An Angel Helps Bring Unity in The Preacher's Wife

Back in late November, I arranged my Netflix queue so that I would be getting nothing but Christmas movies for the next month or so. The first of my Christmas flicks was The Preacher's Wife, which I'd been meaning to see for quite some time. Though I knew it was a remake of The Bishop's Wife, which I'd never seen either, I opted for the more recent movie first, since I wanted to watch it without knowing most of the basic plot ahead of time.

The title character in The Preacher's Wife, which is directed by Penny Marshall, is Julia Biggs, played by pop powerhouse Whitney Houston. Julia is the daughter of a much-loved preacher, and she is extremely active in the church where her husband Henry (Courtney B. Vance) took over for him following his death. Henry has devoted his life to caring for others, but it's become exhausting, and now Joe Hamilton (Gregory Hines), a wealthy former congregant, wants to buy his church and replace it with a fancy new cathedral in a location more convenient for his plans for the city.

With so many issues to deal with at once, Henry cries out in desperation for divine assistance, and his prayer results in an extended visit from Dudley, an angel portrayed by Denzel Washington. Dashing Dudley, who has a knack for lifting spirits with a touch of his hand, is the real star of the show, the catalyst who brings about extraordinary changes in a downtrodden neighborhood. Some are more open to him than others. The young narrator, Jeremiah (Justin Pierre Edmund), son of Henry and Julia, is initially wary but soon comes to trust Dudley completely. Meanwhile, Julia begins spending more and more time with him, finding him personable and much more accessible than her husband is these days, and Henry, who along with Jeremiah is the only character with an inkling of who Dudley really is, has trouble seeing anything angelic in some handsome stranger sweeping his wife off her feet.

The Preacher's Wife is a very sweet movie about a community coming together in a time of crisis and a man adjusting his life to reclaim the joy and enthusiasm that used to drive him. It's about rekindling a relationship and expanding the definition of family. And, of course, it's about being willing to call upon a higher power when life is getting a little out of hand. Like Clarence of It's a Wonderful Life, Dudley is not a theologically correct angel; he's a former human, back to Earth for the first time since his death, and given his exhilaration at his return, it's fairly understandable that he finds himself drawn to Julia, to the point of misusing the powers bestowed upon him (as when he stops every red light in town so Henry will be unable to join them for an ice skating outing). Dudley may be an angel, but he isn't perfect.

He sure is lovable, though, and plenty easy on the eyes. I always tend to enjoy Denzel Washington's performances, and this mostly light-hearted role is one of my favorites. Dudley isn't into grand gestures, which makes it fun to see the subtler ways he affects those around him. I was previously familiar with Vance as Jim in The Adventures of Huck Finn, where I thought he made the perfect faithful counterpart to Elijah Wood's rascally Huck. Initially, he's not quite as likable here, but that changes as we get a sense of the man he used to be and could be again. Houston gives a good performance, though I find her less interesting than her co-stars, partly because the movie often seems more interested in showcasing her singing talent than developing her character. One or two of her big numbers feel entirely superfluous, and my favorite songs are those in which the voices of children are more prominent. Speaking of which, little Edmund is absolutely adorable, and his perspective gives the movie extra heart.

There are points at which The Preacher's Wife seems to borrow heavily from It's a Wonderful Life, but then that is one of a small number of classics that have found their way into dozens of Christmas tales. This has a story all its own to tell, even in comparison with The Bishop's Wife, and it's one that's almost sure to leave you smiling.

A Colbert Christmas Offers Crass Comedy

In my house, we get basic cable, so we haven't seen too much of Stephen Colbert, whose show has been consistently praised as one of the funniest on television. With all the good buzz, when I heard that Colbert would have a Christmas special, I was intrigued, and my curiosity turned to anticipation when I realized that the special would be released on DVD. It took me much longer to get it than I expected, owing to a lengthy wait at Netflix, but I finally got to watch A Colbert Christmas, and I got just about exactly what I expected: 45 minutes of clever but irreverent songs and dialogue exchanges.

A Colbert Christmas finds Colbert trapped in his cabin in the mountains at the very time when he's supposed to be in New York City filming his extravagant Christmas special. While Elvis Costello fills him in by phone on the exciting goings-on there - The Nutcracker! Jonas Brothers! Goats posing as reindeer! - Colbert, dressed in a snazzy red cardigan and looking for all the world like Full House's Danny Tanner, welcomes a series of surprise guests to his cabin, all the while refusing to leave for fear of the bear lurking nearby.

Colbert's special guests include Toby Keith, Willie Nelson, Jon Stewart, John Legend and Feist, along with George Wendt in a Santa suit. It's impossible to forget that this was a television special, since each segment concludes with a cheesy graphic in which a wreath frames a picture of the most recent guest. With the exception of Santa, each of the guests gets either a solo or a duet.

Feist, portraying an angel, has Please Be Patient, the prettiest of these songs, a parody of Angels We Have Heard on High which imagines angels as operators of an extremely backed up phone system. Willie Nelson's Little Dealer Boy, largely inspired by the Little Drummer Boy duet between Bing Crosby and David Bowie, is sweetly melodic as well, but its lyrics, about a fourth wise man offering some suspiciously aromatic vegetation, are bound to raise a few eyebrows.

Of the songs presented, my least favorite is probably Nutmeg, Legend's seductive little number, which is laced with double entendres worthy of Austin Powers, while There Are Much Worse Things to Believe In, Colbert's concluding duet with Costello, borders on being genuinely touching. So does Hanukkah, in which Jon Stewart stops by to ask Colbert if he'd consider celebrating the Jewish holiday since the host fears Christmas has been ruined. Stewart, who doesn't have much of a singing voice, comes off as a bit of a drip and doesn't bring to Hanukkah nearly the same excitement Colbert brings to Christmas. ("COLBERT: Does Hanukkah commemorate events profound and holy? A king who came to save the world? STEWART: No, oil that burned quite slowly.") Nonetheless, it's a fairly sweet and educational exchange.

The most heavily advertised segment is Toby Keith's, in which he declares war on the war on Christmas. On the one hand, Have I Got a Present for You is pretty distasteful, as it seems to portray Christians as bunch of bloodthirsty vigilantes. On the other hand, as a parody of Keith's own The Angry American, my least favorite song that hit the airwaves in response to September 11th, it's just about perfect, so I tend to think of it more as self-parody than anything else when he growls, "Separate church and state, that’s what some lawyer said. I say it’s time we separated him from his head." (For the record, I like the idea put forth by a local radio station that Christians construct visible-from-the-street nativity scenes in our own yards, thus making a peaceful public statement about the reason for the season. And Colbert's suggestion, hidden in one of the boxes in the Countdown to Christmas special feature, of saying "Merry Christmas" to clerks before they can say "Happy Holidays" isn't bad either, so long as you don't replicate the Clint Eastwood stare he brings with it.)

Colbert does have a couple of songs to himself. There's the peppy opening number, Another Christmas Song, which is about as vacuous as Happy Holiday, whose chorus gets me cringing every time I hear it, and Jingle Man, Christmas Boy, a nonsensical Jingle Bells parody of which you only get a snippet in the special itself. For the whole thing, you'll have to check out day 20 on the Countdown to Christmas. That's the only box in the virtual advent calendar whose video clip is more than a minute long; the rest come in at under 30 seconds. The funniest of his solo songs is Cold, Cold Christmas, which is a stand-alone bonus feature in which Colbert, dressed as a cowboy and strumming a guitar, drops an avalanche of snow-related metaphors as he croons a mournful ditty about a bad breakup. (Another fun bonus feature is a crackling Yule log you can leave on the screen for a few minutes if you're inclined to pretend you have a fireplace.)

The special's production values are astonishingly hokey, which appears to have been entirely intentional. The bear threatening Colbert is some guy in a silly-looking bear suit, except in the one scene in which it's a video clip of an actual bear. Every new guest is accompanied by the same short burst of wild applause. Several songs have a headache-inducing parade of video clips behind them; the worst offender is Have I Got a Present for You, which incorporates several obscure old Christmas specials and lots of corny graphics in rapid succession, not to mention the way Keith bounces around the screen, sometimes in a different costume than a moment before. The special also takes the opportunity to spoof It's a Wonderful Life, and there's an eye-rolling running joke involving a sprig of mistletoe.

