Did Saddam Get the Last Laugh?

.

Saddam Hussein is dead, thus ending a thirty year reign of brutality and murder. He was executed, along with his half-brother, Barzan Ibrahim, head of intelligence during his reign, and Awad Hamed, former head of the Revolutionary Court. The three were hanged about one minute before 9 PM EST, or 6 AM, Iraq time.

.

If anybody deserved to hang, it was Saddam Hussein. The atrocities he committed against his neighbors, and worse, his own people are well documented. In a perfect world, his death would herald a new sense of closure on the dark times of his heinous rule. It might even signal a step forward for a fledgling democracy.

.

But the current situation in Iraq is anything but a perfect world.

.

Despite the Bush Administration's reassurances that victory in Iraq is attainable, the reality is we're in a quagmire from which we'll be hard-pressed to extricate ourselves. The Iraqi people are factionalized, and every group is scrambling for power in the image of their own particular version of "democracy." Meanwhile, we've lost over 3000 American lives in a vain attempt to convert them to our version of democracy.

.

Hussein's execution is not going to change any of that. He was another thug in a long history of thugs who stopped at nothing to secure a place in history. He'll be remembered as a footnote among the the likes of Mussolini, at best. His days as political capital to justify a war bankrupted years ago.

.

This is not a time for chest-beating. This is a moment for us to look long and hard at where Iraq is heading. We no longer have the luxury to look at this through rose-colored glasses. Hussein was a relic of barbarism, to be sure. He won't be missed.

.

He was a bit player in the scheme of things. It's time to look forward now, and realize that the new alternatives in Iraq are all scrambling for their moment. Rather than attempt to further bulldoze our way through the Middle East, we might want to consider a more covert, more vigilant form of intelligence.

.

Iraq itself is now a weapon of mass destruction just waiting to explode. And we may have inadvertently lit the fuse.

.

Army of Anyone, Anybody?

.

.

The term "supergroup" tends to make me cringe. Invariably, so-called supergroups are either made up of former members of existing bands well past their prime, or of survivors of rock and roll suicides. They're damaged goods either way, and all the hype labels bestow on them can't change the fact that the supergroup is just going through the jaded motions.

.

Fortunately, the members of Army of Anyone are just obscure enough to skirt through the corporate hooplah and create a solid rock album. Don't get me wrong--Army of Anyone are seasoned musicians. Vocalist Robert Patrick cut his musical teeth as a member of the original Nine Inch Nails touring band, and went on to form Filter. The DeLeo brothers--Dean on guitar, and Robert on bass--were largely responsible for Stone Temple Pilots' sound. And drummer Ray Luzier is a session musician who worked with David Lee Roth, among others. If there's a commonality among them, it's that none of them are strangers to arena rock.

.

On their eponymously titled debut, Army of Anyone offer no apologies regarding that fact-- rather, they wallow in it, and come out slugging. This is a paean to the hard rock of the early seventies, replete with overwrought vocals, meandering guitar runs and straight to the gut percussion. It could easily have been a disaster, but somehow, the band manages to pull it out of the hat. What makes it work is the underlying tone of cynicism that permeates the album. They're not playing it for the burnt-out rock star premise that bands like Velvet Revolver make their stock in trade, and they're not playing it by the numbers, either.

.

Army of Anyone succeeds because of the sense of passion that runs throughout the entire affair. This is an album that celebrates the tradition of hard rock, with elements of the Who ("Ain't Enough"), Pearl Jam ("Father Figure") and even Stone Temple Pilots and Filter peeking out of the past to give it credibility. It's hardly a work of lasting significance, but it does rock--and quite well.

.

Is it derivative? Hell, yes. It's an album that's going to remind you of every little rock and roll bar you ever hung out in, tipping those waitresses and bartenders, "because they're workin' real hard just for you."? Obviously. Does it really showcase the bandmembers' individual strengths? Of course not. As I said from the beginning, "supergroups" never do that. But Army of Anyone unabashedly lays down eleven tunes that evoke the spirit of arena rock--loud, pseudo-sensitive, pseudo-meaningful, punctuated with power chords and pounding drum runs.

.

When you put it in those terms, Army of Anyone are, for want of a better term, one kick-ass band.

James Brown's Final Bow

.

.

