‘Tis the season for Christmasy movies, so let’s discuss twelve holiday classics and where they fall in the definitive rankings.
BONUS – Worst Christmas Movie: The Polar Express
This film has its advocates. Why, I can’t explain. My top eleven Christmas films emphasize the value of family, the joys of generosity, and the importance of looking past commercialism. You know, Christmasy themes. On the other hand, The Polar Express argues that the real priority—so crucial as to determine the health of one’s very soul—is to actually believe in Santa Claus.
The problem with this message, identifiable by anyone over the age of nine, is that Santa Claus is not real. He’s only a symbol, a representation of childhood innocence and the spirit of giving. He isn’t a deity who requires and rewards literal belief in himself (with implied dangerous consequences for those who step out of line). The film’s ending, in which an adult version of the protagonist proudly reports his continued belief in Santa despite others’ lapses, leaves a strange aftertaste: is he mentally okay?
That’s to say nothing of the failed animation that looks worse with each passing year. But bad effects can be overcome by true aims. When a towering Santa in The Polar Express holds a contest to reward the child who believes in him the most—a terrifying spectacle straight out of the Old Testament—we know director Robert Zemeckis has shot well wide of the mark.
The Best Christmas Movies
#11: Die Hard
I’m giving Die Hard a token placement on this list. It’s a great movie, and it takes place during Christmas, so there’s that. But Christmas doesn’t have much to do with its plot or even its setting, so I don’t feel it warrants a high placement compared to others on this list. I’ve already written at length about Die Hard‘s ingenious script and direction here, so if you want a more in depth commentary on its successes, check out that piece.
Die Hard does have some semblance of a family drama, with NYPD detective John McClane seeking to reconnect with his estranged wife during the holiday season. For this reason, some viewers remain adamant that Die Hard is a legitimate Christmas classic—maybe even the Christmas classic. I don’t agree, but I’m including the movie here in deference to them.
#10: National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation
A somewhat more cynical vision of Christmas cheer compared to others on this list, Christmas Vacation highlights the trials and tribulations of the holiday season: the difficulties of coexisting, even briefly, with family who live very different lifestyles. But it’s all in the name of a good time—especially when the never-ending mishaps are juxtaposed with the determination of Clark W. Griswold, who insists that it’s all worthwhile. And although he’s wrong about nearly everything else, on this particular topic, he’s right. Even his evil boss joins the fun and turns out to be not so evil, a welcome suggestion that good times together can melt away material differences.
I dock points, though, for the movie too frequently crossing into bad taste. Griswold is Chevy Chase’s best character, but even here, his flaws as a comedian occasionally show through. One subplot involves the married Griswold ogling an attractive retail worker and later fantasizing about her. Maybe this was more of a knee-slapper in 1989, but I have a feeling that, even then, it was one of a few flashes in this otherwise heartwarming comedy of the trait that would eventually tank Chase’s career: that he’s kind of a jerk.
#9: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (1964)
Rudolph is the longest running television special in history, so it must’ve done something right. I’ll admit, however, that, watching it recently, I had some difficulty discerning what that might have been. Although the dated claymation adds a silly charm, the special is dragged down by goofy antics and annoying supporting characters, and it ends on an odd note: bullied and rejected time and time again, Rudolph finds acceptance only when he does something useful for Santa. In this scenario, jolly old Saint Nick comes off as… quite transactional.
But the intended message of Rudolph does shine through more successfully at other moments. The highlight is Rudolph landing on the “Island of Misfit Toys,” where assorted playthings bewail their Christmas exclusion due to various defects. The toys’ direct plea for empathy—“How would you like to be a bird that doesn’t fly?”—summarizes the theme in a way that children can understand. And unlike Rudolph’s suspicious happy ending, in which he resolves his problems simply by becoming popular, the misfit toys find happiness by discovering that Christmas has a place for everyone, even the weirdos. That’s surely a message worth airing for sixty years straight.
#8: Elf
Elf is a crowd pleaser. It doesn’t break much new ground, and it risks overstuffing on silliness, but never quite goes over the top. I think that’s because of its sneakily realistic portrayal of a jaded New York City.
Nearly everyone who interacts with Buddy the Elf assumes the worst. His eventual love interest, Jovie, accuses him of stalking her in the shower. His boss interprets his handiwork as evidence of corporate sabotage. His dad pegs him as a bad practical joke sent to humiliate him. And their cynicism isn’t just Christmas humbug; in fact, the movie goes out of its way to suggest that the characters’ pessimism is justified. Jovie, for example, was only showering at work because her landlord cut her water off. Buddy’s dad has to give a presentation on Christmas Eve, and when he refuses, he loses his job. So there’s no sugarcoating it: greed and cruelty are alive and well at Christmastime in New York.
That might lead us to expect the worst, but might there also be reasons to expect the best? That’s where the fun of Elf comes in. Don’t sleep on this movie as a healthy argument for optimism alongside—not in place of—being realistic about troubled times.
