“Christmas represents a little stutter in the march of days, a hush in which we have a chance to assess and retrospect our lives…” Shane Black
Christmas offers film and television creators a rich source of ideas. Every year, several new Christmas films are released, many television shows present Christmas-themed episodes, and the streaming channels curate holiday fare. The Hallmark Channel begins broadcasting Christmas films in mid-October, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, and does so until January.
Among the endless selection on streaming services plus physical media, it’s possible to find Christmas viewing that fits your exact interests and tastes, regardless of what the video gatekeepers offer each year. From the 1950s to the present, television shows have turned to the holiday for inspiration and feature films have used Christmas since the 1930s as a narrative foundation.
Spend some time on the internet (who would do such a thing?) and you will find multiple lists of the best family Christmas films, the best adaptations of A Christmas Carol, the best renditions of Santa Claus in movies, the best Christmas sitcoms, and so on.
We are not interested in a qualitative assessment or “best of” list. Instead, we are going personal and sharing 12 films and television shows that we like to watch during the holiday season. These are the Christmas comfort foods of our family viewing and are not exclusionary. We might pick up Charlie Brown, The Grinch or the latest Christmas feature film during the season, but there are some things that rise to the top of our family list each year. We hope you enjoy a few of our personal recommendations this year.
Santa Claus Stories
Fatman
The Santa Claus of Fatman is, like all versions of Santa, magical, but also strikingly grounded and down-to-Earth, which sets him apart from the others. Mel Gibson portrays Nick (Santa) as an “everyman” figure. He drives an old pickup truck, he stops by the local tavern for an afternoon drink, and picks up his mail at the Post Office Box he uses for Christmas letters. He dresses in plain clothes and worries about Christmas as a practical business owner would. The story revolves around a spoiled rich kid, who gets everything he wants, but not from Santa. He hires a hitman (Walton Goggins), a seemingly amoral killer with a deep and personal hatred of Christmas. Nick’s western-like battle with the comically evil hitman brings a sort of modern mythological slant to the Santa story.
Fred Claus
This film seems highly underrated among all the Santa films that have appeared in the past eight decades. Vince Vaughn plays Santa’s older, and disillusioned, brother, who just wants a normal life with nothing to do with the holiday. Forces conspire to encourage Vaughn to help his brother and confront his anger toward the holiday. Paul Giamatti plays Santa with a nice balance of frustration, affection, humor and wisdom as a secondary character in this film. A more complete discussion of Fred Claus can be found at https://criticalrewind.com/2023/12/16/a-santa-sampler-the-twilight-zone-1960-fred-claus-2007/
Early Edition
“Christmas”
Season 1, Episode 11 1996
This CBS drama tells the story of average Chicagoan Gary Hobbs, who has a special mission in life. Every morning, he gets tomorrow’s newspaper and must prevent an accident, a crime, or anything harmful to an innocent person, from happening. The program is comfortable television viewing. Like any cozy mystery novel, we know Gary will succeed with the help of some good friends. The Christmas episode stands out, with M. Emmett Walsh as a disheveled and lost Santa who somehow ends up in jail. Escaping jail with a bit of magic, Santa ends up enlisting Gary Hobbs and his friend Chuck. The three have a series of misadventures as Gary searches for a Christmas bomber and Santa tries to find his reindeer. Walsh avoids the long white beard and well-groomed Santa costume in favor of a ratty red jacket and beat-up hat. At the end, Gary and Chuck are left in wonder at the apparent magic of this particular Santa and how he saved Christmas from potential disaster. When we see Santa trying to drive a stolen car and not knowing what he is doing, we understand this is Santa Claus like no other.
A Christmas Carol/Scrooge
A Christmas Carol (1999)
TNT presented an adaptation of this classic that stands out with Patrick Stewart’s performance as Ebeneezer Scrooge. He gives Scrooge a full range of emotion that one might expect from an actor of Stewart’s caliber. Scrooge is mean, greedy, and hostile toward the world in a simmering way, with confusion and fear beginning to emerge as he realizes he is no longer in control. As the night goes on and the three Ghosts of Christmas visit him, Scrooge is transformed as he goes from near hysteria when the Ghost of Christmas Past departs to unbridled happiness when he awakens and realizes he has a second chance at life. An important part of the film is its attention to detail and the cold and barren landscape of nineteenth-century England, the impersonal nature of Scrooge’s business and home, and a sense of hardness of life in Dickensian London. Of the many actors who have played Scrooge, Patrick Stewart of course stands out.
A Muppet Christmas Carol
The Muppets are cultural icons of fun and good humor. Viewers know that when Muppets are part of a television program or film, they will be entertaining. Of course, the real star of A Muppet Christmas Carol is Michael Caine, who plays Scrooge with the depth and honesty we would expect from a great actor. He never holds back and treats his non-human actors as partners in each scene. This allows the humor of the Muppets to combine with the drama of Scrooge’s transformation to create an engaging and authentic Christmas narrative. In the manner of a classic musical, each song becomes a necessary way to move the story along with clarity and passion. This version of Scrooge’s story is highly immersive, and Caine’s gravitas blends seamlessly with the comedy and emotional depth of The Muppet characters.
The Odd Couple
“Scrooge Gets an Oscar”
Season 1, Episode 12
Nearly every sitcom on network television in the 1960s and 1970s had a Christmas episode, and for many years we enjoyed the holiday mix of classic television presented by Nick at Night, TV Land and ME TV. We taped some of these marathons so we could bring them out at our leisure each Christmas season and The Odd Couple is a favorite. Jack Klugman’s portrayal of Oscar Madison as a curmudgeon is fully realized in his refusal to play Scrooge in a Christmas play organized by his poker buddies. Oscar’s housemate, Felix Unger, is set to direct the play and realizes that only Oscar can realistically play Scrooge. Tony Randall plays Felix with a passion for life that is in wonderful contrast to Oscar’s apathy toward life, especially Christmas.
Christmas Families and Friends
The Holdovers (2023)
Set at a 1970 boys boarding school, The Holdovers takes place over Christmas vacation. Three unlikely people, all suffering from personal losses, share the break by themselves in a vacant campus. An embittered teacher, a grieving cafeteria worker, and an angry student begin Christmas vacation with little in common, except a mutual distrust of others. They end the break transformed in important ways with a sense of renewal for life. The Holdovers may not fully seem like a Christmas film, but its message is grounded in the Christmas ideal, that all people can find hope, even in their darkest moments, with the help of others. We discuss the film in more detail at https://criticalrewind.com/2024/12/23/the-holdovers-2023-a-christmas-parable/
Christmas with the Campbells (2022)
You may have missed Christmas with the Campbells, an overlooked R-rated parody of the Hallmark Christmas movie format, nonetheless made with affection. The broad comedic tone and self-aware trope references work well together. If you want something a bit edgy but also light at the same time, this might be a good choice.
Die Hard (1988)
Instead of asking, “Is Die Hard really a Christmas movie?”, we ask, “Is it fun to watch Die Hard in the annual Christmas movie rotation?” We definitely think so, and there’s enough Christmas stuff there to balance and justify the contrast of 80s action classic alongside more traditional fare. If you have access to a physical copy, check out the commentary with director John McTiernan and production designer Jackson DeGovia for not only comprehensive behind the scenes info, but a deeply profound and philosophical look at filmmaking and the nature of art itself – easily one of our favorite commentaries of all time. If you like, pair Die Hard with Lethal Weapon, the other main Christmas-set 80s action film, as well as Die Hard 2 – the only sequel also set during Christmas.
The Andy Griffith Show
“Christmas Story”
Season 1, Episode 12, 1961
The Andy Griffith Show produced only one Christmas episode during its eight year run on CBS. Broadcast in its first season, the Christmas episode centers on a Scrooge-like local businessman, Ben Weaver, who wants to ruin the holiday for everyone. This episode shows the power of love at Christmas for those embittered by life. The episode also uses music with a beautiful duet of a Christmas carol with Andy and Elinor Donahue. The supporting cast plays pivotal parts in helping Ben learn the meaning of Christmas, with a special scene in which Andy has a true epiphany. He realizes that Ben’s effort to sabotage Christmas is a desperate plea to be included, to become part of the love that Christmas is supposed to offer.
Stubby Pringle’s Christmas (1978)
Presented by NBC as part of its Hallmark Hall of Fame series, Stubby Pringle’s Christmas is a version of a classic short story by Western novelist Jack Schaffer. Stubby Pringle is a cowboy living on an isolated ranch who dreams of attending the local Christmas dance, located twenty miles away. He has purchased special gifts for a young woman he met the previous year and is ready for the possibility of love on Christmas eve. But he must abandon his quest and become the messenger of Christmas for a family in need. Beau Bridges shines as a cowboy who loves life and makes the world a better place for those around him. For a more detailed look at this Western, see https://criticalrewind.com/2021/12/17/stubby-pringles-christmas-1978-and-ebenezer-1998/
8-Bit Christmas (2021)
After reading descriptions of this film, you might think it’s a simple re-tread of A Christmas Story, with the Red Ryder Air Rifle replaced by an NES (Nintendo Entertainment System, released in the US 1986), but the film certainly has its own separate identity. Of course, 8-Bit Christmas cannot avoid references to A Christmas Story, but the similarities feel like intentionally self-aware tributes, and the differences feel like meaningful and deliberate departures. 80s nostalgia abounds, and the Chicago setting calls to mind John Hughes. Those who spent childhood pining for or grew up with the NES (as well as retro gamers of all ages) may have the strongest connection, but this is a solid family Christmas comedy in the traditional style with a wide appeal.
Bonus Gifts
The Red Green Show
“It’s a Wonderful Red Green Christmas” (1998)
“A Very Merry Red Green Christmas” (1999)
For fifteen seasons, this legendary Canadian comedy show entertained viewers with half-hour episodes set at the fictional Possum Lodge, located somewhere in the woods, where men could gather to drink beer, swap fishing stories, and most importantly, create outlandish contraptions that never quite worked, always utilizing the power of duct tape. In 1998 and 1999 the show produced two hour-long Christmas specials that are full of laughs and worth watching every year. The show and specials take sitcom-style storylines and larger-than-life characters presented in a sketch comedy format, exploring a wide range of styles – witty banter, physical comedy, slapstick, life advice, music, and more. Every single character is equally funny and memorable, with unique and trademark personas.
Gunsmoke
“P.S.: A Very Murry Christmas”
(Season 17, Episode 15, 1971)
Our grandfather loved to watch television Westerns, and his favorite was Gunsmoke, so it’s always had a family connection for us. Its lone Christmas episode has little to do with Western tropes and instead is a perfect blend of drama and comedy. The regular cast of Gunsmoke takes a secondary role to two great actors from that era of television and film: Jeanette Nolan and Jack Elam. The story centers on six orphans who never have a Christmas celebration because the orphanage is starved of adequate funding. Elam plays handyman Titus Spangler who takes the orphans to find a better life in California. The episode centers on the ability of Christmas to soften the hardened heart of the orphanage headmistress Emma Grundy and heal broken relationships with Titus and the orphans.
In many ways The Holdovers is the ideal Christmas film because it does not try to be a Christmas film. The holiday is not the film’s anchor. Instead, the Christmas season functions as a cultural landscape that provides an important backdrop for the story arc and its emotional tension. The story centers upon personal conflicts that people often face, regardless of the season. The holiday simply opens the door for the narrative, which in turn is grounded in the spirit of Christmas.
A two-week holiday break at an elite New England boarding school creates a situation that none of the principal characters find appealing. A curmudgeonly teacher, an abrasive high school student, and the head cafeteria cook have little in common except their connection to Barton Academy. But each has suffered a loss, creating feelings of isolation, loneliness and bitterness. In the day-to-day life of the school, the teacher, the cook, and the student would likely never achieve any degree of friendship or depth of understanding. But events beyond their control bring them together to live, eat and share personal time for the traditional academic break.
Director Alexander Payne has created a film with a distinct feel for the 1970s. Using relaxed visual pacing and employing patient, stable shots that focus on illuminating character personalities and relationships, the film evokes a strong sense of place and atmosphere. This style gives scenes breathing room to play out, rather than relentlessly pushing forward. There is a wide variety in camera distance from characters, and often, keeping multiple characters within the frame. The Holdover’s cinematography subtly evokes the spirit of 1970s character-study dramas without feeling like a surface-level imitation. The film’s photography creates a visual landscape that viewers might recall from major films of that decade, including Rocky, The Godfather and the Godfather Part II.
An important contextual element is the film’s setting in December 1970 and subtle efforts to reinforce the feeling of nostalgia for a time before social media, cell phones, and influencers. The soundtrack incorporates popular music of the time period (including Cat Stevens, Tony Orlando and Dawn, and the Allman Brothers). Layered within the film are classic Christmas songs (such as “White Christmas” and “The Little Drummer Boy”) that reinforce the cultural context for the story arc. The music is often in the background, with subtle reminders of the season and the era.
Besides well-known songs and artists, the film’s narrative is strengthened by Mark Orton’s original music that employs the comforting overtones of 1970s pop music. Orton’s music gently guides scenes forward and underscores the character’s emotions without feeling like it’s on-the-nose. Orton pulls from 70s tropes – melancholic flute lines as one of the younger boys marches in the snow to throw away his lone glove, optimistic guitar/piano/organ rock for exploring Boston, and so on. These cues are not cheesy 70s sound-alikes however, but tasteful and subtle homages – natural and genuine melodies are prioritized first and foremost, then positioned in period-appropriate instrumentation and production.
The film’s trailer is evocative of the era, both in terms of images and narration. Even the movie rating notice at the beginning of the film uses the industry standard design from 1970.
Paul Hunham (played by Paul Giamatti) teaches classics at Barton Academy, a private boarding school for boys in New England. Clearly Hunham is not well-liked by his students or his colleagues. He lives on campus, and others consider him out of touch with the changing world of education.
Paul has become the school’s pariah. After many years of teaching he finds contemporary students disengaged, lazy, and unintelligent. He despises the headmaster, a former student and does not seem friendly with any faculty. His subject matter ancient history is filled with Greek and Roman philosophers, great battles, and cultural ideals, which hold little currency for his students. Viewers learn that Hanum was a student at Barton several decades earlier and returned after leaving Harvard. When challenged by the headmaster to be more lenient with some students, he pushes back, recalling the school’s vision for academic rigor, high standards, and moral enlightenment. He repeats the mantra “a Barton man never lies” at several opportune situations, only to realize that truth can sometimes be cruel. Without any family, or apparently any friends, Paul plans to spend the break reading mystery novels, enjoying his pipe and a glass of Jim Beam. But the headmaster pressures Paul to serve as the faculty supervisor for students who cannot leave campus over the break. Initially five boys are “holdovers”, but events conspire that force just one student to remain on campus for the entire break.
Mary Lamb (played by Da’Vine Joy Randolph) has worked at Barton for many years, achieving the position as Head Cook in the cafeteria. Mary’s name is highly symbolic. It evokes theological connections to Mary, the mother of Jesus, who is especially revered at Christmas. Her last name “Lamb” is a subtle reminder of an innocent who is gentle but must be part of a larger and often cruel world.
A single mother, from a working-class African American family, Mary sought work at Barton in order to provide a prep school education for her son Curtis, who graduated from Barton in 1969. Unable to afford college tuition, Curtis joined the Army with the goal of using the G.I. Bill for his education when discharged. In an end of the semester school wide memorial service, viewers learn that Curtis was killed in action in the Vietnam War. The war and growing counter-cultural movement of the era seem removed from the daily life of Barton students and faculty. As part of her grieving process, Mary decides to spend Christmas in her campus apartment and avoid visiting her pregnant sister. With five “holdover” students and a faculty supervisor living on campus, Mary must continue her role as cook.
Considered outsiders by the students, the faculty and even the headmaster, Paul and Mary find comfort in sharing their thoughts over bourbon. They do not see themselves as colleagues, or even friends, but their disdain for the world creates understanding and a growing sense of respect for each other. Paul and Mary’s outsider status is reinforced by the fact that the only Barton employees who demonstrate interest toward them are Lydia Crane, the headmaster’s secretary (played by Carrie Preston), and Danny, the school’s custodian (played by Naheem Garcia). In several instances Lydia and Danny offer genuine expressions of warmth, concern, even respect, for Paul and Mary.
