Christmas in Classic Films

DEDICATION:

This is dedicated to the memory of Patricia Nolan-Hall, who blogged about classic films as The Caftan Woman, and who knew more about classic films, including Christmas movies, than anybody.

Christmas turns everyone who celebrates it into a classic film fan—at least for that special season.

The average person, unlike devoted classic film fans, may not recognize images of Clark Gable or know who James Wong Howe was, or be able to tell you why 1939 was such a spectacular year for films.  But when yuletide rolls around, they rejoice with Miracle on 34th Street, It’s a Wonderful Life, and of course, White Christmas.

We find a vast treasure of Christmas scenes in films that were never meant to be Christmas movies but which are now part of the holiday canon, and this collection of essays spotlighting Christmas in classic films brings you all the warmth and memories that have become as dear a custom as decorating your home and holiday baking.  You may even have one of these movies on in the background when you’re writing out your Christmas cards.

Unwrap this package and relive the moments and discover Christmas nostalgia anew, from Cary Grant’s mysterious angel in The Bishop’s Wife to poor Ralphie pining for a Red Ryder BB-gun in A Christmas Story. 

There’s lots more here waiting for you under the tree.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Foreword

PART ONE: Redemption

Star in the Night (1945)

Mankind was my business—Scrooge (1935) and A Christmas Carol (1951)

A Christmas Carol (1910)

I’ll Be Seeing You (1944)

Beyond Tomorrow (1940)

PART TWO: Non-holiday Movies with Memorable Christmas Scenes

Meet Me in St. Louis (1944) – Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Our Vines Have Tender Grapes (1945)

On Moonlight Bay (1951)

The Bells of St. Mary’s (1945)

A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (1945)

So Proudly We Hail (1943)

Spotlight on Walter Abel in Holiday Inn (1942) and So Proudly We Hail (1943)

Spotlight on Leon Belasco in Holiday Inn (1942)

Since You Went Away (1944)

The Curse of the Cat People (1944)

Meet John Doe (1941)

Dillinger (1945)

Stella Dallas (1937)

Four Daughters (1938)

Bell, Book, and Candle (1958)

It Happened on 5th Avenue (1947)

Classic Movie Christmas Trees

Caroling, Caroling—Ten Songs from Classic Movies

New England Sleigh Ride

Classic Movie Office Parties—The Desk Set (1957) and The Apartment (1960)

The Thin Man (1934)

Bright Eyes (1934) – Aboard The Good Ship Lollipop

Stowaway (1936) – That’s What I Want for Christmas

Auntie Mame (1958)

PART THREE – Christmas Commerce

The Trail of Robin Hood (1950)

Big Business (1929)

The Fixer Uppers (1935)

The Shop Around the Corner (1940)

Holiday Affair (1949)

Bachelor Mother (1939)

Fitzwilly (1967)

PART FOUR:  Christmas Crime

The Lemon Drop Kid (1951)

Alias Boston Blackie (1942)

Lady in the Lake (1947)

Lady on a Train (1945)

Christmas Holiday (1944)

Cover Up (1949)

PART FIVE: Christmas with the Family

Remember the Night (1940)

Christmas Eve (1947)

The Man Who Came to Dinner (1942)

We’re No Angels (1955)

Christmas in Connecticut (1945)

My Reputation (1946)

The Bishop’s Wife (1947)

Love Finds Andy Hardy (1938)

PART SIX: Christmas Icons

Not Ready for Christmas

It’s a Wonderful Life (1946) – George Bailey and the Mortgage Crisis

Miracle on 34th Street (1947)

White Christmas (1954)

A Christmas Story (1983)

Lionel Barrymore – A Christmas Icon for Generations

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Bibliography

Also By the Author

About the Author

FOREWORD

A young relative of mine, ten years old at the time, in between mouthfuls of chocolate cake at a family Christmas gathering, informed me quite solemnly that new Christmas movies were not as good as classic movies. She was so firm in her opinion I could not help but agree, pleased with the flourish in her use of the word classic. She is as familiar with It’s a Wonderful Life as any veteran old movie buff.

She could not, however, precisely tell me why old Christmas movies are better, though in time she will likely come up with several reasons.

