On festive filmic obscurity

Christmas has always been much more about music than movies for me. My favourite moment of the holiday season is standing in church on Christmas Eve and belting carols at the top of my lungs. I love trying to find new music to include on my Christmas playlist. I will cry when I hear "Silent Night" for the first time each year. And "White Christmas." And "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." And Christmas hasn't truly begun until I've heard Band Aid.

I've never seen A Christmas Story. I'm pretty sure I've never watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas in its entirety. I first saw A Charlie Brown Christmas as an adult. And I watched Home Alone for the first time last year (and it wasn't even any good THERE I SAID IT).

No, I didn't live under a rock as a child. No, I didn't have fanatically religious parents who only let me read my bible/make animal sacrifices in the weeks leading up to Christmas. I just seemed to gravitate toward really obscure Christmas movies when I was a kid. Excepting The Muppet Christmas Carol, of course. That always has and always will be a classic, and if Robin the Frog as Tiny Tim doesn't make you cry, you are made of stone, and we probably shouldn't be friends.

I honestly think this is one of the loveliest, most touching Christmas songs ever written. If you don't have tears running down your neck right now, there's something wrong with you.

In a recent fit of maudlin nostalgia, I took to Youtube to see if I could find some of the Christmas movies I once loved, most of whose names I didn't even know. And, much to my surprise and great joy, there they were, in all their low-quality glory! So naturally, I re-watched them all. Seeing these movies for the first time in almost twenty years completely transported me back to being a kid in December and all the excitement, simplicity, and wonder that the season involved.

And so I share them with you.

The Night Before Christmas (1968)

Parts 2 and 3 here and here

Since this movie predates me by almost twenty years, I have no idea how it even got on my radar, but my dad recorded it off TV one day and that VHS was in heavy rotation, let me tell you. The movie is a fictionalized account of the events that inspired Clement Moore to write The Night Before Christmas. It opens with Moore leaving for a short business trip a few weeks before Christmas and promising to bring a special present back for each of his children. The requisite doll and candy are requested by his unimpressive, not-main-character-worthy children, but Charity, his eldest daughter who has impossibly long eyelashes given the fact that mascara hasn't been invented yet, asks for a book. Moore departs, and Charity almost immediately starts to cough and feel cold, which we all know is a sign of imminent tragedy. Sure enough, Charity's gone and contracted pneumonia, WAY TO GO CHARITY. Moore rushes home to find his daughter delirious and near death. In an attempt to soothe her during her fevered ravings, he begins to pen a story to read to her. And thus The Night Before Christmas came to be. Charity ultimately recovers and all is well, God bless us, every one. 

This movie was clearly subtitled: "The Heaviest Christmas Story Ever Told." Why I was not disturbed by watching a little girl only a few years older than me almost succumb to an easily contracted infection is beyond me. It likely had something to do with the fact that I was completed enamored of Charity's flouncy blonde curls. Or that stringing popcorn to decorate your tree was the most ingenious thing I'd ever seen. Regardless, I loved the aesthetic of this movie, and it very likely spawned my ultimate obsession with the nineteenth century. It also made the Christmas when I was bedridden with pneumonia (and pink eye. Christmas 1995: worst. Christmas. ever.) seem ridiculously romantic.

A Family Circus Christmas (1979)

Part 2 here

Another rip-roaring comedy that centres on hallucinatory fantasies and characters' mortality! While decorating their tree, The Family (do they have a surname? Likely not.) discovers that their tree topper, a star made by their paternal grandfather, has gone missing. That night, Jeffy, the second youngest son, dreams that he asks Santa to bring Granddad, who now "lives in Heaven," home for Christmas. When The Mom learns that this is Jeffy's Christmas wish, she tries to explain to him that it's beyond even Santa's powers to bring someone back from the dead, but Jeffy will hear none of it. Later that night, Jeffy is visited by the ghost of Granddad (who is eerily mute and transparent, but who is always accompanied by groovy jazz music), who shows him where he can find the star. TAKE THAT, MOM. The family restores the star to its rightful place atop the tree, and joy and happiness reign.

I really have no idea why this movie had such appeal for me, and this one is particularly touching for me now that my paternal grandfather, whom I also called Granddad, has passed away. Maybe it was because the star topper reminded me of the one my grandparents used to have on their tree. Children aren't particularly discriminatory in their affections. Oh, and the Family's pet dog is named Barfy. There's that, too.

