The holiday season -- a time for magic and miracles
that reminds us to believe in something bigger than ourselves.
Sure, if you live in a fairy tale.
For most of us,
Christmas is about appreciating our lives --
and the people in them -- as they are.
This is Take Two -- a series brought to you by The Take,
where we compare two opposing sides to a cultural debate of our times.
Today’s big question: What’s the true meaning of Christmas movies?
Take 1 will argue that a Christmas movie should be larger than life,
renew our faith in the impossible, and challenge us
to become better people.
And Take 2 will argue that Christmas movies are really
about accepting our imperfect selves, and recognizing what's good
about our lives already.
“I think you’re a great mom.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I loved my childhood.”
And now, here’s Take 1.
The Christmas movie is about spiritual transformation.
The original Christmas story is the Nativity --
the miraculous birth of a savior into a world
in need of guidance and salvation.
It stands to reason that the Christmas movie
should be inherently spiritual -- a story that redeems us,
and inspires us.
True Christmas movies involve some form of deliverance or transformation,
often through a miraculous intervention.
"The key to unlock his wildest dreams and change his life forever."
We meet characters whose lives are empty or broken.
Maybe they’re selfish and greedy.
"I build all the best toys around here.
It’s about time I got
some of the credit."
Or maybe they’re always working, with no time for the people they love.
"Seems as if she’s always got something to do, or somewhere to be."
Often they’ve become cynical, and lost the spark
that makes life worth living.
[singing] "My life should have been so much more."
But by the end, we know they’ll have seen
the folly of their ways, learned to prioritize love and charity,
and rediscovered their joy -- just in time for Christmas.
This theme runs throughout our most popular and enduring Christmas stories.
Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol is about the moral reckoning
of Ebenezer Scrooge, a miser whose obsession with work
and money has ruined his life.
"What right have you to be so dismal?
You're rich enough."
"Humbug!"
But thanks to a supernatural encounter with three spirits,
Scrooge is shown where he went wrong -- and the terrible future that awaits him
if he doesn’t change his ways.
He undergoes a spiritual awakening.
"Spirit!
Hear me!
I’m not the man I was!"
Scrooge no longer sees his life as measured in coins
or personal achievement, but in charity and friends.
We’ve seen plenty of versions of this tale over the years,
starring everyone from the Muppets to Bill Murray.
“And if you give, then you-then it can happen.
Then the miracle can happen to you!”
But the message is always the same: Christmas is a time to take
spiritual inventory of our lives and become better people.
In the classic It’s A Wonderful Life, George Bailey is already
a generous person -- the film is essentially
A Christmas Carol, as retold from the point of view
of Scrooge’s kindhearted clerk, Bob Cratchit.
Still, George is in obvious need of deliverance --
the film opens with the entire town of Bedford Falls praying to God
to help him.
"I owe everything to George Bailey.
Help him, dear father."
Director Frank Capra said he made It’s A Wonderful Life, in part,
to “combat a modern trend toward atheism.”
And he bears this out by having God answer the town’s prayers directly,
dispatching an angel who prevents George from committing suicide,
then shows him what the world would have been like without him.
"Each man's life touches so many other lives.
When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?"
With the angel’s guidance, George is reminded
of all the good deeds he’s done, and he comes away
with a renewed appreciation for his friends, his family,
and his life’s spiritual worth.
"A toast to my big brother, George, the richest man in town!"
As University of Chicago Divinity School teacher Russell Johnson
writes of these popular Christmas films,
“Though there is nothing exclusively Christian about this sort of story,
it echoes key Protestant themes: that what ultimately matters
cannot be earned, that people are in need
of conversion to a more other-oriented way of thinking,
and that this awakening is the result of a miracle
of some sort, an interruption -- often supernatural --
into the workaday world.”
The Christmas movie is about rebirth -- which is the true meaning
of the season.
"I can’t spend my life wishing things had turned out differently."
"Maybe it’s time for a second chance?"
It’s no coincidence, then, that so many Christmas movies
invoke the “Christmas miracle.”
Transformation requires something miraculous
and extraordinary to break us from our routine.
Even stories that take a more secular approach to Christmas
believe in miracles: There is no God in Dr. Seuss’s
How the Grinch Stole Christmas.
Still, there is the Christmas spirit, something ineffable and divine
that binds the Whos down in Whoville.
This spirit is so powerful that, eventually, it touches even
the Christmas-hating Grinch, transforming him from within.
"And the Grinch heard with his heart, and it tripled in size."
[heart beating]
There’s no mention of God or Jesus in Frosty the Snowman, either;
just a magic hat.
Still, Frosty undergoes his own miraculous birth and resurrection.
"Frosty's not gone for good.
You see, he was made out of
Christmas snow and Christmas snow can never disappear completely."
And who is Santa Claus but a cuddlier stand-in for God --
an all-powerful, white-bearded immortal who knows whether
you’ve been naughty or nice?