This wasn't the Christmas morning surprise we had in mind. James Brown, the Godfather of Soul, died about 1:45 EST this morning. He'd been hospitalized on Christmas Eve, suffering from pneumonia. According to reports, he was in good spirits at the time, determined to be well in time for a planned New Year's Eve concert in New York.

.

It was not to be. Brown's heart gave out this morning in an Atlanta hospital. The hardest working man in show business will do no more encores--at least, physically. The musical legacy he leaves us, however, ensures his spirit will never surrender to that trademark cloak.

.

"Disco is James Brown, hip-hop is James Brown, rap is James Brown; you know what I'm saying? You hear all the rappers, 90 percent of their music is me," Brown told The AP in 2003. And indeed, it is. I don't know if he was really "the Godfather of Soul"--guys like Otis Redding and Ray Charles were technically more influential in that genre-- but it's an indisputable fact that James Brown gave the world funk.

.

Without Brown, there would have been no Parliament or Funkadelic, at least, not as we know them--he gave Catfish and Bootsy Collins their start. They honed their guitar and bass crafts playing for James Brown before hooking up with George Clinton. Had they not united with Clinton, One Nation Under a Groove probably would not have happened. And had that not happened, Talking Heads most likely would not have discovered polyrhythms, and their greatest album, Remain In Light, would have never existed.

.

If anybody brought dance to the forefront of pop music, it was James Brown. His moves weren't contrived or choreographed-- they sprang full-blown from his soul to his feet, and everywhere in between. Michael Jackson have reigned as King of Pop in the eighties, but James Brown had laid down the gauntlet two decades earlier. The shuffles, stamps and twirls that accentuated his performances inspired artists like Prince and others to incorporate the physically funky into their brand of musical funk--which Brown more or less invented.

.

Brown's influence on hip-hop is undeniable, too. He's porobably been sampled on more rap tracks than any other artist, largely because he was an early advocate of Black pride. He didn't wear it on his sleeve-- he waked the walk when he talked the talk. He was handing out toys to underprivleged kids Friday this week. I'll leave it to other people to talk in length about his run-ins with law and his drug and alcohol abuse. Those are tabloid tags that signify nothing.

.

It gets down to this: James Brown is one of those rare figures who epitomize rock and roll. When he sang "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag", he heralded a new direction for soul, and rock in general. What James Brown did was open up an entirely new entity that would serve to define rock as we know it . Rappers would sample his work above all others, and rockers paid homage to his polyrhythmic structures throughout the nineties. Without James Brown, there woulsd have been no funk, no punk, no--well, nothing.

.

It get down to this-- James Brown brought the party to us for forty years. Screw it. James Brown lives forever. " Getta up offya your ass and dance" is all you need to say, really. James Brown may have departed the mortal coil, but his influence will will entwine music forever.

.

The Polar Express: An Unapolgetic Endorsement of Christmas

.

.

I was barely six when I got the goods on Santa. It was all quite accidental, although my suspicions had already been aroused at least the Christmas season before, when it dawned on me that everywhere I turned, Santa was there. And he always looked a little different, always had a slightly different mannerism, seemed hearty at one turn, and slurred his speech at the next. But mostly, he never rememembered that we had chatted just an hour ago.

.

Never.

.

My parents' contrived reassurances that those "Santas" were actually elves the Big Man employed to get wishlists back to him did little to qualm my doubts. Little kids are not stupid. Even then, I knew elves were not six feet tall. And I really didn't want to believe Santa lived in a shadowy North Pole underworld populated by double agents and operatives constantly surveilling my every move.

.

I wanted to believe--I really did. But that one evening when I was six sealed the deal. This Santa was good--jolly and empathic--and almost had me fooled. I though he had to be the real deal. So when he told me he had to go check on his elves, I just had to trail him. I furtively followed him through the Lasater Grocery aisles and watched him disappear into the backroom warehouse. I clambered onto the idle conveyor that moved produce onto the sales floor to get a better look.

.

What I saw would shape all my perceptions for the better part of the next forty or so years. "Santa" was sitting on boxes cajoling with the workers in the warehouse, drinking beer, smoking a stogie and talking about honkey tonkin'. His padded red coat was off, and so was his "beard". Santa was just another redneck picking up beer change. He did have a cool, greased-back head of black hair, though.

.

Even though I knew the truth, there was still a miniscule grain of doubt. That grain translated into it would be in my best interest to play along with the Santa thing. After all, if my parents knew I knew, I reasoned, I might not get presents. I was six, remember--and six year old logic is hardly developed.

