The last word on Christmas Carol adaptations, by me, Gena Radcliffe

No, really, this is it, I’m ending the argument.

Long ago, I used to be one of those people who claimed to dislike Christmas. Working retail, then in a hotel, both industries that always brought out the worst in people around that time of year, was a small part of it. Mostly it was in keeping with a phase in which I pretended that sincerity was for suckers, and Christmas was a bullshit holiday designed solely to spend too much money. Mind you, I still didn’t mind receiving gifts (or eating my grandmother’s homebaked cookies by the fistful), but I sure complained about how the whole holiday was a drag, that shopping was a drag and if I had to hear one more Christmas song I was going to die.

Luckily, said phase only lasted maybe two years before I got over myself and returned to enjoying it. For one thing, being a loud and proud Christmas hater is neither an original stance, nor one that anyone else thinks is anything but irritating. Anyway, I was only kidding myself: I learned early on that I was pretty good at choosing gifts for people, so why hide that talent under a bushel basket? Some of my most treasured childhood memories centered around Christmas, so even if I supposedly didn’t enjoy it as an adult, I still basked in the warm glow of nostalgia. It was a waste of psychic energy to fake disliking something for “cool” points, so I stopped. By the time I became a parent, I had become such a bonafide holiday fan that the Peanuts gang singing “Christmastime is Here” would move me to tears.

My child is grown, and Christmas is a bit more subdued, but I still love it. There are a few traditions that are still upheld, or else the upcoming year will be cursed, or my ancestors will be born with tails or something, I don’t know, but they are: (1) the Christmas tree has to go up the weekend after Thanksgiving, and no sooner or later, (2) said tree stays lit all night Christmas Eve (so Santa can find his way around the house), (3) a tacky ornament must be purchased, and (4) no less than five [5] variations of A Christmas Carol must be watched.

Let me be clear: when I say Christmas Carol variations, I don’t mean modern updates where some jerk who runs a publishing house gets the three-ghosts treatment. The only one of those that’s acceptable is Scrooged. I’m a traditionalist, and I strongly prefer the versions where Bob Cratchit makes three shillings a week and there’s a shot of Scrooge chowing down on some gruel while wearing a nightcap. No one in modernized versions sends a boy to buy the biggest goose in the window, so I reject them. The faithful adaptations feel like Christmas to me, the emotional equivalent of sitting by a roaring fire with a blanket on my lap, like the Sleepytime tea bear.

With that, after more than two decades of watching many, many takes on the Dickens classic (and oh boy, are there a lot, with new ones still released every year), I’ve settled on the following as my heavy hitters, the ones I go back to year after year. Fire up some figgy pudding and watch them for yourself, why don’t you?

The Muppet Christmas Carol (1992): Inarguably the best of the best, touching without mawkishness, and featuring the best humans with Muppet acting of all time, thanks to Michael Caine, who plays his role very seriously. His version of Scrooge isn’t just a mean old man; there’s a core of sadness to him, as if he’s well aware that the world has passed him by, and all he has left is his money, which he hasn’t even allowed himself to enjoy. It speaks to everyone who faces the holiday season with loneliness and regret, with an honesty that’s surprising for a family film that often comments on itself. It also has some truly inspired jokes, like Scrooge being visited not just by the ghost of Jacob Marley, but his brother, Robert, perfectly “cast” with Statler and Waldorf.

Scrooge (1951): The definitive version for a very long time, so much so that later adaptations would borrow plot points from it (such as Scrooge’s sister dying after giving birth to his nephew Fred) that weren’t actually in the book¹. It hits all those right sentimental notes, and turning it on each year is like someone handing my soul a plate of Christmas tree-shaped sugar cookies. If it goes wrong anywhere, it’s maybe that Scrooge (played by Alastair Sim) comes around a little too fast to the lesson the Ghosts are teaching him (he’s already softening up by the time the Ghost of Christmas Present shows up). Also, it has my least favorite version of Cratchit, played as a bootlicker who’s so obsequious he helps Scrooge put his coat on at the end of the day. Rather than pity him, you wish Fred would slap him and demand that he have some goddamn dignity.

