Skip to main content

Christmas Diary

 One of my favorite traditions is the Christmas horror film. In "Silent Night," Keira Knightley plans her own death, with assistance from her husband, Matthew Goode. The apocalypse is en route; most families are choosing a pharmacological "early exit." (The film's greatest scene involves the Coca Cola that Matthew Goode selects. A few of his children complain that he has settled for Coke Zero, rather than real Coke. They're really going to take their suicide pills with Coke Zero? The suspense builds and builds.)


More recently, we were treated to "Violent Night," in which Santa has to murder a gang of murderers? I can't remember. But: great title, great ad campaign.

This year, no such movie exists, so I made do with "The Order." There isn't a holiday theme. You just get Nicholas Hoult as the head of a neo-Nazi cult; Hoult literally terminates underlings who irritate him, and he plants a bomb in a porno theater (somewhere near Seattle?) ....But Hoult is no match for Jude Law, who repeatedly endangers his own life in the quest for justice. Everything builds to a Waco-esque showdown: Clearly, one character will die via self-immolation, but...could the body count climb to two?

I cannot share my interests with my children, but at least we can all bond over "Charlie Brown." What I love here is the utter lack of sentimentality. These kids are painfully honest. And, though I wish that Charlie himself could be a bit savvier, I admire the fact that he does not give up. (He is like Milhouse Van Houten, in this way; I have Milhouse in mind, as the actor plans her retirement.)

My final wish for Christmas is to watch "O C'mon All Ye Faithful," a recent holiday episode of "The Simpsons." I've just learned that "The Simpsons" has experienced a renaissance in its last three years; I don't know if actual non-professionals still watch the show, but the critics have rediscovered their enthusiasm. Seems like a nice holiday gift for America.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...
3 comments
Read more

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...
2 comments
Read more

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...
Post a Comment
Read more