Besides pure heart-warming entertainment value and some of the biggest laughs of any Christmas film, what makes A Christmas Story exceptional is that never before or since has there been another film like it. The offbeat, nostalgic, just shy of plumb story of Ralphie (a brilliant Peter Billingsly), a young boy determined to prevail in his Christmas quest for a BB gun, is a stand alone original. Others have tried, including a ill-conceived sequel, but none comes close. A Christmas Story is lightening in a bottle. A nostalgic look back at childhood perfectly pitched ten-degrees off center that manages to be, at the same time, all things wistful, absurd, abstract, and unforgettable.
Jean Shepard, the film’s warm wonderful narrator, is also responsible for the collection of short stories upon which the movie’s based. In God We Trust, All Others Pay Cash is a series of anecdotes told from the perspective of an adult Ralphie going back to his hometown and reminiscing with people he hasn’t seen in decades. The cobbling together of a script from these stories to create the solid narrative of the film is quite a feat in itself, but it’s Shepard’s unique voice that drives the book and it was director Bob Clark’s genius to capture that voice both literally and figuratively on film.
It’s all about tone, and A Christmas Story is perfectly tuned.
For me it’s the late great Darren McGavin as The Old Man who stands out. A legendary ham, but one who could back it up with talent, McGavin’s reaction shots to the absurdity around him are pure magic, and let’s go ahead and nominate Frageeelaaayyyy and Natafinga! as two words as iconic as the magical holiday combination of “shitter’s” and “full.”
As far as iconic moments and pieces of dialogue forever embedded into the pop culture lexicon, there are too many to list because the film itself is really one long iconic moment. The tongue on the flagpole, the visit with Santa, soap poisoning, oh, fu-u-dge, furnace fighting, the bunny suit, and of course, electric sex in the window. But don’t forget the small pleasures: Watch McGavin’s reaction when the wonderful Melinda Dillon drops the bowling ball in his lap. And be sure to keep an eye out when Ralphie lustily strokes the leg-lamp and his priceless “who me?” reaction when the teacher asks if anyone knows how Flick got his tongue stuck to the flagpole.
Forced to choose a single favorite moment, it would have to be the closing shot of a perfectly contented Ralphie fast asleep with his hard earned and much treasured “Red Ryder carbine-action, two hundred shot Range Model air rifle with a compass in the stock and a thing which tells time” by his side, all cozy under a warm blanket and wrapped in Shepard’s affectionate, reflective narration about a time that never really was but is how we like to remember it:
“Next to me in the blackness lay my oiled blue steel beauty. The greatest Christmas gift I had ever received, or would ever receive. Gradually, I drifted off to sleep, pringing ducks on the wing and getting off spectacular hip shots.”
…oiled blue steel beauty. …pringing ducks on the wing. …spectacular hip shots.
That’s not screenwriting or even prose … that’s poetry.
Last year the wife and I had the opportunity to see a double feature of this and Christmas Vacation on the big screen. Fun, memorable night to be sure, but you know what? Both play better at home in front of the warm glow of plasma. These are personal films and the intimacy factor in watching them at home trumps any big screen.
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