Movie fans who may be growing tired of the usual Christmas canon of It's a Wonderful Life, Miracle on 34th Street, A Christmas Story, and others can rest assured that there are other holiday gems out there waiting for them to discover. There's The Holdovers from a few years ago or the more Christmas-adjacent Tangerine, celebrating its tenth anniversary this year. There's Rare Exports from Finland or Tokyo Godfathers from Japan. The Bishop's Wife, The Shop Around the Corner, and even The Great Rupert can scratch the itch of those craving a classic, cozy, black-and-white holiday tale.
Remember the Night from 1940 fits neatly in that final category. It's a charming (on paper, at least) tale invoking themes typical of holiday films, such as redemption and going home and remembering one's humble roots. It checks the box for what some are looking for in a holiday film (no Die Hard-style debate needed here). How about for a comedy? It's not particularly funny. Romance? I suppose, but a great deal of suspension of disbelief is required.
Bear with me, because the plot is a bit on the far-fetched side: Barbara Stanwyck plays Lee Leander, a woman who is arrested for stealing a bracelet from a jewelry store in New York City. The assistant district attorney, Jack Sargent (Fred MacMurray), is assigned the case representing the state. Even though it seems to be a case of petty theft in which any jury would find her guilty, Jack, in an effort to avoid the jury's potential feelings of Christmas redemption, he manages to push the trial until past the holiday on a technicality.
Unfortunately for Lee, this means she'll certainly be spending the holiday in jail. Feeling bad for her, Jack asks a bail bondsman to post bail for her. Assuming this means he's into her, the bondsman drops her off at his place. For a variety of reasons, she can't stay with him, but as luck would have it, they're both Hoosiers, and Jack offers Lee a ride to Indiana on his way home for Christmas. From here, one can predict what likely will happen: opposites attract, and despite their conflict, maybe they start to fall for each other.
It sort of reaches its peak in terms of rom-com sentiment when Jack and Lee try their best to milk a cow on the property they spent the night in (unsuccessfully). It's around this moment that the film really starts to feel like a wannabe version of It Happened One Night, released six years before—a mismatched guy and gal trying to find their way from the city and experiencing a few hiccups along the way. It is at least evident, though, that from these moments on, Stanwyck and MacMurray really have swell chemistry together. (MacMurray even gets a moment to sing.) And I suppose I was rooting for them along the way as I was supposed to. This was the first of four pairings of Stanwyck and MacMurray, though their most famous film together was, of course, the film noir Double Indemnity four years later. Double Indemnity is the clearly superior outing.
The humor will almost certainly fall flat for many modern audiences. Maybe the lines were funny to a 1940s audiences (a line like "I hope he isn't going to sing it," quipped by Jack in court to his fellow lawyer to mock his opponent) and potentially provoked at least chuckling from contemporary moviegoers. Even if it did, it's unclear how such a pun could alleviate the assured boredom that would result in the long-winded courtroom defense by the lawyer portrayed by Willard Robertson. I haven't even said anything about the cringey racial politics in the scenes between Jack and his servant, Rufus (played by Fred "Snowflake" Toones), most of which was meant to be comical.
Remember the Night (which night by the way?) is a movie I really wanted to like. I wanted to add it to my list of holiday must-sees. The older I get, the more I'm willing to accept Die Hard and maybe even Little Women as Christmas films. Remember the Night is more explicitly Christmas than those two films, but considerably less recommendable.
Pulling on the whiskers of a man who insists he is the real Santa Claus can go a long way in convincing a dubious youngster that he's telling the truth. So marks one of the most famous scenes in Christmas movies, one that almost always ends up in montages of holiday films. Who could blame them for including it? It's a touching scene in Miracle on 34th Street, a Christmas movie that might not be the best ever, but one that has earned its appreciable reputation.
Miracle on 34th Street begins on Thanksgiving when a smartly dressed older man with a great, white beard walks down the street in New York City right before the start of the annual Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Soon, though, he starts scolding an intoxicated Santa for drinking on the job, thus rendering the latter incapable of performing his duties for the parade. The organizer of the parade, Doris Walker (Maureen O'Hara), frantically tries to solve the problem, but the only real solution is to ask the first man (the one with the real beard who was so disappointed in the drunk Santa Claus) to temporarily take over. While initially refusing, this man (who happens to be named Kris Kringle and is played by Edmund Gwenn in an Oscar-winning performance) can't refuse the chance to ensure the children are happy.
One child who finds him appealing but is also quite skeptical of his claims of being the real Santa is Doris' daughter, Susan, played by the adorable Natalie Wood in one of her most famous roles. Susan, the Lisa Simpson of her day, does not believe in fairy tales and therefore does not believe in Santa Claus. This disbelief is largely attributed to her mother, who doesn't feel it's a good idea to be telling children such stories. Despite their differences of opinion, Santa and Susan strike up a friendship. They see a lot of each other because due to his success at the parade, Kris is hired by Macy's to be their mall Santa, a job he takes very seriously.