This is not a special for children, and many adults will find it too irreverent to enjoy. Once is certainly enough for me. However, I have to give props to Adam Schlesinger, who wrote the most excellent songs for That Thing You Do! and Music and Lyrics, and David Javerbaum. They are responsible for all the songs here except the group rendition of What's So Funny 'Bout Peace, Love and Understanding? I'm such a sucker for novelty songs, and these are both well-written and, surprisingly, lacking in profanity, though some of them belong on the naughty list anyway. This is a special that simultaneously mocks and celebrates, though much of the mocking is more about individual personalities (Legend's luck with the ladies, Nelson's history with marijuana) than Christmas in general. Still, in the end, it's hard to tell which wins out, so I'm inclined to caution Christians, and maybe also Jews, who are serious about their faith to tread carefully. Those songs sure are catchy, and they're probably not the sort you want running through your head all week.

William Paul Young Invites Readers to The Shack

The Shack, a novel by William Paul Young, first caught my attention about a month ago when its cover illustration of a battered wooden cabin infused with light against a snowy landscape leaped out at me from a shelf near the front of the bookstore where I work. It was only a few days later when my mom mentioned that she had bought a copy of it for a friend and decided to get one for my dad as well. Then we turned on the radio to tune into the classic rock station playing nonstop Christmas music, and there was Delilah, endorsing the book on her nighttime program as the best work of fiction she'd read all year. It seemed we had stumbled onto a phenomenon.

It's easy to see why this book would have wide enough appeal to sell upwards of three million copies, as announced by the cover on Dad's copy. We are in trying times. People are suffering, and The Shack seeks to offer comfort in the midst of turmoil. The story concerns Mack, a man who has effectively shut down since the abduction and presumed murder of his six-year-old daughter Missy during a family camping trip. Though he dislikes the way his despair has driven a wedge between him and his wife, Nan, and his four other children, particularly the moody Kate, he can't seem to find a way to escape from underneath what he terms The Great Sadness.

Then, one day three years after the incident, Mack receives a note from "Papa" inviting him to come to the shack deep in the woods where Missy's bloodstained dress was discovered. Mack, mystified, considers the possibilities that it could be a prank or perhaps a lure into a trap set by Missy's killer. But another option nags away at him, refusing to allow him to dismiss the note entirely. "Papa" is the name Nan uses to refer to God - a name he can't bring himself to use since his experiences with his own father were so unpleasant. Could it be that this is a summons from God Himself? That idea is intriguing enough for Mack to seize upon, so while the rest of his family goes to visit relatives, unaware of his plans, he heads up to the site of his greatest anguish.

What follow are 150 surreal pages in which Mack finds the shack and its surrounding area transformed, icy winter made into flowering summer and dilapidation turned into coziness. More important than the scenery, however, is the company: Papa, God the Father, in the likeness of a buxom African-American woman; Sarayu, the Holy Spirit, manifested as a shimmery Asian woman; and Jesus, the Son, a husky Middle-Eastern carpenter. In long conversations with them, together and apart, Mack begins to welcome God back into his life while releasing the pain that has held him captive for so long.

I closed the book with mixed feelings. My first issue with it is one that my dad pointed out as he was reading. It reminded us both of the episode of M*A*S*H in which Radar, the boyish company clerk, decides to take a correspondence course in writing. The result? A whole lot of purple prose overloaded with adjectives, adverbs and other embellishments. The Shack suffers from excessive floweriness, particularly in its first, less dialogue-heavy half, in which every other sentence seems to contain some sort of metaphor. Take this one from the fifth chapter: "And finally his heart exploded like a flash flood, releasing his pent-up anger and letting it rush down the rocky canyons of his emotions." Too much of that becomes exhausting, not to mention cheesy.

On a related note, the story is bookended with a Foreword and After Words by the narrator, a man named Willie who refers to himself in the third person when he shows up in the tale. I found this an odd move and came up with two reasons Young might have used this device. The first would be to account for the often overwrought writing, as Willie is a folksy sort of guy; perhaps he figured readers would be more willing to accept his writing style if it was packaged as an idiosyncratic aspect of a particular character. (Willie also claims that only close friends refer to the main character as Mack, while the rest call him Allen, his middle name, but I don't think anyone in the entire book calls him Allen. An oversight?) The second reason is that the narrator's name just happens to be Willie, so even though this book is labeled a work of fiction, it seems likely that Young would have considered the possibility that some would read the narrator as him. Perusing www.theshackbook.com, the website dedicated to this book, I learned that this novel was originally written only for his children, and initially the cover read "by Mackenzie Allen Phillips, with William P. Young." "I thought it was clever and that the kids would get a laugh out of it," he writes in his blog. So maybe his intentions were not deceptive. But I can't help but think that as the book got out to the public, the framing device may have been what really drew people in. If not for the slight implication that this was based on a true story, the novel might not have generated as much interest.

Finally, the book presents some ideas about God that are pretty unorthodox. Each chapter lays out a number of points that are worth debating, and certain issues will touch different nerves depending on your beliefs and religious background. If Young truly never meant for The Shack to have a wider audience than his immediate family, perhaps the question of intended audience is irrelevant, but I can't decide if the book is aimed more at Christians or non-Christians. It seems to encourage those who don't believe in God to embrace Him while urging Christians to re-examine some of their beliefs about His nature. More than anything, the book is a conversation starter; if it can speak to both ends of the spectrum, then that's probably a good thing. From a Christian perspective - Lutheran, to be exact - my biggest theological issues are with the dismissive treatment of the Bible and of institutional religion. I'm a bit puzzled by one exchange between Mack and Jesus in which Jesus expresses His deep desire for all people to be in a relationship with Him - but He doesn't give two hoots whether a person is a Christian. It seems to me that the sort of deep-seated belief in Christ that Young is talking about is what defines Christianity. Why the insistence on stripping away the label? Also, while I like the book's emphasis on grace, I think it may go too far in one direction, almost suggesting that since we can't live up to God's standards, we shouldn't even try. At one point, Papa says, "Honey, I've never placed an expectation on you or anyone else" and goes on to say that "because I have no expectations, you never disappoint me." I can't buy that.

That isn't to say that The Shack does not have value. It reads like a book that was self-published, so I wasn't surprised by its publication history, and if you think of it primarily as one man's way of helping his family work through a terrible tragedy (the accidental death of his five-year-old niece), it becomes clear that Young is as much a seeker as one attempting to instruct, despite the rather pretentious segment in the back on The Missy Project, which encourages readers to spread the word about the book to others. Personally, I wasn't particularly bothered by the physical portrayal of God. I figure He can appear in any form He chooses - and it's worth noting that over the course of the weekend, Papa also appears as a Hispanic woman and a Caucasian man. The abundance of feminine personas is related to Mack's own daddy issues and isn't meant to imply that God's ultimate essence is a big black woman. It's more like Joan of Arcadia, in which God appears to the teenage Joan in dozens of different guises, depending on the purpose of the conversation. I found it effective there, and I think it works well here too. I also find most of the quotes that begin each chapter to be appropriate and thought-provoking.

The Shack's main emphasis is that God is love, and that's an important message to get across. While some of the things Papa, Sarayu and Jesus say raise eyebrows, either because of the theological content or the manner in which they are said, I can find nothing objectionable in the multiple repetitions of their love for Mack and for so many others in the world. I like the focus on forgiveness and on a personal relationship with God - though I echo Mack in struggling to feel that sense of closeness sometimes, which is why scenes of sitting on the porch with Papa or receiving a bear hug from Jesus are so appealing.

Ultimately, I think The Shack falls short of expectations generated by enthusiastic endorsements by the likes of Delilah, Michael W. Smith and Eugene Peterson, who calls it the next Pilgrim's Progress. However, it's an engaging read, and it's the sort of book that gets readers to ask important questions. I think it would make an excellent subject of a book club or Bible study. As a theological treatise, The Shack shouldn't stand alone, but it might be just the catalyst for which some hurting souls have been waiting.