#7: How the Grinch Stole Christmas! (1966)
Dr. Seuss’ immaculate rhymes and Boris Karloff’s perfect narration make this whimsical story a deserving holiday staple. Its ending is a legitimate challenge to young children, who likely doperceive Christmas as a primarily material event and who might be just as shocked as the Grinch to learn of the Whos celebrating “without packages, boxes or bags.” And for adults, the Grinch is a surprisingly relatable character: his conversion upon realizing that Christmas “doesn’t come from a store” implies, contrary to the catchy musical ode to his odiousness, that his grumpiness and isolation stemmed from dislike of consumerism rather than inborn nastiness. Even the Grinch’s most evil episode—deceiving Cindy Lou Who to escape detection—resonates for adults, most of whom, facing interrogation by kids, have, by necessity, “thought up a lie” and “thought it up quick.”
The 2000 live action remake would later butcher the character, the tone, and all of Seuss’ themes, offering a terrible Christmas viewing experience perhaps exceeded only by The Polar Express. If you want a trashy version of Edward Scissorhands, then good for you, because it exists.
#6: Home Alone
Macaulay Culkin’s turn as Kevin McCallister is one of the great child acting performances. I think the key to the character’s enduring popularity is how the film simultaneously conveys the dueling truths that 1) kids are far more capable than we give them credit for and 2) despite this, they still need grownups around.
The movie’s best moment, very overlooked, is when Kevin reacts to his mother’s return by looking away, pained, until she apologizes for leaving him behind. At this point, he’s made no mention of what he understands about his parents’ mistake or how he feels about it. But these two seconds tell us all we need to know. More than anything, they reveal how emotionally vulnerable Kevin really is. Sure, he playacts at adulthood. However, this is perhaps only to compensate for the overwhelming dependence of childhood: egregiously overlooked by his family, he’s reliant on them to set things right. Such is life as a kid.
In the film’s notorious finale, Kevin lays waste to two small time crooks—smashing them with a steam iron, shooting their testicles with a BB gun, setting their heads on fire, and terrorizing them with a live tarantula, among other tactics. Is this sadistic streak compatible with the spirit of Christmas? (The cops, portrayed as capable defenders, were a mere phone call away.) Apparently, in the opinion of most Christmas moviegoers, it is. I abstain.
#5: A Christmas Carol (1951)
Charles Dickens’ original novella has inspired, in some way, about half the entries on this list (including, sneakily, Home Alone). So it may justifiably be named the best Christmas story of all time. In my view, though, it’s a story somewhat better experienced through reading or onstage.
Having said that, the classic 1951 version starring Alastair Sims stands the test of time as a faithful adaptation of Dickens’ intentions. When other movies borrow from A Christmas Carol, they tend to cherry-pick the happiest element: the joyous turnaround of a bitter, wayward grouch. They often omit the darker sides of Dickens’ tale—for instance, the heavy portrayal of working class suffering and the harrowing projection of a life of greed.
This latter aspect is actually pivotal to the original story. Scrooge, unlike his many spinoffs, repents early on. He doesn’t vow to change, though, until witnessing townspeople celebrating his future death. In other words, there’s nothing like being scared straight. These days, nobody has the guts to send that message—which is maybe why A Christmas Carol keeps getting remade. This way, filmmakers can harness the original’s power while maintaining plausible deniability. That was Dickens, not me!
#4: Miracle on 34th Street (1947)
I consider this the beginning of the top tier. In other words, the films from here on have a legitimate claim to the #1 ranking. The claim for Miracle on 34th Street rests on its superior filmmaking: its production, script, and acting stand out from other holiday favorites. Because of this, it holds up extremely well: watching it this year, I was startled at how modern it felt. It’s thematically similar, in fact, to Elf, dampening any idea that the urban malaise portrayed in the latter film is new to the 21st century.
Kris Kringle—if that’s really his name—is not Santa Claus. He has no magic abilities, notwithstanding the movie’s final shot. He doesn’t even make toys; he only knows where to buy them. By all indications, he’s just an old man living on Long Island.
But he has made the conscious choice to assume the identity of Santa Claus. He’s a sort of holiday season Don Quixote, diving into a role with such aplomb that others begin to struggle to separate his fantasy from reality. Kris tips his hand when he gives young Susan a lesson in “pretending,” advising that using one’s imagination enables infinite possibilities. Indeed they do, since, as Kris shows, pretending to be Santa Claus has much the same effect as actually being him: in both cases, Christmas principles—generosity, kindness, love—inspire others, not the man himself.
The takeaway from Miracle on 34th Street is interesting and leaves much to ponder. Essentially, the film argues that Santa is effectively real because, well, we can’t do without him. Department store executives intervene for Kris because he boosts their bottom line. A judge rules in Kris’ favor because voters in the next election will reject an anti-Santa outcome. Parents acknowledge Kris as Santa because they sense their kids’ innate need for optimism and hope. In summary, we all need to play pretend: commercially, politically, parentally, even psychologically. So, by democratic inevitability, if not factual truth, Santa is real. Again, an interesting, thought-provoking statement—certainly worthy of a yearly Christmas watch.
