[todaysdate]
By Jim Downard
There is a long tradition of reflecting the Christmas holiday season in film, and why not? The festivity of it acts as a reminder of not only what we want to be but what we are not, the often ironic disjunction between the upbeat celebratory character of the season and the often melancholy realities of life.
This is quite independent of the religious roots of the holiday, because so much of its actual local practice is the result of historical contingencies. Who in Constantinople in the 4th century would have taken note of Christ’s nativity (by then officially moved to Dec. 25 to coincide with the Sun god’s birthday and co-opt the old Roman Saturnalia partying tradition) would have done so with decorated trees, miniature smiling elves, or sing a merry ballad extolling the singular gloom-penetrating illuminative nasal properties possessed by one of a band of mutant levitating reindeer.
No, Christmas has grown far too big in the world’s collective mind to be pigeonholed in just a “Christ’s birthday” box, and secularists can enjoy (or cringe at) the obligatory cheer and humbug just like everybody else.
Frank Capra’s now-iconic “It’s A Wonderful Life” only got to that spot because of the vagaries of copyright, as the film did so poorly on its initial release that it spilled over into the public domain without much of a fuss, and began to be shown on peripheral TV channels (not necessarily around Christmas time initially), where people warmed to its message year after year. Much the same appreciation-by-repetition process brought “The Wizard of Oz“ into the public geist, as this expensive marginal success got sold off to TV in the 1950s as a way of boosting its balance sheet, and several generations grew up regularly exposed to its philosophy of caring and cooperation.
Covering as it does the life of one seemingly inconsequential George Bailey, most of “It’s A Wonderful Life“ doesn’t involve Christmas, but by the time you get to its wrenching juxtaposition of Christmas in the Bedford Falls so affected by George Bailey, versus the sleazy commercial hedonism of the Pottersville that came about because there was no George on hand to shape its destiny, if you’re not aching to get back to the caring families of Bedford Falls by the end and get teary along the way, there’s a good chance you’re made of granite.
Even though Clarence is an Angel 2nd Class (striving to earn his wings and warrant that bell tinkle at the end) religion is playing the role of deus ex machina plot point (Dr. Who might have pulled off the same trick with his TARDIS had he been available). It’s a tale of the role of contingency in our lives, and the part social interconnections play in that. Capra is displaying a philosophy of life, not a theological statement, affirming that ultimately individual people matter, and that a lot of who we are depends on the society in which we live. It is revealing that everyone (apart from the venal Mr. Potter) who is diminished and isolated in the other world is fulfilled and enriched in the Bedford Falls George Baily helped build. It does take a village after all.
Now another film from this period set in the holiday season is “The Bishop’s Wife.“ Part religious parable, part whimsical comedy, part unrequited love story, it works in no small measure due to the perfectly balanced mood set by Cary Grant as the angel Dudley, answering the prayer of David Niven (the Bishop of the title) to be shown guidance in the matter of whether he should bow to a wealthy patron who wants their old church replaced by an ego-burnishing cathedral, never mind it’s impact on the people served by the bishop’s parish.
You don’t have to believe in angelic messengers to enjoy the film’s message of generosity and caring, though it’s best not to think too closely on the implications of angels capable of intervening in preventing baby carriages from accidentally rolling in front of trucks, but apparently unavailable throughout the Holocaust or Inquisition. This is only a movie, after all, and not a serious statement of theology (with all its unsettling theodicy implications if taken as more than that).
One can skip the tepid remake (The Preacher’s Wife) and likewise the amiable but less charming redo of another film, “Miracle on 34th Street. “But the original is another matter, worth the price of admission if only to relish Edmund Gwenn’s Oscar-winning performance as Kris Kringle, the mental asylum resident who actually does think he’s THE Santa Claus. And who are we to argue with him, especially once a judge (terrified at the prospect of angering legions of children and their parents should he rule “there is no Santa Claus”) escapes through a legal technicality after the Post Office (a Federal agency after all) serendipitously dropped bags of mail his way addressed to that same Mr. Claus.