Unsettling Doubt Encourages Self-Examination

During my family's Christmas travels, we watched Mamma Mia!, which stars Meryl Streep as the free-spirited but world-weary mother of a young bride-to-be. With that singing, dancing, emotional Streep fresh in our minds, it was jarring to observe her in Doubt, the film version of the acclaimed play adapted and directed by playwright John Patrick Shanley. In this unsettling movie, she portrays Sister Aloysius, the principal of a Catholic grade school in 1964. From our first glimpse of her, dressed in a restrictive habit recalling the Puritans and peering severely down at unruly students through small spectacles, she seems the perfect picture of the stereotypical oppressive elementary school nun. The pupils in her charge fear her, straightening up and ceasing their chatter at the sight of her. She is a force to be reckoned with.

While Streep makes the most striking figure in the film, equally important are Amy Adams as innocent, altruistic Sister James, who seems to be at least a generation younger than any of the church's other sisters, and Philip Seymour Hoffman as Father Flynn, an eloquent, charismatic preacher who may or may not be guilty of inappropriate contact with a vulnerable youngster. The boy in question is Donald (Joseph Foster), the school's first African-American student. He is shy and lonely, and Father Flynn appears to serve as his protector and confidante, a stabilizing force in a tumultuous environment. But when Sister James witnesses something that sets off alarms in her mind, Sister Aloysius seizes upon it and becomes determined to bring down this man who she fervently believes is a threat to her students' well-being.

Doubt is expertly written in such a way that audience members can legitimately draw one of two opposing conclusions. Perhaps Father Flynn is an innocent man whose hands-on approach and progressive ideas are distasteful to the conservative Sister Aloysius. While it's clear that she truly believes he is guilty, one wonders to what extent that opinion is formed by her own prejudices. On the other hand, he might be a pedophile with a history of victimizing children, making the principal's efforts laudable. Certainly there is evidence to suggest that this is a possibility, but the movie does not offer a definitive answer. Ultimately, whether you walk away from the film thinking he's guilty or innocent (or, like me, are equally torn between the two), it says as much about your personality and opinions as it does about the movie.

Each of the three leads does exceptional work. My favorite of the characters, and probably the one with whom we are meant to identify most, is wide-eyed, sweet-natured Sister James, who is torn between wanting to believe the best of people and desiring the welfare of her pupils. In her delicate performance, this conflict plays out strikingly. Hoffman plays his character as likable most of the time, having an easy rapport with students, cracking jokes and offering comfort. But as Sister Aloysius pursues his resignation, he grows increasingly agitated, to the point of explosive anger that could as easily be the result of frustration at false accusations as fear that a dark secret will be exposed. Streep's stern sister remains calm and cool in most scenes, but when her vulnerabilities seep through her steely demeanor, they threaten to unhinge her, particularly in her searing final lines. Her Puritanical garb accentuates the impression that she is on a witch hunt of sorts. Also compelling is Viola Davis as Donald's protective mother, who shares a powerful scene with Sister Aloysius midway through the movie.

The movie takes place at Christmastime, so the contrast between the warmth of joyful celebration within the church walls and the barren chill outside reflects the film's central struggle. Cinematographer Roger Deakins, who so hauntingly captured the bleak landscape of No Country For Old Men, is especially effective in showcasing windblown objects such as the once-vibrant leaves that echo the conflicted Sister James' loss of naivety. He makes frequent use of odd camera angles, giving us many close-ups and often tilting the camera so that the world we are watching feels topsy-turvy. It's a disorienting but very effective technique.

Doubt is not without its moments of levity, and the "thematic material" for which it is rated PG-13 is never addressed in any coarse detail. There's almost no objectionable language, and the presence of children in many of the scenes might be enough to sustain the interest of some youngsters. Still, this is definitely a film aimed primarily at adults, and it seeks to explore the nature of truth and the power of accusation. In its acknowledgment of uncertainty as an element of the human condition which it may not be possible or even healthy to deny, it encourages thoughtful self-examination and a possible admission that we, in the troubled words of one character, "have such doubts."

101 Dalmatians Meets Air Bud in Air Buddies

A few months ago, I watched Snow Buddies, the most recent in a series of films that started with Air Bud. While that first movie and its immediate sequels are about an unusually athletic golden retriever, the focus shifts to his pups in Air Buddies. Although the original dog remains involved, this might almost be called a new series. Though Snow Buddies stands fairly well on its own, Air Buddies, which I saw the other day, is the movie that establishes the personalities of the pups, so if you're inclined to watch the Buddies film, it's probably best to start with this one.

Air Buddies introduces viewers to Buddy (Tom Everett Scott) and Molly's (Molly Shannon) brood, which includes spunky Rosebud (Abigail Breslin), messy Mudbud (Spencer Fox), gluttonous Budderball (Josh Flitter), athletic B-Dawg (Skyler Gisondo) and meditative Bud-dha (Dominic Scott Kay). As the movie begins, the five rowdy pups are causing big headaches for their owners and especially their long-suffering nanny. It's time to break the pups up, and so begins an extensive process to find perfect new owner for each of the puppies. Though young Noah (Slade Pearce) is reluctant to let the puppies go, his dad (Richard Karn) is sure the time is right. The pups have similar reservations, however, and when the list is completed, they decide to run away rather than be split up.

In the process of running away, they meet up with a pair of goony thieves sent to kidnap Buddy. So it is that they inadvertently lead their parents right into the thugs' trap, leading to a story that in many ways mirrors 101 Dalmatians, with the pups in pursuit of the parents instead of the other way around. (The debt this movie owes to that animated classic is acknowledged in a scene at a drive-thru theater in which 101 Dalmatians is playing.) The stakes are lower in this case, since the would-be possessor of Buddy wants him to amuse his son, not to turn him into a fur coat. The only moderately frightening villain is the thieves' boss, Selkirk Tander (Holmes Osborne), who threatens to feed his lackeys to his tiger if they fail in their mission, but that never feels like a very real possibility. Denning (Paul Rae) and Grim (Trevor Wright) are every bit as ridiculous as Horace and Jasper, though they lack those great English accents. Rest assured, though, they take more than their fair share of pratfalls as they struggle to carry out their task.

Director Robert Vince shares writing credits with Anna McRoberts and Phil Hanley, and none of them have too much to brag about, since most of the dialogue, especially that delivered by the puppies, is pretty groan-worthy. All of the pups seem like they're trying too hard to sound hip, which results in some of what they have to say sounding dated after just a couple of years. Denning and Grim, meanwhile, are hopelessly dim, though this does make for a lot of laughs as long as you don't dwell on their inordinate foolishness.

Interestingly, my favorite characters in Snow Buddies were the sheriff and his canine deputy, and that's the case here as well, though they are different characters. In this case, they're played by Patrick Cranshaw and Don Knotts, both of whom capped long careers with this film. Knotts voices a bloodhound named Sniffer, who has a more active role in tracking down the pups' parents than his boss does. While both are comical characters, they also bring a sense of wisdom and integrity to the movie. I also enjoyed the always-amusing Wallace Shawn in his voice role as a take-charge billy goat who helps the pups, and Michael Clarke Duncan is appropriately imposing as a mentorly wolf who guides them in the last stage of their journey.

Air Buddies is not a great movie by any stretch. It's derivative, corny and filled with juvenile references to bodily functions. But kids who can't get enough of movies about puppies will probably enjoy it, and long-time fans of Knotts or Cranshaw may be interested in seeing their final roles. It's not up there with 101 Dalmatians, but anyone who likes that movie is likely to get a laugh or two out of this harmless kiddie flick.

One Magic Christmas Isn't As Enchanting as the Title Suggests

One thing I love about December is the abundance of Christmas movies available for viewing. I've had Netflix to help put me in the holiday spirit the last couple of years, but it's always a pretty good bet that flipping through the channels will yield something Christmassy as well. That was what led my brother and me to One Magic Christmas, which we watched at my grandparents' house after the rest of the family had turned in for the night. It aired on the Hallmark channel, so before it even started we figured we had a pretty good idea of what the movie's tone would be. It turned out to be darker than we expected and rather convoluted too. It made for some interesting late-night viewing, but it's not a movie I'll be seeking to slip in with our traditional favorites next year.