Angus Tully (played by Dominic Sessa) is a high school junior, hoping to find a place at Barton. He reveals that he has been kicked out of three previous prep schools and fears the next time will land him in Fork Union, a military academy. Angus is clearly intelligent and witty. At the same time, he prefers to be distant from other students, frustrated by the immaturity and hostility some of them demonstrate. Just as Paul and Mary are clearly outsiders in the school, Angus is disengaged from other students.
Beyond campus, Angus’ personal life is frustrating. He planned to spend the break on a sunny beach with his mother and stepfather, but a last-minute phone call from his mother reveals that he is not welcome. He pleads with his mother to give him a chance to leave campus, to no avail. She had promised him a chance to visit Boston over the break, a visit which becomes increasingly important as the film progresses.
At least, Angus does not have to suffer by himself during break, four other students remain on campus with him. Once again he is the victim of circumstances. When the father of one of the “holdovers” (a corporate CEO with his own private helicopter) shows up and invites the boys to spend break at a ski lodge, all the parents agree to allow their boys to leave campus, except Angus. His mother is unreachable by phone and again, he is denied a real vacation.
As Angus and Paul settle in for an uncomfortable two weeks, with Mary providing their meals, tensions mount. Paul catches Angus on the phone trying to find a hotel room in Boston. In anger at being prevented from leaving campus, Angus brazenly violates a campus rule by running all over Barton and into the gym, separating his shoulder in the process. The injury requires a trip to the emergency ward. When Angus realizes that Paul may be fired because of the accident, he tells the nurse that Paul is his father, his parents are divorced, and reporting the hospital visit to the insurance company would mean he would not see his dad anymore. Paul is shocked by the fabrication but accepts the help of a student who clearly dislikes him as a teacher.
A series of events allow Paul and Angus to form an uneasy understanding of each other, which is often strengthened by Mary’s presence. The three share meals together, spend time watching late night television, and attend a Christmas party hosted by Lydia. The party is festive and filled with Lydia’s friends and family, but no one else from work. Indeed, Lydia comments on the fact that she did not invite anyone else from Barton to her party.
A pivotal moment comes during the party, when Mary, after a number of glasses of whisky, has an emotional breakdown, continuing to grieve for her son. As the three hastily leave the party, tension flares. Angus desperately wants to return to the party because he is finally interacting with someone his age, Lydia’s niece. On the other hand, Paul sees the party as yet another social failure on his part. In frustration he tells Angus that he really wished his father had taken him off campus for break, leading Angus to blurt out: “My father is dead.” Mary chastises Paul for his outburst and they travel back to Barton in silence. The disclosure sets in motion a change in Paul which paves the way for the relational dynamic to change in a positive direction.
The next day, after apparent consideration of his disparaging comments, Paul decides to do something out of character. He drives to town and purchases one of the last, and least attractive, Christmas trees, and returns in triumph, with a lopsided and unadorned tree. Channeling Charlie Brown, Paul is so proud of finding a tree he fails to see its flaws. Just like the Peanuts gang, Mary and Angus find enough decorations for the tree which becomes central to their celebration. They share Christmas dinner, and Paul has gifts for Angus and Mary – copies of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations for both. As they complete their feast, Angus says, “This is the first time I’ve had a traditional Christmas dinner.” His mother never cooked dinner, he notes, instead she always ordered Christmas dinner from Delmonico’s.
With the good cheer of a shared meal and holiday fellowship in the air, Angus pleads with Paul to take him to Boston. When Paul refuses, Mary steps forward to support the trip. Reluctantly, Paul agrees and Mary decides she would like to visit her sister for Christmas after all. The drive to Boston seems relaxed and genuine, with a deepening friendship among the three evolving. The trip to Boston becomes more than a holiday exercise. A number of events during the trip set in motion self-examination and self-awareness for Paul, Mary and Angus, as well as offering a vehicle for understanding each other’s suffering.
Paul and Angus go bowling, tour a museum of antiquity, which allows Paul to share insights about classical life, and finish the evening with Angus showing his skills at an outdoor skating rank. The night goes sour when a well-dressed man, who is shopping with his wife, recognizes Paul as a fellow undergraduate at Harvard. The wife proudly notes her husband just received tenure at MIT in the field of mathematics. Paul offers a vague description of his life, teaching overseas and holding several fellowships, but he is clearly avoiding any details. Angus comes to the rescue by telling the couple that Paul is his uncle and is working on a scholarly book that will be out soon. He makes the story even more credible by asking Paul to share the title of the intended book, which Paul makes up on the spot: Light and Magic in the Ancient World. The book title might be a fabrication, but it might refer to a monograph that Paul had intended to write when he was younger. For the second time, without warning, Angus has saved Paul from a situation he wanted to avoid.
Afterwards Paul opens up to Angus about his reluctance to share his story. Accused of plagiarism by another Harvard student, who actually committed the act, Paul was expelled from Harvard. The cheater had family connections to Harvard (a building named for the family) and Paul had nothing (his mother died when he was young, he had issues with his father and left home at age 15 to attend Barton). The headmaster, Dr. Green, who had supervised Barton when Paul was a student, was willing to help Paul after the expulsion. Dr. Green hired him as a part-time teacher, eventually becoming full-time. No one at Barton knows about the Harvard story and Paul’s lack of holding a bachelor’s degree. He tells Angus that no one can ever know the truth and Angus seems to understand Paul’s situation.
Paul and Angus decide to see one of the major films of 1970 Little Big Man. During the movie Angus goes to the restroom only to leave the theater, searching for a taxicab. Paul catches him and is outraged, wondering if the positive relationship between the two was just a ruse to escape Barton. Angus finally reveals something about himself that he has been guarding. His father is not physically dead, but in a mental hospital. Paul understands, and they go to the institution together. With great optimism that his father is recovering, Angus is forced to confront the reality of his father’s mental deterioration. Boston offered Angus hope for restoration of his family, which was foreshadowed in a family photo that Angus kept in his room, an important reminder of his past.
Mary’s decision to visit her pregnant sister becomes more than a family holiday celebration. She brings a box of Curtis’ baby items (clothing, toys, a bottle) and in giving the box to her sister, Mary acknowledges that life will go on. There are not many exchanges between Mary and her sister, but we see them sharing love and we sense a small degree of acceptance is beginning for Mary.
Paul, Mary and Angus all have some kind of significant loss in their lives, which shapes their daily existence and colors their relationships.
Paul’s loss emerges from his expulsion from Harvard and retreat to Barton. He guards his secret from colleagues and students, both from fear of losing his job but more importantly fear of ridicule and loss of respect for his status. By sharing his past with Angus, he allows the need for understanding to override his fear of self-disclosure. Angus stepped up for Paul in ways he could not envision doing himself, fostering gratitude toward another person, an uncommon emotion for Paul.
Mary’s loss is public, the death of her son in war. But there is the deeper guilt that her son could not afford the college education he wanted after graduation and thus could not get a student deferment. His plan to use the GI Bill made sense, but it was grounded in the fact that in an elite school with students of wealth and privilege, Curtis only had Mary’s support for his future. Sharing time with Paul and Angus allows Mary to find something positive at Barton and in turn see the importance of allowing others into her life.
Angus has lost more than his father, he has lost his family. The photo of himself and his parents, that he clearly values, is a reminder of a family that no longer exists. His mother has divorced his father and remarried, which is why she refuses to allow Angus to spend Christmas vacation with her. She wants time alone with her new husband and tells Angus he must wait until summer to come home. Angus holds out hope for a positive change in his father’s mental condition, but the trip to Boston reveals this is unlikely.
On the return trip to Barton, Angus is both despondent (about his father’s condition) and fearful (that he might be destined to the same illness). He tells Paul that he has been a terrible person who lies and steals and maybe deserves an unhappy life. In a new role for himself, Paul shows compassion and demonstrates genuine concern for Angus. Paul is adamant that no child is predestined for a path in life because of a parent. People make their own way and Paul insists Angus has much to offer. His future can be bright.
The feelings of renewal and comradery that the trio have are short-lived. Upon returning to campus, Angus’ mother and stepfather appear, appropriately driving a luxury car. Paul is summoned to the headmaster’s office where he learns that Angus was not supposed to see his father and the visit ended in violence, with his father throwing a snow globe he was given by Angus. His mother is outraged because she will have to move her ex-husband to another facility. The parents want to blame Angus for manipulating Paul and punish him by sending him to military school. Shocked by their response, Paul urges the parents to reconsider their plan, emphasizing Angus’ intelligence and potential to excel at Barton. Sensing their decision to remove Angus is final, Paul makes a fateful decision. He tells the headmaster and parents the trip to the mental hospital was all his idea, that he pressured Angus to visit his father, and he accepts the entire blame. The self-sacrifice works. Angus gets to stay at Barton, but Paul is fired and must leave campus as soon as possible.
The final scene of Paul loading a U-Trailer with his belongings is both poignant and inspiring. The two exchange a few comments, with neither expressing the depth of emotion that is embedded in the subtext of the conversation. Paul is not sure of his future plans but is thinking of traveling and maybe even writing the book he had planned decades earlier. Their final handshake and direct eye contact provides the emotional closure that both seek in this encounter. Their words to each other are both poignant in the moment and symbolic of their relationship. Angus offers “see ya” like a student expecting to see his teacher during the next term. But Paul says “see ya” with a sense of finality and total closure.
As Paul drives away from campus, he stops his car and rolls down his window, offering a final goodbye to the institution with a small act of defiance.
The Holdovers not only takes place during the Christmas holiday, but its inherent moral quality is grounded in the ideals of the holiday. Three unlikely people are drawn together because of the Christmas season and their challenges in life become the catalyst for finding hope and renewal in the new year. Over a short two-week period, each person changes and in turn helps the others change in very meaningful ways. The gifts of love, compassion and understanding emerge through their shared struggles and miscues, created by Christmas but that will last well beyond December 1970.
Written and directed by Jeremy Dyson and Andy Nyman, based on their stage play
Readers Note: This essay contains plot details
Ghost Stories is a rich, layered character study and ethical examination of professor and professional paranormal debunker Philip Goodman. In the film, he examines three impossible-to-explain supernatural case studies, three “ghost stories” that are far more than they first appear. The film opens with an ambiguous collection of symbols – the sounds of dripping water, then labored breathing. After the title, we see random chalk numbers, then an upside-down window, as Philip Goodman narrates, “it was my father’s religious beliefs that destroyed our family.” Wings flutter, and we are at Philip Goodman’s bar mitzvah, an event featuring smiling family members, but depicted with an atmosphere of melancholic detachment. The bar mitzvah is the first clue that this film is concerned with studying transitional life stages, something beyond simple stories designed to scare the audience.
In a few brief segments of home movies after the bar mitzvah scene, we see what Philip is referencing. His father violently disapproves of Philip’s sister’s relationship with a man of another race and religion. In a quick series of cuts, we see young Goodman filming his father, who sees Philip and becomes angry. His father’s suspenders are undone, implying that they have been used for punishment. A young, smiling Goodman dissolves to an older, weary Goodman, who warns, “we have to be so very careful what we believe in.”
Goodman hosts a television show that aims to debunk paranormal phenomena and expose manipulative false psychics. The blunt title of his show, Psychic Cheats, is simple reality TV branding, aimed at a broad audience. From the brief segments of the show that we do see, it is not necessarily a profound intellectual voyage, as Goodman imagines. The primary goal is to expose, and humiliate, false psychics and other manipulators. Indeed, these false psychics are taking advantage of people, and exploiting tragedy; but Goodman doesn’t seem to be involved in a sober search for truth, instead he plays up the base appeal. It is a simple reality show, after all – audiences tune in for the drama and conflict.
Charles Cameron
Shortly after we meet Goodman, we see that he is planning to meet with a man named Charles Cameron. Decades prior, Cameron did the sort of paranormal debunking work that Goodman models his TV show and, by extension, his life’s work on. Philip Goodman sees Charles Cameron as his mentor, even though the two have never met before. Goodman speaks about Cameron’s inspiration, ironically, in religious terminology. He says that watching Cameron was like being hit by a bolt of lightning, and he realized that’s what and who he wanted to be – a professional debunker of the supernatural, using psychological and scientific explanations to counter paranormal experiences.
Shortly after they meet, Cameron immediately rebukes Goodman, and says that he looks back on his past with shame. Cameron does not mince words in response to Goodman’s work, “it’s shit”; he has learned from his past and moved on, while Philip Goodman has entrenched himself further into his arrogance.
Cameron also mocks Goodman’s marital status, he’s “not surprised” that Goodman isn’t married. This isn’t a jab at his courtship skills or lack thereof, but rather a comment on Goodman’s philosophical worldview. His character epitomizes the most extreme form of philosophical materialism and as such, long-term relationships and marriage represent a mysterious risk that transcends matter, something too dangerous to engage in.
Cameron gives Goodman three supernatural case studies – experiences that he can’t explain away – hoping that Goodman can make sense of them. Still, Cameron has changed his beliefs based on these case studies, and warns Goodman that “it’s all real.” Cameron’s dire warnings to Goodman are delivered with a firm, maxim-like quality. Goodman doesn’t give these warnings the slightest bit of attention, he is immediately dismissive.
Tony Matthews
Goodman’s first inexplicable case is Tony Matthews, a former night watchman who lost his wife to cancer 23 years prior. Goodman “looks like a teacher”, according to Matthews; Goodman corrects him, “professor.” Matthews says he’s seen the show – “it’s shit” (same line as Cameron) – only a joke, but then elaborates that he hasn’t actually seen it. Matthews slyly mentions that professor is the official title for the puppeteer in a Punch and Judy, a traditional English slapstick puppet show. “The professor just learned something from the humble night watchmen.” Is Psychic Cheats a puppet show? Goodman exposes manipulators, but he manipulates participants for his own ego, as Ghost Stories eventually shows. Certainly, few would defend false psychics, but Goodman’s overall approach and style is worth noting – he doesn’t shy away from the sensationalism of what he does.
Matthews doesn’t want to talk about his supernatural experience, but the two agree on payment. Matthews remains standoffish, especially when Goodman asks if he has any children. Goodman increases the payment, and Matthews proceeds. He notes that his 30-year old daughter has been hospitalized for five years, with locked-in syndrome (a form of full-body paralysis), and then recalls his experience.
The building Matthews guarded used to be “a nuthouse for women” hundreds of years prior. As Matthews listens to a radio show, the power shuts down, right in the middle of callers discussing the meaning of married life, specifically finding simple satisfaction in food and television. After restoring the power, Matthews returns to hear a woman describing her dedication to her bedridden husband who suffered a stroke. Matthews mocks her as he listens, “Well like that makes you a saint, you silly old bitch.” Again, the power shuts down.
Matthew’s Russian work partner says they have a word for this atmosphere back home, zloslivy. Interestingly, złośliwy (which is used in Ghost Stories, the stage play) is a Polish word akin to “malicious”, and guz złośliwy refers to a tumor. This establishes a connection between Matthew’s wife and the building he guards.
After Matthews restores power to the building, it is cut off yet again. He has seen some disturbing things – a dead bird upon entering a basement area, a figure in the distance, and far-off objects that appear to be a person. Eventually he enters a room with mannequins lining the walls. A girl holding a dead bird hugs Matthews and pries at his mouth with a finger. We cut to the present, see an upside-down window, then Goodman talking to Matthews’ priest – Matthews’ experience brought him back to the church. Goodman asks what the priest’s responsibility is when a “grown man” wants to discuss a supernatural experience. The priest says that these experiences are signs encouraging belief.
Goodman is dismissive of the priest, and keeps trying to lead to a further point. He tries to get the priest to assume for the sake of argument that what happened was real. The priest says Matthews “testifies that he saw a spirit, and he changed his ways accordingly…in what way is that not real?” Goodman wants to lead to the point that Matthews had hallucinations caused by grief. The priest responds, “I’m so tired of this modern disregard for the spiritual life. How unfashionable it’s become to believe in anything other than our own personal gains.” Is this all that Goodman believes in? Is this what his Psychic Cheats show is really about? Goodman does fashion himself a minor celebrity; he hopes that Matthews has recognized him from TV when the two first meet.