It's not exactly smooth sailing, however, as Kris clashes with the company's psychologist (Porter Hall), and Doris and the others soon learn that Kris actually believes he is the real Santa Claus. In his company profile, in fact, he lists his age as "as old as my tongue and a little older than my teeth," while his next of kin is listed as Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, et al. He also does not hesitate to recommend other stores to families so that they might find what they're looking for. It's unlikely that the business leaders of New York would respond so positively to such a scheme (and the film's screenplay by George Seaton is markedly aware of this, as Harry Antrim as Mr. Macy remarks that while the store will put public service ahead of profit, "Consequently, we'll make more profits than ever before").
The Oscar-winning screenplay by Seaton and the story by Valentine Davies easily switches to a courtroom flick, as the lawyer Doris is dating (played by John Payne) defends Kringle in court to prove his sanity. The trial scenes elevate Miracle on 34th Street and make it more fun and even a tad more realistic, as the judge presiding over the case (Gene Lockhart) nervously watches as the prosecution of Santa Claus damages his reputation with children, whose parents may vote to throw him out of his position. The judge's political consultant (William Frawley) is played as a brash politico enthusiastically chomping on cigars, yet he is the one urging the judge to be lenient toward Kris Kringle.
Miracle on 34th Street has long been cherished as a holiday classic, and it is currently the second-highest ranked Christmas film on Rotten Tomatoes, right behind It's a Wonderful Life. The image everyone remembers, as already mentioned, is when Susan first sits on Santa's lap and is stunned to realize his beard is real. However, the film's most heartwarming moment is easily when a young Dutch orphan who cannot speak English is delighted to realize that Santa can in fact speak her mother tongue.
Aside from that sentimental moment, it's the actors who bring the film home. Gwenn's performance is perfectly natural, like he isn't even trying. True, he's full of energy and passion when he needs to, but it's the simple moments that have stuck with audiences throughout the decades. The ease with which he delivers the lines helps the audience believe the character's antagonism to the many less desirable qualities of adults, such as embracing the commercialism of Christmas. Kris firmly believes that "Christmas isn't just a day; it's a frame of mind." This attitude of the character and film makes Miracle on 34th Street an unforgettably swell movie.
Songs have a unique ability to affect movie scenes in a profound way. Some films can exist without any music (The Birds being a notable example), and if it works, then it works. But the twenty films listed below would not have lasted as long as they have in the public imagination without the power of songs. Just as Star Wars would not be Star Wars without John Williams' unforgettable score, all of the following films would have been undoubtedly weaker without their famous songs.
I've decided to restrict this only to songs originally from movies. Thus, beloved movie songs like "As Time Goes By", "Singin' in the Rain", and "Everybody's Talkin'", all of which came out years before they were immortalized in Casablanca, Singin' in the Rain, and Midnight Cowboy, respectively, are not included. You also won't see any musical numbers that originated in theater. I don't know why the American Film Institute for their list of the best movie songs in 2004 used a song like "The Sound of Music", which wasn't originally for the film, when they could have used the song "Something Good", which was originally written for the movie (and is far superior). (At any rate, as fantastic as "Something Good" is, it's not on this list, either.) The same goes for a few unforgettable songs by rock stars. For example, you'll find a Prince song on this list, but you won't find any of the great songs by Pink Floyd from the film The Wall, the 1982 musical that used songs from their 1979 album.
The best movie songs are: 21. Always Look on the Bright Side of Life (Monty Python's Life of Brain)
"Always Look on the Bright Side of Life", from the 1979 comedy Monty Python's Life of Brian, is perhaps the best musical representation of the British "stiff upper lip" attitude there is. It is certainly a song, with its advice to chin up and keep going (even if you're being tortured by Romans), that has endured; Eric Idle, who wrote the song and performs it during the final scene of the film, even sang it at the closing ceremony of the 2012 London Olympics. These days, it's especially popular at funerals. "Galaxy Song" from Monty Python's The Meaning of Life is also delightful. 20. Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head (Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid)
Memorably sung by B.J. Thomas, "Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head" is written by the songwriting team Burt Bacharach and Hal David, who both won the Oscar for Best Original Song; Bacharach also won for Best Original Score. Bacharach won another Oscar for co-writing the song "Arthur's Theme (Best That You Can Do)". It's an unusual song for a Western, but Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is an unusual Western. As good as the radio version is, it's something else to watch the complete version with orchestration as Paul Newman charmingly rides around on a bicycle, pursued by an ox.
19. Take My Breath Away (Top Gun)
Written by Giorgio Moroder and Tom Whitlock and performed by the band Berlin,
"Take My Breath Away" won the Academy Award for Best Original Song in 1987. The 1980s in cinema have often been lampooned for the gratuitous (and fake-looking) lovemaking scenes, and the love scene in Top Gun between Tom Cruise and Kelly McGillis is pretty random, but "Take My Breath Away" elevates the scene above the rest. The rhythm by Mororder (nicknamed "the father of disco") is iconic; ten years ago, Saturday Night Live had some fun with it (with a little help from Paul McCartney). 18. You've Got to Hide Your Love Away (Help!)