One Magic Christmas is a 1985 movie written and directed by Phillip Borsos and starring Mary Steenburgen as Ginny Hanks Grainger, a woman who, due to a recent searing personal loss and an ongoing family economic crisis, doesn't want anything to do with Christmas this year. The whole season just makes her cranky. Her husband Jack (Gary Basaraba), on the other hand, still finds Christmas as enchanting as he did when he was a youngster. He even has a childlike dream for the season: to open a bike shop. Practical Ginny is convinced such a move would lead to the family's financial ruination, however, and it doesn't take their children, Abbie (Elisabeth Harnois) and Cal (Robbie Magwood), long to figure out there's some major tension in the household. The stress of it all presses sweet little Abbie to venture outside in the middle of the night to deliver a last-minute letter to Santa pleading for her mom to catch the spirit of Christmas. It's at this point that she meets Gideon (Harry Dean Stanton), a Christmas angel who promises to help in fulfilling her request.

What follows is a mash-up of It's a Wonderful Life, A Christmas Carol and every special you've ever seen about a favored child being granted a close encounter with Santa. Steenburgen is shrill as the overwrought Ginny; though it's easy to sympathize with her plight, she's not nearly as likable as George Bailey, and her surliness is less entertaining than Scrooge's. Stanton's angel is gentle but awfully morose-looking. I couldn't help thinking of C. S. Lewis's gloomy Puddleglum whenever he turned up. Santa (Jan Rubes) in this film bears more of a resemblance to the traditional St. Nicholas than usual; his home feels cozy and old-fashioned, and he is much skinnier than normal. He speaks with a Czech accent, which is certainly an unusual touch. His role in the movie is small but significant, as he is key to Ginny's eventual transformation.

Harnois is adorable, which works in the movie's favor since Abbie is the one who really moves the plot along, even more than Ginny. I enjoyed her performance for the most part, and Abbie's interaction with her brother provided some fun moments. What I couldn't really get into were the movie's weird plot twists and some of the ideas it presents, like the notion that Santa's workers are not elves but exceptionally good people who have died. The movie starts getting really strange about halfway through, and we eventually learn that the events that unfold are akin to George's experiences toward the end of It's a Wonderful Life, but that's not entirely clear from the get-go, which makes for some rather uncomfortable viewing, especially when two major characters bite the dust. I'm also not that wild about the way so much hinges on a letter that Ginny once wrote to Santa Claus, and a really vacuous letter at that. For all the talk of angels, I don't recall any overt references to God; Santa seems to serve as a stand-in.

One Magic Christmas has a nice message to impart about the importance of family and of retaining a childlike sense of wonder. But the way in which it gets there is a little bizarre for my tastes. I’d skip this one and stick with one of the movies that inspired it.

Shrek the Halls Offers Christmas Chaos

Up until last year, my mentioning a surly green creature who gets extra cranky around Christmas automatically would lead most people to assume that I was talking about the Dr. Seuss's Grinch, but now the old Christmas stealer has a bit of competition. Shrek (Mike Myers), the uncouth ogre who's a romantic at heart, got his own Christmas special last year, hot on the heels of his less-than-smashing third film installment. Shrek the Halls is much shorter than Shrek the Third, and the situation is much simpler: Shrek wants his first Christmas as a family man to be perfect, but he doesn't know how to go about it and his friends' shenanigans are giving him a headache. Poor green grouch...

This special, which clocks in at twenty-some minutes, reunites several popular characters from the films, including Shrek's sweet ladylove Fiona (Cameron Diaz), his hyper best buddy Donkey (Eddie Murphy), his suave defender Puss in Boots (Antonio Banderas), the Gingerbread Man (Conrad Vernon), the Three Blind Mice (Christopher Knights), Pinocchio (Cody Cameron) and the Three Little Pigs (Cameron). As in the movies, when they all come together in Shrek's hovel, enough chaos ensues to aggravate even the most easy-going of folks.

This is a very fast-paced tale, which means the mass confusion comes in short, manageable bursts. Even so, it's nice to have the rewind option available, since there are sometimes several things going on at once and it's easy to miss some of the off-hand remarks by various fairy tale characters. As always, my favorite of the bunch is Donkey, whose youthful enthusiasm has him inundating Shrek with good wishes badly delivered. Donkey has his own idea of what a perfect Christmas involves, and it doesn't match up too well with Shrek's. This makes for many amusing moments, though it's easy to understand why Shrek finds him a bit hard to take.

Those familiar with the series won't be surprised to find that this special contains a bit of suggestive dialogue and a fair amount of humor involving bodily functions. It's all firmly within PG territory, but if you have a low tolerance for belches and sludge, be warned. It's particularly abundant in the specialized version of A Visit From St. Nicholas that Shrek finally gets to recite, after storytime is hi-jacked by Donkey, Puss and Gingy, each of whom has a brief but memorable tale to tell. Puss's is probably my favorite, as it affords him the opportunity to adopt his adorable enormous-eyed expression; Gingy's might be a tad morbid for especially sensitive young viewers.

Like the movies, the special incorporates pop music well, though in this case it's Christmas music. I like the overall theme of familial affection and of togetherness trumping a "perfect" Christmas, though considering that the special starts out in the summer with Shrek's triplets already born, I can't quite work out how it is that this is Shrek's first Christmas with Fiona. Or during their first Christmas, were they too preoccupied with other matters to pay attention to the holiday? At any rate, this potential continuity gap does little to diminish my enjoyment of Shrek the Halls. I wouldn't quite call it a classic, but those who already enjoy these characters should get a kick out of seeing them in such a cheery context.

Season Four Marks a Turning Point for the Castaways of LOST

"Well," Dad remarked to me the other day, "less than two months to go!" "I know!" I replied. "They're starting to show commercials for the fifth season now. I'm so pumped!" At which he laughed and said, "Gee, you didn't even consider that I might be talking about the Inauguration, did you?" Nope, I didn't. And nope, he wasn't. Dad and I are anxiously awaiting the fifth season of LOST, along with everybody else who's been left hanging since May. It's hard for me to believe, but the fourth season was the first one that I actually watched live in its entirety; I saw most of season three that way but had to catch up on the fall episodes on video.

While waiting this time around has been a pain, it hasn't been nearly as difficult as it was last year. I think that's partly because the season four finale left me feeling a lot more hopeful than season three's did. The website www.dharmawantsyou.com also helped, allowing me to take several exams to determine my suitability for a position as a Dharma Initiative volunteer; I received my results not long ago, and I was assigned the role of gardener, which puts me in company with Sam Gamgee and Rubeus Hagrid, a fine pair of peers indeed. I also amused myself by carving a LOST-inspired jack-o-lantern and dressing as a member of the Dharma Initiative for Halloween. But now the wait is nearly over, and fans of the series can brush up on LOST lore by snatching the fourth season on DVD.

I never really felt that LOST lost its footing as a whole, though I have occasionally disagreed with certain creative choices. I have a hard time choosing a favorite season when each has such a distinct flavor and brings something so important to the puzzle that is this show; I'm more inclined to choose favorite episodes. That said, despite the fact that this season contains only 13 episodes, it has several that floored me. The general consensus seemed to be that this was LOST's strongest season since the first, and I certainly have to concur that they were doing something right.

I was nervous about the fourth season because Through the Looking Glass had such an overwhelming despairing effect upon me. Two of my favorite characters got killed off, along with more than a dozen others. We saw into the future, and it wasn't pretty. We were left with the uncomfortable feeling that the desperate rescue plan for which such grave sacrifices were made may have actually been to the undoing of all. Not fun. And there are bone-chilling atrocities in this fourth season. Yet there are still opportunities for light, for hope, for all of the wonderful character-driven moments that make LOST so addictive.

The fourth season begins to move into the show's end game by giving us as many flash forwards as flashbacks, sometimes keeping us guessing as to which is which. We learn that Jack's (Matthew Fox) contact with the freighter will lead to six castaways returning to civilization in the near future. It isn't until halfway through the season that we know the identities of them all, and there's still much to learn about what happens to them between their departure from the island and Jack's desperate determination that "We have to go back!" I was worried that seeing the future might render the present less interesting, especially in terms of knowing that certain characters will survive, but I rarely found that to be the case. The future revelations just gave me different things to focus on as I studied those characters back on the island.