For my part, I think one of the chief reasons classic Christmas movies are so powerful is that, ironically, they are not all about Christmas. Christmas is only the backdrop to a collage of story lines, subplots, and images, sometimes only a scene or two in a movie that otherwise deals with non-holiday drama.

To be sure, Christmas comes with its own drama, which is why many people are stressed out this time of year. It is a checklist of tasks we must accomplish. It is a recurring nightmare of family feuds. Annually, we seem to fail to measure up to a goal of spiritual and temporal completeness. 

I think modern Christmas movies, TV-movies, etc., are less powerful and satisfying than classic films because they tend to put this holiday frenzy as the crux of the story, instead of allowing it to be the backdrop. As every classic film fan can tell you, we notice the background. We study it. Bedford Falls is the backdrop; James Stewart and his stupendous meltdown and the reasons for it are the story. But through the telling, we know all about Bedford Falls, and it becomes a character in the movie. The Christmas climax is fitting because Christmas is not the nightmare; it’s just the time the nightmare occurs, perhaps heightening our sensitivity to it.

Another way to look at it: let’s say Christmas is the painted backdrop of a stage set. The actors perform in front of it. However, if you make Christmas the focus of the story, it’s like moving the backdrop downstage closer to the audience. The actors are now performing behind it and we never see them. 

By keeping Christmas in the background, the classic Christmas movie becomes so much more meaningful than the trite finding the true meaning of Christmas or having the best Christmas ever stories we have today. The classic Christmas film is about life and death, prison and sickness, lies and deceit, and broken hearts. Then the Christmas scene—like the thunderous ringing of church bells or the clash of symbols that accompany it, makes us feel triumphant in a colossal way, because we have discovered, again, we are human and survived being human, and have forgiven others for being human.

Christmas movies made during the early 1940s have a special tension to them. World War II was, shall we say, a rather bigger impediment to holiday serenity than standing in a long checkout line is today. We know, just as the characters know, this may be their last Christmas together. Ever. Or, maybe not. Depending on the role of the dice. There is no way for us to replicate that dramatic tension today. Also missing today is the sublime gratitude without the platitudes. Despite being manufactured on a Hollywood soundstage, that gratitude and joy continues to touch us, despite being so far removed from that era. And that is the miracle of it. A Christmas miracle.

PART ONE – REDEMPTION

Some movies with yuletide themes actually deal with the primary yuletide message – redemption.

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STAR IN THE NIGHT (1945)

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Star in the Night (1945) is a short subject, about twenty minutes long, that has, thanks to showings by Turner Classic Movies, enjoyed rediscovery by fans of classic films and has become for many as beloved a holiday classic as It’s a Wonderful Life or Christmas in Connecticut. It is like one of the smaller presents under the tree—insignificant looking, but sweet in its simplicity.

Star in the Night is a movie with a Christmas theme that hits a minor chord among the giants of the season: Holiday Inn, White Christmas, etc. Star in the Night hints at a theme religious in nature, but with a decidedly secular wrapping. We think we know the story, but it leaves us with a catch in the throat and a tear in the eye just the same.

We meet three saddle tramps, with gaudy, cheap presents strapped to their saddle horns, bemoaning that they threw away their pay in town trying to impress a pretty young salesgirl by buying so many things—for which they have no use. Simple toys, a basket that looks like a cradle, a small tree, looking like carnival items. They ride slowly at night across a desert scene, and in the far distance through the fog, they see a star, far brighter than the others, and hanging strangely close to the horizon. 

Before we can get too taken in by a Christmas star and Nativity theme, we are wrenched from a spiritual moment by J. Carrol Naish, who is atop a water tower hammering at a gaudy tin star with lights on it. He obtained it from a movie house that went out of business, the Star Picture Palace, and he’s using it as an advertising sign for his auto court, which is what we now call motels. They were a new idea back in the day, a cheap string of bungalows on the highway where people could stop and sleep for the night, get a bite to eat, not as fancy or expensive as a hotel. Nobody expected much in the way of comfort, just eats and a bed.

