Santa Claus is Comin' to Town

A helpless child strategically abandoned at the imposing home of a local magistrate, who has no time for unexpected complications and quickly sends the infant away. 

But as it's transported to its new lodging a mighty wind serendipitously picks up, and wildly blows it into the forest where the resident animals note its landing.

They swiftly aid the oblivious child and beatifically bring it to a new dwelling, where the jolly inhabitants warmly welcome their newfound friend with fly enthusiasm. 

Delicate toy makers by trade, they're able to teach the young learner their craft, while also emphasizing useful subjects to encourage flourishing knowledgeable industry (the animals also help out).

They've been making toys for some time but have been unable to share them, since they can't move them across the mountain which the Winter Warlock haunts. 

On the other side of the mountain lies gloomy morose Sombretown, which keeps things unexceptional without much colour, spice, or flavour. 

The baby all grown up, he decides to defy the Warlock and bring the toys to Sombretown. 

Just as they mayor madly decrees. 

That toys from now on are forbidden. 

Kind-hearted wisdom innocently tasked with fluently delivering joy and wonder, his candid pluck widely overflowing with resourceful freeform humble simplicity. 

One of my favourite depictions of Santa which I didn't discover until recently, Arthur Rankin Jr. and Jules Bass at their best as they freely conjure childlike imagination. 

If more people thought like this Santa and loved and lived spontaneous play, kinder hearts would likely cultivate a much less cold and calculating aesthetic. 

His flight likely already having begun, the tantalized world vehemently awaiting his gifts. 

Miraculous speed, transformative knowhow.

Nothing quite like it.

Blessed artistry. 

*Merry Christmas / Joyeux Noël / Happy Holidays!

Scrooge

Events traditionally unfold in the 1970 version of Scrooge, known perhaps for its musical flourishes and alternative takes on narrative contentions.

Scrooge remains as thoroughly miserly as one would expect if even vaguely familiar, and greedily refuses to grant the slightest clemency to any of his festive hard-working debtors.

To be expected, he also treats Bob Cratchit with cold and calculated avaricious disdain, and once again denies his humble nephew as he pleasantly invites him to Christmas dinner.

Many of the lines no doubt are almost identical to the 1951 classic, as it proceeds with temperate respect to the ageless wonder miraculously crafted.

It does struggle somewhat at times when the story isn't enriched through upbeat song, the less melodious dramatic scenes lacking convincing qualities effectively managed.

I did rather like the songs however and their exuberant convivial ecstatic fortitude, the fitting emphasis on play and fun mellifluously denoting communal cohesion.

Some of them are quite elaborate as well with dozens of extras performing in unison, the intricate nature of the ebullient dancing considerably impressive in stride and swoon. 

In this version, more attention is paid to Scrooge's apprenticeship with ye olde Fezziwig, and Alice is presented as Fezzi's daughter who Scrooge freely falls for even though he can't dance.

An extended scene romancing in the countryside adds much more romantic and amorous depth, Scrooge's inevitable inestimable turn all the more cruel and dishearteningly tempered. 

I always love the Fezziwig scene and it is rather short in some of the versions, I often think all of that effort for such a short time but at a younger age it did seem much longer.

Another notable difference looks at Scrooge's imagined descent into Hell, where he encounters Jacob Marley again and finds himself enlisted as Satan's clerk. 

The final song the purchase of the toys is rather well done Scrooge's generosity unsurpassed.

Not in keeping with the season to state overzealous!

How could it be!

Merry Christmas, everyone. 🎄🎅🤶🌟⛄𐂂👼

The Beguiled

Lost and desperate, unable to move, in need of shelter, nourishment, warmth, comfort, convalescence, clinging and clutching, forlornly crutching, a young isolated soldier lies dying in the woods having survived to expire woebegone, patiently waiting to succumb to his injuries, consciousness slowly fading, as the days coldly pass by.

A haven, a sanctuary, a cloister, a dream, a school nestled in the forest delicately composed, full of sympathy and understanding, it miraculously takes him in, cares for him, coddles him, feeds him, talks to him, falls in love with him, the absence of men blended with Corporal McBurney's (Colin Farrell) charm and good looks leaves it tantalizingly taken and amorously affected, yet he can only respectfully choose one belle without slighting the others wholesale.

Like Paris of old yet disregarded by the gods, he grievously misjudges the situation and attempts to claim everyone for his own.

Perhaps he's not thinking clearly, due to his wounds, but he honestly believes his counsel can guarantee active lust, and proceeds to recklessly gorge with impulsive selfish gluttony.

Hold on, just let me explain . . .

Look, we're just . . .

Let's think about this logically . . .

I swear, it's not my fault!

Screwin' up big time, even if he would have screwed up less if he hadn't been so adamantly sought after, the palatial invokes the pernicious, a wanton craven eruption, infernally and retributively so.

It's a great film, painstakingly and provocatively crafted by Sofia Coppola, her clever well-written multileveled script and poetic title, composed with several compelling characters from different ages and regional backgrounds, presents a sound intricate knowledge of her controversial subject matter, and what otherwise could have been a raunchy sensational grotesque flash comes across as a cerebral elegantly fierce tale.

The feeling, the tranquil restful sensitive bucolic emotion stylizes an environmental awareness that's as curious as it is unconcerned.

Cinematography by Philippe le Sourd.

Nicole Kidman (Miss Martha) keeps getting better.

Pressing matters for the unrestrained, an optical host confined to disillusion.

Desire undoubtably blessed incarnate.

Rent in wonder dis/possessed of forthright loss.

I would have ended it right after he hit the floor.

A controversial metaphorical take on the American Civil War.