Written and sung by John Lennon, "You've Got to Hide Your Love Away" is not the best Beatles song, but that just reminds us how great most of their music was. (At least it's one of their fifty best.) For a film as cluttered and dull as Help! is, it's a breath of fresh air when the Fab Four pause for a moment, relax in their room, and sing a song that has nothing to do with the plot (if that word can be used) of the film. It's a great tune, one you've likely often heard on the radio, and it features Lennon channeling his inner-Bob Dylan. 17. Let's Go Crazy (Purple Rain)
"Purple Rain" may have been the song more widely associated with Prince, but the chart-topping "Let's Go Crazy", which opens the album and the film, is the superior one. (It certainly wasn't played ad nauseam after the star's death in 2016.) A eulogy for "this thing called life", "Let's Go Crazy" is an energetic masterwork from an artist at the top of his game. All of the songs on this album are terrific, and "Let's Go Crazy" is the perfect way to start it. Prince's songs "Trust" and "Partyman" for the Batman soundtrack are likely honorable mentions on this list. 16. Stayin' Alive (Saturday Night Fever)
"Stayin' Alive" by the Bee Gees is the coolest song on this list. It was a huge success for the group, and they would eventually tie the Beatles with six consecutive number-one hits (before Whitey Houston beat them both with seven). John Travolta strutting down the streets of New York to this song is him at the peak of his coolness, and the only time he has come close to matching it was when he and Uma Thurman danced to "You Never Can Tell" in Pulp Fiction. Travolta was already a star from television, but Saturday Night Fever made him a superstar, earning him an Oscar nomination. The song was not nominated. It has, however, literally saved lives. Last year, a man used the information he learned from a hysterical episode of The Office regarding "Stayin' Alive" to save a woman's life.
15. 9 to 5 (9 to 5)
Widely celebrated as one of Dolly Parton's most popular songs, "9 to 5" feels like a call-to-arms and tribute to workers everywhere. Parton wrote and sung the song for the comedy of the same name that starred her, Jane Fonda, and Lilly Tomlin as three office workers who team up to overthrow their sexist manager, played by Dabney Coleman. Particularly with lines like "they just use your mind and they never give you credit," "9 to 5" also has a strong feminism bent to it. It was even used by Elizabeth Warren during her recent campaign for president. Earning an Oscar nomination, it reached the number-one spot on three Billboard charts. As Wikipedia puts it, the project "launched her permanently into mainstream popular culture."
14. Mona Lisa (Captain Carey, USA)
The wonderfully calm "Mona Lisa" originally comes from the 1950 film noir Captain Carey, USA, starring Alan Ladd. It was written by Jay Livingston and Ray Evans, the songwriting team who also wrote "Silver Bells", the Oscar-winning "Que Sera, Sera (Whatever Will Be, Will Be)", and the theme music for Bonanza. "Mona Lisa" earned Livingston and Evans an Oscar for Best Original Song. The original version in the film is performed by Charlie Spivak, but the most well-known version has been Nat King Cole's, whose rendition topped the charts for five weeks in 1950 and was featured in the film of the same name in 1986, starring Bob Hoskins and Michael Caine.
13. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas (Meet Me in St. Louis)
"Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" can always be heard on the radio at Christmastime, but many have forgotten that it is originally sung by Judy Garland in the 1944 MGM musical Meet Me in St. Louis, directed by Vincent Minnelli. Written by Hugh Martin and Ralph Blane, it's a song about persevering and "muddling through" at a time that often can be difficult for many; it stands in contrast to many holiday songs that are overly sappy. The Frank Sinatra version is fine, but it contains a line that should be more controversial: The story goes that Sinatra was going to include it on his album A Jolly Christmas, and he asked Martin to "jolly up" the line about "we'll have to muddle through somehow." Martin stripped the song of its necessary melancholy by changing it to "hang a shining star upon the highest bough." Stick with the Garland version; it's better. 12. Be Our Guest (Beauty and the Beast)
Sung with such an apparent sense of fun by Jerry Orbach, Angela Lansbury, and others, this song really took Beauty and the Beast completely into the realm of enchantment. After all, the silverware are singing songs about French dining. The song was written by Howard Ashman and Alan Menken; they were also nominated for the song "Belle" earlier in the movie. Both songs lost; the winner was the film's title song, also written by Ashman and Menken. Ashman and Menken won the same awards for The Little Mermaid two years before Beauty and the Beast. After Ashman died, Menken continued writing songs and music for Disney animated films, winning four more Oscars for Aladdin and Pocahontas. 11. Theme from New York, New York (New York, New York)
Possibly the best-known song about New York City, we have Robert De Niro, in his third collaboration with Martin Scorsese, to thank for this song, as the songwriters John Kander and Fred Ebb have claimed that De Niro criticized their original theme, thus sending them back to start from scratch. While the film was not as much of a critical success as others directed by Scorsese, "New York, New York" the song will last forever. And while the version by Liza Minnelli, the star of the film, is fantastic, this song has since been closely associated with Frank Sinatra, who recorded a version just after the film was released, and is probably the best version. 10. (I've Had) The Time of My Life (Dirty Dancing)
Composed by Frank Previte, John DeNicola, and Donald Markowitz, this iconic climactic scene would not be nearly as unforgettable without the song and the vocal performance of Jennifer Warners and Bill Medley. The title of the film had apparently concerned Previte that he had walked into the wrong kind of movie, but he became convinced that the movie would change his life, so he took it. In addition to winning a Grammy, it won Best Original Song at the 1988 Oscars. It also was number one on the Billboard Top 100. According to Patrick Swayze, the team had turned down 149 songs before finally settling on "(I've Had) The Time of My Life", and even though they had already shot that final dance scene with another song playing, they re-shot it to the new one.