The American Ballet Theatre and Mikhail Baryshnikov's The Nutcracker (1977)

Another film that predates me by a decade, another main character who is tripping balls. Obviously, The Nutcracker isn't an obscure Christmas work, but I was particularly obsessed with this adaptation. In case you had no childhood and/or were raised by wolves, The Nutcracker is set in Anytown, Western Europe in the 1800s. It opens on the Christmas Eve party of the Stahlbaum family, whose guests include the local magician/resident weirdo Herr Drosselmeyer. Drosselmeyer gives the Stahlbaums' daughter Clara a terrifying looking nutcracker as a Christmas present, and when her idiot brother manages to break it immediately after she receives it, Clara is heartbroken. In the middle of the night, long after the party has ended, she sneaks downstairs to check on her nutcracker, which has been placed in the parlour for safekeeping.

Then shit gets weird.

The Stahlbaum home is clearly dealing with a major infestation, and, once downstairs, Clara is attacked by the house's mouse population. Which is disturbingly life sized. Her nutcracker comes to life to protect her, and, after defeating the mice, transforms into a beautiful, human prince. In a series of acid-induced hallucinations fantastical dreams, the prince takes Clara to the Land of the Sweets, where they are entertained by its magical inhabitants and crowned King and Queen. Clara awakens back in her home and stares wistfully at the snow falling outside her window, leaving us to wonder was it all a dream...? 

Yes, it obviously was, Clara. Let's stop lying to ourselves. You are clearly a 25-year old woman. And if a strange man in very tight pants shows up in your house in the middle of the night and offers to take you to his "Land of the Sweets," RUN, GIRL. Even if he does look like this:

(Source)
So. Many. Jokes.

A side note: How did I never know that the Nutcracker Prince, alias the Mikhail Baryshnikov, is Aleksandr Petrovsky from Sex and the City? Not being a ballet aficionado, Baryshnikov has always just been a faceless name to me. But now he's a face, too. Oh, is he ever. Here's one more in the spirit of giving:

(Source)
Peace on earth.

As a child, this movie was the epitome of all things beautiful for me. The costumes looked like they were made of candy and the music was exhilarating. I wanted to be Clara and have my handsome prince whisk me away to fairy land in the middle of the night. I wanted the tutu to be a staple of my wardrobe. I wanted to be effortlessly graceful. I wanted orchestral accompaniment to follow me everywhere I went. Come to think of it, I still want all those things. And seeing the Nutcracker in New York City remains on my bucket list to this day. I also felt a personal connection to The Nutcracker when I was little, because my mom and I used to see a local production of it every Christmas. In fact, I once had the opportunity to star as one of the humanoid mice that attacks Clara in the first act. But because I could barely get through watching that scene without hyperventilating with fear, I figured I'd save myself years of therapy and wisely declined.

So there they are - the Christmas movies that you've probably never heard of that sum up my childhood. Watch and enjoy, and may your days be merry and bright. 

On cat love

If my friends' posts on my Facebook wall are to be believed, there are three things that matter to me in this world: Jane Austen, chicken mcnuggets, and cats. This list is more or less exhaustive.

I'm the girl who goes to a party, finds the cat, and spends all night talking to it in an obnoxious voice. Even after being together for our entire adult lives, my boyfriend is still disturbed by amazed at just how much I talk to my cats (hint: it's a lot).

So you all must have known that this post was inevitable.

I'm an animal lover generally, and I love hearing about people's unique relationships with their pets. So when I found the blog Lola is Beauty a while back, I knew I was going to like it...because it's named after the blogger's cat. The blog includes beautifully photographed travel, fashion, and lifestyle pieces, but also features a series called Bloggers and Cats. Each entry spotlights a different blogger and her answers to questions about her cat(s). Since I'm neither hip nor popular enough to be one of the bloggers featured on Lola is Beauty, I'm borrowing the questions for my own use. Sincerely hoping Claire doesn't mind.

The basics: what breed are they, how old, how did you come to live with them, why did you call them Jake and Zoë?

I come from a long line of cat fanatics, so when we had to have our 17-year old cat put down in 2006, we were totally, irrevocably distraught. We made it about three weeks before we decided that getting another pet was a necessary step in our healing process.

Jake and Zoë (formerly Cupid and Sweetheart, due to the proximity of their birth to Valentine's Day) came as a pair from our local humane society. Their mother had been brought to the shelter while pregnant and had had her kittens there. She and the rest of her litter had already been placed in homes by the time we came looking to adopt, and we knew we couldn't possibly break the last two kittens up. So home with us they came.

I have absolutely no idea what breed they are, and I'm not convinced that they actually are brother and sister, because they look nothing alike. Zoë definitely has some Turkish Angora in her. Jake is...Jake.

How would you describe their personalities? Are they friends?  

We've often said that we've never encountered cats as good-natured as Jake and Zoë, which is a pleasant change of pace, as all our previous cats have been seriously deranged had minor behavioural issues. They are incredibly vocal, and often wander the house meowing, trilling, and chirping. They follow us around like dogs. They have literally never hissed at or been aggressive with us, and will truly put up with anything.