This season brings with it several new characters, the most prominent of which are introduced in Confirmed Dead. In this unusually structured episode, we see what each of these four characters was up to when he or she found out that Oceanic Flight 815 had been found at the bottom of the ocean with all its passengers confirmed dead. (The mystery of just how this illusion was accomplished endures, though there are some conflicting clues.) The intriguingly named Charlotte Staples Lewis is the only woman of the bunch. Played by Rebecca Mader, she's a fiery English archaeologist whose interest in the island may be more than historical in nature. Miles Straume (Ken Leung) is a smart-alecky "ghost whisperer" largely out for personal gain whose unusual skills could be especially handy on an island where so many have recently died.

Frank Lapidus (Jeff Fahey) is a crusty pilot who was supposed to have been flying Oceanic 815 and has become obsessed with learning the truth about what happened to it. He's rough around the edges, but his blunt sense of humor is a welcome addition; shortly after we meet him, he dazedly utters my favorite goofy line of the season: "I saw a cow!" Frank was the first of the freighter folk I came to trust completely, and his heroic qualities render him extremely helpful to our beleaguered friends. Daniel Faraday (Jeremy Davies) is probably the most notable newbie, given the fact that one of the most prominent clips going into the season was of him saying shiftily, "Rescuing you and your people... I can't really say it's our primary objective." A jittery college professor studying anomalies in the space-time continuum, he seems like a gentle, absent-minded professor, and I embraced him quickly, but troubling questions about his mission on the island remain throughout the season.

Other new characters include Matthew Abaddon (Lance Reddick), an imposing figure who makes his shadowy entrance at key off-island moments, apparently manipulating characters toward a desired end. We still know little about him, but all evidence seems to suggest that he is a creep. More ambiguous is Captain Gault (Grant Bowler), the no-nonsense Australian captain of the off-shore freighter. With the intentions of his crew unclear and some very strange phenomena surrounding his ship, figuring out whose side he's on is no simple task. Same goes for communications officer George Minkowski (Fisher Stevens) and the ship's crotchety doctor (Marc Vann). The only one on the ship who seems absolutely unfit for alliance with the good guys is Martin Keamy (Kevin Durand), a steely-eyed mercenary who seems to take icy satisfaction in methodical killing. He reminds me of No Country For Old Men's Anton Chigurh, and it didn't take long for him to become my most loathed character in the show's history.

Season four finds the castaways we already know and love deeply divided. A majority of them head back to the beach with Jack to wait for further communication from the freighter. Kate (Evangeline Lilly) is among them; awkwardly, so is Juliet (Elizabeth Mitchell), still a rival for Jack's affections. Parents-to-be Sun (Yunjin Kim) and Jin (Daniel Dae Kim) are there too; as their marriage continues to mature, they anxiously await news of a rescue, as Sun's survival depends upon leaving the island before her pregnancy becomes too advanced. Surprisingly enough, Rose (L. Scott Caldwell) and her protective husband Bernard (Sam Anderson) opt for the beach as well, even though Rose suspects that leaving the island may result in the return of her terminal cancer. Her profound, accepting brand of faith is a welcome contrast to John's crazed pursuit of his destiny, and I wish the show would explore it more often. Sayid (Naveen Andrews) and Desmond (Henry Ian Cusick) start out with Jack but hop Frank's freighter-bound chopper in hopes of getting some answers; they get more than they bargained for when they meet "Kevin Johnson," a figure from past seasons with a lot to atone for.

Meanwhile, John (Terry O'Quinn), having survived a Ben (Michael Emerson)-induced near-death experience, leads a small band of dissenters to the cozy series of buildings Sawyer (Josh Holloway) terms "New Otherton". Yes, brooding Sawyer has joined the island-loving John, though he's none too thrilled about Mr. Clean keeping Ben alive. Theirs is a complex relationship, but despite Ben's shockingly petulant behavior in The Man Behind the Curtain, he and John seem to need one another, in part because they seem to be the only people convinced that this supposed rescue is bad news. That the half-cocked John manages to get any followers at all is mostly thanks to Hurley (Jorge Garcia), who delivers an impassioned speech in the wake of his dear friend's death in hopes that it will not have been in vain. Claire (Emilie de Ravin), at least, is convinced, and part of Sawyer's rocky road to redemption lies in the way he, with no ulterior motive, strives to protect her and her infant son.

LOST strays further into science fiction territory with this season, but it's so well done that I doubt even the least geeky viewers mind too much. The biggest mind-bender of the season is The Constant, a riveting, dizzying episode that finds a disoriented Desmond yanked back and forth through time, doomed to eventual brain hemorrhage unless he connects with Penelope (Sonya Walger), his one true love from whom he parted so badly. I consider this one of three episodes in this season that serve as bookends to third-season episodes; it is a perfect continuation of Flashes Before Your Eyes, which introduced the temporal anomaly plaguing the smokin' Scotsman, and taken together, they are every bit as romantic as the gushiest chick flick. In addition to including one of my absolute favorite moments of the season, The Constant reveals a great deal about Daniel in some wonderful scenes that are, by turns, comical and heart-rending.

The second bookend episode is The Shape of Things to Come. I waited for it for a month, and after I watched it I wanted to throw things at the television. The utter despair of this Ben-centric outing renders it the only episode that can compete with Through the Looking Glass in terms of inducing depression. In this episode, we finally see the true consequences of the castaways' choices in the season finale. Suffice it to say they're not good. Dark days are upon the island, and this new threat makes the surviving Others, most of whom are hidden away in a secret fortress, look like little more than annoying neighbors.

Thankfully, it's followed up with the brilliant Cabin Fever, which follows John through childhood and adulthood much like The Man Behind the Curtain did with Ben. Both episodes involve a trip to see the elusive Jacob and a question of whether Ben or John is intended to be the true leader of the Others. The parallels between the episodes are so plentiful that I won't attempt to list them here, but trying to discover them all is a fun exercise. I love this episode because Hurley and John have been among my favorite characters from the beginning, and while Ben undeniably has villainous traits, he's so intriguing that I've come to love him nearly as much as those two. He spends most of this season under duress of one kind or another, and it pains me that Emerson was denied an Emmy for his riveting work once again. An entire episode focusing almost exclusively on these three characters is thrilling, and just as fascinating as the interplay between the once and what may be the future king is the way Hurley reacts to them. His wordless exchange with Ben toward the end of the episode may just be my single favorite moment in the season.

Because of the writers' strike, some characters' storylines suffered, particularly the newbies; head LOST liaisons Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse have promised that we'll delve more deeply into their backgrounds soon. The stories that fascinated me most involved Desmond, whose Odysseus-like journey seems tantalizingly close to a conclusion following Through the Looking Glass but faces unfathomable obstacles; Sawyer, who has hit rock bottom in terms of his moral development and must reclaim the progress he had made, with plenty of subtle guidance from Hurley; Sun and Jin, who remain one of the best examples in prime time of a loving couple struggling to make a troubled marriage work; and Ben and John, who are locked into an uneasy partnership as control of the island hangs in the balance. I can't wait to see who will be given the most opportunity to shine during the fifth season. I'm hoping Rose and Bernard will be among the favored; they still are used far too little, though I was glad to see them more active in the fourth season than in the third. No matter who is most prominent as the series moves rapidly toward its 2010 conclusion, I hope that the quality of the episodes remains as high as ever. Somehow, I don't think I will be disappointed.

Sing We Now of Christmas: Join Me in Celebrating the Songs of the Season!

One of my favorite aspects of the end of the year is listening to Christmas music. I'm one of those people who has endless tolerance for these seasonal tunes, though generally I discipline myself and only listen to them for about two months so as to enhance my appreciation for them the next time around. I have a thick stack of Christmas albums at home, and every year I happily pull them out - though for the third year running, a local radio station has provided all Christmas music, all the time, decreasing my motivation to put the old favorites into rotation. There's something exhilarating about stumbling upon a song I absolutely love when I'm not expecting it. I have the radio tuned to the sounds of the season as often as possible, and whether I'm putting away stock at work or dozing away in my bed, there are certain songs that always cause me to stop for a moment just to listen (and maybe, if I am sufficiently unaccompanied, sing along). Below is a list of my favorite non-traditional Christmas songs; most are ones I regularly hear on the radio, but I've also included a few that ought to be in the rotation.

Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men

What better time than Christmas to try to embrace our better natures and build a bridge to a brighter tomorrow?

Do They Know It's Christmas? - This hit single released in the early 80s by a group of pop stars going by the name Band Aid is every bit as timely today as it was then. It's an important reminder of how many people there are living in hunger and poverty in the world. The focus is on Africa, though the sentiment could be expanded to encompass other continents as well. The point is to look at "the world outside your window" and do something constructive about its problems. The song is a little simplistic, and watching the video with its line-up of 80s idols with bad hair is rather amusing, but songwriter Bob Geldof's efforts to raise global consciousness are admirable, and it also happens to be one of the catchiest songs on the radio this time of year. The pounding percussion! The resonant tolling of bells! The searing accusation by Bono! Boy George's eerily feminine pipes joyfully encouraging us, "Throw your arms around the world at Christmastime!" Why, thank you... I think I will!

Happy Xmas (War Is Over) - While we're on the subject of saving the world, I must let John Lennon have his say. I first heard this song on Neil Diamond's Christmas album; when I finally heard the original, I was surprised at how similar the arrangements were. I've since heard another version that is also nearly identical. It's a very simple song, but the counter-melody is such a perfect complement to the main vocals that any embellishments would detract from its power. Like much of Lennon's work, it advocates peace, and the choir of children is representative of a hope that future generations will better learn how to live with one another. It too is sadly as appropriate today as when it was written, with its pleading mantra of "War is over if you want it." While there's no acknowledgment of the divine in this song, at least there's not the sense that Lennon was bashing religion (which I must admit he did a bit in Imagine), and I can't see anything anti-Christian about his desire for brotherhood. This is my favorite song from Lennon's solo career.

Someday at Christmas - I couldn't tell you when it was that I first heard this song, but last year was when I really took notice of it. When I finally looked it up, I felt like a dolt because I'd thought the song was sung by a woman, when in fact those were the dulcet tones of Stevie Wonder I'd been hearing. He has several songs in the regular holiday rotation, and I like them all, but this is my favorite by far. Its basic message is very similar to Happy XMas, expressing optimism that people can refrain from violence. The melody is beautiful, and while the provocative first line - "Someday at Christmas, men won't be boys playing with bombs like kids play with toys" - is quiet and backed with instrumentation vaguely reminiscent of a music box, it builds in intensity, with choral backing and lots of soulful vocals, particularly on the wistful line, "Maybe not in time for you and me, but someday at Christmastime."

Light One Candle - I never hear this one on the radio, and more's the pity. This is one of two outstanding songs penned by Peter Yarrow that appear on our well-worn Peter Paul and Mary Christmas album. The Magi (The Heart of Man's a Palace) is just as fantastic, but Light One Candle sticks in my head more, probably because it's generally accompanied by a crowd of glowing lights from the audience. Additionally, they don't restrict its use to Christmas concerts. This is actually a Hanukkah song, with specific references to the Maccabees and the central metaphor of ever-burning candles, but it's an anthem that's also intended to reach further than that. It's a universal call to keep (or find) the faith; by the time they get everyone in attendance singing along in jubilation, the burden and promise of justice prevailing feels tangible.

Something About Christmas Time - Easily confused with Jon Bon Jovi's I Wish Every Day Could Be Like Christmas, which is nearly as good, Bryan Adams' song, like most in this category, intensifies as it goes on. He's joined by an inspiring chorus, and there's just enough of a rock edge to this song to make me want to do a fist pump in time to the Christmas bells that chime in partway through. Another song that urges everyone to let Christmas seep into their hearts. "I know it's not too late. The world would be a better place if we can keep the spirit more than one day in the year. Send a message loud and clear."

Snoopy's Christmas - This should probably go with the novelty songs, but while some might find a sound effects-laden song about Flying Ace Snoopy to be a little hard to take seriously, I can't help but find it heartwarming. It's a very peppy song, augmented by a military drum roll, an austere recitation of O Tannenbaum and some very cheery-sounding bells. In part, I take the song as a tribute to the 1914 Christmas truce between German and British troops; in any event, it's a joyful narrative about the wonder of Christmas yielding compassion from unexpected sources. The implication? If these foes can bury the hatchet for the day, why not everyone else? Plus, it's awfully fun to hear those Royal Guardsmen growl, "the Bloody Red Baron!"

Christmas 1915 - Speaking of the Christmas truce, I discovered this gem after compiling this list.  Written by Cormac McConnell, it was recently recorded by the group Celtic Thunder, whose members harmonize gorgeously in this haunting account of a fleeting peace and the carnage that followed.  Exhilarating.  Heartbreaking.  And my favorite new Christmas song of 2008.  "Silent night.  No cannons roar. / A king is born of peace forevermore. / All's calm, all's bright, / All brothers hand in hand / In 19 and 15 in No Man's Land."

A New York Christmas - This is a 2010 discovery thanks to the mall radio.  This inspring anthem has a rock edge to it and a melody that grabbed me from the first time I heard it and just wouldn't let me go.  It captures both the grit and glory of New York City in this time of year, and its plea for an open-hearted response to the disenfranchised of society is just the sort of rallying cry that's needed in a too-often apathetic age.  "Call on your angels, come down from the city. / Crowd around the big tree, all you strangers who know me. / Bring your compassion, your understanding. / Lord, how we need it on this New York City Christmas."

In the City of David...

While many contemporary Christmas songs focus on the general joy of the season and often sidestep the Nativity altogether, several are specific to the first Christmas. These are some of my favorites.

Mary's Boy Child - This one is borderline traditional. My aunt once performed it in a choir concert, and we sang it during a Sunday School Christmas program several years back (when I was incensed at the insistence upon replacing "man" in the chorus with the gender-neutral, dorky-sounding "folks"). Still, I can't quite lump it together with sing-along favorites like Joy to the World, Angels We Have Heard on High and The First Noel, in part because I consider there to be only one definitive version of this song, and that's Boney M's. A typical group of carolers just can't replicate the energy and exuberance of their rendition, which never fails to leave me grinning from ear to ear. It helps that there's so much going on in the song, particularly towards the end, when the spiritual Oh My Lord is expertly incorporated. The harmonies are wonderful, the energy infectious, the steel drums and Caribbean accents irresistible. Simply one of the happiest Christmas songs I can think of. "Hark now hear the angels sing, a king is born today, and man will live forevermore because of Christmas day!"

The Gift - When I first heard this song on the radio last year, it stopped me dead in my tracks. I immediately turned up the volume and stood riveted to this gentle story of an impoverished young girl who nurses an injured bird back to health just in time for the grand presentation of gifts at the local church. While the version I've heard is a cover, it's so exquisite I have no great desire to listen to the original. The singer is Aselin Debison, a young girl herself, and the purity of her voice perfectly matches the innocence of the young protagonist. One thing I love about this song is the fact that it's narrative; not only that, it has no chorus, instead wandering along gradually through the verses in a refreshingly unhurried manner. Its first eight lines are a cappella, which accentuates the beauty of Debison's voice and renders the guitars that serve as the first accompaniment all the more beautiful. Even more lovely is the flute toward the end, which is meant to imitate birdsong. Basically, this is yet another variation on The Little Drummer Boy, which has essentially spawned a sub-genre among Christmas tales; it's particularly similar to the picture book The Most Precious Gift. It's pretty obvious how the story will end, but that doesn't make the journey any less awe-inspiring.

Down Among the Bushes of Jerusalem - This Irish Rovers song written by Tommy Sands doesn't stop with Jesus' birth. John Reynolds' wonderfully earthy, expressive vocals carry this lengthy ballad that describes Jesus as a rebel from his earliest days. The song is filled with Celtic instrumentation, including accordion and Irish drums. I almost think of it more as an Easter song, along the lines of Lord of the Dance, but it's on their Christmas album, and I suppose it fits in rather nicely with such songs as Mary Did You Know? "Born of honest parents and below a shining star, the word went 'round the country, and they came from near and far..."