9. Unchained Melody (Unchained)
Like "Mona Lisa", the original version of this song might surprise you when you hear it, for it sounds remarkably different than the more famous version. It's originally from a 1955 prison film called Unchained and was written by Alex North and performed by Todd Duncan. The song was nominated for Best Song but lost to "Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing" from the film of the same name. "Unchained Melody" has since been recorded my more than 670 artists in several different languages, with the most famous version being by the Righteous Brothers in 1965. That version was used in a very sensual scene between Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze in the 1990 hit romance-horror-comedy flick Ghost, which also incorporated it into its musical score by Maurce Jarre to great effect. 8. White Christmas (Holiday Inn)
Irving Berlin's nostalgic holiday song and its many cover versions are frequently heard around Christmas. Berlin was Jewish, so reportedly it was not a simple task for him to write a song about Christmas nostalgia. He did, though, and it's a notably secular song, one that has been immensely popular for the past seventy years. The lyrics, as everyone knows, are about someone dreaming of having a snow-filled Christmas like the ones they used to remember, of children singing and Christmas cards and all that fun stuff. With a positive wish that everyone has a merry and bright Christmas, it's a very soothing tune, especially Bing Crosby's version.
7. Lose Yourself (8 Mile)
Widely regarded as one of Eminem's best (if not his best) raps, "Lose Yourself" was the first hip-hop song to win Best Original Song at the Academy Awards, an award it richly deserved. Eminem wrote the lyrics in between takes during the filming of 8 Mile, and other than the "Mom's spaghetti" line, it works. So, too, does the combative tone that will stay with you. Eminem was not at the Oscars to accept his award in 2003, but he did make a surprise appearance at this year's awards to sing it, delighting everyone (except, it seemed, Martin Scorsese, although his daughter later insisted that her father actually really liked the performance). 6. Don't You (Forget About Me) (The Breakfast Club)
The 1985 teen comedy-drama film written and directed by John Hughes has definitely been re-evaluated in recent years, but the song is just as well-loved today as it was back then. Written by Steve Schiff and Keith Forsey, who produced the film's soundtrack, "Don't You (Forget About Me)"is sung by the Scottish band Simple Minds. Despite some of their early reservations about it (partly because they didn't get it and partly because it wasn't one of their own songs), the song would eventually reach number one on the Billboard Hot 100. It has become practically the theme song of '80s teen films and was predictably used to pay tribute to John Hughes after his death.
5. When You Wish Upon a Star (Pinocchio)
"When You Wish Upon a Star", written by Leigh Harline and Ned Washington, is from the fascinating and frightful 1940 Disney animated film Pinocchio (as everyone knows). The first Disney song to win an Oscar for Best Original Song, it is widely regarded as Disney's best. In some countries, it's even a Christmas song. Cliff Edwards as Jiminy Cricket opens the film with his celestial singing in a way few others have been able to do. There's a reason why this film has come to symbolize what Disney would prefer us to think of when that corporation pops into our head. It's a song about dreams, and that no matter who you are, no aspiration is impossible. 4. Mrs. Robinson (The Graduate)
Easily one of Simon and Garfunkel's most recognizable singalong tunes, "Mrs. Robinson" became the duo's second chart-topper and the first rock song to win Record of the Year at the Grammys. Originally titled "Mrs. Roosevelt", Paul Simon pitched the song to director Mike Nichols (who liked it very much), and the song was changed to "Mrs. Robinson", Ann Bancroft's character in the film. It's a cheerful antithesis to "The Sound of Silence" from two years earlier, which was used to open The Graduate. 3. Nobody Does It Better (The Spy Who Loved Me)
"Nobody Does It Better", written by Marvin Hamlisch and Carole Bayer Sager and sung by Carly Simon, is perhaps the Bond song most unlike what audiences expect from a Bond song, and yet it's undoubtedly the best. The Spy Who Loved Me is the tenth official Bond film, and other than the Paul McCartney rock 'n' roll song for Live and Let Die, no other song had taken such a noticeable departure from the heaviness of the previous tunes (other than Madonna's song for Die Another Day, but that doesn't have to be mentioned). It's been covered numerous times, from Julie Andrews to Radiohead, whose lead singer Thom Yorke declared it "the sexiest song that was ever written." It was also used to pay tribute both to Bond actor Roger Moore and Desmond Llewelyn, who played Q, after they died in 2017 and 1999, respectively. Its orchestra and Simon's smooth vocals make it such an enormously comforting, if vain, song.
2. Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now (Mannequin)
The teen romcom Mannequin has easily been forgotten, but the Jefferson Starship Oscar-nominated power ballad "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now" is immortal. Written by Albert Hammond and Diane Warren, you're guaranteed to hear this one at prom or a wedding. (Some couples have even impressively danced to it as their first dance.) With all due respect to "(I've Had) The Time of My Life", "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now"should have taken home the prize in 1988. (Warren has been nominated for eleven Oscars, including as recently as 2020, but has never won.) This song is perfect. 1. Over the Rainbow (The Wizard of Oz)
The lists that the American Film Institute used to do years ago were quite terrible, but one they got right was identifying "Over the Rainbow"as the greatest movie song in American cinema. This song is nostalgia supreme. Composed by Harold Arlen with lyrics by Yip Harburg in a classic scene featuring Dorthy and her dog, Toto (and directed by the uncredited King Vidor), it's a song that will likely spark so many emotions. What really makes it a stunning song is Judy Garland's voice. At just the age of 16, she seemed to become the calm voice of a world heading into a second world war and struggling through the Depression. What makes it all the more remarkable is that she was abused repeatedly during this time, including being slapped by director Victor Fleming when Burt Lahr's antics were making her laugh. Her story is further proof that how Hollywood has treated women is nothing new.
In these trying times, as the world faces another crisis, struggling to contain a massive pandemic and survive another possible economic depression, "Over the Rainbow" is likely a song that can offer at least a bit of an attempt to alleviate many who are anxious about the state of affairs. The song will last far longer than any calamity thrown our way.
Of the most notable Rankin/Bass stop-motion animated films dealing with the theme of Christmas, among them being Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Santa Claus Is Coming to Town, and The Year Without a Santa Claus, The Little Drummer Boy is arguably the worst. Fortunately, it's about half the running time of the others.
You likely can remember some of the songs for those other famous TV specials; you won't for this movie. Sure, there's the famous song of which the film is based on (here, it's sung by the Vienna Boys Choir), but that's it. And if you've heard that song before (which you likely have), you know the gist of the story. There's a young drummer boy out in the desert and he happens to stumble upon a group of Palestinian refugees. He plays his drum for the newborn baby because he has no other gift to give.
In this adaption, Teddy Eccles plays Aaron, the young drummer boy. He has a donkey, a camel, and a lamb, all of whom are meant to be comic relief (I think). Jose Ferrer plays the abusive traveling entertainer Ben Haramad, and Greer Garson narrates.
If you have a few minutes, listen to the song and avoid the film.
Of course Tim Allen plays a toymaker in a movie in which he is forced to become the new Santa. What other job could he have? Allen plays a toy creator named Scott Clavin, and this is one of the funniest of his performances. He has as much biting sarcasm as you would want from him, at a time when he was a king of comedy. His show Home Improvement was still on the air (and there are a few Home Improvement Easter Eggs spread throughout the movie), Toy Story was released the previous year, and the first sequel three years after that. He was the lead in the Star Trek spoof Galaxy Quest. Unfortunately, as soon as the new century came, he struggled a bit more, and perhaps not many things have demonstrated this better than the two less-than-successful sequels, none of which I have seen and likely never will.
In The Santa Clause, Scott is a divorced man who is going to spend Christmas Eve with his son, Charlie (Eric Lloyd). Scott frequently bickers with his ex-wife, Laura (Wendy Crewson), even if Charlie overhears it. (Like Mrs. Doubtfire the year before it, this movie handles divorced parents and their children mostly well.) Scott is also antagonistic towards his ex-wife's new partner, Neil (Judge Reinhold) and especially his job. "He's not a doctor," he angrily complains, "he's a psychiatrist." It's fair to say that he doesn't communicate with Charlie as well as Neil does, either, and perhaps he's jealous. Scott is not entirely prepared for Charlie's visit, as he burns the turkey so crispy, not even the Griswalds would eat it. Scott does the best he can, taking Charlie out to eat an Denny's ("an American institution"). He checks the other boxes (sort of) that are required -- he reads to Charlie The Night Before Christmas, tucks him in, and heads to bed, not before he has to answer a few more probing questions from his inquisitive son about the archaic language used in the famous story.