Hitchhiker Donald Woods isn’t expecting even that much. He’s down and out, a hobo, and he asks Mr. Naish to allow him to come into the office and warm up, and perhaps give him a cup of coffee. Naish scoffs at him, angry to have a bum try to play on his sympathies. Naish is a businessman, not doing too well himself, and he’s already got his auto court filled with guests who are demanding and downright rude. He doesn’t need one more person to ask favors of him, especially a guy who can’t pay.

Woods is riveting in this role; he draws our attention and compassion in extraordinarily subtle acting and perhaps brilliant directing by Don Siegel. Woods is placed in the background of many shots, just observing, a silent witness to the proceedings. A B-movie actor who occasionally played minor roles in A-films, here Woods is compelling. He speaks softly, and in his soothing voice and his dark, kindly eyes, there is a gentleness that is equally inspiring as it is remonstrative to Mr. Naish, and us. He is open and guileless, yet seems to bring secrets with him. There is a Christ-like demeanor to his character, but he is not really the protagonist, or the narrator, or the Greek chorus that represents the theme or the conscience, nor does he really stand in for us. He is a mystery, perhaps an angel, or could he really just be a guy with a three-day beard and no coat, who glances under the floppy brim of his battered fedora with such presence that we have difficulty taking him for who he is? Because we don’t know who he is.

Who we are in the story is plain: we are Naish, the angry owner of the auto court who is sick of being pushed around. We are his various guests:  the couple who want more blankets and refuse to accept no for an answer; the guy, played by Irving Bacon, who’s mad because his shirts came back from the laundry all wrecked; and the woman who’s fit to be tied because she can’t sleep for the noise the bunch of rowdies in the next bungalow are making.  Later the rowdies reverently sing Christmas carols.

Then Anthony Caruso, who pops up as minor characters from time to time in movies, plays a Mexican immigrant with a sick wife. He wants a room so she can lie down, but the auto court is full up. Naish’s kindly wife, played by Rosina Galli, suggests the shed in back, and Naish blusters, but he lets his wife have her way. The immigrants are led to the shed, and the woman is allowed to lie down in the hay.

She’s not sick.  She’s pregnant, and soon the husband panics because the baby’s suddenly coming. Here. Now. What does he do?

He tells the others, and asks for help.

But this is a twenty-minute short, and moreover, it has a distinct lesson to tell us. There is no time wasted by the irritable other travelers. They snap to attention, and, as so often happens in a crisis, they get to work to help someone who needs it. They give the blankets, the shirts, the hot water, and the women go to the shed to comfort the woman and help deliver the baby. They are immediate in their reaction, a blessed contradiction to our usual vacillating whims.

Mr. Naish, we are told by his wife, is really a softy, though we can’t believe it. She tells Donald Woods that when she first met him, Naish was crying over an animal that he saw being mistreated. She was so moved, she decided then and there he was the man for her.

Naish is none too happy about the Mexicans camping on him and sponging off him, but he is worried about the pregnant woman, and he gives Woods a free cup of coffee, and later on his coat. He needs to help somehow. Helping gives us a sense of control.

The baby is born, it’s a boy. Relief washes over everybody as things seem to be okay. Then the three cowboys come in. We forgot about them. They are, of course, the Magi bringing their presents (which suddenly are useful) to the baby in the shed. 

Naish, bewildered, looks around at his happy guests, and glances over to the shed where they kneel before the mother and baby. His eyes squint and flicker as they catch the light of his cheap, shabby star with its many movie marquee light bulbs that pierce the foggy night. He looks up at the star, and suddenly it hits him. A look of humility, gratitude—and horror, wash over his face. 

He almost turned away the Christ child. 

The events of this night have been his test, and his gift, and his redemption. Sometimes redemption is just a second chance to be a nice guy. His eyes fill with tears.

And so do ours. 

We may have a tacky tin star, but we don’t have any movie stars. The character actors will handle this one just fine, thank you. Star in the Night won an Oscar for Best Short Subject. It is currently an extra on the Christmas in Connecticut DVD. Who would have thought something so short, so small, could be such a giant?