Matthews went to see his daughter the day after his experience, and when she heard his voice, the doctors say her heart skipped a beat. The priest uses this to counter Goodman’s claims that there is no physical evidence to corroborate Matthews’ experience. The connection between Matthews and his daughter transcends physical reality, as shown by her heart’s response.
Matthews’ priest tells Goodman he should consider this phenomenon in relation to his own family. Goodman actually takes this advice and visits his father, who is suffering from a similar illness as Matthews’ daughter. His body is not totally paralyzed – one shot lingers on small finger movements and his wedding ring, but Goodman’s father cannot speak or react to Goodman, and it is unclear if he understands that he is there.
Matthews has a habit of calling other people “sunbeam”, which has multiple potential meanings. “A single sunbeam is enough to drive away many shadows.” – St. Francis of Assisi. It may indicate Matthews’ connection to humanity – people as beams of light, connecting at the speed of light, or it may be a down-to-earth, but partially dismissive way of addressing others. After all, he does call Goodman and his co-worker Sunbeam, similar to addressing other people as sunshine, which can vary in tone and implication.
Simon Rifkind
Goodman’s second case study involves Simon Rifkind, a troubled young man who is immediately suspicious of Goodman. When Goodman arrives, Rifkind keeps the bright red door chained upon opening, “you might not be the man that I spoke to” – a strange opportunity to impersonate someone for malicious ends, but Rifkind requires physical proof – the letter he sent to Cameron. Rifkind’s parents are in the kitchen, motionless and staring directly at a wall. The door slams shut right before Goodman goes upstairs to reconvene with Rifkind.
Rifkind is obsessed with studying demonic and occult imagery as a way to understand what happened to him. He wants to keep these images out so he can see them all the time; his walls are completely covered. If he doesn’t want to see them, he “can look over there” – at a single image of a plush toy bear pulling the ear of a frowning plush toy dog, comically out of place in the midst of his accumulated demonic imagery. Rifkind’s obsession points toward two types of demons – personal demons, and demons as creatures – physical forms of fully realized evil.
Rifkind’s manic energy and defensiveness seem to indicate that he has “stared into the abyss” for too long. He has been driven to the edge by surrounding himself with and absorbing massive amounts of dark information and imagery. He finds these things in books, and “on the internet”, an acknowledgment of the role of technology in pressing us with more information than we can possibly handle, creating dark obsessions for many.
Rifkind’s story begins with driving his father’s car after failing his driver’s license test. In a heated phone conversation with his father, it’s revealed that Rifkind also failed to send in a housing form for college. Suddenly, a creature drops right out of the sky and on top of Rifkind’s car. Rifkind examines the creature, dead, behind his car. We see horns and a goat-like head, then the full body. It is a demon.
Rifkind drives away, but his car eventually stops. He manages to find enough cell phone service to call for roadside assistance, but the demon appears again, entering his car. It sits behind Rifkind, places its hand on his shoulders, and tells him to stay. Rifkind flees, then comes up against a tree-like creature, who growls and grabs his head.
After hearing this story, Goodman arrives in the woods at the scene of Rifkind’s experience. As he stares at a pile of earth and roots at the bottom of a fallen tree (possibly the same tree that attacked Rifkind), he narrates into his recorder, still not convinced, “It feels quite simple to me, really. The brain sees what it wants to see. They’re your words, Charles [Cameron]. Tony Matthews is an alcoholic who’s wrestling with unresolved grief. And Simon is a fragile young man and from a deeply dysfunctional family who’s on the edge of psychosis.”
Mike Priddle
In his third case study, Goodman meets Mike Priddle – on a long pathway, outdoors in a field. Priddle is a confident, boisterous businessman. We learn that Priddle wanted to have a child, but his wife sought more financial security through partnership at her law firm first. Priddle is presented as a down-to-earth, practical person, in contrast to Goodman. “Someone’s got to earn the money so you brainy poofters can sit around stroking your chins and pulling onion out of your arses all day long.” Like with Tony Matthews, Goodman is pressing and rushing Priddle to get to the incident. Goodman doesn’t like to chat, he wants to quickly hear each person’s story so he can start poking holes.
As Priddle looks for the key to his gun safe – located far away from any other building, he continues on with the story. When Priddle’s wife got her partnership, they began trying for a child, but ran into complications. “A splash of IVF get the old baby machine working again…30 grand later, bull’s eye”, but Priddle’s wife ran into further complications seven months into the pregnancy.
As Priddle continues his story, we first see him at his lavish house, in winter. He has heard a few eerie noises and disturbances during the night. After walking through his house, he settles in the room set up for his new child. As he reaches for the empty baby crib (Maria is still in the hospital), something bursts on the other side of the room, sending diapers flying from the changing table. As Priddle picks up, multiple items at the table spontaneously assemble and stack on top of each other. Priddle sees this as a poltergeist – “an evil spirit or an angry spirit”. Goodman is unconvinced, “there’s absolutely no evidence to support that”, he states with a small chuckle.
The doctors scanned Priddle’s wife Maria, but didn’t want to show them, as there were “distortions on the screen or something.” The film shifts back to Goodman, who sees a figure in the distance at a higher point of the road, then it suddenly appears and disappears in front of him. As Priddle continues the story, the figure follows them from a distance.
Priddle sees the mobile moving itself at the crib. A sheet rises from the crib, the temperature drops, and flowers wilt. Priddle sees his wife, who flatly tells him “we are dead.” When the hospital called, “I knew what they were going to tell me. The Prophet.” Maria died in childbirth, and Priddle says he’s glad she didn’t live to see what baby Barty looked like. After finishing his story, and telling Goodman that life finds a way and goes on, Priddle kills himself with his shotgun.
Like Tony Matthews, who “went back to the church”, Priddle “[didn’t believe in evil] until that night.” Both of these statements are moral proclamations that clash with Goodman’s materialism. Priddle’s work nickname, “The Prophet”, is another religious reference that prods at Goodman’s worldview.
Desmond Callahan
After witnessing Priddle’s suicide, Goodman drives back to see Cameron and confronts him, claiming that all of these cases are part of a hoax. Cameron tells Goodman that he lacks the humility to try to understand that things may not be as they seem. Goodman says, “Everything, everything is exactly as it seems.” The structure of Goodman’s experience begins to collapse in upon itself, as Charles Cameron pulls his face away – a mask – revealing Mike Priddle beneath. Priddle uses his finger to cut through the window, just paper, revealing a black wall and door.
Charles Cameron / Mike Priddle speaks for Goodman’s subconscious – his guilt, his insecurities, and for what he knows to be true despite all his efforts to suppress it. Priddle now addresses Goodman directly, using the voice of a school bully, hurling antisemitic taunts, as the two walk near deserted train tracks.
Goodman and Priddle reach a tunnel. Priddle disappears, leaving Goodman with his bullies, who continue the antisemitic slurs and references as they demand Goodman to approach. Now, we see a young, school age Goodman, letting the audience know that this is a key memory. We are finally directly in Goodman’s mind, after spending the majority of the film with Cameron’s three case studies.
The bullies demand Goodman line up against a wall as they throw rocks at beer bottles, one by his foot, then one by his face. Before they can throw the second rock, another person approaches, derogatorily called “Kojak” by the bullies (and Goodman as well, but not to his face). This is Desmond Callahan – he is mentally disabled and does not understand the harmful intentions of the two other boys. They push him to enter a tunnel and count the numbers inside. If he remembers the tenth number, he can join their gang; but there is no tenth number. One of the bullies threatens Goodman with a broken beer bottle by his neck, so he’ll keep quiet and not try to help Callahan.
Callahan suffers an asthma attack inside the tunnel, in a scene that is stark and disturbing to witness. The bullies flee, and Goodman flees as well; after a short pause moving to the present, adult Goodman sees Priddle again, who confronts him, “You left him to die in there, didn’t you?” Goodman asks, “What could I have done?” Priddle answers quickly, “Told someone when you got home? Brought it up in assembly the next day? How about running into The Echo to see if Desmond needed help?” Goodman says it was a fluke. Priddle rejects that answer, “The only fluke here is the fluke in his DNA that left him vulnerable to people like you.”
Goodman is highly offended by Priddle’s “people like you” comment. Goodman says, “I’ve spent my life trying to help people…trying to help people see the truth in amongst the sea of sentimental lies and crap.” Goodman says he isn’t responsible because he didn’t force Callahan to stay in the tunnel. Priddle says, “That’s right, you did nothing.” Goodman ascribes immorality primarily to beliefs, not actions, so it makes sense that he does not place importance on inaction. To be fair, one of the bullies threatened Goodman with a broken beer bottle to the neck if he didn’t let Callahan in the tunnel, but at no point did Goodman attempt to help, even after both of the bullies fled the scene. It is clear that the film wants us to side with Priddle, and condemn Goodman’s inaction. In the stage play, Goodman’s excuses are described as “pathetic.” After the bullies left, nothing was stopping him from entering the tunnel and contacting Callahan’s parents.
Priddle says that Goodman has spent his life “reducing life’s biggest questions to atoms and molecules.” This is philosophical materialism, the belief that matter is all that exists. “What else is there, for God’s sake?” Goodman asks, ironically invoking more religious language.
Priddle spells it out for Goodman in no uncertain terms, “…what you’ve actually been doing with your life isn’t helping others, it’s running from your greatest fear, which is that there’s more than the here and now, and that every action you’ve ever taken, or didn’t take, has had an effect. It’s left a little trace. A ghost of itself.” This is, of course, the thesis of Ghost Stories. Every character has urged Goodman to look beyond, but Cameron as Priddle is the one who finally forces Goodman to see this using the only thing Goodman can understand – his own experiences.
The Hospital
After the confrontation, Priddle leaves with his son Barty; Callahan reappears, rotting and with green skin. He pulls away Goodman’s clothes to reveal a hospital gown and, like Priddle, pulls back further scenery to reveal a hospital bed behind a curtain in a white brick hallway. As Goodman lies in the hospital bed, Callahan lies next to him, forever.
Now in the hospital, two doctors go over Goodman’s state – he has attempted suicide via self-asphyxiation in his car. He is “here for keeps”, a “probable lock-in.” In a twisted Wizard of Oz moment, it is revealed that Goodman’s three case study subjects are actually hospital employees caring for him. Priddle and Rifkind are doctors, and Matthews is a custodian. Beyond the Wizard of Oz reveal, even shades of A Christmas Carol can be read in Ghost Stories, with three people (or ghosts) urging Goodman to change, but it’s been too late the entire time. What would Philip Goodman say about his own medical state, if he had the chance? Would he place any value on the life and experience of someone in a locked-in state, or would he reduce that person to “atoms and molecules?”
Dr. Priddle, who wore the face of Cameron in Goodman’s mind, references Cameron as his old professor, who used to say, “let’s just hope his dreams are as sweet.” A radio interview can be heard when custodian Matthews enters to clean up, echoing the radio interviews heard by night watchman Matthews, “love has a way of conquering…” and “it sounds silly, but we like doing everything together, whatever it is.” Goodman doesn’t seem to have any friends or family left to give him consideration, and his medical condition is just another part of the job to the hospital employees; Dr. Priddle especially, who jokes that Goodman should’ve used a shotgun if he really wanted to die. Custodian Matthews tells “sunbeam” Goodman to “be good”, and moves a mirror so he can see the window, for a “change of scenery.” We see the inverted window from the beginning of the film, and a bird suddenly thuds into it. Then, in a noticeable tonal shift, the popular 1960s song “Monster Mash” plays.
Goodman’s reality has been trying to break through continuously – in his mind, there have been scenes of Callahan and the bullies, shots of hospital scrubs, the upside-down window; Goodman even sees himself at some points, but now, it is fully revealed. In the stage play, Goodman’s case studies are part of an academic lecture, which he restarts after the hospital reveal. He is locked in an infinite loop, forever.
The Last Key
Earlier in the film, searching for the key to his gun safe, Priddle asked Goodman, “why is it always the last key unlocks everything?” The last key is the central ethical reveal of the film – young Philip’s decision to abandon Desmond Callahan in the tunnel – which invites comparisons to coming-of-age stories that deal with life-changing events in adolescence. Ghost Stories walks a dark path that is not usually explored in traditional coming-of-age storytelling. In most coming-of-age dramas dealing with adult themes, the characters ultimately find some way to grow and move on from their experiences. But what if the characters didn’t move on, and instead permanently corrupted themselves? What if they didn’t simply encounter and deal with death, but were in some way responsible for it? This is the dark branching path of Philip Goodman in Ghost Stories. What makes everything worse is that he has never attempted to process the guilt of his part in the events. It seems safe to assume that Goodman’s suicide attempt is connected to that day, and that he hasn’t thought about Callahan in years, maybe even decades. Of course, Goodman is a victim of abuse as well. It is important to remember that when Priddle confronts Goodman about his responsibility, this is Goodman speaking to himself. Goodman knows that he did something wrong, but he has avoided confronting what happened in any capacity. He hasn’t tried to learn a lesson and change, like the three subjects of his case studies.
The events of the fateful day in Goodman’s memory are the roots of his identity, a fallen tree with no foundation, just like the tree in the woods of Rifkind’s encounter. This monstrous tree creature struck at Rifkind’s head, his mind, just like Goodman’s belief-hating belief system struck at his. The very first line of the film is about beliefs – Goodman says his father’s religious beliefs destroyed the family, implying that the beliefs were more instrumental than the violent actions themselves. As Priddle spelled out, Goodman’s worldview is just a way to avoid dealing with the day he abandoned Callahan. One of the film’s major lines, “the brain sees what it wants to see”, has a double meaning. Cameron used to use it as a way to dismiss people’s experiences, which Goodman adopted, but it also refers to the human capacity for self-deception. The excuses Goodman gives to Priddle are “psychic cheats” against himself. Goodman’s three case studies have all accepted moral lessons from their experiences, or at least accepted that these experiences forever changed them, unlike Goodman.
Everything that happens after the introduction of Goodman’s character seems to be in his head – it is noted that Cameron mysteriously disappeared, abandoning his car near his home. After this, we see the second upside-down window shot after a fluttering of wings, indicating that Goodman is in the hospital. This is when Goodman receives a personal invitation from Cameron in the mail. Goodman thinks so highly of himself that a disappeared man he has never even met would send him a personal invitation. Goodman’s inflated ego is emphasized in small ways throughout the film – he pushes for acknowledgment and recognition, he pushes his interviews forward, only interested in getting to the debunking stage as quickly as possible, and he is always dismissive of his subjects.
Before the invitation, Goodman says he wishes he could have met Cameron, so that is what his mind begins to do. Again, “the brain sees…” Right before Goodman’s first case, he sits at a bench and sees the two bullies from his memory playing with a dead bird. Another figure, who seems to be young Goodman, stands motionless, facing away from the camera, just like Rifkind’s parents. This is confirmation that Goodman never really received an invitation from Cameron, because Goodman experiences these scenes as if they are unfolding before him, but we know they are actually his memories trying to break through. Furthermore, a Fine Fare grocery store bag lands at Goodman’s feet as he sits on the bench, the same bag from his memory. Fine Fare was consolidated in the late 1980s, so this is a clue that two different time periods are merging in Goodman’s mind.
Goodman attempted suicide at an ambiguous narrative point – the only “real” events of the film are his introduction as a TV personality and his hospital stay. We know that he attempted suicide in April, but there is no context for this in the rest of the film. During the introduction, there are no signs of reality breaking, besides the introductory water drip, fluttering wings, and upside-down window. Goodman’s interview and first clip of Psychic Cheats are presented in a documentary style, so we can take them at face value, although it’s certainly possible that he never had a TV show to begin with. After the introduction, Goodman’s reality is periodically interrupted by memories of the bullies, Callahan, and his younger self, indicating that this is when he’s in the hospital. Similarly, in the stage play, a seemingly lucid Goodman momentarily loses consciousness a few times during his lecture.