From here, things turn upside down for Scott and Charlie. Charlie hears a loud clatter (just as in the story) on their roof and is convinced it's Santa. Scott is more concerned that it's a burglar, and he rushes outside in only his jacket, boots, and underwear to find a man dressed as Santa on his roof. "Hey, you!"is all he can yell out before the mysterious figure slips and falls off his roof. It appears that Scott Calvin has killed Santa Claus. Charlie is not impressed. Cheer up, Charlie; there are actual reindeer on your roof.
If you can believe that Santa exists, falls off a guy's roof, disappears into thin air, and gives his job to some schmuck who caused him to fall, you can surely buy into the idea that said schmuck will put on the suit and do his best to dutifully be the substitute Santa just to get his son to stop whining. So he puts on the suit, and the reindeer and toy bag basically do most of the work for him. He squeezes down the chimneys and either has to escape security alarms and angry dogs or curious young children wondering why Santa is so thin and grouchy. Still, he does it. "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!" he shouts, before adding, "When I wake up, I'm getting a CAT scan!"
But the reindeer don't take him home. Where do they take him? To the North Pole, of course, where a cantankerous head elf named Bernard, played by David Krumholtz, explains to him how the rest of his life will be devoted to being Santa Claus, because of the Santa Clause, the part of the contract that basically says if you kill the existing Santa, you yourself take over. Scott protests, but as the year goes on, he has no choice. Charlie tells all his friends and family about how his dad is Santa, and Scott starts to slowly (and then rather quickly) transform into the big, jolly man, with his hair turning white and his weight rising. At first he starts to look like Chuck Norris, and then he very much starts to resemble Santa Claus. Charlie believes every last detail, but it's easy to see how every other adult would be disturbed at what they're seeing from a father and his son. (It could even be a horror film.)
This was a Disney film that wasn't afraid to use adult language occasionally In one moment, Scott audibly complains that he's "freezing his nuts off" outside trying to deal with the dead Santa situation. In another scene, Scott says to Laura that Neil's number where they can be reached is 1-800-SPANK-ME. The problem, though, was that parents started complaining that their children would call the number and be directed to messages promoting "hot, wild fun" for $2.50-$4.99 a minute. The scene is not included on home video release or when it plays on the Disney Channel.
If there's one universal truth to being an American child, it's that it is a bit disillusioning when one realizes that there is no Santa. Many of the adult characters in The Santa Clause share their own personal anecdotes of when they realized that Santa wasn't real. For Neil, it was when he didn't receive his Oscar Mayer Wiener Whistle. (For me, it was when Santa didn't complete the crossword puzzle I made for him when I was about nine, or nineteen--I can't remember.) At any rate, The Santa Clause has aged surprisingly well (except for the part when Scott, as he's almost full-Santa, catcalls a woman walking down the street.) That awkward, awful moment aside, this movie, a movie in which there actually is a Santa Claus, is a delightful film. I think I liked it as much, or perhaps even more, watching it as an adult.
"The Polar Express" certainly starts out with a great deal of ambition while trying to make sure it presses all the right notes required of a Christmas movie. There's a calm, mystical score by Alan Silvesti, the usual composer of director Robert Zemeckis, and quite impressive visual effects. There's a poem (as all stories about Christmas must have) of a young boy who is starting to lose faith in Santa. He picks up an encyclopedia to discover that the North Pole is, contrary to all the stories he's been told, "devoid of all life." (Oh, knowledge -- how cruel you are.) The epiphany of this boy's awareness of Santa is where things start to spoil. The score becomes overly repetitive, and the "is-it-real-or-is-it-not" animation begins to make some of the characters looks like aliens. Fairly soon, it becomes evident that the only thing devoid of life in this film is the film itself.
Trains in the movies are usually magical things. One would think that would be the case here, in a movie that features some sort of ghost-hobo and flying reindeer. It's true that things certainly look quite magical in "The Polar Express." After all, an actual train shows up in front of the house of young "Hero Boy." (Yes, that's what he's credited as.) Our young boy is performed by...Tom Hanks? Yes, not only does Hanks, who has shown us that he can play a man dying of AIDS and a man with a mental disability and everything else, play the train conductor (the central adult character) and practically every adult male role in the film, but also "Hero Boy." Why Zemeckis and crew didn't simply have Daryl Sabara (who voiced the character) provide the motion-capture is something I just don't understand. Anyway, Hero Boy gets on the train to the North Pole because why wouldn't he? If we are to believe that a train can show up (and go to) such a place, then we must believe that Hero Boy would get on that train. (Seriously, what a terrible name for a character.) Hero Boy (argh, it sounds so stupid) meets a group of children, one of whom, Hero Girl (who wrote this?), seems to have a crush on him. Another one, a know-it-all (I suppose I should mention that that's the character's name, as well) is not only performed but also voiced by an adult, which just adds to the misery of hearing a child say the words "wise guy." Then we are witness to two not-so-competent (or safe) train engineers whose annoying attributes make Jingle and Jangle, the humorless elf duo of "The Year Without a Santa Claus," look like amateurs in the realm of humor and efficiency. These are several of the attempts at humor that I can't imagine even children laughing at.
