If you read this blog, you probably know that I am a fairly cynical person. (Actually, if you read this blog, you probably actually KNOW ME...so that's probably an unneccesary statement). I dislike forced sentimentality or any easy play on my emotions. I find traditions for traditions sake appalling, and I find the state of modern religion to be horrifying.
Having said all that, it might come as something of a surprise that I am a sucker for Christmas. And no, not cause of gifts, I rarely get many. No, I love the whole thing...okay, that's not true either, I hate the crass commercialism of the current incarnation. But I love the spirit of Christmas. The idea of a day in which we celebrate the possibility of good, of charity and love and hope in our darkest hour, the idea that God sent someone to help us...all of this fills me with warmth. I love the lights and the songs and the good cheer. I even love fucking egg nog.
And perhaps absurdly I love A Christmas Carol...and in particular the 1984 made for TV version with the incomporable George C. Scott, which I watched on TV last night.
I remember the Christmas of 1984 when it ran on TV laying on the floor of the living room of my grandmother's house with the other grandchildren (of which I'm the oldest) watching in awe and comforting the younger kids (I was all of 9) during the "scary" parts. And this became a tradition for the may years in which they continued to run it. I remember reading and re-reading the little leather bound copy my grandmother had on her book shelf. To me, this movie is Christmas.
It's memorable for many reasons, probably most for Scott's performance which is never cartoony and just campy enough to be vastly entertaining. You have all of the Dickensian/Victorian trappings...God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, Here We Come a Wassaling, bed curtains, Jacob Marley's chains, Mr. Fezzywhig, Belle's punch, Scrooge's maid...and of course Tiny Tim's RIDICULOUS British lisp.
The thing that really struck me the most in this viewing though was that...viewing the film now, as an adult, the reactions of the various characters to the reformed Scrooge are really wonderful. To them, without the benifits of specteral holiday visitors, it must have seemed as if Scrooge has had a stroke and accidentally emerged a better man. They look at him out of the side of their eyes, as if expecting at any moment for the miserable old fuck they knew for all these years to emerge, only to still be talking to this strangely jolly old man. Fred Hollywell can't even figure out why he'd be at the front door. The men from the orphanage wait for the moment where he reveals he's fucking with them, only for it never to come. Bob Cratchit assumes he's about to be fired at any minute.
Really really good stuff, and all in the holiday spirit...and we certainly need that these days. Between world events and the fact that it is 443 PM and already pitchblack here in NYC...we could use a little of the Ghost of Christmas present with his bright torch and jolly ways.
Anyway, this in no way connects to Mirah and her hippie Portland lesbian ways...but while I prefer You Think It's Like This...to the more adventuresome and less succesful Advisory Comittee, this is one of the better songs on the album.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment