Krampus / *** (2015)

“Krampus” begins with a potent shot of irony, in a slow-motion sequence where cheerful holiday music plays over the questionable antics of angry retail shoppers stampeding through a sale. Their faces divulge the intoxicating dangers of commercialism, and the employees exhibit fear and injury with almost comical severity. To the director, this is what Christmas time has become – a display of extreme contradictions, in which the implication that good tidings must come in the form of expensive material possessions has changed our outlook to one of abundant pessimism. You wouldn’t ordinarily suspect that kind of forethought to worm its way through any sort of holiday movie in this day and age, but it is there, I am sure, to underline his more sensational motives. The characters in this movie are ready to drop the formalities of tradition and come out swinging against one another – even in the context of Christmas get-togethers – but a listening ear from beyond has picked up on that frequency, and is ready to unleash an arsenal of its own horrifying doing. Nothing is worse during the holidays then one’s loss of hope, because it brings out the shadows of devious energies ready to unravel all that we take for granted.

Saving Christmas / zero stars (2014)

He begins his diatribe as most do in the precursors to holiday yarns: seated at the front of a crackling fire, a Christmas tree in the backdrop and stockings hanging from an elaborate mantle façade. His smug, unsavory smile cloaks a disgust for inclusive perspectives, and his words – clearly improvised – rattle on about the contemptuous nature of differing opinions. No, these are not the joyful invites into a world of good cheer and worldly connections; they are the damning indictment against any person in the audience who has ever shared a more broad view of the holiday meaning, especially one that includes considering anything beyond fundamental Christian values. If these warnings had come from anyone less devoted to the cause than Kirk Cameron, we might have just assumed innocence, or even irony. But knowing that they belong to this, a self-proclaimed authority of the teachings of Christ, is to find oneself trapped in the embrace of a self-indulgent ideology. The concept itself would be dimwitted if it weren’t so dangerous.

Gremlins / *** (1984)

Childhood joys often settle in the eyes of little fluffy creatures that capture our hearts, and for me no greater instrument for such possibilities resonated more than a small gremlin named Gizmo. As a child of the ‘80s, there were certainly ample opportunities to find comfort in the company of sympathetic movie creations – including Spielberg’s famous E.T. and George Lucas’ misunderstood Ewoks – but something about a cute furry beast with long ears and big brown eyes bypassed all others as a source of visual comfort. To me, he embodied every trait necessary in creating youthful wonder: innocence, clumsiness, fear of the unknown and a certain gutsiness that spilled over when a plot insisted a level of danger onto those he cared about. The adorable factor was the most minor of those facets but no less critical, and when one brought all of those qualities together in the figure of something so delightfully endearing, there was scarcely a moment where we could walk away from the experience not wishing he was real (or better yet, actually part of our lives). And that’s the truth even after one acknowledges the bizarre anatomical characteristics he comes cursed with.

A Christmas Story / **** (1983)

Significant contrasts exist between most movies about the holidays and Bob Clark’s “A Christmas Story,” but the key to its endurance over the years probably comes down to a certain cheerful self-awareness. Here is a movie where characters are not so much born from a script as they are molded within a tangible frame of reference, and through their sense of innocence, patience, imagination and ability to pass through situations with scarcely a shred of confidence, an image of the most bolstering movie family emerges. This, we quickly realize, creates a commodity of alarming clarity: for anyone who has ever experienced the childhood wonder associated with the festive traditions of Christmas (or the agonies of familial impatience), many of the scenes scattered throughout the picture seem to exist as projections, as if the movie camera is reaching into the scrapbook of the mind and drawing on specific memories for reference. Directors by nature look to their own lives for such inspiration, but this is an approach that is impeccably informed and organic, and Clark not only comprehends the emotions associated with suburban households in the hustle and bustle of the holidays, but somehow finds a universal elation in them.

The Polar Express / ** (2004)

"The Polar Express" is the most expensive vanity project ever made. Fashioned out of a computerized concept, with a budget that reportedly extends into the area of $170 million, Robert Zemeckis's flashy and ambitious motion-capture holiday cartoon is so intoxicated by its own wild production values that it has little time to do anything else - not the least of which is tell a halfway-compelling story, even by the average child's standards. And that's a little disheartening, because the picture and all its positive energy arrives at a very convenient time, when the world around us in utter turmoil and there is such a strong desire for something genuinely uplifting. For those a little more intuitive than most young kids, however, it's hard to find much to celebrate in a film that seems less like a good-hearted fable and more like a successful business man waving around his bulky check book.

The Santa Clause 2 / *** (2002)

At the beginning of "The Santa Clause 2," a plane with tracking systems begins picking up signs of disturbance towards the north pole, the lyrics of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" riding the waves that the aircraft's crew are closely monitoring. Meanwhile, deep beneath the thick sheets of ice, Santa himself and all his little helpers rush against the clock to silence the source of this little rumpus, hopefully before any outside influences get too close to the source and discover their well-hidden village. It wouldn't be a terrible thing, we gather, if all the little workshops and townhouses for elves and little toy factory workers were discovered, but we can imagine the frustration of good ol' St. Nick—it's so hard, after all, to keep an effective assembly line going when you've got unwanted visitors threatening to disrupt your intricate pattern all the time.

How the Grinch Stole Christmas / ** (2000)

The towering green visage in Dr. Seuss’ immortal tale of “How The Grinch Stole Christmas” is as famous a holiday figure as Santa Clause or Jesus Christ, prevailing in our imaginations as a reminder of how even the coldest hearts can renewed by a sense of unconditional faith and joy. An abstract reconstruction of the typical Ebenezer Scrooge persona, so to speak, Seuss’ eccentric antagonist lives on year after year, high in the mountains, watching the “Whos” down in “Whoville” relishing in the spirit of the holidays by lighting up trees, putting decorated wreaths on door handles, and exchanging gifts as if participating in a large birthday party. The story itself isn't a terribly involved one, true, but is played out with such vivid integrity and respect that, even for those who identify with the Grinch's actions of attempting to prevent the holiday's occurrence, reading it leaves behind a heartwarming lesson.