Where did the stories of Goodman’s three case studies come from? Are they actually parts of Goodman’s life? The film does not explicitly indicate, but there are some connections to be made. We know that details from the hospital employee’s conversations found their way into Goodman’s visions – the radio interviews, the shotgun, “sunbeam”, Rifkind’s phone conversation with his mother, Priddle checking his texts, and so on, but what about the full storylines?
Rifkind’s tumultuous relationship with his disappointed father mirrors Goodman’s relationship with his father. At multiple points, it is emphasized that Goodman is unmarried and has no children. Perhaps Goodman has suffered the death of a spouse and/or child, and prefers not to talk about it (as he probes for personal details in his three case studies). Indeed, all three men are reluctant to describe what happened to them – Matthews is direct and abrasive, Rifkind suspicious and paranoid, and Priddle goes off on brief conversational tangents. Matthews’ wife died of cancer, and his daughter is in the hospital with locked-in syndrome, just like Goodman. Priddle’s wife died in childbirth, and his son struggles to survive on the edge of life and death. Paralysis ties together Goodman, his father, Rifkind’s parents, and Matthews’ daughter. Though this is Goodman’s own diagnosis influencing the stories in his mind, it has an important deeper meaning – he has spent his life mocking the possibility that there is anything beyond physical reality, and now his agency in that very physical reality is limited to the utmost extreme. Even if he manages to recover and leave his mental loop, he will only be able to communicate using eye movements.
Cultural and class differences separate Goodman and his cases, but this doesn’t necessarily mean a lack of connection. Matthews’ working class and Priddle’s wealthy class identities may represent aspects of how Goodman wishes he could see himself, just like how Cameron is Goodman’s model of a morally righteous person. In between Matthews and Priddle is Rifkind, the most directly similar to Goodman, but with an inversion. Rifkind is obsessed with the occult and demonic, the dark and evil side of the supernatural, whereas Goodman is obsessed with purging his world of anything even remotely supernatural, whether positive or negative. Rifkind’s temperament is more disconnected and manic than Goodman, but the two share a sense of obsession, anxiety, and strained parental relationships.
It does seem that Charles Cameron is a real person, and his identity as a former professional paranormal debunker can be taken at face value. After all, Priddle references him in the “true” reality of the hospital.
Symbolism
The sounds of dripping water occur both at the beginning and end of the film. Priddle fixes a dripping faucet in his story, and Goodman is connected to an IV drip at the hospital. Dripping water is a minor annoyance, but one that represents insistence. It usually continues indefinitely until it is dealt with. It is also an emotionally ambiguous sound, but one that can become ominous with context. Finally, dripping water is of course a reminder of what happened to Callahan that day. It is one incessant reminder among many that symbolizes Philip’s inaction with the memory of the lonely, empty tunnel where Callahan died.
Dead birds are also featured prominently throughout the film. A dead bird is one step down from a living bird with broken wings; it cannot return to experience, but a bird with broken wings still has experience and life, however faint. Dead birds connotate lost potential, something which ties together Goodman and Callahan. The bullies also lost potential through their treatment of Callahan, something Goodman is complicit in.
Interpreting Philip Goodman’s last name in a literal sense may seem inappropriate in a search for symbolism, but the film’s ethical concerns certainly invite it. Custodian Matthews also tells Goodman to “be good”, a major hint about the name. Philip Goodman believes that his work is a moral good – objectively so. Above all, Goodman believes that he is doing his part to fight a moral crusade, perhaps the moral crusade of our time.
Goodman’s three cases all contain religious references – Matthew, Simon, and Michael. Goodman was raised under Judaism, and these names have (mostly) New Testament connotations, but it is worth noting. Mike Priddle refers to himself as “The Prophet” twice. Goodman looks down on religious beliefs, even though he can’t help but utilize religious language and references to express himself. He was inspired by Cameron like a bolt of lightning (the proverbial “strike me down”), and he asks of Priddle, “what else is there, for God’s sake?” Goodman even hears the disembodied voice of Cameron in the forest site of Rifkind’s incident, echoing Matthews’ priest – supernatural experiences are signs.
A major line in the film, and Cameron’s old catchphrase, “the brain sees what it wants to see”, ties into the credits song. These three cases are ultimately constructed in Goodman’s mind. Goodman’s conscience is trying to teach him something, but of course his personality still influences the style of these lessons. He sees some of the people involved as creatures (or corpses/“zombies”). Mike Priddle’s wife and son are depicted as creatures, as well as the girl that Tony Matthews’ has seen, a stand-in for his daughter. Simon Rifkind meets a demonic creature, and ultimately, Goodman sees Callahan as a creature, which is the most revealing part. Goodman’s worldview is portrayed as arrogance at best, and a total denial of humanity at worst, so the depiction of these characters as creatures is a natural extension of this.
Conclusion
The three case studies tasked to Goodman initially present themselves as traditional scary stories, hence the film’s title, but they are really meditations on life and tragedy; they are allegories about the permanence of human connections beyond physical reality. A ghost is a non-living being who haunts. To be haunted is to be reminded. The last thing Goodman wants is a reminder of his inaction. In the wake of his suicide attempt, this is exactly what he has received.
Do ghosts “really exist”? In Ghost Stories, a simple yes or no is beside the point. Though Cameron says “all of it” is real, and Goodman is urged to believe what people say in a literal sense, this is more about mutual respect and acknowledging possibilities than anything else. Like Priddle says, ghosts are traces of action and inaction, and as Matthews’ priest asked Goodman, what could be more real than changing one’s ways after a powerful experience? People don’t need supernatural experiences to know that there’s something beyond the physical world, because our daily lives continually involve human connection. Goodman’s all-or-nothing approach removes humanity from the equation.
The tiny town of Perfection, Nevada, is populated by schemers, preppers, and dreamers. There’s not much happening, and not much to plan for. While some residents set their sights on Bixby, others burrow into the landscape, anticipating a long stay. The unexplained appearance of gigantic sandworms with mouthed tentacles-for-tongues, sensitive to vibrations and hungry for anything that runs, upends Perfection and how its residents view the future.
The film opens with Earl (Fred Ward) and Valentine (Kevin Bacon) chiding each other over the odd jobs they do to make ends meet—fencing, sewage, trash pickup. The two men seem eager to leave Perfection for anywhere with more prospects, but as Earl points out, Valentine is unwilling to commit to a particular plan. As Earl notes seconds before a septic tank explosion, “Not having a plan is what keeps us doing jobs like this.”
Instead, Valentine is a dreamer. This becomes even more apparent when the two encounter Rhonda LeBeck (Finn Carter), a grad student-in-residence studying seismology in the Sierra Nevadas. Before meeting Rhonda, Valentine lists his criteria for his idea of the perfect woman. Even his name, Valentine, suggests a hopeless romantic, dreaming of a future so specific he can’t achieve it, thus giving him an excuse to never pursue good opportunities (romantic, professional, or otherwise) when they fall into his lap. Rhonda does not meet his criteria, of course, but it is clear from Earl’s tired reaction that nobody ever will.
For her part, Rhonda is the only outsider to Perfection. As the scientist in training, her character is defined by her studiousness. She never makes a plan throughout the film, but instead observes her environment to gather data and, based on that data, retrofit short-term solutions to immediate problems. The film introduces her identifying seismic anomalies. When she, Earl, and Valentine finally encounter the sandworms (referred to briefly as “graboids”), Rhonda identifies rocky outcrops as safe havens from the creatures, and comes up with the idea to pole vault between rocks to avoid touching the sand where the graboids can snatch them. Later, she breaks a water tower to release enough water to create sufficiently loud vibrations to distract the graboids while Valentine runs to a Caterpillar.
Is planning the secret sauce that characters like Valentine are missing? The one weird trick that keeps people stuck in Perfection, Nevada?
If Valentine is static and Rhonda is a short-term improviser, Burt and Heather Gummer (Michael Gross and Reba McEntire) represent the opposite. The couple are meticulous planners, essentially doomsday preppers who have invested thousands of dollars into a bunker that has, in Burt’s words, “Food for five years, a thousand gallons of gas, air filtration, water filtration, a Geiger counter,” all in a heavily-secured underground bomb shelter. The Gummers’ years of planning hardly pays off, as the two did not anticipate underground monsters, one of whom infiltrates the interior bunker with considerable ease, catching Burt and Heather off-guard despite their heavy fortifications and well-stocked ammunition.
However, Heather and Burt are not exactly hindered by their lack of planning for a prehistoric sandworm brood. In fact, both characters prove to be the most instrumental in the community’s survival because of their long-term planning. What matters is the irony that despite planning for every conceivable catastrophe, they fail to expect the one kind of catastrophe that unfolds—beaked sandworms who can outpace most cars and sense vibrations from miles away.
Instead, what saves the Gummers is their ability to improvise with the environment they have created for themselves. Just as Rhonda makes use of her knowledge of geology, the Gummers sprint from firearm to firearm trying to kill the infiltrating graboid, testing out different degrees of firepower against an entirely unknown foe, eventually settling on a prized elephant gun paired with a well-aimed flare. Abandoning their well-planned but circumstantially useless bunker, the Gummers improvise an arsenal of explosives—“a few household chemicals in the proper proportions”—that help move the community of Perfection closer to the safety of the mountains. While long-term planning provides an array of options, short-term improvisation is what saves Burt and Heather, and everybody else for a short while.
Store-owner Walter Chang (Victor Wong) and local annoying teenager Melvin Plug (Bobby Jacoby) engage in short-term improv that is intended for short-sighted gains. Walter is only interested in finding quick ways to profit from the advent of the graboids, while Melvin wants to entertain himself by scaring the adults with fake worm attacks. Both characters mimic each other in the scope of their ability. They make creative uses of their environment, but like Valentine for most of the film, they lack the maturity to put their creative thinking to use beyond quick profit or cheap laughs. Walter’s death is sudden, and Melvin barely escapes a graboid himself.
Valentine survives on the coattails of Earl or Rhonda only until he begins to improvise himself.
Only once he begins proclaiming, “I have a plan,” does Valentine acclimate his creative thinking to the severity of the situation he faces, learning to think quickly, to adapt quickly as the situation unfolds. Valentine’s development matches that of only one other character: The most intelligent graboid, called not-so-lovingly Old Stumpy after one of its tongue-snake-tentacles is torn off in a rapid car escape.
Stumpy is a quick learner, presumably the smartest of the graboids because it survives the longest after learning that humans, likewise, are quick learners. Humans know to move to solid rock, so Stumpy learns to wait. Humans learn to drive armored vehicles to the mountains, so Stumpy leads the graboids in digging a trench around their perimeter to keep them away from the high ground. Humans learn to trick graboids into eating bombs, and Stumpy learns to spit them back out. In their final showdown, Valentine has to think like Rhonda by using his geologic surroundings to trick Stumpy into sprinting through the side of a narrow cliff. Stumpy’s death mirrors that of the great white in Jaws and the truck in Duel, intelligent monsters whose defeat is signaled by their dramatic descent from the surface, into a metaphorical Hell. Like the truck, like the shark, Stumpy is defeated not through the protagonists’ brute force but by their tactical adaptation, their ability to form a plan from thin air.
Burt and Heather are the most resourceful characters, while Rhonda enters the film already trained in observation and data-gathering. Rhonda has only so much knowledge to work with, and Burt and Heather’s planning only provides them with additional resources in the face (metaphorically speaking) of the graboids. Valentine learns to adapt to the situation as the graboids do, by gathering data (like Rhonda) but incorporating it into anticipated steps (like Burt and Heather). The one skill that Valentine brings to the situation that is entirely his own is his brazenness, which lends him the confidence to take the risks necessary to run across the desert with a graboid in tow, screaming triumphantly “I have a plan!” while the audience tries to figure out what that plan entails.
Tremors relies on a cast of distinct characters whose individual skills are challenged by the same coinciding conflict. Each character must confront a personalized form of humiliation, in the more literal sense of the word, by making room for humility in their lives. Those who succeed in recognizing their limits tend to learn from them, and learn how to navigate a world-altering conflict that makes the very surface of the earth itself unsafe to tread. What the final showdown between Valentine and Stumpy comes down to is not a competition between planners or fighters, but a willingness to learn from the world, and from one’s own mistakes.
Santa Claus may be the most recognized image of the Christmas holiday, even more well-known than images surrounding the birth of Christ. Celebrating Christmas has become a cultural event, with Santa becoming one of its iconic symbols. Christmas has become a “season” that begins in October (and earlier for some) and shapes many aspects of popular culture, commerce, and travel.
For many people, three ideals define Christmas, regardless of one’s faith and beliefs. Christmas offers a communal time for gatherings of friends and family. Although other holidays may include family and friends, December 25 has a unique place in Western culture for celebrating the blessings of life, whatever they might be. In addition, Christmas promotes a norm of sharing gifts, tangible symbols to acknowledge the importance of others in our life. Finally, Christmas highlights the importance of giving children a sense of belonging and hope.
Santa Claus often personifies these ideals in various ways he is presented in popular culture, including film and television. Cinematic versions of Santa often have several common elements. Santa exudes compassion and understanding with a touch of mysticism. He refuses to accept the cynical views of unbelievers and in turn helps them find the true spirit of Christmas. Because Santa somehow knows our fears, experiences and secrets, he also knows what we need for happiness.
The archetypal cinema Santa is most likely Kris Kringle from Miracle on 34th Street. The 1947 film presented a cinematic Santa that has served as a touchstone for generations of viewers and filmmakers. Set in New York City, the “real” Santa is named Kris Kringle, a kindly old gentleman who works as a department store Santa. Kris helps a young girl who does not believe in Santa learn the true meaning of Christmas, even in the midst of adults who reject Santa’s existence. Kris Kringle displays kindness and compassion, even when challenged from many quarters. Kris appears to have a supernatural gift; knowledge of what people really need as well as the means to achieve happiness.
One can find multiple lists of the “best” cinema Santas on the internet, often with a focus on the individual actor playing Santa. Although many of these Santas offer unique and entertaining ways to understand Christmas, two Santa stories stand out for me: “The Night of the Meek”, a 1960 episode of TheTwilight Zone and Fred Claus, a 2007 film.
Like other cinematic portrayals of Santa Claus, “The Night of the Meek” and Fred Claus explore the misplaced values and practices that often shape contemporary views of Christmas. But a closer consideration of the two stories suggests something deeper, a critique that goes to the heart of what Christmas should mean and challenges viewers to become self-reflective regarding their own approaches to the holiday.
“The Night of the Meek” The Twilight Zone (1960)
In season two of The Twilight Zone, Rod Serling wrote a Christmas episode consistent with his penchant for social critique. Starring Art Carney as Henry Corwin, a down-on-the-luck department store Santa Claus, “The Night of the Meek” confronts the tension between the ideals of Christmas and the reality of the holiday’s focus on consumption and materialism.
Unlike the kindly and all-knowing department store Santa in Miracle on 34th Street, Corwin is embittered and angry, clearly intoxicated before going to work as Santa Claus in a crowded department store on Christmas Eve. Stumbling down the street, he falls and is confronted by two children who ask for various toys and then ask for a turkey for Christmas dinner and finally “please Santa, a job for my daddy.” This interaction only reinforces his downward spiral as he heads for work.
But before he can get seated and interact with the children, Corwin slips and falls. A pretentious boy calls out that Santa is “loaded” and his mother in turn creates a scene. Trying to mollify the irate customer, Corwin’s supervisor fires him on the spot. A store full of children and parents witness Corwin’s effort to apologize for his behavior. He observes that “I can either drink or weep and drinking is so much more subtle.” But he continues, in an effort to explain the larger truth of Christmas hypocrisy.
He offers a simple yet eloquent indictment of celebrating Christmas in a world filled with poverty and economic disparity. Acknowledging that his drinking was wrong, Corwin notes that he was not rude to the mother and explains he only wanted to “remind her that Christmas is more than barging up and down department aisles and pushing people out of the way.” Indeed, Corwin believes that “someone has to tell her that Christmas is another thing finer than that, richer, finer, truer and it should come with patience, and love, charity, compassion. That’s what I would have told her is she had given me a chance.”
