Gen X'ers remember a time when animated Christmas specials were worth
waiting all year to watch (and they were called Christmas specials at the
time). Of course, Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown was the king of
“holiday specials.” Kids in the 1980s and early 1990s even looked forward to
the Dolly Madison commercials. Obviously, streaming changed the way viewers
relate to media. “Specials” maybe no longer seem as special when they are
viewable 24-7-365. Yet, the quality can still be special, or not. This holiday
season, Disney+ released two holiday specials of varying degrees of specialness.
In
a way, David Lowery’s An Almost Christmas Story (Oscar-qualified,
but not shortlisted for Best Animated Short) indirectly revisits the question
whether Die Hard is a Christmas movie when the Folksinger
narrator ponders whether a Christmas setting is sufficient to make a Christmas
story. In this case, the answer should be yes, given the extent of the
Christmas trappings.
Having
recently discovered his flying ability, the growing owl chick Little Moon shows
far too much enthusiasm and not enough caution. After accidentally wrecking his
nest, Moon tries to redeem himself gathering twigs, making himself a target for
a predatory bird of prey. Barely surviving with a wounded wing, he waits for
his frustrated father to rescue him. However, he takes refuge in the giant tree
bound for Rockefeller Plaza, just as they start chopping.
Suddenly,
Little Moon finds himself in the strange world of New York, overlooking
ice-skaters like young Luna. (Presumably, he must somehow have slept through
all the mediocre pop stars performing at tree lighting ceremony, so he is
luckier than he realizes.) Nevertheless, he is quite alarmed, especially since
the trio of street-smart pigeons led by the tough-talking Pat (Natasha Lyonne,
almost, but not quite laying on the gruffness too thickly) greet him with
suspicion and hostility rather than compassion. (Naturally, Phil Rosenthal of Somebody
Feed Phil has instant credibility as Punt, the pigeon who only thinks about
food). However, Little Moon and Luna learn they share an affinity beyond their
names.
Partially
inspired by Rocky, the owl discovered in the 2020 Rockefeller Center tree, An
Almost Christmas doesn’t even get to Christmas. It only takes place during
the lead-up. However, Little Moon’s desire to return home (for the holidays) is
a classic Christmas theme. The use of the Folksinger (warmly performed by the
just folksy-enough John C. Reilly) as an on-camera narrator, sort of like Jimmy
Durante in Frosty the Snowman, is another staple of holiday specials.
The
third Christmas short produced by Alfonso Cuaron for Disney+, An Almost
Christmas Story was computer animated in a style that emulates various stop
motion techniques. Appropriately, it has a woody, textured vibe that evokes the
owls’ forest environment. Even the character design reflects the wood-work
effect, like Moon’s eyes, which charmingly suggest tree-rings.
The
resulting visual style is quite distinctive, while the story qualifies as
endearing. As a result, An Almost Christmas Story passes the Christmas
special test, even though most of its characters do not know what Christmas is.
In
contrast, The Simpsons: O C’mon All Ye Faithful talks all about Christmas,
but its holiday spirit feels rather Grinchy. Technically, this is episode
S36E10 (featuring all the regular continuing members, who should be able to
voice their characters in their sleep, by this point), but it has the
distinction of being the first Simpsons programming to premiere on
Disney+ rather than Fox.
Ironically, Stephen Brigstocke’s debut sells quite well for a self-published
literary novel, especially considering he really never cared about sales. He
was writing for a very exclusive audience: Catherine Ravenscroft, her husband
Robert, and their anti-social son Nicholas. Unfortunately, for the
Ravenscrofts, the book is transparently based on her, revealing the darkest time
of her life. Yet, publication was only the first step in Brigstocke’s campaign
of vengeance in creator-director Alfonso Cuaron’s 7-part Disclaimer, based
on Renee Knight’s novel, which premieres today on Apple TV+.
The
series opens on a high note for Ravencroft, but a fall is coming. She is about
to accept a prestigious award for documentary producing and she finally
convinced her awkward, under-achieving son to move out of the house. After the
awards ceremony, she returns home, where she starts reading a book mailed to
her, The Perfect Stranger. It is not the prose the causes her to start
violently retching, but the content, because she easily recognizes herself in
those pages.
To
be honest, Brigstocke did not even write the book himself. His late wife Nancy did.
Sadly, she slowly imploded after their college-aged son Jonathan died while on
an Italian holiday, under murky circumstances that somehow involve Ravenscroft.
His grieving mother wrote the book based on police reports and the revealing
undeveloped photos he left behind. Many of them were sexually explicit pictures
of Ravencroft. Those same pictures will eventually find their way to Robert
Ravencroft, along with his own copy of The Perfect Stranger. However,
Brigstocke fully understands his target’s weakest point: her son Nicholas.
In
terms of style and tone, Disclaimer is closely akin to the “unreliable
narrator” genre exemplified by Gone Girl, except in this case, the
narrator, the omniscient voice of Indira Varma, is quite credible. Instead, the
author and readers are unreliable.
To
be perfectly clear, this series is only intended for mature adults. The early
episodes are highly charged sexually, whereas the final two are extremely
difficult to watch. However, there is a point to the horrifying acts they
depict. In some ways, Disclaimer could be a companion piece to Tar,
which also starred Cate Blanchett. Both directly address the excesses of cancel
culture, which Brigstocke shrewdly weaponizes against Ravenscroft.
Indeed,
Cuaron viscerally reminds us how much context is missing from supposedly
damning photos and cell phone videos. Frankly, Disclaimer shames us all
for being at least complacent and more likely complicit in this toxic practice
of personal destruction via cancellation and online dehumanization—and shame is
indeed the only fitting word for it.
Blanchett
is perfectly cast as Ravenscroft, showing how her elegant reserve slowly cracks
into a million pieces. She perfectly executes the dramatic jiu jitsu the
eventually lays the audience out flat. However, Leila George’s performance as
the young Catherine Ravenscroft is arguably even braver, given the demanding
physical nature of her work.
For
those accustomed to seeing Kevin Kline in light middle-aged rom-coms, it will
be shocking to see him decrepitly aged-up to play the sort of role we might
expect of Tom Wilkinson or Jim Broadbent. Yet, he deftly lures viewers in,
openly inviting us to identify with Brigstocke’s righteous fury.