"Your father... well, he's on the naughty list."
"NOOO!"
To believe in miracles, in Santa Claus,
or in the Christmas spirit is simply to believe in something
bigger than yourself.
"So please, Santa, help out a true believer."
And this belief helps us reconnect with our sense of optimism,
our capacity for kindness, and our faith that,
once we become the best versions of ourselves,
the impossible is possible.
"If you believe, it’s all possible."
And now for Take 2: The Christmas movie is about
appreciating everyday miracles.
The point of the Christmas movie isn’t about some grandiose longing for magic.
Its purpose is actually the opposite -- to recognize the magic
that’s all around us, and to make peace with what seems
less-than-heavenly about real life.
If this time of year is really about self-reflection,
then Christmas movies that are more down-to-earth --
dealing with our everyday struggles and everyday joys --
offer a deeper, more relatable story
of the human condition to lift our spirits.
1983’s A Christmas Story is one of our most beloved,
most ubiquitous Christmas movies.
But it doesn’t offer us magic or miracles --
it’s even a little skeptical toward Santa Claus.
"If Higbee thinks I'm working one minute past nine,
he can kiss my foot.
Ho ho ho!"
Yet A Christmas Story remains a perennial favorite because it’s real.
Yes, it’s about Ralphie’s longing for a Red Ryder BB gun,
and on the surface, this might seem like a materialistic --
and surprisingly violent! -- message.
"You’ll shoot your eye out, kid!"
But it’s also about the magical time in our lives when it takes so little
to make us happy.
It inspires us to reconnect with that feeling and hold onto it.
There are no miracles to be found in National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation,
either -- except maybe that Clark Griswold doesn’t end up
killing someone, or himself.
It’s a bittersweet comedy about the friction that’s created
when our expectation of “Christmas magic” clashes
with reality -- and with the realization
that our families can be a real pain.
"Can I refill your eggnog for you?
Get you something to eat?
Drive you out to the middle of nowhere, leave you for dead?"
Yet it’s also a sentimental movie about sticking together,
even when everything else is falling apart.
It’s a lesson that’s also learned by the exhausted mothers
in A Bad Moms’ Christmas, who are fed up with the pressures
to create Christmas magic in a world that’s far from magical.
"No more perfect gifts, no more perfect decorations,
no more perfect anything!"
Both of these films are about letting go of those
self-imposed burdens to create the perfect, magical holiday.
They’re about reconciling with our families and with ourselves
and finding true peace and satisfaction in being good enough.
“I can’t believe we’re eating Chinese food at Christmas dinner
and my mother is loving it."
After all, pinning all your hopes on some magical,
miraculous intervention just leaves you disempowered,
leading only to complacency -- and disappointment.
Christmas movies can and should remind us of our own capacity
to change what we don’t like -- without waiting
for a Christmas miracle.
[singing] "Just because you fell down, don’t mean you can’t pick yourself up."
And now back to Take 1: The Christmas movie should transcend
our mundane and materialistic world.
Those magical Christmas movies aren’t just imparting messages
about self-improvement or saving your soul.
They’re also a necessary reaction to a holiday that’s become
increasingly sapped of meaning by commodification and consumerism.
"Please note the size and color of this item
and send as many as possible.
If it seems too complicated,
make it easy on yourself.
Just send money."
The magical holiday film reminds us there is a deeper purpose
to the season -- and to our lives.
The ideological tussle over whether Christmas has become
“too commercial” reflects our desire for true connection this time of year.
And this requires something much bigger and more profound than finding
the perfect gift, or learning how to get along
with our relatives.
As John Zukowski argues in USA Today, more mundane “[Christmas movies]
have replaced spiritual transformation with temporary modification
of the dysfunctional family, through inevitable forced sentiment
about family obligation.”
These more “down-to-earth” films, as Take 2 calls them,
are more accurately described as self-absorbed:
Their focus on bickering families setting aside their differences,
or on lonely people finding happiness in new romances,
represents a sense of togetherness that extends only so far
as those characters’ living rooms.
And while we can agree that movies like A Christmas Story remind us
of what it’s like to be innocent and pure,
that doesn’t change the fact that the film’s idea of Christmas is,
to quote Ralphie, “a crummy commercial?”
It’s a film that deals only with the fleeting commercial trappings
of Christmas, which creates a happiness that --
like a child’s enthusiasm for a freshly unwrapped toy --
will be lucky to last beyond New Year’s Eve.
In magical Christmas movies, we see how this commercialism
is actually killing “the Christmas spirit,”
which has been depleted by a world that’s prioritized
all the wrong things -- the presents, the preparations,
those family obligations.
"Well, before the turbine days, this baby used to run solely
on Christmas spirit.
You believed in me.
You made my sleigh fly."