Calling himself an “aging purposeless relic of another time”, Corwin explains that he lives in a “dirty rooming” house on a street “filled with hungry kids.” The only thing that might come down their chimney on Christmas Eve is “more poverty.” He drinks to help forget where he lives and to imagine living at the North Pole with the neighborhood children as his elves. His only wish is that one Christmas “that I could see some of the hopeless ones and the dreamless one just Christmas. I’d like to see the meek inherit the earth. And that’s why I drink and that’s why I weep.”
Returning to the tavern, the bartender tells him to get lost and he wanders into a deserted alley, only to find a stray cat and bag filled with garbage. Sleigh bells ring and the bag is somehow transformed into a bag of presents. But not only presents, but the exact present each person requests. Becoming a real Santa, Corwin passes out gifts to the street children and heads for Christmas Eve service at the Salvation Army. While the poor and disposed are happy to receive his gifts, others question Corwin’s honesty. The Salvation Army leader, a police officer, and his former supervisor assume that Corwin’s bag is filled with stolen merchandise. Only through the magic of Christmas do the unbelievers come to see the truth. As he completes his task and has an empty bag, Corwin is asked by one of the men at the shelter what he would like for Christmas. Corwin does not wish for gifts, “I only wish I could do this every year.” As the story ends, we see that Corwin is granted his wish.
Rod Serling gets the final word, as his typical in each episode of The Twilight Zone:
A word to the wise to all the children of the twentieth century, whether their concern bepediatrics or geriatric, whether they crawl on hands and knees and wear diapers or walk with a cane and comb their beards. There’s a wondrous magic to Christmas and there’s a special power reserved for little people. In short, there’s nothing mightier than the meek. And a Merry Christmas to each and all.
In “The Night of the Meek” Santa is presented as a failure, indeed a fraud, for those living on the margins. Corwin says he can only weep for those forgotten by society, the only thing they will get for Christmas is more poverty. By the same token, Corwin drinks to forget the economic disparity that is highlighted by the holiday.
The excess of Christmas celebration, shown in an active department story filled with toys, children, and well-to-do parents is in contrast with children on the street, only seeking food for the family and a job for a parent. Beyond the department store, the rest of the episode takes place in an urban neighborhood, where we see the trappings of a difficult life. Children outside in the snow, looking for help. A Salvation Army shelter filled with men with little hope. A police station. A tavern with three patrons, one passed out, drinking to welcome Christmas.
Only through the spirit of Christmas do we encounter the holiday’s real meaning: to share our world of plenty with those in need and embrace its foundational values of love, charity and compassion. Serling’s final words underline his message. Christmas reserves its “special power” for the “little people.” Importantly, Serling believes that all people need to embrace the power of Christmas, whether they wear diapers or walk with canes, whether their concern may be “pediatrics or geriatrics” he is addressing them. Christmas should be a time to honor the “meek” of the world and allow them to share in the bounty so many others take for granted.
Although Serling was not considered an active Christian, he obviously understood the power of scripture as a means of sharing an idea most Americans in 1960s would be familiar with. He is referencing the biblical book of Mark (chapter 5, verses 2-11), better known as the “Sermon the Mount.” More specially, the claim that the “meek will inherit the earth” is found in a larger section that considers both economic and spiritual poverty that many people face.
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,for they shall be satisfied. Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy
While theologians can assess the deeper cultural and religious implications of this passage, I believe that Serling wanted this particular verse to serve two functions. At one level, it articulates the disconnect between how Americans in 1960 celebrated Christ’s birth with the values preached by Jesus. At another level, by calling Christmas Eve the “night of the meek” the story suggests it can be the time and place for transformation, if only people are willing to change.
Fred Claus (2007)
Fred Claus fulfills many of the conventions of the Santa Claus narrative. Santa is threatened in his effort to continue delivering presents on Christmas eve. Santa has a supportive spouse and hard-working elves who will do anything to help him deal with such challenges. Santa encounters and helps an embittered/cynical person understand the real meaning of Christmas. Santa saves Christmas for one more year. Except in Fred Claus Santa does not really save Christmas, his older brother Fred is the hero who steps in when Nick is incapacitated on Christmas Eve.
On the surface, Fred Claus is a predictable Hollywood effort to produce a Christmas film with a unique hook. Telling a familiar story through the eyes of Santa’s brother, the film still centers on fulfilling Santa’s mission to deliver presents, amidst a crisis, to all the good children of the world. But a closer examination of the film reveals a commentary on family, friendship, and unconditional love that transcends the Santa narrative.
The film opens in a fairy tale world of a cozy family cottage set in a beautiful forest. We see the birth of Nicholas and his special place in the world. Not only is he the “fattest” baby ever seen by the midwife, but he does not cry. A smiling newborn, he utters his first words, “Ho….Ho, Ho.” Holding the newborn infant, Nick’s mother establishes his life trajectory: “He’s perfect in every way. . .. My Saint Nicholas.”
We also learn that Fred loved his brother and made a promise to be the “best big brother in the whole world.” But as Nick continues to demonstrate his special qualities of generosity, Fred is ignored and told to “be more like your brother.” The last straw comes when Nick chops down Fred’s favorite tree to bring it in the house for Christmas, not realizing the tree was home to a bird that Fred had adopted. As the tree fell to the ground, the bird house was destroyed, and “Chirp Chip” flew away to never return. The narrator tells us that after this event Fred “began to resent his brother, his parents, and even his life. And like many unhappy children he became angry. Even naughty.” While Fred grew more bitter, Nick grew generous and eventually “fulfilled his mother’s prophecy. In manhood, he literally became a saint.”
Before moving to the present day and telling Fred’s story, the narrator adds an important piece of information.
It’s a little-known rule of Sainthood but when you become a saint you freeze in time and become eternally ageless. The rule applies to the family of the saint and the spouses as well.
The film transitions to modern day Chicago with Fred acting as a Scrooge-like repo man, explaining to a little girl that people who don’t pay their bills deserve what they get. Fred lives on the fringes of truth, working scams to get enough money to put a down payment on a business property. While Nick has become Santa Claus who lives at the North Pole, manages hundreds of elves, and delivers presents to children around the world at Christmas, Fred has become a debt collector who seems to be always on the make with everyone, including his girlfriend.
After one scam ends in his arrest, Fred is forced to ask Nick for $5,000 bail money. Sensing Nick’s willingness to pay his bail, Nick decides to go for broke and ask for an additional $50,000 in order to start a new business, an Off-Track Betting parlor. Nick is skeptical and finally says yes, but only if Fred will travel to the North Pole and help prepare for Christmas. Fred is reluctant, but needs the cash so agrees.
Fred’s bitterness toward Christmas emerges when a young neighbor boy, Samual “Slam” Gibbons drops by and asks Fred for advice. Slam wants a puppy for Christmas, but is concerned Santa won’t find him, as Slam sometimes stays with his grandmother and sometimes he stays with his mom at her boyfriend’s apartment. Instead of reassuring this ten-year-old boy, Fred tells Slam to understand the truth about Santa:
The guy’s in a big red suit and flies around because he craves the spotlight. He’s a fame junkie. The guy’s a clown. He a megalomaniac. It’s a shell game.
We learn that Santa is stressed as the elves are 2% behind their quota for gifts. But then things get worse. An efficiency expert arrives with plans to shut down Santa’s workshop if it continues to have problems. He puts Santa on notice, “three strike and you’re out.” The expert plans to “streamline” and “outsource” and use the South Pole as a new operation without Santa or his elves. The expert forbids Santa from telling anyone about the assessment, which adds to his stress level.
Fred learns that the elves hand-make a present for every child because its “important to Santa that every child feels taken care.” Nick tells Fred that the “Naughty-Nice Department is the key to the whole operation” and children are constantly being monitored to see where they are on this list. Indeed, there is a “Ten Most Naughty List” that is always be updated. Fred is charged with reviewing files and stamping them either “Nice” or “Naughty.” This is essential, Santa says, because “We are not here to give every child every toy that they want. . .. Part of Christmas is being grateful for the things we can have.”
Fred’s visit worsens as he is forced to attend dinner with his mother and father, who he has avoided at all costs for years. Fred’s mother returns to form, criticizing Fred and praising Nick, uttering the same words that angered Fred as a child: “Why can’t you be more like your brother?”
Fred’s efforts to improve working conditions backfire and chaos ensues, threatening production goals. As he returns to his job reviewing files for the “Naughty-Nice” list he sees that his neighbor Slam has become number one on the “Naughty” list. Placed in an orphanage because of an unfit home, Slam tells the other orphans that “Santa is a clown. He’s a fame junkie. It’s a shell game.” Fred’s words come back to him with force, and he determines that every file will be stamped “Nice” and every child should receive a gift.
However, the elves cannot make enough presents for every child, and it appears that this will be Santa’s last Christmas. By not fulfilling Christmas delivery, the North Pole will close, and operations will be streamlined and outsourced and be moved to the South Pole. This leads to a violent confrontation between the brothers that ends with Nick saying, “I didn’t know you hated me.” Fred’s response is cutting: “I don’t hate you, Nick. I just wish you were never born.” Nick limps back to his house and Fred takes his money and returns to Chicago.
Two pivotal events occur that transform Fred’s view of his brother and his own behavior. First, Fred opens a gift that Mrs. Claus gave him as he left the North Pole. It contains a new birdhouse and a note of apology: “I’m sorry I cut down your tree. Nick.” Since boyhood, Fred believed that Nick didn’t understand the impact of cutting down the tree and why it meant so much to Fred.
Not sure of his feelings after opening the gift, Fred wanders into a “Siblings Anonymous” meeting where the siblings of famous people express feelings. Several real brothers appear in this scene (brothers of Alec Baldwin and Sylvester Stallone) as well as Bill Clinton’s younger brother, Roger. As tensions arise in the session, prompted by Fred’s demand for attention, Roger Clinton stands and offers a heartfelt message about the importance of family:
I used to be really really angry with my brother. I didn’t want to become the first brother, especially for the rest of my life. I couldn’t control being brother of the president of the United States. But I could continue being Bill Clinton’s brother. And I made a decision, even though I could have brought the house down, I made a decision that for the love of my brother and for the love my family name that I was gonna do whatever it took because I loved my brother and I was always gonna be there for my brother. And I have been, and you know what, you can too.
Realizing his own anger was misplaced and that Nick needs help, Fred decides to use his $50,000 to get back to the North Pole as soon as possible and help save Christmas. This time Fred becomes the generous brother. When the elves say they cannot make enough presents in ten hours to meet demand, Fred has a plan. Instead of trying to honor every different request, if the elves make one toy for all boys and one toy for all girls, then each child gets something for Christmas. Willie, the head elf responds, “It’s not what the kids asked for.” Fred explains the real meaning of Christmas is not the gift, but the act of giving.
All that matters is that each of the kids gets a toy. That they all have something that they can open when they wake up in the morning. Most importantly, they will know that there’s somebody out there who’s thinking about them.
The elves agree that in ten hours they can produce enough baseball bats for boys and hula hoops for girls so Christmas Eve deliveries are possible.
But when Nick is unable to deliver the presents because of a bad back, everyone turns to Fred, because only a Claus is allowed to deliver presents on Christmas Eve. Nick refuses to ask for Fred’s help, saying it would be wrong to put so much pressure on him. As he turns to leave, Fred offers an important truth to his brother.
There’s one thing that’s been eating me since I got here. The Naughty-Nice List. There are no naughty kids, Nick. They’re all good kids. But some of them are scared and some don’t feel loved. Some of them have some pretty tough breaks too. But every kid deserves a present on Christmas.
Nick is moved by Fred’s words and later reveals: “I fear I had a very incorrect misguided understanding of naughty children.”
Fred reconsiders his refusal to help his brother and, with Willie as his co-pilot they save Christmas through harrowing circumstances. As Santa’s stand in, Fred is able to give Slam the puppy he requested in his Christmas letter and also try to restore the boy’s belief in others:
Slam you got a little advice that was off. The world is what you make it. It all starts with what you make of yourself. And I want you to believe in yourself because you got a lot to believe in. And the rest will fall into place.
Fred returns to the North Pole just in time to join the elves watching children all over the world open presents as part of the joy of Christmas. The film ends as Fred reconciles with his girlfriend Wanda, calls a truce with his mother, and is told by Nick, “You are the best big brother anyone could ever ask for.” Fred simply kisses Nick on the forehead, nothing more needs to be said.
Fred Claus uses Christmas as a lens to consider issues that confront families throughout the year, but especially during the holidays. Sibling rivalry is fueled by a parent who lacks sensitivity to the relational tensions that children may have. Nick and Fred take separate paths in life and the success of one compounds the anger in the other. Efforts to reconcile fail as the cycle begins anew when the family is together. The only way to break the cycle comes through a change in perspective, fostered by a major conflict, which we see in both Fred and Nick. They see each in other in a different light and can renew a sibling relationship that is no longer defined by their childhood (or a parent who still treats them as children at times),
Vince Vaughn portrays Fred as someone on the edge, always looking for something better in life but not able to focus on what really should matter, friendship, family, and a loving partner. We understand why he took the path he did and see how Christmas ignites his anger, but we also see his humanity and concern for others many times during the film. Paul Giamatti creates a Santa Claus who is wise, except when it comes to his family dynamic. Nick displays hope, confusion, and frustration as he tries to manage both work and family. He notes it is tough to be a “living Saint” and maintain balance between the competing roles in life.
The film also considers the place of children in society and challenges the notion that Christmas is only a time for “good” boys and girls. While Nick believes that the “Naughty-Nice List” is key to the operation, Fred finds it troubling when he first sees it and then he sabotages it by stamping “Nice” on every file. Because of Fred’s belief in unconditional love for all children, Nick is transformed as well.
Fred Claus was not a commercially successful film and had mixed reviews, but it is worth holiday viewing if you are open to its layered approach to family dysfunction and relational redefinition. The film has several other subplots and relationships that give breadth to its narrative flow and align with the story of Fred and Nick. But the film’s central message is about family and the difficult task of how to maintain functional, even meaningful relationships, especially in the midst of challenging times such as the holidays.
East of the Mountains explores the end-of-life decisions that most of us will confront, regardless of whatever demographic group defines us. These decisions are not only difficult to contemplate, but even more difficult to discuss with others. Do we have any responsibility to loved ones when our life is ending? Should our final wishes be honored regardless of the consequences for others? Is it fair to exclude those closest to us in life from the manner in which we end that life? East of the Mountains considers these questions in a film that is often slow, deliberate and contemplative. Based on a 2004 novel, East of the Mountains is set primarily in rural eastern Washington, a region that is both a high plains desert and a rich agricultural area.
Ben Givens is a retired cardiac surgeon living in Seattle. In the first minutes of the film, we see his daily routine: awaken, eat breakfast, clean the dishes, and go about his day in silence. We learn that Ben is a widower who has received a cancer diagnosis. Without treatment, he may have a year to live. Clearly contemplating suicide, he packs his car with camping and hunting gear and departs for eastern Washington to hunt birds. He is accompanied by his hunting dog Rex and tells his daughter he will be gone for just a few days.
The emotional power of East of the Mountains emerges in long stretches of silence as Ben is often alone, forced to relive his life through memories or to be awakened from dreams of the past. The film’s story arc often moves though imagery in place of orality as its narrative framework. For example, when Ben encounters people on his journey, he is reticent, sharing as few details as possible. It becomes clear that Ben keeps his emotions to himself and seeks independence, regardless of the cost to others. This is clearly a lifetime habit, not simply the result of his illness. When his daughter inquires about his health, he says that it is none of her business. When others inquire about his hunting trip or his life in general, he offers little substance and retreats to silence.
The hunting trip may offer Ben a chance to end his life before he becomes a burden for others as the cancer advances. But his quest to control his destiny is interrupted several times and he is forced to accept help from others. When his car breaks down on an isolated stretch of highway, a free-spirited couple with no apparent schedule gives him a ride. He shares little with the couple but clearly sees their joy in each other and life in general in the short time he travels with them. He does not concern himself with his disabled vehicle and simply wanders into the wilderness, telling the couple not to worry.