.

It took over forty years for a Christmas film to touch me, How the Grinch Stole Christmas notwithstanding. 2004's The Polar Express is a movie guaranteed to touch anybody whose heart isn't "two sizes too small." It's a simple story told with a childlike sense of wonder that's magical. Forget about the motion-capture technique Bob Zemeckis employed to turn Tom Hanks into at least three different characters. Never mind the extensive use of CGI to make you believe the Polar Express could careen crazily on ice before getting back on track. All you need to enjoy this film is suspend your disbelief for a little less than two hours..

.

If you can do that, you'll be utterly immersed in a world enhanced by the vivid, but surreal colors of childhood memory. It's a dreamscape that doesn't merely challenge you to believe in magic-- it demands it. The Polar Express is a story in which every point is gently presented like an oil painting, with dibs and dabs of doubt and cynicism counterbalanced with the belief that what we can't see is the larger picture.

.

It's a road trip the likes of which has never been chronicled, and it all takes place on Christmas Eve. At its core is the fundamental knowledge that faith is the one thing that holds us all together. And that's a message that extends well beyound Christmas.

.

If only the Polar Express had come around that night when I was six. . .

polar

Remembering Joe Barbera

.

.

You can't say Joe Barbera's passsing 18 December at the age of 95 signals the end of an era in pop culture--not really. The impact he and collaborator Bill Hanna (who died in 2001) had on animation, and our pop perceptions in general, will never be forgotten. The Hanna-Barbera team didn't only define television animation--they singlehandedly invented it. From Tom and Jerry to Huckleberry Hound to the Flintstones to virtually any what used to be called Saturday morning cartoons, Hanna-Barbera molded generations' ideas of what cartoons are.

.

They were a team for over 60 years, with Hanna acting primarily as producer, and Barbera handling directing chores. While we think of their creations as "Hanna-Barbera", it was Joe Barbera's drawings that provided the visuals ingrained into our collective consciousness. Hanna once said of Barbera the could "capture mood and expression in a quick sketch better than any one I've met in my life." Indeed, Barbera knew how to make a wiggling brow or a dour frown pace a story. He had to. The studio was constantly working under time and budgetary constraints, and it was essential to make their point immediately.

.

Animation "purists" were often fond of citing his limited animation style as instrumental in the decline of of the art. In reality, though, the studio probably saved the cartoon from an ignoble fate. At the time, making cartoons was a painstaking and prohibitively expensive process that the major studios had all but abandoned, particularly for television. Barbera had the creative impulse, and Hanna had the bottom line moxie, to recreate animation for the small screen.

.

What followed, for better or worse, was nothing less than revolutionary. Before Hanna-Barbera introduced Ruff and Ready in 1957, television had relied on retreading theatrical cartoons, not considering the form a priority. Huckleberry Hound followed soon after, with Yogi Bear hot on his heels. By 1960, the studio had made the leap to primetime with The Flintstones. And without the Flintstones, the Simpsons would never have existed. And had it not been for the Simpsons, it's a safe bet the Cartoon Network would never have progressed beyond the planning stages.

.

Barbera did more than sketch the concepts for what would become icons--he provided some of the lines that would become part of the American language. "Yabba-dabba-do!" and "How 'bout a little pic-a-nic basket?" are a part of our cultural lexicon. He had an inate talent for tapping into the common man's psyche and breaking it down to its roots. Sure, the Flintstones were rooted in The Honeymooners, but it went a step further with the premise that we are all alike, always have been, and always will be, as evidenced by The Jetsons.

.

In a career stretching more than six decades, missteps are bound to happen. Yet, the Hanna-Barbera team managed to roll with the punches, and put a spin on every trend that came along. There's not a comic book fan alive who would admit to actually liking Super Friends, their kid friendly take on DC superheroes, but there are very few comics afficionados who can deny watching it on at least a semi-regular basis. Scooby Doo always grated on my nerves, but growing up on Hanna-Barbera cartoons, I couldn't help but appreciate the fact that he was the grandfather of Astro, the Jetsons family dog.

.

Think about any television cartoon character you loved as a kid, and odds are it began life as a Joe Barbera sketch. They're in your head, the ones that are triggered to life by the oddest of circumstances--Quick Draw McGraw (and his alter ego El Kabong), Secret Squirrel, Josie and the Pussycats, the beatnik hip Top Cat, the Smurfs--jeez, the floodgates open and the characters keep cascading through.

.

Here's the simplest testament of all to the immortality of Joe Barbera. My niece was born in 1995, and obviously knew nothing about the legacy of the Hanna-Barbera studio. She had access to every cartoon ever created. Her favorite? Tom and Jerry. She just couldn't get enough of the cat and mouse team created in 1940 by the Hanna-Barbera team.

.

A good gag lives forever. The guys who bring them to life last even longer. Joe Barbera dedicated his life to bringing the gag to life. Thanks to him, we're still laughing.

.

The Best DVD of 2006?

.

.

When Blogcritics asked me to contribute to a critics' round-up as to their picks of the best DVd of 2006, I was both honored and perplexed. Here's why.

.

Attempting to single one DVD as the "best" of all the hundreds released is a daunting task at best, and one with which I'm not entirely comfortable.There are feature film releases, music releases, indies, documentaries and on and on and on. Brothers of the Head made my list, as did

John Fogerty's The Long Way Home. There were plenty of disappointments, too--need I mention Fantastic Four?

.

I finally came to the conclusion that "best DVD" does not necessarily equate with "best movie." A DVD resurrects the original work, often becoming an entity that stands on its own. You have to consider packaging, bonus features, A/V options and aspect ratios, in addition to entertainment value.

.

All that being said, I have to go with Pirates of the Carribean 2: Dead Man's Chest. I'm talking the 2-Disc Special Edition, mind you. The holographic slipcover alone has provided me with hours of enjoyment. And with over five hours of bonus features, most of which focus on the technical aspects of making the movie, it's a package that film fans can't resist.

.

The movie itself is presented in 16:9 aspect ratio and Dolbly 5.1 surroundsound, which is the only way a current release should be seen. Not that this movie aspires to "art"--it's a romp, full of Chaplin-esque sight gags and double entendres. Jack Sparrow is a glam rock star version of an 18th century pirate and the villainous Davy Jones, half-man, half-octupus, may be the creepiest rogue (visually speaking) ever put to film. The Carribean scenery is luscious, contrasting nicely with the murky undersea world of the eternally doomed crew of Davy Jones.

.

It's all played for laughs, and despite its cliffhanger ending, Dead Man's Chest ranks with the swashbuckler films of the forties for pure entertainment value. It's not the best film of the year by any means, but it is the best movie. It's popcorn thrills all the way.

.

Given that we buy DVDs mainly to kick back after a long day, or to enjoy during the weekend,

I have to say you'd be hard-pressed to find a better choice than Dead Man's Chest.

Not a Photograph, More Like an Open Window

.

.

It's an indisputable fact that few bands were more influential in the evolution of post-punk music than Mission of Burma. They inspired contemporaries like Gang of Four and Sonic Youth, and paved the way for bands to follow, including the Pixies and Nirvana. Not too shabby for a band whose career spanned four years (1979-1983), and whose body of work consisted of a couple of singles, an EP and one album.

.

That album, Vs., is widely regarded as a seminal work of eighties musicology, and garnered the band national attention among mainstream publications. Things were going swimmingly, and Mission of Burma abruptly called it quits. Citing guitarist Roger Miller's worsening tinnitis as the primary reason, the band decided it would be best for all concerned to go their seperate ways. One of the hallmarks of the band had been that they were LOUD, and it had taken its toll. Bassist Clint Conley and drummer Peter Prescott could have just hired another guitarist, but they knew the magic wouldn't be there. In 1983, they played their final gig. That kind of solidarity is rare, especially in rock, and it only served to further cement their reputation.

.

Nothing is forever, though, and 19 years later, after much cajoling from fans and introspection, the band reunitedfor one last time. Not a Photograph: The Mission of Burma Story chronicles how they came to be, with a wink and a nod, and hints as to where they may be heading.

.

Nobody really knows why the band decided to reunite in 2002, least of all the band members themselves. Maybe it was a collective midlife crisis. Perhaps they just needed to get out of the house. Or maybe it was they realized that they had unfinished business. It doesn't really matter. What's important is that they did reunite.

.

