce of sentiment will be thoroughly appalled by this entirely mean-spirited black comedy.
White Christmas is billed as a remake of Holiday Inn, but the only thing these two films have in common is Bing Crosby singing the most beautiful secular Christmas carol, Irving Berlin’s ‘White Christmas’ (which was originally written for Holiday Inn). White Christmas isn’t as delightful as its supposed predecessor, but if for no other reason, it’s worth seeing for a gorgeously simple arrangement of the title tune, which Crosby croons accompanied only by a windup music box.
God, I love those snarky 40s comedies in which there’s just a bit of meanness under the humor. Holiday Inn is, of course, filled with the kind of pretty Christmas songs and picture-postcard scenes of snow and horse-drawn sleighs that make for beloved holiday movies. But there’s also some darkness lurking here.
Little did I know when I reviewed Jingle All the Way that it is part of a trend in 90s holiday movies in which inattentive, workaholic Boomer dads go all out in attempts to win back the affections of their young, ignored sons. But while Jingle’s Arnold has to resort to a girly endeavor like shopping in the effort to appease his spawn, The Santa Clause’s Tim Allen and Jack Frost’s Michael Keaton have a much cooler alternative: magic. Allen deals in white magic; Keaton’s, unfortunately, is of the darker variety.
I’ve had the pleasure of seeing Patrick Stewart do his one-man reading/performance of A Christmas Carol several times. Nothing beats the impact of live theater, and so for years now Stewart has personified Ebenezer Scrooge for me. I was delighted to learn that Stewart would be playing Scrooge in a full-blown production of Charles Dickens’s classic novel — playing all this month on the cable network TNT — and fully expected that it would become a favorite Christmas movie of mine. And it has.
A thoroughly nonheartwarming tale of fisticuffs, Santa suits with muscle shirts, protein powder, and a Cindy Brady clone with a squeaky lisp who sings to her dead mother, Santa with Muscles is one of the most nonsensical movies I’ve ever seen, truly silly in no good way.
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