Christmas Canon - This doesn't exactly focus on the Nativity, but it references the Christ Child and carries a note of profound hope in awaiting His return: "We are waiting. We have not forgotten." I first heard this song in its revamped version, entitled Christmas Canon Rock and featuring electric instruments and a powerhouse soloist. It wasn't until the perpetual Christmas music airplay began that I heard this original version. Both are by Trans-Siberian Orchestra, and I still can't decide which is my favorite, but I do love the classical sound of this one and the pristine vocals of the children who sing each of the three counter-melodies. They sound truly angelic. It doesn't hurt that the basis for the song is Pachelbel's Canon in D, which has long been a favorite of mine.

The Star Carol - Don't expect to hear this one on the radio either. I listen to this obscure recording, only available (as far as I know) as a part of the 3-CD boxed set Old Friends, and think, Why, oh why, couldn't have Simon and Garfunkel released a Christmas album? I know, I know... Too commercial, and I don't suppose Paul was too interested in singing an album almost entirely comprised of other people's material, or of composing a dozen original Christmas songs, especially when he is Jewish. Art did later record a Christmas album, albeit a most unusual one. At any rate, this is one of the few Christmas songs Simon and Garfunkel recorded and the only one that is not what I would call a traditional carol. I've never heard it elsewhere, though I understand that Aaron Neville also recorded it. The song sounds older than it is; though it was written in the fifties, its third and final verse is peppered with thees and thous. It's a very simple song reminiscent of Away in a Manger, but the harmonies are exquisite, and there's a sincerity to it that's lacking in the rushed rendition of Go Tell It on the Mountain from Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M.. It's my favorite of their Christmas offerings because it's so different and so lovely, without any subtly dark undertones. It's quite a shame that it isn't more readily available.

Just for Fun

I'm such a sucker for Christmas specials, and a lot of awfully fun songs have been drawn from those. Others are delightful bits of silliness independent of any overarching story.

The Chipmunk Song - You know I had to stick these guys in here. What would Christmas be without squeaky Alvin pleading for a hula hoop and ignoring the musical direction of an ever more irritated Dave Seville? This song does a great job of capturing the impatience many children feel at Christmas, and it does so with trademark bickering humor and high-pitched harmonizing. Another amusing ditty along these lines is VeggieTales' hyper I Can't Believe It's Christmas, sung by Junior Asparagus, Laura Carrot and various other Veggie tots.

Oh Santa is my favorite Veggie offering, though. Larry, always the ambassador of childlike naivety, anxiously awaits the arrival of Santa (who, viewers will note, is Bob the Tomato in a rather transparent disguise). Before the big guy shows up, Larry is visited by several unsavory guests: a bank robber, a Viking and an IRS agent. While the lengthy song is certainly silly, it also has a good message, since Larry is willing to share his specially made Christmas cookies with those who have come to do him ill, and in turn, his assailants drop their attack. Another one you won't hear on the radio, but I love it!

Mr. Heatmiser - This ragtime song from Rankin and Bass's The Year Without a Santa Claus is arguably the most memorable tune to come from their many Christmas specials. Two climatically opposite brothers square off against each other, each assured in his position that his end of the thermometer is superior. I always get a kick out of hearing the version by the Big Bad Voodoo Daddies on the radio, though I prefer the original; I find it especially annoying that the wording of one line is changed without changing the line that rhymes with it: "I’m Mr. White Christmas. I’m Mr. Cool. I’m Mr. Icicle. I’m Mr. 10 Below." If you must change it from "Snow" to "Cool," can't you change the fourth sentence to something like "I'm Mr. Cancelled School" or "I'm Mr. 'Blizzards Rule!'"? That lack of a rhyme is just jarring. Otherwise, though, this piano-drenched face-off is loads of fun.

You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch - I like this one even better, though it sounds more appropriate for Halloween than Christmas. Thurl Ravenscroft's distinctively deep voice and those deliciously ostentatious instrumentals do justice to Seuss's seriously skewered lyrics. Each line is expertly articulated, but I think my favorite moment has to be when he snarls, "You're a rotter, Mr. Grinch!" Out of context, this couldn't be less Christmassy, but it's quite a testament to the power of Christmas to think that it could transform a creature whose "soul is an appalling dump heap overflowing with the most disgraceful assortment of deplorable rubbish imaginable, mangled up in tangled up knots," into a compassionate spirit.

I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas - I only discovered this one a couple years ago, and I wonder how it could have escaped my notice for so many years. It was on an album by the Countdown Kids, who did several cheesy Christmas records that I wore out when I was little. We must have about every album except that one. When I first heard the song, I didn't believe it was actually sung by a little girl. I was convinced it was an adult trying to sound girlish, and not succeeding very well. But Gayla Peevey was only ten when she recorded the song as a fundraiser to bring a hippo to the Oklahoma City zoo. Her brassy voice reminds me of Ethel Merman. John Rox's goofy lyrics (I'm especially amused by his reference to a "hippo hero") and the brass band backup complement her over-the-top delivery, and they did the trick; the zoo got its hippo. I, however, am still waiting for mine. I guess I'll just have to sing louder!

Home for the Holidays

These last few are songs whose primary focus is domestic, with the emphasis on loved ones and how they interact with this holiday.

Aspenglow - I couldn't conclude this list without mentioning John Denver at some point. He has no shortage of qualifying songs, but I choose this one for its gentle, evocative beauty and its association with Colorado. Christmas for Cowboys is lovely as well, albeit less easily applicable. Though it's a tribute to one particular beloved town, most of the things Denver sings about in the guitar-heavy Aspenglow are the sorts of things that make a Christmas celebration merry no matter where you are. "Aspen is the life to live. See how much there is to give. See how strongly you believe. See how much you may receive."

You Make It Feel Like Christmas - One of my favorite Christmas albums is Neil Diamond's, and I've always been a fan of this original song, which is cozily upbeat. Aside from the title line, there are only a few specific references to Christmas; most of it is more of a general love song, a grateful tribute to a wife whose love endures and always manages to catch him off guard: "When people ask how we stay together, I say you never let me down." Given the fact that Diamond is Jewish, I take this song to be semi-autobiographical at best, perhaps reflecting his feelings but not the holiday trappings; then again, if he recorded an entire Christmas album, maybe he does have a tree in his living room in December after all...

It Doesn't Have to Be That Way - This Jim Croce song is a fairly recent discovery for me. I was startled to hear it on the radio a couple of years back; given his short career, it isn't often that I come across a "new" song by him, and I certainly would have thought I would have been aware of a Christmas song. This somber guitar-driven tune is very much along the same lines as Photographs and Memories, and it offers a window into the heart of those for whom Christmas may bring more pain than cheer, while leaving an opening for the possibility of a reconciliation between the man and his estranged love. "The windy winter avenues just don't seem the same, and the Christmas carols sound like blues, but the choir is not to blame."

Old City Bar - Trans-Siberian Orchestra is known for high-octane instrumental music and exhilirating light shows.  But of all their songs, my favorite is this acoustic ballad in which the focus is entirely upon the lyrics, which are delivered in a warm but ragged style reminiscent of an aged storyteller regaling his grandchildren with a tale by firelight.  Humble in presentation, epic in length, it is the one track upon which the narrative of Christmas Eve and Other Stories hinges.  A crusty bartender, a homesick girl and an angel in disguise interact in this powerful recollection of a Christmas miracle.  "If you want to arrange it / This world you can change it / If we could somehow make this / Christmas thing last / By helping a neighbor / Or even a stranger / And to know who needs help / You need only just ask."

Same Old Lang Syne - I'm ending with this because it's so unique among all the Christmas songs that get regular play on the radio, and with Dan Fogelberg's death last year, it has an even more melancholy flavor to it now. Piano and strings are the driving instruments in this reflective song, which tells the true story of a Christmas Eve encounter Fogelberg had with a former, now-married girlfriend. His vocals are achingly tender, with the sting of loss in the back of his throat before he can enjoy a moment of his reunion unencumbered. The layering of his vocals amplifies his loneliness, and his falsetto heights on the choruses are an eerie illustration of his plaintive state of mind. What's remarkable about this song is how accidentally it came about, right down to the timing. If this had happened in July, it wouldn't have gotten half the airplay it does, but because of the date, it gets to be in the Christmas rotation. It also gets an absolutely devastating last line, accompanied by instrumentation expertly approximating precipitation. "As I turned to make my way back home, the snow turned into rain." Brilliant.