What's even more important is this is not just another tired reunion. The years have been kind to Mission of Burma--their playing is more precise, but the energy is every bit as intense as it ever was, if not more so. It's as though the bandmates looked back on their misspent youth, nad said, "Fuck it--nothing's changed. Let's do this thing." Okay, Conley is now working as a news producer and living the suburban life, Miller is half-deaf and has to wear riflerange ear protectors to rock it, and Prescott is running an oh-so-hip record store. None of that's important. They never forgot.

.

We watch them through tentative rehearsals, through the obligatory press jetties, through the buzz growing around their reunion, and we see them nonplussed about the entire reunion event.

This disc takes us through all of that, as the band reworks old tunes half-forgotten, tunes like "Academy Fight Song" and "That's when I Reach For My Revolver." And it all culminates in one brain-rattling performance in New York.

.

The Mission of Burma story doesn't end there, though.That performance reenergized them as a band, and introduced them to a new generation of fans. Now, as inexplicably as their reunion began, the band is touring and recording again.

.

Not A Photograph, if nothing else, is a testament to the power of rock, and its inherent power. But it goes a step further. It poses a question: Were Mission of Burma too far ahead of their time in the original incarnation?

A "Fearless" Trek Into the Spiritually Uncharted

.

.

Jet Li's Fearless is quite possibly the best wushu film ever made. This is a work that transcends the cliches associated with the kung fu genre to emerge as an odyssey of spiritual redemption. Very loosely based on the life of Chinese folk hero Huo Juanjia, founder of the Jingwu Sports Federation, Fearless works both as memoir for Jet Li (at least, in a metaphorical sense), and as an allegory on human foibles.

.

Directed by Ronnie Yu (The Bride with White Hair), Fearless glides effortlessly between brutal action and pastoral tenderness, between wry humor and somber musing. It's a straightforward, simple tale, told largely in flashbacks, but Yu's pacing immerses the viewer in such a way that it feels like the flow of a river. Coupled with Poon Yang Sang's cinematography, the film becomes visual poetry. Scenes are framed with the Golden Mean in mind, and filmed with the delicacy of a watercolor landscape.

.

That's not to imply that martial arts film fans will be disappointed with the action sequences of Fearless. This is, after all, a martial arts film, and the fight scenes are beautifully choreographed by Yuen Wo Ping of Kill Bill and The Matrix fame. In his hands, the rapidfire physicality of the violence becomes almost a brutal ballet.

.

But the heart of Fearless is in its story. Li portrays Huo initially as a man beset by demons he doesn't even realize dwell within him. His only goal in life is is to be recognized as the best fighter in China. When his reckless ways result in the death of a rival, his self-made world is utterly crushed, as his mother and daughter are slaughtered in an act of revenge. What follows is a Siddhartha-like journey of redemption and humility. When he returns at last to Shanghai, he finds his homeland a shadow of its former self, ridiculed as "the sick man of Asia." Overrun with both Westerners and the Japanese, the country is no longer united and has lost face in the eyes of the world. Huo, changed and contemplative, takes it upon himself to restore the honor of China through a series of staged fights with the West's best fighters.

.

Jet Li has stated unequivically that Fearless will be his final martial arts film. Of course, he'll still be doing action films, but in the future, he plans to concentrate more on drama. Last year's excellent, but underrated Unleashed may offer a glimpse as to where his career is headed. If Li is serious about leaving the wushu genre--and there's no reason to doubt him--there could not be a worthier film than Fearless to cap his career. Li wanted his last kung fu movie to transcend the conventions of the genre. He wanted it to be more about the true nature of martial arts, the philosophy, rather than focus solely on pandering, cartoon violence prevalent in much of the genre. He views Fearless as the culmination of his life's work, and of his philosophy, as well.

.

The resultant product is a work that is one of the most visually stunning films of 2006. Scenery, costuming, cinematography and pacing all work synergystically to create a tableau that speaks volumes. Sparse in dialogue, it is a film that tells its story simply but effectively--letting the viewer's perceptions fill in the blanks. On a somewhat related note, http://www.jetlisfearless.com/game gives viewers an opportunity to paste scenes in whatever manner suits their fancy. It doesn't alter the story, but it can alter a viewer's perception of it.

.

Like Hero and House of Flying Daggers before it, Fearless elevates what used to be perceived as puerile chop-sockey into a rarefied idiom that quietly, if sometimes brutally, speaks to a universal truth. Violence may rule the world, but it doesn't have to rule us.

.

.

.