And while they may be fantasies, these movies get
at something very real: Amid all those Christmas trappings
and responsibilities, it’s become all too easy
to lose sight of what really matters.
We need a miracle to wake us up, and get that Christmas spirit
flowing again.
We need a little magic to light the way,
and guide us out of the fog.
"Okay Rudolph, full power!"
And now back to Take 2.
The humanist Christmas movie teaches us to make our own happiness.
Far from being self-absorbed, like Take 1 argues,
the more realistic, humanist Christmas movie teaches us
to find our life’s greater purpose in the place that matters most:
our most intimate relationships.
"But the truth is, I just want you.
For all holidays, and weekends,
and weekdays too would be nice."
These stories can still give us a form of spiritual transformation
or transcendence.
It’s just that it happens on a more realistic and accessible level,
which we can then channel into our lives.
Consider this perennial debate: Is Die Hard a Christmas movie?
Take 1 would surely say no -- after all, Die Hard features
no magic or miracles, or overt spiritual messaging.
There’s not even a proper Santa Claus.
"Now I have a machine gun.
Ho ho ho."
And yet, it’s a classic Christmas story
about two workaholics, John McClane and his wife Holly,
whose family life has been torn apart by their jobs.
McClane is then pitted against Hans Gruber,
the Grinch-y personification of greed, who uses Christmas as a cover to steal.
"It's Christmas, Theo.
It's the time of miracles.
So be of good cheer... and call me when you hit the last lock."
And ultimately, John McLane wins
not because of magic or a miracle, but because of his love
for his family and his sacrifice.
There’s even snow!
Sort of.
It sure sounds like a Christmas movie to us!
"If this is their idea of Christmas, I gotta be here for New Years!"
You can find stories of transformation in just about every Christmas movie --
even the irreverent ones.
Home Alone might use Christmas as a backdrop for some of
the most savage violence this side of a Bugs Bunny cartoon.
But beneath all the brutality is an intimate story of atonement,
as Kevin pays a sort of purgatorial penance
for casting judgment on his family.
"You'd feel pretty sad if you woke up tomorrow morning
and you didn't have a family."
"No, I wouldn't."
"Then say it again.
Maybe it'll happen."
"I hope that I never see any of you jerks again!"
Kevin undergoes his own awakening, realizing that his life isn’t meant
to be spent alone.
"Please tell him instead of presents this year,
I just want my family back.”
And in the end, he’s reunited with his family
as a more forgiving, more loving person.
Even 2003’s Bad Santa -- a movie that openly mocks everything
the Christmas movie stands for -- contains a traditionalist message
that Charles Dickens could love.
Billy Bob Thornton’s Willie starts out an alcoholic,
misanthropic thief -- a real-life Grinch in Santa’s clothes
"Let's tell him what you want for Christmas."
"I’m on my f-[BLEEP]-ing lunch break, okay?"
But he’s slowly transformed into someone who would willingly risk his own life,
just to bring some happiness to his new, makeshift family.
"Dear kid...
I hope that you got my present
and that there wasn't too much blood on it,
although there was blood on the present you gave me,
which didn't keep me from enjoying it."
Most Christmas movies -- even the raunchy ones --
are about recognizing that our true capability for transcendence
exists in how we treat the people closest to us.
After all, there’s a reason the most popular --
and prolific! -- genre of Christmas movie
is the Christmas romance.
"Paige, I was wrong.
About true love.
It does exist."
These are films in which a character’s spiritual “conversion”
is really about reorienting their lives around another person --
which is the most giving and transformative act
humans are capable of.
“You learned English?”
“Just in cases.”
In Christmas movies like Holiday Inn, The Holiday, Love Actually,
and countless more examples -- many of which you can see on Netflix! --
the “Christmas miracle” is simply finding that someone you care about,
and giving yourself to them completely.
"I can’t imagine my life without you."
These films show us how it’s the ones closest to us
who help us become better people --
and how this in turn makes the world a better place.
And sorry, Take 1, but even the Christmas movies
that profess to offer magic and miracles are emotionally successful
because of this underlying humanist message.
In It’s A Wonderful Life, George Bailey may have been touched
by an angel, but he’s truly saved
by the “Christmas miracle” of his friends bailing him out.
In that same interview where Frank Capra called his movie a rejoinder to atheism,
he also said the movie’s message is to “strengthen the individual’s
belief in himself.”
George isn’t actually redeemed or improved --
he was already a kind and generous man.
But through his family and his friends, George realizes who he is
and what he has, and just how much depends
on the small miracle of his own existence.
“You really had a wonderful life.
Don't you see what a mistake
it would be to throw it away?”
You are all the magic you need.
And isn’t that the best Christmas gift you could receive?
So what do you think?
Is the point of Christmas movies to make us believe in magic?
Or to make us believe in ourselves?
Tell us whether Take 1 or Take 2 has you convinced.
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