So that's my list of favorites, though it's far from definitive. For instance, I didn't even touch Michael Card, who probably has a couple dozen or so original Christmas songs. I don't feel like trying to figure out which is my favorite, so suffice it to say that any of his are worth checking out, though none is likely to grace the radio airwaves, except perhaps on a Christian station. I'm sure as soon as I post this I'll think of a couple more absolutely essential Christmas songs, but this will have to do for now. If I'm up to it, traditional songs will be up next.

Meanwhile, I invite other writers to join me in celebrating your favorite Christmas songs, as few or as many as you'd like. If you'd care to join my Sing We Now of Christmas Write-off, drop me a comment or e-mail and I'll link you up! I'll keep this going through the end of December. Happy singing!

Number 2200: Christmas Comes Early for Potter Fans With The Tales of Beedle the Bard

Last year, J. K. Rowling published Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, and like millions of other fans, I immediately began to go into withdrawal. Though I submerged it by frantically writing fan poetry as though I'd been given a month with a muse who would never be heard from again, a dull ache remained. When I learned that Rowling had written The Tales of Beedle the Bard, the collection of children's stories bequeathed to Hermione Granger in the final novel, but only intended to distribute it to a select few friends, it was like rubbing salt on a wound. How cruel to know that such a text existed but was unavailable! I fervently hoped that one day she would release the volume to the general populace. When I got wind of its publication, I was overjoyed. What a delicious dessert after one of the most nourishing epics I've ever read! I snatched up my copy as soon as I could, eager to let this long-awaited book mark my 2200th post here. Indulge me while I digest...

Given the charitable intentions of this collection, the net proceeds of which benefit the Children's High Level Group, The Wizard and the Hopping Pot is a particularly appropriate tale with which to begin. Just as Rowling and Baroness Nicholson of Winterbourne, MEP, urge readers in the introduction and afterward to support children whose families lack the means to provide them with proper care, so the wizard in this story dedicates his life to assisting his desperate Muggle neighbors. He uses the titular pot as a front to mask the breadth of his magical abilities. Upon his death, his son inherits the pot, which becomes more and more of a nuisance as the young man coldly turns away peasant after peasant requesting the aid his father provided. The first association I made as I read this story was with Strega Nona, the grandmotherly witch who is the subject of several picture books by Tomie de Paola. She, too, is a prolific pot stirrer, and she also has a protege who runs into trouble when he fails to follow her lead regarding its use. I also found myself thinking of Beauty and the Beast, in which an arrogant prince is hideously transformed as a punishment for his lack of compassion. Inner changes come later, and none too easily...

The Fountain of Fair Fortune does not call to mind any particular story for me, though it utilizes a device implemented by many a writer, including Rowling herself late in the Harry Potter series, though it's a plot twist I associate most readily with M*A*S*H. Otherwise, this is a quest story, in which three witches and one Muggle must work together in hopes that one of them will be rewarded for the arduous journey with a cure for present woes. As in many labyrinthine adventures, the travelers face riddles whose solutions often reveal themselves as a result of hard labor rather than intellect. Like the first story, it encourages cooperation among magical and non-magical peoples, painting at least one Muggle as a sympathetic, albeit awkward, figure.

The Warlock's Hairy Heart is gothic and grotesque. It seems like a story that could have been written by Edgar Allen Poe, or at least one of the Grimm Brothers in an especially grim moment. It concerns a young warlock who, in order to protect himself from the ravages of romance, performs a dangerous spell to immunize himself against the charms of womankind. While the first story reminds me of The Picture of Dorian Gray, in which the title character's transgressions are reflected in his portrait, that association is even stronger in this tale of an outwardly attractive man who, in pursuit of security, sacrifices true human happiness and unwittingly creates a monster.

Babbitty Rabbitty and Her Cackling Stump gets my vote for the best title of the bunch, and it's also the funniest of the stories, though the bulk of the humor in this book derives from the commentaries by Albus Dumbledore. This story is so similar to The Emperor's New Clothes that I can't imagine Rowling wasn't thinking of it when she wrote it. A king decides that he should be the only one in the land to do magic. Not possessing any magical skill himself, and having sent out brute squads to round up all witches and wizards in his kingdom, he finds himself relying upon a seedy con man for his magical instruction. Instead of a luxurious invisible suit, this Muggle has a worthless "wand" that is little more than a twig. But who has the nerve to point that out? The voice of candor in this story is the title washerwoman, whose role in this story reminds me a bit of Cyrano de Bergerac as well as the Biblical Esther.

The Tale of the Three Brothers closes the book, afterward from the baroness aside. I'm not surprised to see the book essentially leading up to this story, as it is such a critical clue to our understanding of the series, and certainly Harry's understanding of his purpose. The only trouble, of course, is that the vast majority of people who read this book will have read this particular story before. When I read it, both a year and a half ago and just today, it reminded me of any number of tales involving trios of friends or brothers, one of which is much wiser than the others. It also made me think of the old fable about the man who crosses paths with Death and runs to a distant town to escape him, only to find him waiting for him there, confessing surprise at having seen him earlier when he was expecting him in this very village, at this very hour. Perhaps most of all, it recalled Hazel's encounter with the Black Rabbit in the final paragraphs of Watership Down, which qualify as among my favorite endings in all of literature. This is the shortest and simplest of the tales, but it packs a powerful punch.

I draw all of these comparisons to other works not to accuse Rowling of a lack of originality but rather to demonstrate how well her tales fit in with so many others in the morality tale tradition. I love these stories, and I believe that, with the possible exception of the gruesome third tale, they could well become classics in their own right. But I must confess that as an avid Potter fan, what I enjoyed most of all were Albus's musings, occasionally augmented by notes from Rowling. Not only are they often funny, they are quite illuminating, delving into Wizarding history both ancient and recent, sometimes revealing tidbits about familiar figures and occasionally introducing others.

Albus's thoughts on the final tale, while profound, are probably the least interesting of the bunch, since they mostly cover familiar territory, even down to the fact that he is less than forthcoming with his knowledge of the lore surrounding this legend. What caught my attention most here is the reference to his brother Aberforth's favorite bedtime story, Grumble the Grubby Goat. Ms Rowling, please tell me that's sequel bait... Elsewhere, we get more background on the circumstances of Nearly Headless Nick's death and the dubious record of Care of Magical Creatures professor Silvanus Kettleburn.

Among the new characters who Albus introduces, my favorite is probably Beatrix Bloxam, an insufferably sugary authoress responsible for sanitized versions of Beedle's tales. The excerpts from her writings read almost exactly like the phony cover of Lemony Snicket's Unauthorized Autobiography, which rambles giddily about how absolutely everybody loves pony parties. Meanwhile, the most hilarious segment of the book falls at the beginning of the commentary for the second tale, as Albus recounts an utterly disastrous attempt to launch a theatrical presentation of it.

I've often puzzled over the apparent lack of an arts department at Hogwarts, so I was tickled to see that matter addressed here. I also found abbreviated but valuable new insights into the nature of Animagi, the magical properties of wands and the basic rules that govern the Wizarding world. Moreover, I caught what I took to be sly allusions to such works as MacBeth and Harvey, not to mention some amusing digs at academia and, conversely, those who skim stories with little attempt at a deeper understanding. Rowling, through Albus, has a lot to say about literature and the revision of stories for the manipulation of impressionable minds. Most of all, though, she makes a compelling case for compassion, tolerance and acceptance of one's own mortality. Fans of the series will find in this small collection a perfect complement to the lessons so gradually taught over the course of seven books.

The Tales of Beedle the Bard is scarcely more than a hundred pages long, so it doesn't take long to read it from cover to cover - both of which, incidentally, are quite snazzy, especially the front, which contains visual references to each of the tales. While Mary Grand-Pre provides that artwork, Rowling does her own work inside, increasing the sense of intimacy about the volume. She's not an accomplished artist like Grand-Pre, but she holds her own. She also rather shamelessly plugs Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, another supplementary volume published for the benefit of charity. While that encyclopedia-like tome is enjoyable, as is its companion Quidditch Through the Ages, Beedle is far and away the best of the three. Well worth the wait, this book resonates especially well during this time of year when generosity and goodwill are at a peak, so give yourself and others a gift this December with The Tales of Beedle the Bard.