Ahmet Ertegun 1923-2006

.

.

Ahmet Ertegun, founder of Atlantic Records and a visionary who was instrumental in defining pop culture as we know it, has died. He was 83.

.

He was linked to music until the end. It was during a Rolling Stones performance celebrating former President Clinton's 60th birthday, that Ertegun slipped and fell, sustaining head injuries. He slipped into a coma in early November and died Thursday.

.

The son of a Turkish ambassador, Ertegun founded Atlantic Records in 1947, with a $10,000 loan from his dentist. The label initially made its mark bringing African-American music into the mainstream, signing artists such as Big Joe Turner, Ruth Brown and the legendary Ray Charles. He's also credited with propelling Aretha Franklin to her status as the Queen of Soul.

.

A true visionary, Ertegun realized the potential of rock in the sixties and diversified, signing the Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Cream and a number of others. His influence in shaping the music industry as we know it earned him induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1987 (which he also founded.

.

He was a man who loved the music scene, and his like will not be seen again.

.

"I've been in the studio when you go through a track and you run down a track and you know even before the singer starts singing, you know the track is swinging ... you know you have a multimillion-seller hit — and what you're working on suddenly has magic," he said. "That's the biggest."

.

It was that passion that made Ahmet Ertegun more than a record executive--he had an uncanny ability to tap into into the pop consciousness and interpret

it into hit music. And he did it for almost sixty years.

.

Why the Grinch Is My Yuletide Hero

.

.

The Grinch is about to turn fifty, and he's spent forty of his years stealing Christmas on the small tube. I'm pretty sure I've watched it every one of those years-- in fact, the season doesn't kick in for me untill I've had my annual Grinch fix.

.

See, I have an aversion to schmaltz that fringes on the clinically obsessive. The holiday season (which, I believe, now unofficially begins approximately 2.4 weeks before Halloween) only heightens my anxiety. The most insipid versions of Christmas songs are piped into every retail outlet, an insidious tactic that I'm certain is designed to make shoppers buy everything, anything without conscious thought. They'll buy and buy, and go to superhuman lengths to make their purchase-- anything to escape those morbidly mundane renditions of "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town."

.

Round the clock screenings of It's A Wonderful Life, peppered with commercials telling me why I need a Ford truck under the tree this year, make me think it's anything but. Then I have to be concerned about the possible faux pas, regardless of how I say "I wish you well."

.

How the Grinch Stole Christmas brings a smile to my face, though. He's a character I can relate to. He's been unfairly villified, to the point his name is synonymous with a lack of Christmas cheer. In point of fact though, he didn't steal Christmas-- he liberated it. From his vantage point on Mt. Crumpit, he was able to look down on Whoville and see a populace obsessed with conspicuous consumption. It wasn't the spirit of Christmas that bugged him--it was the commercialization of the holiday that turned him desperately sour. So he took away all the commercialization--anarchistic, perhaps, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

.

It was a flawed plan at best. But thanks to Theordor Geisel, aka Dr. Seuss, and legendary animator Chuck Jones (of Bugs Bunny, Marvin the Martian, etcetera, on and on fame), the exploits of the oft misunderstood Grinch became an integral part of the Holiday season.Dr. Seuss laid the foundation with his original book, and Jones added a dimension of frailty that universally resonates in us. After all , the Grinch has a dog named Max, who faithfully follows his master's plan. Jones's depiction of the hapless Max as he faithfully follows his master, is genius. With an arch of an eyebrow or a desperately dismayed drop of the jaw, we knew instinctively that the plan was going to go awry.

.

Not a spoiler alert, at least, not for anyone born in the last forty years

.

When the Grinch looks down from on high, and sees that the celebration goes on, without or without gifts, he rewards the citizenry of Whoville by personally returning the gifts. And Grinch, in an odd turn of events, gets the key to the city, so to speak, when he carves the roast beast. It gets dangerously close to schmaltzy, but it ends there--no fanfare, no lecture.

.

For my money, How the Grinch Stole Christmas is the absolute best holiday TV film. Period.

Dr. Seuss was a genius at wordplay, and his simple tale embodies the yuletide spirit. Chuck Jones, through his mastery of visual characterization and slapstick humor, fleshed out all the characters and imbued them with something that touches us all.

.

The fact that it makes you laught, no matter how many times you've seen it, doesn't hurt at all. And isn't that what the season is all about?