This movie isn't all bad. Hanks does do a mostly sufficient job as most of these characters, even though he hams it up so often. "The Polar Express" looks and feels quite wondrous and even frightening, like the graveyard of forgotten toys. One of them even appears to come to life and wants to attack the young boy. "The Polar Express" turns ten years old this year, and the scenes like that have aged well. So no one would deny that Zemeckis, who started his computer animation trilogy with "The Polar Express," is a master of visual storytelling. But his best movies, like "Back to the Future," "Who Framed Roger Rabbit," and "Forrest Gump," focus more on character than visuals. Here, the opposite is true. Its only focus is on visuals, with every sequence trying to top itself, to the point where a giant star on a giant Christmas tree nearly crashes through the skull of one of Santa's elves. And for some reason, 45 minutes into the movie, it embraces its chaotic train ride energy and suddenly becomes a musical. You know how they say you know you've seen a good musical when you leave the theater and the songs are stuck in your head? I can't even imagine the ones who worked on the productions of these dismal songs to have them stuck in theirs upon leaving the studio.
The song that Haley Joel Osment-lookalike sings fortunately finishes, and our characters finally make it to the North Pole, which oddly enough does seem devoid of life (in the figurative, sarcastic sense) but (of course) is inhabited by an army of elves all dressed in red, crawling over each other to shower their adoration on their fascist of a master. The characters (who might just be representing the most annoying portrayal of children in any movie) finally meet Santa Claus (who is also played by Tom Hanks), and then the movie still goes on for another 15 minutes. No exciting train scene can save this film. Ten years later, "The Polar Express" is, for some reason, considered a holiday classic. Call me Ebeneezer, but this movie is crap.
Perhaps there is no better way to start a movie than with Bill Nighy singing and strutting about to a terrible cover of the sub-par song "Love Is All Around." Here, Nighy is Billy Mack, an aging rock star who likes to poke fun at his manager (Gregory Fisher) and still engage in naughty activities. Nighy is absolutely terrific in the film. His performance of the character makes him seem like he would fit in perfectly with Mick Jagger and David Bowie. Later on, Mack is asked on a radio show about the best intimate partner (to put it mildly) he was ever with. His response: Britney Spears. But then a chuckle. "No," he says, giggling. "She was rubbish." How can one not smile at his performance (and frankly, much of the movie)? But during the recording session, Mack asks an important question: "This is shit, isn't it?" Indeed, some have asked the same of Love Actually.
I had always planned on writing about Love Actually after reading that it was celebrating its tenth year anniversary this year. But I wasn't expecting there to be such a fierce debate about the movie. There are a variety of passionate opinions about the it, from the Atlantic, NPR, Jezebel, another one from NPR, Mother Jones. As you can see, there is a considerably vocal faction (but not a majority) of critics and audience members who detest the film and there are many who love Love Actually and forever will. So, the tremendously less influential Chris and the Movies has decided to chime in. And so here it is:
We are introduced to a whole host of characters. Emma Thompson is Karen and is married to Harry (Alan Rickman), who soon starts to lust for his new secretary (Heike Makatsch). Karen is a friend of Daniel (Liam Neeson) whose wife lost her battle to cancer and so is now responsible for raising his stepson (Thomas Sangster). There's another story about Jamie (Colin Firth), a writer whose wife cheated on him with his brother, so he moves to France. Rowan Atkinson appears in a role that was originally meant to be a Christmas angel (it will make it a bit easier to understand his character after understanding that). Then there's a wedding--oh, and the Prime Minister (Hugh Grant). Wait, I forget about the sex scene body doubles (Martin Freeman and Joanna Page). As you can see, "Unnecessarily Complicated Actually" or "You Really Don't Need Twenty Stories All Somehow Related to Each Other Actually" could have been suitable titles. You can try and figure out the labyrinth of connections provided by Wikipedia, but I suspect you won't. Why should you? Many of the characters are interesting; their networks are not.
But that is not the major flaw of the film. Instead, its the annoying shift from adorable, sweet, water-in-the-eye inducing material to the inferior drivel. Consider first Hugh Grant's role as David, the Prime Minister of England. This is the fourth time Grant has worked with director Richard Curtis, and here he's as charming as ever. The chemistry between him and his secretary (Martine McCutcheon) is probably the most charming in the film. We even get a sudden dosage of politics when the U.S. President (Billy Bob Thorton) arrives for bilateral talks with the U.K. Thorton's performance is no doubt meant to be a harsh indictment of recent U.S. presidents, a clear hybrid of Bill Clinton's promiscuity and George W. Bush's bullying cowboy approach to foreign policy. But David stands up--he's not going to be anybody's poodle--and he gives a fairly cheesy speech about how great Great Britain is; the corniness nearly marches that of Michael Douglas' speech in The American President. Later in the night, David is offered a time of private (or so he thinks) self-celebration, and busts out doing a dance to "Jump (for My Love)." Again, how can you not smile?