Exhibit A.

Zoë is incredibly high strung, though, earning her the affectionate nickname "Jesus Christ, get off the Goddamn curtains" from my dad. Everything is a cause for alarm for her and is potentially the worst thing that has ever happened in the history of humanity. She's extremely curious, and is often found doing things she's not supposed to be doing, like hiding in my underwear drawer or eating my books. She's also incredibly talkative. Zoë will chat with you for hours on end with a meow so loud and assertive that it's hard to believe it came out of such a tiny cat. She also gets sporadically and intensely needy, and bestows her affection violently and with great physical force. She's basically a white, fluffy truck driver. 

Jake is so easy going that I sometimes wonder if he's been lobotomized. Oftentimes, he only requires an affectionate look in order to start purring. I regularly pick him up upsidedown and walk around the house with him, and when I put him down he'll start smooching me (not sure who this suggests has the bigger problems). He has the muted, delicate cry that Zoë should have, even though he's at least twice her size. He's loving and sweet--if a little intellectually stunted--and wants to be showered with affection all the time. He loves having his belly rubbed and loves to play - he gallops around the house in the middle of the night with his toy mouse in his mouth, desperately trying to wake someone up to play with him. He also loves playing with dry spaghetti noodles, and will sit by the cupboard, looking at the knob, and crying for someone to open it and deliver unto him the grain of the gods. He thinks he's still a kitten and has no idea how fat and awkward he's become. 

Zoë is the leader and Jake is the follower, and they have the intense love-hate relationship that most siblings do. One minute they're hissing and lusting for each other's blood, and the next they're washing each other's faces. Jake is hilariously and problematically jealous of Zoë, and if he hears you talking to her will barge into the room and usurp your affection with a clearly implied "DAFUQ?" He has major attachment issues that would be costing us a lot of money in therapy bills if he were human. 

What are their favourite foods?

We never got in the habit of feeding them from the table, so they don't go for much other than their cat food. But Zoë has a bizarre and unexplained obsession with simulated cheese flavour. She will also cut you for anything sweet and sugary. Also: toilet paper.

Do they have any preferred lounging locations? Any signature poses?

They're both masters of the always popular "curl into a ball and press your front paws into your nose" pose. Zoë can usually be found sitting in a window, plotting the demise of anything that blows/flies past her line of vision. Jake is a very regal poser: he likes to assert his imagined authority by lying with his two paws stretched out directly in front of him. Alternatively, he can be found looking like this:

What is a day in the life of Jake and Zoë like?

Their day begins when they hear us filling their food dishes. Jake begins every morning by snuggling with me as I have my morning coffee, and their mornings are pretty active - there are toy mice to decimate, birds to chirp at, and black clothes to cover in fur.

At some point in the afternoon, Zoë will start crying to be put in her favourite hiding place - high atop the shelf in our hall closet. If no one is around to help her in this endeavour, she'll take matters into her own hands by scaling our coats. She likes it here, because she has a bird's eye view of our porch, and also because Jake is too fat and lazy to chase her up there. Afternoon is nap time and around supper the cycle repeats itself. Jake usually requires a second, nighttime cuddle to round out his day.

Do you have any amusing/weird/cute Jake/Zoë moments or stories you'd like to share?

They have no concept of how a litter box is supposed to work. Cats supposedly have an instinct to bury their waste in order to make it difficult for predators to track down their scent. Jake and Zoë know that they're supposed to do something once they've done their business, and they'll stand for several minutes after they're finished, scratching the side of the litter box, the cover of the litter box, the floor outside the litter box, but not managing to move a single grain of kitty litter to where it's supposed to be. We seriously think we've coddled every survival instinct out of them. They wouldn't last five minutes in the outside world.

Quickfire round:

Birds or mice? If you say "birds" in just the right voice, my cats will run to the window and start scanning the yard. They're basically furry little snipers. 

Trouble brewing.

They do love a catnip mouse, though, and we usually wake up each morning to find that Jake has stowed his mouse away in a different part of the house, just like the adorable assassin he is. 

Sunlight or radiator? Sunlight. 

Tap or bowl? TAP. Both are freakishly obsessed with water (Jake especially) and will sit in our bathroom sink crying mercilessly until we turn the water on for them. Jake, sad little mentally-challenged puppy that he is, will let the water pour all over his head if it means getting a drink.

Lap or laptop? Shhh...my cats haven't figured out yet that my laptop exists. 

Snuggling or stretching? Jake is a snuggler, Zoë a stretcher. 

Cats or humans? Both and neither. They have a completely emotionally/physically abusive relationship with each other, and while they're so attached to us I sometimes think it's unhealthy, they are hilariously afraid of people, generally.

They cray. But I loves 'em.