God Bless Us, Every Mushy One

As the Christmas season gets into full swing, people don their standard put-upon demeanor and complain about how time-strapped they are. They lament that the holidays -- so devilishly unpredictable in their timing! -- have snuck up on them. And oh, how terrible it is that Christmas has become so commercialized.

Some swagger around with a bah-humbug air of sophistication and good taste, pooh-poohing those adults who relish the opportunity to wear antlers and brooches that jingle. And already the alarm bells are ringing over upcoming visits with family members against whom 10-year-old grudges are still held. (Criminal offenses excepted, what could really be so unforgivable?) Far too many adults adopt a whiny attitude toward the holiday. They participate not out of delight, but because they believe it is mandatory. If they do not graciously accept a glass of eggnog and a Secret Santa name, they will be excommunicated from their community.

And yet our affection for holiday entertainment -- of the kitsch variety -- tells a different story.

On Friday, the American Film Institute will begin its Christmas Classics series, with repeated showings of "It's a Wonderful Life" and "A Christmas Story." The recent ABC telecast of "A Charlie Brown Christmas" won its time slot -- and not just among children, but among adults as well. "Shrek the Halls" had nearly 21 million viewers. "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" had almost 19 million.

These holiday standbys poke through the tough exterior, past the belligerent blogger in us all, to tap into the warm, mushy core that people try to deny. Viewers simply cannot turn their backs on Charlie and the Grinch. Each year, audiences return to Bedford Falls to be reminded, just like George Bailey, that lives led with simple kindness and good intentions can have significant influence. They want to encourage Ralphie Parker as he makes his pitch -- to his teacher, to his parents, to Santa Claus himself -- for a Red Ryder BB gun.

Every Christmas, people return to the sap.

The draw, to some degree, must be attributed to habit. It's what they do every year, just as they might bake the same cookies, hang the lights in precisely the same way and put the Christmas tree in its usual location. But television and movie traditions offer a kind of continuity and reassurance that other traditions can't. The cookies burn. The lights break. The pine needles start falling off the tree too soon. But the Grinch and his little dog remain the same.

The Christmas classics are a special kind of entertainment. They're available only for a short time. They are both familiar and rare. "A Charlie Brown Christmas" is TV's equivalent of a good tomato: a true seasonal affair.

The story lines that made viewers turn teary-eyed the first 10 times they saw these Christmas classics will most likely continue to do so. They strum a chord that is ignored or denied all year long. We are not as detached and cynical as we would like to think. We are not as angry.

Remakes never have the same emotional tug as the originals. In the re-imagined version of "Miracle on 34th Street," Elizabeth Perkins does an admirable job as the disbelieving single mother who teaches her daughter there's no such thing as Santa Claus. But with all its glorious color, fashionable clothes and Central Park West views, the movie makes it too easy to relate to her cynicism. She sounds like women we know. And viewers feel like suckers if they don't sneer at the idea of Dylan McDermott, as her lawyer neighbor, trying to prove the existence of Santa to a Manhattan court. To go back now and watch that 1994 remake of the 1947 original, all one can think is, "Hey, isn't that Bobby from 'The Practice'?"

The black-and-white original, with the elegant Edmund Gwenn as Santa, exists in a separate time. Watching it is like peering into a snow globe. It is a perfectly contained fantasy world. For many people, the reality of the Christmas season overwhelms them. The shopping and the planning become burdens rather than diversions. Perfection and prestige become goals rather than pleasure. In a culture in which it's perfectly normal to spend a vacation self-importantly checking a BlackBerry, people have forgotten how to disengage.

So the chat shows get bogged down with experts offering tips on how to prioritize the To Do list or how to avoid debt. Therapists remind people that the real pleasures of the Christmas season are not found in a gift box. But we already know this stuff. We choose to ignore it. And then we complain about it.

At Christmas time, people need reassurance, not shopping guides and analysis. They go back to their past, which in hindsight always seems less complicated. Viewers revisit the Grinch, he of the teeny-tiny heart that grew three sizes upon learning the true meaning of Christmas, because his story grabs hold of an adult problem and wrestles it down into the simplest, most childlike terms.

And it may be that we need an annual screening of "It's a Wonderful Life" to put our own lives in order. George Bailey learns to appreciate the life he has, instead of pining for the worldly one he once imagined.

Coming from today's Hollywood, that would count as embarrassing tripe. In some circles, it would be akin to conceding defeat. Settling, instead of striving. But in a snow-covered, black-and-white fantasy world -- with Donna Reed, Jimmy Stewart and an angel named Clarence -- it rings true.