But then consider the story of Daniel and his stepson. Neeson's scene as a grieving husband at his wife's funeral features a perfect moment of acting; with one stare at the ground, he says more than he could in an entire monologue. Indeed, some of the movie's finest moments bring our attention to emotional appeals. The appeal to fear, to jealousy, to embarrassment; emotions of being miserable and of being wronged are all employed here. But the sympathy I felt for Daniel disappeared as his story becomes a bit strange. Are we really to believe that a young boy is suddenly cured of his sadness over his mother's death due to his terrible crush on the school's coolest girl? And did I really watch Liam Neeson pretend to be Leonardo DiCaprio to his stepson's Kate Winslet in Titanic? But Daniel and son are not alone in the weirdness. There's the note card scene--oh, that awful note card scene. How many creepy guys were inspired to do something like that because of this movie? It is likely the worst scene of its kind since John Cusack stood on a car with a boombox.
If it seems like this review is disorganized, it's because it's a review of a disorganized film. This is certainly a movie that has about three stories too many. They're all cheesily connected somehow ("the first of its kind!" I am inaccurately told by my friends), and it's a bit too much about love. Does every aspect of love need to be covered here? It is too often a sin of modern-day films (and even great old ones like The Red Shoes) to be unable to sustain a film beyond a second act, and that is particularly true with this one. By the end, it tires. There's too much love.
So I hate this movie. Wait, I hate this movie? Of course not! It's Love Actually! For all the eye-rolling it inspires, there are just as many really adorable and enjoyable moments here. It deserves a legacy more than ten years. True, it will be unable to stand in the hall of greats like It's a Wonderful Life, but it at least earns comparisons to The Shop Around the Corner. Its score by Craig Anderson is just about perfect. You may find it too difficult to suspend your disbelief and actually love it, but a little embracing of the absurd will take you a long way. Especially its touching ending, just before the credits. Just about everyone will love that scene. It's the perfect ending to a fine holiday movie. Even Billy Mack would like it.
"The Year Without a Santa Claus" is predictably about a hypothetical curious, furious, fidgety, terrible year where Santa decided to be like everyone else and take a vacation. If the setup is predictable, then so is most of what follows. From the beginning, the narration of Mrs. Claus (voiced by Shirley Booth) falls into an annoying rhythm. It's not a good start.
Santa Claus is sick this year with a nasty cold, and only last year he had near-pneumonia. Children don't give a hoot about Christmas or Santa, he is told by his pessimistic doctor (though the doctor still wishes him a Merry Christmas). It's clear that Santa needs a vacation, and he calls off the operations, throwing the North Pole into chaos. Mrs. Claus, though, will having nothing of it, and she does her best to insure that Christmas continues as usual.
Within fifteen minutes of the holiday television special from 1974, I began to wonder if nostalgia really is to blame for my admiration of other children's holiday films like "Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reineer" and "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town," the predecessor to "The Year Without a Santa Claus." Can I really justify my liking of "Home Alone," a film I probably saw when I was four but a movie in which barely half of critics enjoyed? After all, I saw those other movies when I was a child, and I saw "The Year Without a Santa Claus" as an adult. Then I thought that this was probably not the case, for those films had serious thought and effort, whereas this one does not. "The Year Without a Santa Claus" simply doesn't have the novelty and imagination of its predecessor. The most the filmmakers could come up with in this film is Mrs. Claus dressed in drag fantasizing about delivering presents instead of her husband, and that just isn't quite the same as the charm and likability of Fred Astaire's voice acting in "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town." Even the honking penguin had more charisma than Jingle and Jangle, the annoying humorless elf duo who have become the Jar Jar Binks of holiday specials. Even Mickey Rooney as the voice of Santa (a role he provided for in four animated holiday specials) sounds more tired in this one.
I don't want to call a movie that utilizes the exhausting process of stop motion effects (or "claymation") lazy. But if only the story and music writers could have matched the hard work of the animators, for there seems to be a lack of effort than was required. The redeeming moments involve the Miser Brothers--dueling brothers of nature voiced by Dick Shawn as the Snow Miser and George S. Irving as the Heat Miser, singing and dancing in the film's only memorable parts (though to today's audiences the former calling the latter a "flaming fool" might raise eyebrows). A lot of the scenes in this movie take place in a boring town in California (though the child actor providing the voice of the young boy insists on making him sound like they're in the Bronx), whereas the scenes of "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" featured scenes of winter wonderlands and European towns of centuries ago. Think of "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town," "Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer," and "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" and the other holidays specials of old and you likely will remember not only various moments from them but also a large amount of the songs. Not so with "The Year Without a Santa Claus."
On second thought I have the Miser's songs stuck in my head. Better than anything out of the mouths of Jingle and Jangle.
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