The Polar Express: A Strange Christmas Gem

"Writing is an antisocial act," -Martha Grimes

First off, my short story "Letters From Richmond" is featured on Amica Mea Wordpress. Check it out here!

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Whether you love it or hate it, I think we can all agree that The Polar Express is . . . weird. 

Both parts surrealist allegory and idyllic Christmas movie, The Polar Express finds itself in a strange place. Loved by some, dismissed as creepy by others. 

However, it's my most favorite Christmas movie of all time. Fight me. 

Now, I'll be the first to admit that most of the animation is . . . not great. Sometimes the images and faces are stiff, clay-like, and dip into creepy, however, it can work. This only adds to the movie's atmosphere, which isn't exactly not supposed to be creepy. 

However, many other shots of landscape and movement are gorgeous and breathtaking.

With all that fodder out of the way, on to why this is my undisputed favorite Christmas movie. 

I'm not sure I can split this review up into numbered points like I usually do, but I'll try and make this semi-organized.

In short, I love this movie because it's almost not a Christmas movie. Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas and Christmas movies, but they have a tendency to be . . . saccharine.  

The usual Christmas movie focuses on pure, digestible messages and how many shots of falling snow, red and green elves, and all things Christmas they can cram into one hour and thirty minutes. 

What the Polar Express does differently is that, while it still has the magic and wonder of the Christmas spirit, it doesn't water down the story or sugar-coat anything. It doesn't shy away from the strange, the exciting, or the painful. 

And the story. The story is just phenomenal. 

The story starts out with Hero Boy, cynical and ridden with disbelief, boarding The Polar Express. Through musical numbers, surreal events, and new friends, he learns to believe. 

The amazing thing about this story is that everything is significant. Everything adds to the story's arc. Every character and event corresponds to a theme or idea in the story, and it allows for an intelligent and engaging watching experience. 

By keeping the story on a small scale - 75% of the movie takes place on the train - there isn't time for a whole lot of filler, and we get to know the setting and the world so well by the time the story ends. 

By keeping it on a small scale, we really get to know the characters, and Hero Boy's character arc can take center stage. 

The thing about The Polar Express is that it's a great children's story with a universal message that just happens to take place during the Christmas season. 

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I suppose I'm a little biased. I grew up with this story, and it's woven it's way into my Christmas memories and my heart. 

But I think, ultimately, the reason I adore The Polar Express is because it's very similar to the stories I love - and write - now. It's a character-driven story about broken people, symbolism, and surrealism. 

And those are a few of my favorite things. 

Merry Christmas!

~The WordShaker

Death Begs Existential Questions

"Three words for a writer: Make Me Care," -Buffy Andrews

The trees are bare, and the flush of life on earth is at it's end.

And so was my Uncle Tim.

No one knew he was feeling this pain.  I saw him less than two weeks ago, and we never knew.  I never would have had the slightest inkling that he was depressed much less that he would kill himself with the weapon he used to gather his own food.

It would have been different if he died in a car accident.  No less tragic, but different.  It would have been different if he died of a heart attack.  No less tragic, but different.

Because instead of dying from the outside in, he died from the inside out.

Except the decay was not visible.

Until it was too late.

Now all that's left is the past.  All that's left is the memories and the words left unsaid.

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I remember our last conversation about what praying mantis egg cases look like. He lead me around the back of the house, narrating the first time he found out that these pine-cone like structures were actually the nurseries for little baby praying mantises.

You never know which conversation will be your last.

I never knew him that well. I never thought he much liked me, being creative and sporadic and pensive.  I remember spending holidays where we barely spoke a word to each other - mostly because we never had much to discuss.

He was always one of my hardest relatives, a tough nut to crack - at least, in my book. I could never find much to connect with him, but it seemed I was getting over that hump, and, occasionally, we'd have good conversations.

But now those are lost words and lost causes.

And I regret it with my whole being.

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The known haunts my past, but the uncertain terrifies my future. What will change? How will my family make it through each grueling day?

Funerals and pain mark what I forsee to be the future of my family. Black umbrellas and rainy eyes.

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I can't - won't -  believe it until I see it.

But why.  I don't understand.  Why did he die?  Physically, what caused his heart to stop and for you to take the last breath from his lungs.  Why did he die?  Spiritually, what was your purpose for plucking his life back into your hands.

What is death?  Where do we really go?  Does any of this matter? Heaven, Hell, everything in between. Death begs existential questions, that, quite frankly, toy and spear through my feeble mind.

What really is any of this?

My mind floods with many thoughts that can never be translated on paper.  My heart bursts with many emotions that can never be expressed in words.

And what am I to do with them?

I just hope that Uncle Tim is up there with you, God.

USA Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

~The WordShaker