Ben’s plan is upset again when his dog is attacked and in a violent confrontation with a coyote hunter Ben loses his shotgun. Alone in the wilderness, Ben is forced to carry a wounded Rex for more than a full day and night seeking help. Once again a stranger appears, stopping on a lonely and dark country road. Seeing Ben in complete exhaustion cradling Rex, the Good Samaritan takes Ben to a nearby town for help. In another act of kindness, the local veterinarian, Anita Romero, opens her clinic after hours, treats Rex, and helps Ben find a motel. Later Anita and her adult nephew offer Ben warmth and hospitality, without any sense of reciprocity or obligation.
Anita’s openness about her life and personal struggles prompts Ben to share his cancer diagnosis and decision to forgo treatment because of the pain it inflicts. Showing concern for this decision, Anita says “you never know” about the outcome. Ben’s reply is forceful, almost angry: “But I do know.” He then lists the painful and difficult side effects of chemo based not only his medical experience but from memories of his wife’s final days in a hospital bed. Although unstated, it is clear Ben does not want that experience repeated with his daughter.
Unwilling to give up on his plan to end his life, Ben must once again seek assistance. He turns to his estranged brother Aiden who stayed on the farm to help the family while Ben went to medical school, married his first love, and had a successful career. Ben’s focus on self and career becomes apparent as the brothers have an awkward lunch. Aiden shares his anger about giving up his dreams to care for their aging father and his anger that Ben never offered help. “I was there for dad in the end. I needed you to be there for me.” With past hurts expressed and nothing left to say, they depart, but acknowledging their concern for each other in a simple handshake and Ben saying, “I’m glad I came.”
Seeking to complete his journey, Ben engages in another violent confrontation to retrieve his shotgun from the coyote hunter who took the weapon. Although he succeeds and finally has the gun in his hands, memories of meeting his wife as teenagers and being part of their shared rural community give him pause. He remembers life as a child with his brother and his father teaching him how to shoot a gun. These memories force Ben to reconsider the important people in his life and the consequences of ignoring loved ones in his final days.
Imagery is important in understanding Ben and the challenges he confronts. The film begins in Ben’s home, a comfortable and traditional space with light colored walls, few ornaments, and many framed photographs of family. Ben’s life is clearly not defined by excess, status, or wealth. Photographs of his wife and daughter point to the priorities in his life, but little else in the home calls attention to a person with some degree of wealth.
Even more stark is the transition from urban Seattle to rural eastern Washington, where Ben was raised and met his wife. The film opens with images of the city, surrounding lush green forests, deep river gorges, and classic mountain peaks. In contrast as he drives across the state the landscape changes to a desert, dominated by rolling hills with high grasses and sagebrush in every direction and very few trees. This is the place of agriculture, small towns, and economic challenge, not the world of a successful surgeon in a major city. Ben does not say he sought to escape this lifestyle, only that he felt a calling to be a doctor when he served in the Korean War. But he never came back for his parents and or his brother when they needed him.
Dialogue is often replaced by Ben in thought: contemplating his next step or becoming overwhelmed with memories. This form of storytelling reinforces the merger of past and present that defines human existence. Writers talk about “interiority” or the quality of telling a story through the thoughts of a character and not simply through their actions. East of Mountains uses interiority throughout the film to portray Ben’s struggle in maintaining control of his last few months or years of life. This is revealed in poignant memories of his childhood, his budding romance with his future wife, as well as her painful death from cancer just a year earlier. His struggle for autonomy and control is also revealed in his face, his posture, and his physical exhaustion. We do not need an explanation of his pain and frustration, we see it in his body.
Ultimately, East of the Mountains asks us to consider the importance of others in our life and the need to share our thoughts and feelings at the darkest times. While many people understand this need at an intellectual level, it is often lost when social media and cyber interactions define much of our interpersonal communication. The emotional investment we offer to the people in our life is often not reciprocated in a society which prioritizes status, wealth, and power.
Ben was a successful heart surgeon, living in a glamorous city, with a daughter who cares deeply about him. Yet when he should have found solace in the love of his daughter and grandson and should have found a way to restore contact with his estranged brother, he turned inward, seeking control of his last days. But unlike many people, Ben received an epiphany and was offered a chance to see that his end journey could take a different turn. East of the Mountains is neither flashy nor melodramatic in its final outcome. Instead, its message is both relevant and substantive and well worth our consideration, especially as all of us will be walking this path someday.
Broken is a six-episode series that aired on BBC in 2017. It tells the story of Father Michael Kerrigan, a Catholic priest in an urban parish set in the north of England. The industrial city, near the ocean, is not revealed but it is clear that it has suffered economic hardship and all the problems that face any big-city neighborhood. Typically associated with action heroes in film, Sean Bean plays Father Kerrigan with an emotional range that can be subtle and hesitant, but with an abiding faith that never becomes zealotry and blind allegiance. He brings humanity to a character who sometimes seems distant and troubled, yet is able to call forth our own empathy for both the priest and the lost souls he counsels.
Broken does what television does best, it tells a compelling story with enough time for depth and breadth of character development and narrative complexity. Like a powerful novel, the film uses the life of Father Kerrigan and several members of his community to reveal existential crises people face on a daily basis. Each episode focuses on a central character’s struggles, but it does not become a series of individual self-contained stories. The episodes function as chapters that reveal connections among the characters and Father Kerrigan’s efforts to help.
The people who come to Father Kerrigan suffer from the kind of problems not solved with advice or prayer. They are pushed to the edge, mentally, economically, and socially. Addiction, mental illness, discrimination, poverty, and other social ills threaten his working-class community. Some are faithful members of his congregation and others not connected to the church who seek spiritual help.
In the first episode, a single mother, working in a dead-end job, struggles to provide for her three children. When a crisis occurs, the mother makes an ethical decision that has legal consequences, a decision grounded in trying to find enough money to pay the rent and buy food for her family. Subsequent episodes center on different members of the community who are experiencing life crises. A police officer is confronted with telling the truth or being ostracized by his entire unit when an arrest ends in a death. A mother seeks help for her adult son who is experiencing mental illness. A gay man is threatened by violent neighbors which they justify by Christian fundamentalism. A woman who committed a crime shares her plan to commit suicide and asks Father Kerrigan to promise not to intercede.
Structurally, each episode has a central character in a specific conflict, but as the series unfolds the characters and their interaction with Father Kerrigan connect in seemingly random ways. Father Kerrigan is helpful, optimistic, supportive, but also frustrated, confused, and angry. He begins each day with hope but is often emotionally and physically spent by day’s end. We learn that his own life has been harsh and others have sinned against him. But he also admits his own sins of both action and omission over the course of his life. He attempts to understand his past but a nagging sense of failure seems always present, especially when he presides over worship and celebrates communion.
This is a story of faith told from a mature, realistic, and compelling perspective. Like many who grow up in organized religion and come to question its place in their life, Father Kerrigan too has doubts about his worthiness to be a priest and failure to help those in the greatest need. Ironically, we learn that his efforts do make a difference for people, but not in the tradition of a mythic hero who slays dragons, punishes evildoers, and restores order. Father Kerrigan’s work to help others is messy, emotional, and incomplete. He strives to make a difference in his world but it is never enough for those suffering and more importantly never enough for himself. The essential difference eventually becomes clear in the final minutes of the final episode.
Broken does double duty as a title. Obviously, the people in Father Kerrigan’s community are broken by the forces of darkness that plague much of the world (addiction, discrimination, poverty, etc.) and the church is supposed to offer help for those broken souls. We also see “broken” as central to Father Kerrigan’s celebration of the Eucharist, when he offers broken bread as a remembrance of the body of Christ. However, there is even a deeper layer of meaning, Father Kerrigan suffers emotional attacks, close to blackouts, as he offers the prayers of communion as the culmination of worship. He too is broken and the language of the body and blood of Jesus Christ prompt anxiety attacks that are nearly debilitating.
While this is Father Kerrigan’s story, much of the time we see other characters living through their own daily struggles, not through the eyes of the priest. In contrast, we usually see Father Kerrigan working in his church setting. We see him leading worship, meeting individuals in the church itself, going to meetings in church office space, or seeking relaxation in his living quarters connected to the church. He always wears his clerical collar (except for the few times he is visiting his mother or drinking with his brothers). For the most part, Father Kerrigan is always on duty and even with his family his role as priest is always present.
Broken tells the story of the fragility of faith in a chaotic, unpredictable, and dangerous world and what compels people to seek comfort, solace, and help in the confines of organized religion. This is not the story of an activist priest who fights injustice on street corners or in the halls of government. Instead, we see the hard work of emotional labor, meeting people in their pain and suffering, and offering them a chance to share, and hopefully work through, their problems with advice, prayer, and ultimately the unconditional presence of another person. He often sees little evidence of success in helping others, but viewers come to understand that Father Kerrigan’s life is meaningful in the larger context of his mission: to help others, with the presence of God, regardless of the spiritual beliefs and practices of those in need.
Broken is more than a story about a Catholic priest in England struggling to help his flock. It examines how those who are entrusted to help vulnerable people (teachers, nurses, counselors, police officers, religious leaders, and so forth) must confront and manage their own inner voice of struggle, depression, even anger, and continue to slog through another day of helping others knowing that the next day will be more of the same.
The last 15 minutes of Broken offer a powerful sense of closure with a number of issues coming to the surface. A beautiful piece of music, (“A Silent Prayer” by Ruth Barrett) creates a sense of serenity in the most emotional of all church services: a funeral. In leading worship, Father Kerrigan again confronts his own personal struggles with family and faith and the ultimate meaning of his life. In the end, Father Kerrigan receives his own form of redemption, coming in the voice of a child taking communion: “Amen, you wonderful priest.”
Dragged Across Concrete is a story of life in the city, work and money, the pull of crime, and its chaotic effects and consequences. The initial premise of the film concerns the suspension of cops Ridgeman and Lurasetti, for a leaked video capturing their excessive force in apprehending a suspect. They descend into the criminal underground as a quest of retribution, seeking due pay, where things quickly spiral out of control. At the same time, we follow Henry and Biscuit, reunited relatives and friends, who find themselves in uncharted territory after agreeing to help vicious career criminal Vogelmann and his crew escape a bank robbery. Ridgeman are Lurasetti tail the robbery, leading to an ultimate standoff between the three groups of men.
Atmospheric color and lighting are utilized throughout the film to portray emotional states and characterize the city. We first meet Henry as he meets with Lana, after a long stint in jail. She is a former childhood classmate of Henry’s, now a sex worker, emphasizing just how much time has passed. The yellow-beige lighting of this scene comes back repeatedly throughout the film. It seems to be lit by streetlights – almost like sunlight, but with the unmistakable artificial grunge of the city. The two discuss their past, and work, before Henry heads home.
As Henry returns to his apartment, he notices a bright red light, which turns out to be his mother’s room. She was fired from work at the grocery store, and is now entertaining men for money. The rest of the apartment is painted green, normally a soothing color, but here it seems to reflect Henry’s sense of unease. He calmly, yet effectively, threatens the visiting man with a baseball bat, who quickly leaves. Henry states that he’ll take care of the money troubles.
Three weeks later, Ridgeman and Lurasetti wait in the bleak, early morning blue, on a fire escape stairway. The atmospheric color is cold and mechanical, just like their process. A man attempts to flee, but is apprehended by Ridgeman. He holds the man, Vasquez, to the ground by foot, face down, and cuffs his hands, then prior to entering the apartment, cuffs his legs to the fire escape. He says they’ll be back before Vasquez’s “foot turns blue”. In similarly aggressive fashion, Ridgeman uses the cold water of an apartment shower, and the ceiling fan, to interrogate the man’s girlfriend, Rosalinda, who notably has hearing difficulties. The apartment sports a blue-gray color palette throughout. Everything about the scene is desaturated, blue, and cold.
Ridgeman and Lurasetti wrap up the investigation, and leave for breakfast, where they are quickly interrupted by parallel texts from Chief Lieutenant Calvert. It turns out that a neighbor recorded a video of the cops’ actions on the fire escape (someone who Ridgeman did indeed see in a flash moment, but chose to ignore, or didn’t have time to acknowledge). After the video is revealed, and the suspensions have been handed out, Lieutenant Calvert warns the two men, especially Ridgeman, of the long-term consequences of abandoning warmth in favor of brutal efficiency.
Calvert echoes the film’s title, in describing Ridgeman’s daily workflow as “scuffing concrete”, something that’s “not healthy”. As Ridgeman’s former partner, Calvert explains that when they first worked together, Ridgeman wasn’t as “rough”. Calvert goes on to warn that Ridgeman could turn into a “human steamroller, covered in spikes, and fueled by bile”. Ridgeman is more concerned that there are “a lot of imbeciles out there”, to which a resigned Calvert simply says, “yeah”.
Notably, what remains unspoken is what happened inside the apartment. The video only shows half of the real story. This omission raises even more questions. Calvert does agree with the cops that the matter will be blown out of proportion, “it’s bullshit – but it’s reality”. At the same time, he sees a disturbing trend in their behavior, and seems to believe the suspension is justified. Calvert really does exude a genuine warmth and humanity that Ridgeman has lost.
Also three weeks after the film’s opening, we are back to Henry. He sits down next to his brother, who uses a wheelchair (someone assaulted him, leading to an injury, and Henry avenged it), and they play video games. Life isn’t like Ethan’s game, Shotgun Safari. In any video game, one maintains control and detachment due to the inherent unreality. It’s always possible to start over. Ethan is quick to point out, “I wouldn’t wanna be hunting animals for real”. The brothers hunt lions with pump action shotguns, synonymous with close combat in video games generally. Violence in Dragged Across Concrete is always up-close, never at a distance. Shotgun Safari also furthers the concept of unpredictable chaos in nature as a metaphor for city life and the criminal underground. Lyrics from the film’s opening track, Street Corner Felines, make this clear. “Felines like to strut / canines like to hunt / all animals seek companionship”. The lyrics describe prostitution operations in the big city in terms of the animal kingdom. All this isn’t to claim that people are really just animals, but to depict an ever-present, ultraviolent criminal force (of nature), in which some choose to participate, and some are forced to participate.
Ridgeman
Ridgeman is all about certainty, even though he constantly speaks in terms of percentages. These numbers are probabilities that represent his on-the-fly predictions about life as it unfolds. Conversation of percentages between Ridgeman and Lurasetti takes the form of friendly banter – it’s a game they play, but it is still vital to an understanding of their characters. Ridgeman’s characteristic certainty is established right away. Lurasetti’s simple quip, “do you still maintain that gum is for cows and imbeciles?” – is met with a pointed, absolute response: “I do, and it is”. Even down to the most mundane details, Ridgeman is certain of meaning. As he descends into crime, Ridgeman continues to speak in percentages with self-assured certainty. By contrast, Lurasetti is more laid-back. He is younger, dresses in sleek matte blacks, listens to jazz while driving, and thoroughly enjoys every bite of his stakeout food. Ridgeman listens to soul oldies, wears his outdated blue windbreaker, and focuses totally on the job.
Ridgeman’s use of excessive force has been rubbing off on Lurasetti. In a background news video, it is revealed that Ridgeman was previously suspended for excessive force – twice. Lurasetti was also once suspended for “violating the code of conduct”. This suggests that Lurasetti’s suspension was nonviolent, but he is starting down the same road of corruption as outlined by Lieutenant Calvert.
Ridgeman’s first criminal contact, Friedrich, is located at an expensive clothing store. Upon entering the store, Ridgeman sees a $5000 jacket, sans price tag and flatly jokes, “so it’s bulletproof?” Money is supposed to buy safety, but criminally obtained money, especially blood money, exponentially accelerates danger. To Ridgeman, the store is mocking. It is another reinforcement of his idea that “real” money, deserved money in proportion to work, lies in crime. It is a resentment toward criminals, who seem to easily profit, while Ridgeman is suspended for dealing with these aggressive criminals in an aggressive way. The store employees do not seem pleased to see Ridgeman, possibly due to the news clip, and possibly due to his clashing with store expectations, or a mixture of both.