#3: A Charlie Brown Christmas
There’s a melancholy to Christmas that only A Charlie Brown Christmas really taps into. It opens with a dreary jazz tune, bringing forward the Christmas blues that Charlie Brown just can’t shake. “I know nobody likes me,” he complains. “Why do we have to have a holiday to emphasize it?”
When Charlie Brown, inspired by Linus, leaves his commercial-minded friends behind on the theater stage, they shuffle after him. Why? After all, they make extra clear that they don’t like him or enjoy his company. Do they follow him out of sympathy? Guilt? Worry? It’s open to interpretation, but in my opinion, it must be that Charlie Brown, by openly pining for a deeper Christmas experience, has given voice to a spiritual hollowness that, really, they’ve all been feeling. They’re just too cool to say it themselves. (Remember that they’re all “actors” in an upcoming Christmas play.) With a big smile as he carries off his tree, Charlie Brown has suddenly become the one that, deep down, they’d all like to be. They follow him because they want what he’s got.
Of course, he falters soon afterward. But the group comes to his rescue, and their assistance is interesting, too. They steal the flashy trappings of Snoopy’s campy, prize-winning doghouse and use them to turn Charlie Brown’s tree into a tasteful Christmas centerpiece. To me, this is a reminder of the purpose of Christmas ornamentation: to bond through experience and show affection. Christmas does have an external component, but, to land meaningfully, it needs a proper foundation. The Peanuts gang had mastery of the former, but had neglected the latter until the neighborhood blockhead showed them the way. The takeaway: we make the holidays pretty not to attract attention or win prizes—but to rejuvenate the ones who, like Charlie Brown and his tree, need “a little love.”
#2: It’s a Wonderful Life
This movie’s soaring high points justify its silver medal performance on this list. True, an abundance of overly folksy scenes and dialogue may rightly turn off highbrow critics and confer It’s a Wonderful Life to the status of holiday classic rather than all-time great. But at other moments, the film veers back toward realism, creating some of the most memorable and inspiring scenes anywhere, let alone in the Christmas canon.
Chief among those inspiring moments is the finale, maybe the happiest in Hollywood history. It comes after a fun but somewhat cliche chapter detailing George Bailey’s glimpse of a world in which he was never born, courtesy of Clarence the Angel (himself a spinoff of Dickens’ Ghost of Christmas Future). The horror that George witnesses in this altered universe leads him to re-value his own life, even despite the certain financial ruin and imprisonment that await him.
Certain—but, in fact, not forthcoming. While Clarence may show George the value of life, even he can’t bring George (or us) to anticipate what’s to happen next. In an earlier conversation, Mr. Potter had gleefully imagined the scenario of George asking his working class friends to cover his shortfall: “They’d run you out of town on a rail!” It’s the genius of this movie that George had accepted this as the sad truth, and so had we. But what are the holidays for, if not looking after the ones who’ve looked after us? Valuing our own life is only the first step; the second is realizing that others value it, too—even in dollar terms, if necessary. Clarence knows enough to let George’s friends and family reveal that for themselves. For me, the ultimate tearjerker.
#1: A Christmas Story
If anyone wants to know what Christmas is all about, this movie, in my opinion, is it.
Christmas is for everyone, but most of all, it’s for kids. And A Christmas Story, more than any other movie, is concerned with how kids actually experience the holidays. It’s especially concerned with the thrill of Christmas: the barely bearable anticipation of wondrous, mysterious gifts. In fact, A Christmas Story is the only movie on this list (and possibly the only movie ever) to authentically celebrate the receiving of presents. While the other films and specials—not without wisdom—largely dismiss presents as a superficiality, A Christmas Story alone knows that for kids, it’s not. Ralphie, in desperately wishing for a Red Ryder BB gun, isn’t seeking material gain. He’s seeking a means by which to become skilled, important, and formidable—in other words, an adult. The gun, to Ralphie, is the vessel of childhood’s universal promise: that life in the future will be so much better.
Grownup Ralphie concludes by acknowledging that this promise doesn’t last forever: “It was the greatest gift I had ever received or would ever receive.” In other words, this was the most exciting time of his life. But by finally hinting at a tinge of sadness, Ralphie has only acknowledged the obvious. Because the truth is that all meandering childhood tales—of schoolyard bullies, quirky teachers, overprotective parents, etc.—are about loss: the loss of the magic of being new to the world. We tell these stories in the first place because we want to recapture that magic. And if we’re honest in our recounting, we might just succeed. Like in a seance, we can conjure up some of those long-departed sensations: the trepidation of the classroom, the alarm of family squabbles, the humiliation of the uncool, and even the euphoria of Christmas—what was once, and can still be, the best time of year.
–Jim Andersen