First of all, a big, blustery “Hum……bug!” to CBC, which is “celebrating” Christmas Eve by showing the washed-out, colourized version of A Christmas Carol, the one with Alastair Sim at his most brilliant as the definitive Ebenezer Scrooge. All the gloom, dark shadows and winter bleakness that are such a part of the classic 1951 British version of Dickens’ oft-filmed tale are gone, in return for vapid browns and greens. I could barely bring myself to watch the promos. When it comes to CBC management, I am forced to ask, as Scrooge did: “Are there no prisons.”
To make up for this travesty, I offer those of my blog followers who are as devoted to A Christmas Carol as I a pair of web stocking stuffers sure to delight them. But first, a few preambles.
“Waiter. More bread!….Ha’penny extra, sir…..No more bread!”
“Business???!! Mankind was my business!”
“Fetch down Master Scrooge’s box!”
“Isn’t that old Fezziwig?”
“It’s such a goose, Martha!”
“The one as big as me? It’s hanging there, still.”
“I don’t deserve to be so happy….Label, label, label, label, label.”
“Merry Christmas, Mister Scrooge. In keeping with the situation.”
“You’ve made Fred so very ‘appy.”
“I am behind my time, sir. I was making rather merry yesterday….I’m sure you were. Step this way, Mr. Cratchit. I’m not going to put up with this sort of thing, any longer. Which leaves me no alternative…but to raise your salary…. No, I haven’t taken leave of my senses, Bob. I’ve come to them.”
Yes, like millions, I watch it every year, as much a part of my Christmas tradition as the pudding singing in the copper. I know as many of the wonderful lines as those in Casablanca. (Come to think of it, both Scrooge and Rick turn from cynics into guys with a heart, however bruised…a similarity little remarked upon….until now.)
And so it came to pass, long ago, in the little town of Newmarket, that I first became aware of Dickens’ classic tale. On a snowy morning just before Christmas, a time no one referred to as ”the festive season”, all the kids on our street were talking about what they had seen on television the night before. Something about ghosts and chains and a mean old guy named Scrooge and being scared out of their wits. It was, of course, Alastair Sim and A Christmas Carol. But, like the Cratchits without a turkey, we were a family without a television. So it was not until a year or two later, when a small “idiot box” finally made it into our house, that I finally got to see A Christmas Carol for myself.
My appetite for the movie, which is perfect in every way, was whetted by our Grade Seven teacher, who might have been our own version of Scrooge. She was the meanest, crabbiest, fiercest teacher you could imagine, with a well-used black strap she didn’t hesitate to use on whomever might be in her bad books on a particular day. But as Christmas approached, she miraculously turned into a big softie. We sang Christmas carols, put up decorations, and best of all, she read us Charles’ Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. It was if she, too, had been visited by the Three Spirits.
Before there were videos, my mother, who also loved the movie, would scour the TV listings every Christmas Eve to see which channel was playing Alastair Sims’ great tour-de-force, and when. Once, I seem to recall, the only showing was midnight on CKVR in Barrie. We watched late into the night, barely disturbing Saint Nick as he filled our stockings ng with such care. Like Christmas Day without Martha in the Cratchit household, it would not have been Christmas Eve without A Christmas Carol.
But last week, I did something completely different. For the first time since Rocket Richard retired, I read good old Dickens’ original. Verrrrrrrry interesting, as they say. Many scenes in the movie were taken directly from Dickens, word for word. However, much to my surprise, some of the best bits were not even hinted at in the book. They were the creation of the movie’s perfectly-named screenwriter Noel Langley. He did the seemingly impossible. Yes, folks. In my opinion, believe it or not, the movie version is better!
The sheer, unbridled giddiness that courses through the movie Scrooge on Christmas Day, with Sim prancing around in his nightgown, standing on his head, scaring himself in the mirror, frightening Mrs. Dilber before giving her a guinea, hollering at the boy to buy the turkey, and on and on, far surpasses what’s in the book. And is any scene more wonderful than the heart melting moment when the reformed Scrooge hesitates nervously before going into his nephew’s drawing room? He receives a nod of encouragement from the sweetest maid in the history of filmdom. With the strains of Barbara Allen playing softly in the background, I choke up every time.
Okay, enough of me. Here are those promised treats. First is a definitive account of all the scenes from the 1951 movie that were not written by Dickens. That’s followed by the pièce de résistance, an interview with the young actress who played the maid all those years ago. It was her last appearance before the cameras.
As Stompin’ Tom liked to say: Merry Christmas, everybody!