The descent into corruption is gradual. Ridgeman and Lurasetti approach crime like police work – long, drawn-out stakeouts for information gathering. It adds to the illusion of normalcy. Yet at the same time, Ridgeman’s sense of urgency is palpable. He truly feels boxed in, seeking to provide for his family by any means necessary. Notably, the favor that Friedrich owes Ridgeman is the result of a calculated move. Ridgeman let Friedrich’s son “slip through a crack”, intentionally. Now his favor is paying off, at least so far. Ridgeman simply wants to rip off a drug dealer, but it becomes something much worse. The seeds of corruption have always been within Ridgeman, at times barely contained, and now he feels there’s no way out. He reminds Lurasetti that he’s been the same rank since age 27, and has been forced to live in a bad neighborhood with family to take care of who desperately need it. The two have put away enough total people over the years to deserve an easy break. Lurasetti has his own struggles, hoping to propose to his girlfriend Denise. He doesn’t feel an extreme sense of desperation like Ridgeman, but he is gradually drawn in.
Kelly Summer
We are introduced to the bank robbery through the eyes of a previously unseen character, the mother Kelly Summer, who represents any average, everyday person. She is going about life, then suddenly finds herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. It may ask the audience to consider what we would do in a similar situation.
Kelly Summer desperately wants to stay home to take care of her child, and describes the daily routine of her banking job with abject disgust, “I sell chunks of my life for a paycheck, so rich people I’ve never even met can put money in places I’ve never even seen”. She feels it is personally degrading. In another instance of intense lighting, she pleads with her husband to enter her warm apartment from outside in a cold, blue hallway. He feels justified in locking her out, because they need to work and make money. Despite Kelly’s distaste for her job, upon returning to work from maternity leave, she is greeted by her boss with theatrical, almost religious, veneration.
Very little time passes before Vogelmann and his crew arrive. As the robbery unfolds, Vogelmann’s horrifying threats hint at the chaos to come. He makes his predatory nature clear, speaking directly to Kelly, “you seem honest, and obedient”. She is ordered to handcuff everyone in the bank. They all comply, until an employee next to Kelly gestures to a drafted alarm email. He expects her to hit the send button. She knows better, but he moves for the button anyway, leading her to reflexively move in return. When dealing with people like Vogelmann, there is zero room for error; like a dark void they pull everyone in, innocent or not.
The bank robbery is a jarring break from the leisurely pace of Ridgeman and Lurasetti’s surveillance, and for good reason. They don’t know what they’ve gotten into, just like the bank employees, but the impact of criminal violence against innocent bystanders is immediate. They don’t have combat training to fall back on. To this point, Kelly Summer is viciously executed, all for one false move, attempting to help someone else. She does not have a chance to say her peace either. She is instead killed while asking about her child, holding up his baby bootie as a final offering.
Vogelmann
Upon viewing Vogelmann’s picture, Lurasetti exclaims, “he looks cast-iron”, echoing Calvert’s caution to Ridgeman against “[throwing too much] cast-iron” when dealing with suspects. It raises the question: did Vogelmann start out as a Ridgeman? The point seems to be that he could have. After all, as the cops tail the getaway security van, Ridgeman dismisses Lurasetti’s grave realization, “six human beings died”, with jokes about Italians and opera. Are they responsible for the deaths? Lurasetti thinks so, but Ridgeman thinks there wouldn’t have been enough time to save anybody. If they notified the police before they started tailing Vogelmann, the probability of success would have been low.
Both men – Ridge and Vogel, are linked by name. Ridgeman still has potential, on the edge, waiting to go over the ridge, while Vogelmann has fully embraced evil. Vogel – ‘bird’ or ‘idiot’ (slang) in German, solidifies his psychopathy. He has foolishly sold his soul, and now acts out violently with no constraints. Vogelmann’s apartment reflects his void of personality – it is makeshift and “doesn’t exist” on paper, with bare walls and minimal contents. After hearing about Vogelmann’s apartment, Lurasetti says, “this is sounding metaphysical”. Vogelmann and his crew are true forces of evil.
These men are definitely not “cool” movie criminals. At every opportunity, their violence is accompanied by insult and degradation. Each threat and/or action is personalized for maximum hostility – themes of racism, sexual violence, and castration are all utilized. They kill people who obey their orders, after promising not to. This draws a moral line between our main characters and Vogelmann’s crew, but it’s a line quickly blurred as the situation spirals out of control. It becomes increasingly difficult to maintain moral consistency and self-justification as more variables are added, and more people die. Still, Vogelmann and his crew are in a different league of evil, serving as a warning sign of the rapid transformation that can happen to anybody.
Biscuit
Some people aren’t built for handling extreme viciousness, like Biscuit, Henry’s cousin, friend, and partner in crime. During the long and uncomfortable getaway drive, Biscuit begins to suffer a complete mental break. It becomes up to Henry to keep him focused. Henry is simply better equipped to deal with violence and mind games.
Two key anecdotes shed light on Biscuit’s character. Prior to the robbery, as Henry and Biscuit prepare their disguises, Biscuit reminds Henry that he used to “graffiti back in the day”, to which Henry jokes about Biscuit’s “pitbull that looked like a turtle”, still considered “art” to Henry. Biscuit is a soft, unassuming nickname, and it fits. Henry, full name Henry Johns, is more stoic. The second key to Biscuit’s character is the story about the t-rex birthday cake – where Biscuit didn’t get the biggest slice despite being the birthday boy – his Mom broke a rule in the “Mom’s Handbook”. Both of these anecdotes cover threatening animals rendered harmless – turtles and cake dinosaurs. Furthermore, the nostalgia contained in these stories fuels Henry and Biscuit’s relationship.
Henry can patiently manage Vogelmann’s manipulations, but Biscuit, on the opposite end of the spectrum, lets his emotions get the best of him. The murders, hostage violations, and overall ethics violations of the robbery and escape are too disturbing to brush off. Henry’s superhuman ability to remain cool, initially saves Biscuit. As the t-rex story ends, Biscuit reflects with such total solemnity that it feels he may have just accepted his own death. It’s not just comforting to reminisce; somehow the story unlocks something in Biscuit, and gives him newfound peace. Biscuit does in fact die, while working with Henry to escape the standoff. Like Kelly Summer, he is executed while simply trying to state his peace, asking Henry to get his mom a new TV.
The Other Side
To counter Lurasetti’s early moral objections, Ridgeman states clearly, “we’re civilians. No different than kindergarten teachers or the bum who collects aluminum cans”. This is a way to separate from his former identity as a cop. During the standoff, there are further reminders of shifting identity – of crossing the “Ridge”. When Ridgeman and Lurasetti first hear gunshots in the distance, they don ballistics masks, a visual cue that they have fully transitioned. At one point during the standoff, Lurasetti asks Ridgeman if he thinks they should announce themselves as police, an idea Ridgeman quickly shoots down. One “sidekick” of Vogelmann’s also asks, “think they’re cops?” to which Vogelmann responds, “not unless they’re crooked ones, looking for the gold”. Ridgeman and Lurasetti have fully crossed the threshold, all cast in the eerie, now otherworldly, yellow-beige light of the city.
As Lurasetti notices a missed call from his girlfriend Denise, rejecting his marriage proposal, an ominous scream is heard – an omen. Vogelmann forces the hostage to feign injury, so she can deceive and kill Lurasetti. Ridgeman kills her in response, all of which is recorded on video by Henry from a rooftop vantage point. Lurasetti, in his final dying breaths, labels the cops’ actions with full clarity, “a mistake”. Just like he knew from the beginning, but now it’s too late.
Lurasetti’s casual agreement with Ridgeman, “I’m in until I’m not” comes to mind. All the reasons Ridgeman told Lurasetti not to get involved – pity, partnership, and most vital of all, friendship – are precisely the reasons why he did get involved. The camaraderie of working together, even for crime, lulls people into a sense of false security. Ridgeman’s probability-speak also comes to mind – nothing is certain, it’s really all about what we hope will happen.
Burying Friends
By the end of the standoff, everyone is dead except for Ridgeman and Henry. As they initially appear to work out a compromise, one crucial aspect of the film is revealed – the literal meaning of the title. Ridgeman and Henry drag their friends, Lurasetti and Biscuit, across concrete, initiating the process to conceal the involvement of the formerly living. Dragged Across Concrete, as a title, can also imply unseen forces. If concrete refers to the city, and in particular, its criminal underground, then someone or something is doing the dragging, but the phrasing makes it feel unspecified. People live in the city, and the city itself drags them across concrete in one way or another. When people can only think about work and money, at the expense of their lives, they are being dragged. Concrete is also mentioned another time earlier in the film. Lurasetti wants reassurance that they won’t execute anybody, he wants “that boundary…reinforced in steel concrete”. This rule is of course broken.
A Bright Future
As the film ends, eleven months later, we see Henry return home, but now he lives in a vibrant seaside mansion. The brightest lighting of the film is used once more, just like in the bank. Ethan is playing a sci-fi fighter pilot game, a subtle symbol of the shift that has occurred. Henry can take the next step, and his family can take the next step with him. He asks Ethan about the game they played “before everything changed”, Shotgun Safari, and they unpause it.
Henry took his gold and bought a new life for his family. It’s the same thing Ridgeman died trying to accomplish. His family does indeed receive a share of the gold, but Ridgeman isn’t around to see it. Henry’s grand entrance to the new mansion is packed with meaning, but one point is more indirect. It underlines Ridgeman’s lost potential – here’s what he could have had. All he had to do was trust Henry. Maybe Henry would have turned on Ridgeman in the end, but it seems highly unlikely given the film’s specific sequence of events. After all, Henry could’ve kept 100% of the gold, with no consequence, but he chose not to.
Henry encourages Ethan, “let’s hunt some lions”, and the film ends. These lions are of course, digital, but the concept of lion hunting has multiple symbolic connotations. Lions are challenges in life, just like in the game. They also stand in for familial protection in a harsh world. As fierce as they are, lions also have families to worry about – just like we see in the nature documentary viewed by the Ridgemans. It’s what allowed Henry and Ridgeman to briefly gain some common ground – bonding over family situations. Now Henry and Ethan are able to move to the next stage and leave crime behind. Henry is the first and last character on screen, lucky to be alive after everything that has transpired. He is the survivor and victor.
Notes On Music
The music of the film is almost always within the scene. Street Corner Felines announces the stylistic presence of the film, then continues in the background during Henry’s meet with Lana. Characters listen to the radio as they drive, setting a soundtrack for life, or comment on the societal implications of random diner pop songs, while the songs comment on them. Right after the fire escape incident and apartment cold water interrogation, a song plays from the radio in the diner – “we can be considerate to people or strangers, until we get to know them”. Ridgeman and Lurasetti discuss androgynous singers and blurred gender roles in response to the song. This emphasis on character-specific music is also balanced and contrasted with tense, music-less scenes. In fact, from the point of the bank robbery on, we hardly get any music at all, save for the ballad Don’t Close The Drive-In, after all has been said and done, and Henry and Ridgeman navigate the final moments of their cover-up. This song plays previously, after Ridgeman leaves the nature documentary, and his family, to meet his first criminal contact. It’s like a farewell track to his former life. The credits roll over Shotgun Safari, a new song named after Ethan’s video game.
Besides the annual visits of Charlie Brown, the Grinch and Rudolph the Reindeer, fans of Christmas have an unlimited number of choices for Christmas films and television shows. With cable television and streaming services providing links to hundreds of titles, one can get lost looking for that perfect film for the season. The internet is filled with hundreds of recommendations of the best (or worst films) available.
I’ve watched many of these films and could create my own top ten list, but I’ll leave that task to others with more time and energy. However, there are two films that capture the meaning of Christmas for me that I watch every year. These films are somewhat hard to find and, in my opinion, under-appreciated. Set in the nineteenth century American West, each film tells the Christmas story from the perspective of the Western genre.
These films don’t rely on special effects, stunt casting, or big production values. Instead they offer sentimental stories that affirm the power of Christmas as a personal, cultural, and spiritual ideal: “to give up one’s very self – to think only of others – how to bring the greatest happiness to others – that is the true meaning of Christmas” (American Mercury Magazine, 1889).
Stubby Pringle’s Christmas
This film aired as a Hallmark Hall of Fame television special in 1978. It is based on a short story by Jack Schaefer, who wrote the novel Shane (1948), the basis for the 1952 film Shane which many people believe to be one the best Western films ever made.
Stubby Pringle is a young cowboy with unbridled optimism. We see him in the bunkhouse with two old-timers on the day of Christmas eve. Stubby has been planning for months to attend the Christmas dance in the community schoolhouse, a twenty-mile ride by horseback. He has purchased gifts (a box of chocolates and a bolt of dress fabric) for a young woman he met the year before and hopes to see again.
The Christmas eve dance is a celebration of community that Stubby looks forward to for months. It gives him a chance for romance and the opportunity to eat sweets, dance, and sing, everything a cowboy can’t do stuck on the ranch.
But on his night-time ride to town he encounters a farm wife chopping wood in a blizzard. He learns that her husband is very ill, their life has been hard, and they have two small children with nothing to celebrate Christmas. Stubby’s plans change as he offers the gifts of time, labor and emotional support to the farm wife with a broken spirit.
Stubby Pringle embodies the spirit of Christmas in different ways. When he asks the farm wife about her tree and presents, she is defensive, she has nothing and replies, “Did you always have a Christmas tree?” “I never did,” replies Stubby, “that’s how come I know it’s important.” He believes that children need a Christmas tree with gifts from Santa Claus, in part because he didn’t have Christmas as a child. Instead of bitterness for his bad turn in life, he embraces the holiday with childlike enthusiasm.
Stubby shares his positive outlook on life with everyone he encounters, from his bunk mates to the wife of his boss, the lonely farm wife, and even the janitor cleaning up after the dance has concluded. It reflects the sense of hope that Christmas symbolizes for many, but it transcends December 25 and is Stubby’s philosophy of life; he lives Christmas 365 days a year. After Stubby describes the hard life of the cowboy and all the “brothers” he knows who have died from pneumonia, cold, heat and even guns, the farm wife observes that he seems to think about death a lot. Stubby’s response is powerful: “No ma’am, no, I think mostly about life because I love it. There ain’t nothing better than waking up and knowing you got a chance at another day.”
The production embraces the Western genre in many ways, from the 19th century language used by Stubby and others to the casting of character actors with a large body of work in Hollywood Westerns (Strother Martin, Chill Wills).
Beau Bridges plays Stubby Pringle with a sense of unlimited energy that feels natural for a young cowboy who works hard, cares about others, and hopes for a better life in the future, all of which affirm the ideal of the American Western.
Ebenezer (1998)
A Christmas Carol has been retold in countless ways with a host of actors taking on the role. An internet search provides many recommendations for the best and/or worst film versions of the classic story. George C. Scott. Patrick Stewart, and Guy Pearce have appeared in versions committed to historic accuracy while Bill Murray, Jim Carey, Michael Caine, and Henry Winkler appeared in other interpretations of the story. Even a futuristic sci-fi version written by Rod Serling aired in 1965 (Carol for Another Christmas).
Ebenezer appears to be a classic Hollywood gimmick: set the story of Scrooge in the Old West and portray him as a villain right out of the archetypal Western. “Bah, humbug” is replaced with “hogwash” and Scrooge is decked out in black, including his hat. But there is something working in this film that sets it apart from other versions of A Christmas Carol. The story is not simply retold in a dusty 19th century town with cowboys and dance hall girls and gun slingers. The Western genre provides depth to the narrative and in turn enhances the power of the original story.
Scrooge is played by Jack Palance, who achieved prominence as the hired gun in the film version of Shane. Nominated for an Academy Award for this breakout role, Palance made a career by portraying villains.
Ebenezer Scrooge is a liar, cheat, and thief, who deceived his father-in-law and lost his wife, swindled his dead partner’s daughter out of her inheritance, and cheated at cards to gain a ranch and a horse from a naïve cowboy. When confronted by his enemies, he turns to physical violence including a willingness to use a gun to get his way.
Ebenezer was filmed in Canada and the plot explains that Scrooge went from his home in Philadelphia to the West to make his fortune, and after cheating his father-in-law by selling his ranch, he goes to Canada in search of gold. He owns the local saloon where he spends his days gambling and treating bartender Bob Cratchit as an object of ridicule.
Scrooge isn’t impressed by the visit of Jacob Marlow (Marley) and his warning to change his ways before it is too late. Scrooge’s response to Marlow is a loud and exaggerated “Blah, blah, blah.” He makes it clear that he doesn’t fear the prospect of visiting spirits. To prepare, he cocks his rifle and dares any ghost to “take your best shot.”
