Think the Christmas season is stressful for you? Try visiting the house of Claus around the holidays.

It's not all milk and cookies and ho-ho-hos up at the North Pole. Those hundreds of millions (billions?) of presents don't get made and wrapped and distributed by themselves. No, it takes work. It takes precision. It takes about 15 quintillion elves who have to fight off 30 below temperatures and deal with a sun that's been AWOL since early October while ensuring that 12.3 million Kevins find a copy of Modern Warfare 3 under the tree.

Forget the sled: Santa and a division of elves ride in a monstrous, super-fast spaceship-like thing that makes our Space Shuttle look like a fruit fly. It's patched directly into operations-control back at the North Pole, where Santa's bright and ambitious son Steve (and presumed heir to the Clausian legacy) clicks through the night with paramilitary precision—pausing only to take a quick quaff of espresso. Every gift drop is timed to the millisecond, every emergency situation plotted and schemed for. It's an operation that'd turn military brass green, the sort of innovation that'd make the Apple execs in Cuppertino weep.

Naturally, an operation like this doesn't come without cost. Santa (more a title than a name) loves his job, but he seems to have grown distant from his own family. And even though he's more a figurehead now than a true Santa CEO, he refuses to pass on the reindeer reins.

That doesn't sit so well with Steve, who's been Santa's right-hand man for ages now. He's been the guy responsible for bringing the Christmas Eve operation into the 21st century. He runs Christmas: It's about time he decked his halls with the perks that should go with the responsibility.

Santa's second son Arthur, meanwhile, tries to stay out of these family squabbles. He's simple, clumsy and wide-eyed. He has a heart for the season and a love for everything his father stands for. "He's the greatest man ever," Arthur says. And he means it.

Then one foggy Christmas eve, the unthinkable happens. A child doesn't get her present—a beautiful bike that she asked for in a letter written on construction paper. For Steve, missing one child isn't a big deal—a microscopic blemish on an otherwise perfect operation. But for Arthur, it means that somewhere out there a little girl is losing faith in Santa. And Christmas.

He simply can't let that happen.

:: Review
Arthur Christmas was written with the cynic in mind. It's for kids who can't quite figure out how Santa delivers presents in Toledo and Tokyo and Timbuktu all in one night. It's for kids who've seen that even the supposed best of adults don't always act admirably. It's for kids for whom this "magical" time of year sometimes feels a little less than. It tells these children that even if things aren't perfect, that even after your mom and aunt get into a squabble during Monopoly or Dad eats Santa's Christmas cookies, there's still something special about the season.

That specialness is embodied, of course, by Arthur Christmas—a goofy, awkward, kid-like guy who answers Santa's letters for him. He knows the elves make fun of him. He knows he'll never be as cool or efficient as his big brother. On some level, he knows he's a disappointment to his father. And yet he puts all that aside because he believes in Santa's true goodness. It's Arthur's awe-filled optimism—and, frankly, sense of forgiveness—that carries this movie. Arthur doesn't spend much time worrying about what his father thinks of him. As long as Santa cares for the children, that's all Arthur needs.

When Santa lets Arthur down, though, it's still a brutal blow. Indeed, our hero almost gives up on his quest to "save Christmas" for the little giftless girl. But then he has an epiphany: It's not about Santa the man, but about Santa the ideal. Santa is bigger than any one fallible father can be. And as long as that ideal remains true and pure, the gift-giving spirit of Christmas survives.

It's a salient message for us to teach to our children, I think, who have observed moral or spiritual leaders stumble and fall. Our faith and our integrity should never be pinned to people, but rather to principles.

Neither, of course, should Christmas be pinned to Santa. But you already knew that.

No Comments