As has been my habit during the holiday season, and because I have nothing more pressing to do, I've been watching a lot of old Christmas movies for the umpteenth time. So far I've viewed several old Scrooges, a couple Miracles on 34th Street, Elf, The Man in the Santa Claus Suit, It Came Upon A Midnight Clear (with Mickey Rooney), and, of course, A Charlie Brown Christmas and the Grinch Who Stole Christmas.
My favorite Scrooge is the George C. Scott rendition from 1984, who seems both much more seriously gruff and scroogey than others and also more fully human. The more recent portrayal by "Captain Picard" (of Star Trek New Generation Renown) seems the worst to me, totally flat and uninvolved. And Albert Finney in the musical version is just a bit too much. The whole thing is a bit too much (especially for one like myself who is not a fan of musicals to begin with), although I do get a kick out of his "I Hate People" song.
I cannot get my favorite version of Miracle on 34th Street, with Maureen O'Hara and a very young Natalie Wood, this year for some reason. Seems that every site either doesn't work, wants to send you to another site, or wants you to pay. Same thing with the Bill Murray version of Scooge (Scrooged). Bummer.
One thing that is new this year, however, is that the increasingly familiar "pseudobulbar effect" is regularly kicking in. As the reader may remember, this is an odd symptom associated with multiple sclerosis wherein one finds himself at the mercy of excessive tears or excessive laughter without a sufficient trigger. It is sometimes described as inappropriate laughter or crying that comes without any trigger at all, but I can't really get a handle on that description. I mean, it seems that one would always be able to find some little sort of trigger, and it seems also that just a little thing on the outside can touch a substantial trigger within the great grab bag of the soul's conflicts and joys and sorrows.
Nonetheless, when I find myself weeping uncontrollably over Tiny Tim's little crutch in the chimney corner, I understand that something's gone a bit haywire. Especially considering that I've known about that little crutch for the past 60 years or so. And it's like this with every one of these shows. The more maudlin it is, the more weepy I become. I mean, I even cry during the Charlie Brown Christmas! I am thankful, therefore, to be alone in my little house before my little laptop screen. My goodness, what would people in a crowded movie theater think of me?
My favorite Scrooge is the George C. Scott rendition from 1984, who seems both much more seriously gruff and scroogey than others and also more fully human. The more recent portrayal by "Captain Picard" (of Star Trek New Generation Renown) seems the worst to me, totally flat and uninvolved. And Albert Finney in the musical version is just a bit too much. The whole thing is a bit too much (especially for one like myself who is not a fan of musicals to begin with), although I do get a kick out of his "I Hate People" song.
I cannot get my favorite version of Miracle on 34th Street, with Maureen O'Hara and a very young Natalie Wood, this year for some reason. Seems that every site either doesn't work, wants to send you to another site, or wants you to pay. Same thing with the Bill Murray version of Scooge (Scrooged). Bummer.
One thing that is new this year, however, is that the increasingly familiar "pseudobulbar effect" is regularly kicking in. As the reader may remember, this is an odd symptom associated with multiple sclerosis wherein one finds himself at the mercy of excessive tears or excessive laughter without a sufficient trigger. It is sometimes described as inappropriate laughter or crying that comes without any trigger at all, but I can't really get a handle on that description. I mean, it seems that one would always be able to find some little sort of trigger, and it seems also that just a little thing on the outside can touch a substantial trigger within the great grab bag of the soul's conflicts and joys and sorrows.
Nonetheless, when I find myself weeping uncontrollably over Tiny Tim's little crutch in the chimney corner, I understand that something's gone a bit haywire. Especially considering that I've known about that little crutch for the past 60 years or so. And it's like this with every one of these shows. The more maudlin it is, the more weepy I become. I mean, I even cry during the Charlie Brown Christmas! I am thankful, therefore, to be alone in my little house before my little laptop screen. My goodness, what would people in a crowded movie theater think of me?
No comments:
Post a Comment