Unlike “It’s A Wonderful Life“ or “The Bishop’s Wife,” there is an overt secular issue raised in “Miracle on 34th Street“ as Maureen O’Hara’s rationalist mommy pointedly refuses to coddle the Santa Claus pretense, until daughter Natalie Wood encounters the Pied Piper charm of Mr. Kringle, and the movie dangles the prospect that he might actually be Santa Claus after all. But if you follow the plot closely you can see that nothing that happens in the story is actually magical (wonderful and sweet, yes, supernaturally magical, no).
But does that really matter? The lesson of “Miracle on 34th Street“ (like “Harvey“ a few years later, which actually does involve a supernatural invisible rabbit) is that we make our magic (or our hells) by what we say and do and believe in the world we live in. Kris Kringle isn’t really Santa Claus, but he lifts the spirit of all around him in the course of his “delusion.” So, secular materialist realism notwithstanding, I’m rooting for Edmund Gwenn.
And while we’re on the topic of splendid performances, how can anyone not attend to THE “A Christmas Carol,” the one with Alistair Sim which is now available in a gobsmackingly beautiful print on BluRay. Though a long march of actors and actresses have taken a whack at Scrooge on stage, screen and TV over the years, no one manages the icy indifference of the pre-ghostly visitation skinflint, or that ebullient quill pen tossing reformation after, more completely than the sublime Mr. Sim. (During the holiday season we can let Mr. Dickens deploy his ghosts in service of giving and forgiving, and leave for some other day the sad winces occasioned by the Victorian author’ less attractive anti-Semitism.)
And while we’re on the topic of gobsmackingly beautiful BluRay prints, “White Christmas“ fulfills that in all its restored VistaVision glory. A documentary on Bing Crosby just aired on KSPS highlighted how Irving Berlin’s song (written originally for “Holiday Inn“ in 1941) secularized Christmas, and became a poignant wartime anthem for soldiers listening to the song oversees, providing the plot arc for the “White Christmas“ movie directed by the masterful Michael Curtiz (recently let go from Warner Bros. despite having directed classics like “Casablanca“) and the first film Paramount released in their new high resolution giant screen VistaVision process (which is still used for special effects filming by the way).
Besides Crosby and a fine cast of supporting players, you get to hear Rosemary Clooney in perfect form, and the incomparable Danny Kaye (his lampoon of modernist dance style is hilarious). For tidbit watchers, Crosby was nervous about doing the “Sisters” nightclub number (where he and Kaye lip-synced to Clooney & Vera-Ellen’s recording to let the sisters slip out to escape their landlord), but Kaye deftly used those floppy blue bird plume fans to tease Crosby to loosen up, and the smiles that ensue are the unrehearsed reaction in this one and only take.
There are certainly many other fine films to show over the Christmas season, but these are some of my favorites. I think also of Arthur Bliss’ disconcerting musical juxtaposition of “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” Christmas frivolity with the martial themes of the impending world war of 1940 in H. G. Wells’ 1935 “Things To Come“ (a “history of the future” ending up in 2035 when giant flatscreen televisions are in use, and also now available in a fine BluRay print).
Poignant Christmas season moments also play out in “Auntie Mame“ as a post-1929 impoverishment threatens to break her spirit, or in Frank Capra’s last film, “Pocketful of Miracles,” where a gangster learns there’s more to life than just his own prosperity. Or the wacky spies in “The President’s Analyst“ celebrating their victory over The Phone Company as “Joy to the World” plays (and we learn that The Phone Company is still on hand to watch and scheme after all). Or even Captain Picard briefly enticed by the lure of an imaginary family Christmas-in “Star Trek Generations.”
But perhaps best to leave in wry neo-Kurt Weilish song, with Tim Burton’s “The Nightmare Before Christmas,” as odd a candidate for holiday classic as you might imagine, and yet full of worthy sentiment and a tuneful reminder that caring comes in all guises, even among skeletons and vampires. Its hero has to address a theme familiar to philosophers: how do we make sense of our feelings and desires.
Ultimately he cannot understand his attraction to Christmas Town by dipping ornaments in nitrogen or putting cranberries under microscopes. Scientific measurement only gets him blackboards full of formulas that help him not at all. The truth of the season, why we like it so, secular or religious, is found in the company we keep and what we do while among them.
Merry Christmas, Mr. Scrooge, and you too Tiny Tim.