The Ghost of Christmas Past addresses a larger issue than Scrooge’s personal history. Played by a First Nations (Cree) woman, the mere presence of a native figure gives Scrooge pause. “Are you Pocahontas” he asks. The spirit replies, “No, but I have met her” and she informs Scrooge of her mission. “I didn’t know you people celebrated Christmas” he observes. In an affirmation of the larger meaning of the holiday, the spirit says, “We may not call it Christmas, but we do celebrate friendship and family and love on many levels, but since the arrival of you people the notion of exchanging gifts seems rather appealing.”
The Ghost of Christmas Present uses horseback to transport Scrooge to see the struggles of others in his community and the Ghost of Christmas Future is the faceless, hooded figure that inhabits nearly every version of A Christmas Carol. Both ghosts perform their duty by showing Scrooge the truth he ignores in the present and the true consequences if he doesn’t make changes in his life.
As expected, Scrooge is transformed by the experience, but the ending again turns the story around to embrace the Western genre. Instead of simply sharing his good cheer and his wealth, Scrooge is forced to make a life-or-death decision regarding a gun fight of his making. The film ends not with dinner at nephew Fred’s home but in the community center with everyone in town in attendance. Scrooge takes on a new role and hopes the stunned community will forgive him for his many sins against humanity, but the crowd is skeptical. It is only the act of a single child, willing to join Scrooge in a Christmas song, that allows the townspeople to accept and then embrace the transformation of Ebenezer Scrooge.
Christmas and the Cowboy Way
One mark of the lack of appreciation of these films is that they have not been distributed widely. Ebenezer was released as a VHS and later as a DVD but is difficult to locate today. The film used to play on TNT during the holiday season but seems to have disappeared. However, a version with good quality is available on youtube if you are interested.
Stubby Pringle’s Christmas has never been released on video and has not been aired in any form that I am aware of since the 1980s. However devoted fans shared copies for many years. If you are interested, the film is on youtube and currently available.
Rhetorical scholar Janice Hocker Rushing studied the Western Myth as constructed in twentieth century films and television and concluded that at its core, the myth centered on the tension between the individual and the community. This tension is played out in many forms but serves as the primary lens of the Western genre. Christmas gives two very different characters a chance to share and to receive unconditional love from their own unique community.
Stubby Pringle is an orphan who wants something more than working the range by himself. He wants a wife, a family, a home, and Christmas gives him a way to express that inner need with others. While his plans are dramatically changed by his decision to stop and help others, he ends the night with love in his heart. He has achieved the miracle of Christmas in a small way and can continue to hope for more.
Ebenezer Scrooge is the worst kind of person in any community, he holds power over others through money and possessions and that pursuit has grown from greed to evil incarnate. He lives in a town but has no presence in the hearts of the people. It is only when he seeks redemption from the the entire community at the Christmas pageant that he is truly transformed.
Stubby Pringle epitomizes the Christmas ideal in every way: “to give up one’s very self – to think only of others – how to bring the greatest happiness to others – that is the true meaning of Christmas.” Ebenezer Scrooge has taken the first step toward that ideal if we can trust the words of Charles Dickens, “Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and more. . . . He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the the good old City knew, or any other good old city or town in the good old world.”
If you get the chance this year, take a chance and watch these two films that truly capture the spirit of Christmas and the cowboy way.
The Card Counter tells the story of a formerly imprisoned solider turned professional gambler named William Tell. He is an enigmatic character, leading a solitary life of travel, gambling, and contemplation. We are introduced to Tell through his narration, beginning and ending in prison. During his eight and a half years of confinement, Tell taught himself to expertly count cards, enabling guaranteed success and control against the house.
Slick, stylish gambling movies are a foundational component of American film culture. The Card Counter, however, is much different. We do learn tips and tricks about certain games, but the film is more concerned with Tell’s struggle to regain peace of mind and his stolen sense of self. Through Tell’s story, we explore friendship, love, justice, revenge, and responsibility. Finally, we explore forgiveness, the most important theme in the film. Tell is on a journey to save another’s soul, in the wake of unimaginable suffering. Despite the tragic ending, and life lost, a hopeful note remains. William Tell has begun to save himself, as he experiences forgiveness. His forgiveness of self is awakened by forgiveness from another.
Tell seeks structure, predictability, and anonymity as a way to keep his past at bay. He prefers low-stakes gambling and eschews “celebrity gambling”. He keeps his past completely private, and the person who comes to know him best, La Linda, is still left in the dark for much of the film. She tries to find an opening in his protective shield, and asks if he has been in prison. La Linda is a good poker player, reading Tell immediately. It doesn’t matter to her that he’s been away; she’s just hoping he will share something about his life. “I like to play cards” is really the only thing Tell is willing to share, even as they become increasingly close.
Eventually, we learn that William Tell used to be Private First Class William Tillich. He was trained in interrogation under retired Major John Gordo, who escaped accountability for torture of prisoners during the Iraq War. Tell did not escape, instead sentenced to ten years in military prison for his involvement. Tell’s new life as a professional gambler is upended when he sees Gordo again after several years, leading to an encounter with Cirk Baufort, whose father served with Tell. Cirk’s father and Tell both worked under Gordo in Abu-Ghraib. Cirk blames Gordo for his father’s abusive behavior, alcoholism, and eventual suicide. He hopes to enlist Tell in his quest to punish Gordo. At the same time, Tell begins a professional and personal relationship with La Linda, another professional gambler. In very different ways, each of these characters force Tell to reshape the world he has created for himself.
Purification
The audience quickly gets the sense that Tell is not living a healthy or well-adjusted life. Suffering lurks in the atmosphere, although we do not learn the specifics until later. The film opens with the pure green felt of a casino table – a singular color staged against ominous background music. Purity and purification loom large throughout The Card Counter. Tell’s ritualized purification process – wrapping the contents of his motel room (bed, table, chairs) entirely in white sheets – is performed with the care of religious ceremony. This is a form of sensory deprivation, a technique used in both meditation and torture. Tell may believe that his ritual is meditative, but the audience experiences only alienation. His room becomes ghostlike. It’s unsettling – upon first viewing, we wonder if something more sinister is about to happen. Despite Tell’s efforts, his purified motel room becomes a blank canvas for nightmares of the past.
Archetypes
The four main characters are drawn in an archetypal way – they reflect timeless personal conflicts of humanity. The name William Tell directly references the man who was, according to legend, forced to shoot an apple from his son’s head with bow and arrow as punishment for defiance against government authority. William Tillich likely picked the new name as a direct reference to this legendary character.
Broadly speaking, Tell’s role is that of a martyr, dutifully taking on personal suffering, when others, like Gordo, refuse. Furthermore, in a film with so much poker, it can’t be a coincidence that the main character’s last name is Tell – a poker tell. Tells in poker signal deception, the subject of Gordo’s presentation. Gordo is a personification of wrath and greed left unchecked, taken to their logical extremes. He’s larger than life. He’s “right out of fuckin’ Call of Duty”, as Tell explains to Cirk.
Gordo’s law enforcement seminar presentation, touting his expertise in security, is a continuous series of hedges. He speaks with a mundane straightforwardness, but upon closer inspection, it’s clear that his software is little better than useless. The developers and Gordo just want an excuse to gain “field experience”. Notably, Tell performs a poker tell as he hears this – rubbing his face. He knows what the rest of the audience doesn’t know (or doesn’t want to admit) – “field experience” is code for torture.
Another main character, La Linda, is archetypal. She is Lady Luck, the muse of gamblers. She even says so directly – “L.L. – like Lucky Lady”. The “La” also indicates a musical quality; her relation to life is playful, unlike Tell. Not only does she provide luck in the form of financial backing for Tell’s big-stakes poker, she becomes Tell’s only real friend. Tell is destined to change upon meeting her.
Throughout the film, Tell tries to include Cirk in his friendship or family with La Linda. Tell longs to mentor Cirk, and help him steer his life right. Tell calls him “the kid” almost exclusively after a certain point in the film, attempting to rewrite his narrative. Everything about Cirk signifies chaotic immaturity. His appearance is unkempt, and he always looks like he just rolled out of bed. His hotel room is a mess. Cirk first shows up at Gordo’s presentation wearing a “Pew Pew Tactical” shirt. Cirk is comfortable openly discussing murder, but for all intents and purposes, he is still just a child playing pretend with finger guns and “pew pew” sound effects.
Clothing is highly symbolic for each character. Tell’s wardrobe consists entirely of muted grays and blacks. This is in stark contrast to every other character in the film – Mr. USA, an obnoxious poker player on the circuit (flashy and exploitative red, white, and blue), La Linda (varied outfits of self-expression), and Cirk (unkempt and juvenile).
Noise and Circles
Tell’s first word to describe his experience in Abu-Ghraib is “noise”. Noise is a recurring theme in The Card Counter – noise that tortures, and noise that heals. Tell thrives in casinos, inherently chaotic environments, but he is careful to never spend the night in a casino hotel, always choosing simple motels miles away instead. As Tell’s arc progresses, he learns to see beauty in noise and chaos. More accurately, he learns that some noise can be beautiful. La Linda takes him to a visit a park “all lit up at night”. She is dressed in white – mirroring Tell’s omnipresent white sheets. Visiting this park with La Linda is a healthy version of the purification ritual.
Tell says that red-black in roulette is “the only smart casino bet”. Spirals and circles figure prominently in the film. Cirk is caught in a downward spiral. His full title – “Cirk with a C” – implies the word “circle” itself. In one of his many efforts to mentor, Tell explains to Cirk that he’s gone “round and round” until he “figured it out”. This is something that Cirk refuses to do – he lets the circle control him, instead of the other way around. In another powerful sequence, Tell’s nightmare scene of suffering prisoners is horrifyingly realistic. The only clue that this is not real is the infinitely warping floor – another set of spirals.
Gambling and Interrogation
Early on in the film, we are introduced to a recurring motif of abstract sound design – it is partly ambiguous, though the sounds seem to depict breathing and desire. It’s an ever-present low level of tension and noise, the aural remnants of Tell’s past. Tell ponders this moral weight in his journal, stating that it can never be removed.
Tell’s concept of “force drift”, something he explains to Cirk, is echoed throughout the film in various forms. Force drift is experienced by interrogators as their increasing efforts to obtain information through torture draw decreasing results. The frustration and power become intoxicating – causing the interrogator to “tilt”. Tell believes he has convinced Cirk to abandon his effort to kidnap and torture Gordo and instead return to college and reestablish a relationship with his estranged mother. When Cirk sends Tell a picture of Gordo’s house, Tell knows that Cirk has lied to him. Tell looks directly at the camera/audience, as if to emphasize that any one of us can tilt, calling to mind a previous scene where he told Cirk exactly that.
In The Card Counter, the present is always subservient to the past, but that connection only becomes clear in the second half of the film. It is the “weight that can never be removed”. The parallel story of war atrocities and its legacy for America is told in tandem with the story of professional gambling and its normalization as just another form of entertainment. Casinos are everywhere today and the World Series of Poker is mainstream televised competition, seen on cable television networks devoted to sports. In the same way that Tell seeks peace through distraction, Americans follow the same path by spending so much time, energy and wealth in the many ubiquitous forms of gambling available.
Responsibility
Tell tries to convince Cirk to do the right thing. Unfortunately, he uses the wrong methods – methods partly inspired by Gordo’s interrogation training. Tell does not harm Cirk, but we are absolutely convinced that he might. Despite good intentions, and $150,000 in cash, Tell’s help is ultimately reduced to a conditional threat – “I’ll find you”. Tell punctuates the mock interrogation with, “I did this for you”, an obvious contradiction. Tell really does care about Cirk – even when Tell finally connects intimately with La Linda, he prefaces it by mentioning Cirk. The love that Tell has for Cirk doesn’t seem to be enough, though.
Upon first viewing, it seems as if Tell really is going to torture Cirk – he has the right tools, after all, and he seems prepared to act. Tell’s sinister duffel bag – containing gloves, and what appear to be bladed weapons, is omnipresent, since the first motel we see him visit, but there is little attention drawn to this fact. The audience only gets a quick shot of the contents, but that is all that is needed to convey threat. Tell dutifully caries both bags, one in each arm, like the scales of justice. He never lets go of his baggage – he never forgets what happened.
The film does not seem to communicate that Cirk’s fate is inevitable. Everything about the story instead emphasizes Cirk’s potential to make choices and steer his own fate. Cirk just doesn’t have the same perspective as Tell. Cirk is in pain, but he doesn’t realize just how painful life can be – living a life like Tell’s life. Tell tries to warn him, but Cirk cannot listen.
Cirk’s attempt to catch Gordo leads to Cirk’s death. Upon learning the news, Tell tilts a second time, immediately leaving his motel to drive nonstop overnight to Gordo’s home and confront him. Tell lies in wait for Gordo, after purifying the house with white sheets.
“We are each responsible for our own actions”, Gordo states conclusively. Tell agrees, but the difference is clear. Tell had no choice but to take responsibility. Tell served his time. Gordo never took responsibility – he took every opportunity to advance his career instead. He doesn’t even seem to care about Tell much. Gordo casually dismisses news of Tell’s eight and a half years in prison – “that’s a bitch”. Tell and Gordo step into another room, where unseen torture takes place. Tell calls it a “dramatic reenactment”. After Gordo’s death, Tell continues to take responsibility by reporting the killing to police.
Responsibility is different from justification. Tell says “nothing justified what we did” – something that both Tell and Cirk’s father understood. Something Cirk could have understood, if he was there. Cirk is obsessed with justification – he feels fully justified in his plans to torture and kill Gordo. This is justice, according to Cirk – an eye for an eye. Tell understands that justification doesn’t matter – responsibility does. Tell has figured out a way to manage his relationship with his past, unlike Cirk. Cirk doesn’t respect himself enough to put effort into anything constructive. As Cirk darkly notes, he only has one interest.
Providence and Grace
Tell is an excellent, professional gambler, who can see into other people’s souls. That’s what a good player can do. This skill applies outside of gambling as well, though. Tell sees into Gordo’s soul. He sees Cirk, he sees La Linda. He even sees himself, to some extent. But there is still a missing piece.
In many Paul Schrader films, religion plays an important role. In The Card Counter, Tell does not explicitly identify as a religious person, but one scene in particular is definitely focused on religious imagery. We see Tell, writing in his journal, shirtless. On his back is a prominent tattoo: “I trust my life to Providence. I trust my soul to Grace”. This seems out of place for a professional gambler, who lives by games of chance, but the contrast is powerful when one considers the theological definitions. “Providence” suggests that everything happens for a reason; our lives are part of a larger plan, set in motion by an omnipotent deity. In contrast, “grace” stresses that each person ultimately receives salvation, regardless of their good or bad deeds. This is something dormant in Tell, something that La Linda can realize and activate by forgiving and accepting him.
By trusting his life to providence, Tell understands that forces beyond his control, whether God, government, or fate, have dictated his path. He accepts predestination, which in turn allows him to achieve a degree of balance. In regard to his soul, Tell believes that grace offered by God will provide redemptive salvation regardless of the sins he has committed. Although he never expresses any sense of spiritual hunger, the idea that he trusts his soul to grace suggests that he can see something beyond the routine of daily life, a final outcome that will offer peace for a life that has been defined by torture.
Conclusion
When La Linda visits Tell in prison, in the film’s final scene, it calls to mind Tell’s philosophy of forgiveness: forgiving oneself and being forgiven by another should be indivisible. There is a solid glass barrier between them, but the human connection from their fingertips breaks past.The film begins and ends in prison. Something presented first as a continuum – nothing changes. Then “something happens”. Tell reflects back on his first diary entry and first line of the film – “I never imagined myself as someone suited to incarceration”, when he is interrupted by La Linda’s visit. Tell is back in prison, but a fundamental shift has occurred. La Linda has forgiven him, allowing him to forgive himself.
The Card Counter is not a comfortable film to watch, but one that deserves attention. Its deepest lesson lies in its exploration of forgiveness. The Card Counter is worth watching more than once and like all forms of great art its impact will linger long after the first viewing.