MANKIND WAS MY BUSINESS: SCROOGE (1935) AND A CHRISTMAS CAROL (1951)

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A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens is a novella written in six weeks in 1843 whose power to entertain has lasted over a century and a half. It has received several film treatments; here we have a look at Scrooge (1935), and A Christmas Carol (1951), but Dickens always invites us to look beyond the tale on the page—or the screen. There is a rich background to our experience with this story, a tale that instructs as much as it entertains.

One year I attended a local community theatre production of A Christmas Carol, which I will always remember for a charming blooper at the very end of the show. The little boy who played Tiny Tim was lifted onto the shoulders of the man playing his father, Bob Cratchit, and he was supposed to jubilantly shout the last line of the show: God bless us, everyone!  He literally stopped the show—by forgetting his line. The other members of the cast, all dressed in some semblance of Victorian London, as much they could with a limited budget, huddled around with frozen, expectant grins, waiting for him to end the show. Nothing. The boy just calmly observed the audience, daydreaming with a pleasant smile from the advantage of his perch. Bob Cratchit grew nervous, and perhaps a little tired, as the boy got heavier with each moment.

Crickets. Finally, a handful of people in the audience started to shout out, God bless us...

And then the rest of the audience, laughing as we did so, finished the sentence, EVERYONE!   Then, of course, the little boy remembered he had forgotten to say something, so he quickly blurted it out, Godblessuseveryone!  In any other play, the audience probably would have thought that the play ended with silence, and would have begun to file out after some perfunctory applause. This was one of the few plays in existence where every member of the audience knew the last line, and we weren’t going anywhere until we heard it. That we supplied it ourselves made for a lovely, interactive sort of theatre.

I’ve always felt that A Christmas Carol is a very interactive piece of literature. It does not render us as passive readers or a passive theatre or film audience. We are intimately involved because we must ponder every nuance of Scrooge’s experiences and wonder at the enormity of the lessons he is learning, and sometimes even wonder if he is actually learning them. It has been said that author Charles Dickens is the father of the modern Christmas because of this book and its impact, and that may be so in a world where tales of Bethlehem and the Messiah seem diminished in nearly two centuries of an industrialized world where commercialism is the new religion. I would imagine that there are many homes where the Crèche has been replaced by a ceramic village meant to evoke a largely fictional Victorian Good Old Days, where the only thing held sacred is sentimentality.

Despite Tiny Tim’s blessing on us, there is really very little sentimentality in A Christmas Carol, however; it is one of the few modern Christmas tales whose message is redemption—that same powerful point of the First Christmas. Instead of a biblical setting, we have a claustrophobic brick-and-mortar jungle during the early years of the Industrial Revolution.

The story has always been a favorite of mine; my twin brother and I read it aloud to each other for years, often making some of the characters sound like Yosemite Sam or Sylvester. We were cartoon junkies at an early age. One of my earliest memories is watching Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol (1962), with Jim Backus, of course, as Mr. Magoo; the wonderful Paul Frees supplying several voices; Royal Dano as Marley’s Ghost; and in an interesting bit of casting, Jack Cassidy as Bob Cratchit. As delightful as this musical cartoon version is, the segment where young Ebenezer is singing about his loneliness in the boys’ school, I’m All Alone in the World, destroys me. Perched on a stool in an empty classroom, trying to draw a hand on the chalkboard to pretend to grasp it—all I can think of are the playground outcasts, those with difficulty being accepted, the shy, the physically or mentally challenged, the different, those who are not approached and find it hard to approach others. How many autistic children mourn their childhoods as being people to avoid, A hand for a hand was planned in the world, why can’t my fingers reach? Millions of grains of sand in the world, why such a lonely beach?  I’ve been watching it for over fifty years; it still brings tears.

This is the power of Dickens’ masterful tale, and his exquisite telling of it. Even in a Mr. Magoo cartoon, it is not sentimental. But neither is it so cynical that we are given a villain to despise and destroy. It would be so easy to have Scrooge vanquished and let everyone live happily ever after, but Dickens doesn’t do that. He shows us a sad boy who became a greedy man, and then allows him to be redeemed.

But the path to redemption is not easy.

Speaking of cartoons, I also recall watching the 1971 animated version that is the scariest and most bleak telling of the story I have ever seen. It haunted us as kids. Ebenezer Scrooge is voiced by Alastair Sim.

Which brings