A Christmas Carol (1999): This one is a relatively new addition to my “must-watch” list, and I’m not sure it gets the attention it deserves. Patrick Stewart, who once did the entire book as a one-person theatrical show, seems born to play an especially irascible Scrooge, who belittles Cratchit in front of Fred, and later threatens to beat a child with his walking stick. This extra-rotten egg approach makes it a delight near the end, when Scrooge, after his change of heart, discovers he’s literally forgotten how to laugh. I always get a little teary-eyed during the gorgeous Ghost of Christmas Present sequence, when Scrooge sees that much of the city celebrates the holiday despite their circumstances. Also, as opposed to the 1951 Scrooge, this features, for my money, the best Cratchit, played by Richard E. Grant, whose exhausted, broken spirit speaks to the actual working poor experience.  

Scrooged (1989): People seem to hate this one, and I’ll never understand it. It’s funny, but with the darkness of the original story, and yet there’s a sweetness to it too, as when surrogate Scrooge Frank Cross (Bill Murray) cries when he’s taken back in time to see his mother (“Niagara Falls, Frankie Angel”). Then there’s that wonderful, mostly improvised speech at the end – Roger Ebert once grumbled that it seemed like Murray looked like he was having a nervous breakdown, but I love the honesty of it. His Scrooge is not just happy to be part of the world again, he’s relieved, and when I’m on my third or fourth cup of Christmas cheer I’m usually sobbing myself by then.

A Christmas Carol (1983): Like Patrick Stewart, George C. Scott’s version of Scrooge isn’t just grouchy, he’s terrifying. When he’s returning home from a hard day of denying mortgage relief to the poor, you’re pretty sure he might stop to kick a dog to death to relieve a little tension. He’s so convincing as a cheap, miserable husk of humanity that when he has his moment of clarity, it almost sounds like he’s being sarcastic. It’s no wonder Cratchit (played here by David Warner, in a rare good guy turn) initially reacts to him with “I don’t get paid enough for this shit” dismay. Besides the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come “speaking” with what sounds like guitar feedback, it also has my favorite Ghost of Christmas Present (played by The Equalizer’s Edward Woodward), who’s a total sarcastic bitch who makes a delicious meal out of taunting Scrooge with “Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?” 

Mister Magoo’s Christmas Carol (1962): I don’t know if this one is actually good, but it’s tied up in a lot of nostalgia for me. It’s certainly charming, particularly its framing device in which Mr. Magoo is just starring as Scrooge in a stage production of the story. The only musical version I like (and that “razzleberry dressing” song will be stuck in your head for weeks afterward), it’s also one of the most openly Jesus-y versions, so avoid it if that kind of thing puts you off. But keep in mind, you’ll miss out on a great sight gag of a young Magoo-as-Scrooge looking exactly the same, but with a full head of curly red hair.

Mickey’s Christmas Carol (1983): If you want only a little zotz of Scrooge, just a wee skosh, here’s a Cliffs Notes version of the story, clocking in at just 25 minutes long. Though it’s so condensed that it doesn’t mention anything about Scrooge’s unhappy childhood, and Fred just disappears after the first five minutes, it gets all the salient points in with brutal efficiency. It’s as good an introduction as any to the little ones in your life, as opposed to FX’s bizarrely unpleasant 2019 version, which introduces child molestation into the plot and sexually humiliates Mrs. Cratchit, which is no fun for anyone.

HONORABLE MENTION: the Honey Nut Cheerios version, in which a bee dressed as Bob Cratchit shows Scrooge the error of his ways just by giving him a bowl of cereal, bypassing all that ghost stuff entirely. And God bless us, everyone!

1. It’s here that I should confess that I’ve never actually read the book. I figure watching roughly 178 film and TV adaptations of it, including Rich Little’s A Christmas Carol, which is a real lump of coal in the eyeball stockings, should count enough.