Adeodatus in Wonderland

"I want to go out of here," N. wimpered whenever the action in Polar Express got a little intense. The 5-story-high screen and booming sound did indeed make the scenes intense and absorbing, especially for a three-year-old. Add the 3D element, and you've got the stuff of head-buried-into-Papa’s-chest and a possible bad dream or two.

I didn't want to get out of there until the movie was nearly over, when the story took a decidedly weak turn for bogus Kierkegaardian faith and a worked-up Christmas-spirit emotivism.

Let me say up front that I am not a big fan of the Santa myth as it has come down to us. About this time of year a few years back J. looked out the window on the drive to school and asked if Santa Claus was real. Sure he was real, I told him. I saw his bones in a box. This led into a teachable moment on the historical Saint Nicholas, a flesh-and-blood man who felt compassion for poor children and gave them modest gifts. This is the sort of man I would like my children to celebrate and remember in wonder, not the Victorian, department store caricature. That does not mean that I despise the caricature, that I forbid my children from sitting on his lap, or whisper in their ears the origins of Satan’s nickname “Ol’ Nick” and shield their tender eyes as we pass Christmas displays.

Polar Express succeeds in so many ways as a movie. Technologically it is a thing of beauty, and I don’t even know the half of what went into making it. The shots of reflections in the chrome Ford hubcap and later in the silver sleigh bell are genuinely stunning. The action scenes do more than scare little boys – they provide a frenetic, engaging cinematic ride. And at points along the way, you get the feeling that this kids’ movie could really become a nice vehicle itself for exploring the nature of faith and belief, of crass wants and sacrificial service.

“Seeing is believing,” says Mr. Conductor several times along the ride. At one point, though, he turns to boy and says something about believing without having to see. The climatic scene has Boy straining to see Mr. Claus or to hear the strangely silent sleigh bells. A bell comes loose, rolls to his feet, and provides the germ for his leap of faith. Eyes shut tight, he pronounces his faith. “I believe. I believe…” and there is Santa, in the flesh to reward his leap into the faith of the elven throngs.

Up to this moment, all is fine and good. Belief does come with difficulty, and we are often called on to profess our faith before the evidence is clearly manifest. But here is where the movie breaks down and becomes little more than a slick vehicle for Dickensian Christmas Spirit, only more trite and bound to the gift-getting element. The faith Boy works up is nothing more than the faith of the red sea of elves, a cleaned up Christmasy version of the Matrix rave. He wants to believe in Santa. Other children seem so happy and fulfilled retaining their faith in St. Nick, so by pure force of will he joins the Christ-free cultic apparatus. His reward for belief in the Big Man? He receives first gift of Christmas, anything he desires. (See, you think that Santa will give the destitute Billy the first gift, since he has never experienced any of this Christmas charm, living as he does on the other side of the tracks. Psyche! Santa tells him that he should be glad to have a few new friends. There is a bit of sick humor in Santa telling a penniless lad that All This isn’t about presents or possessions. Billy should have kicked ol’ Santa in his Silver Bells right then and there).

Was it disturbing to see Christmas utterly reduced to the cultic myth of Santa? Sure, but that is hardly unique or new. What this film does is to strip the event not only of its religious referents but even of the supposed residual ethos of love and sacrifice. Grinch (the book and cartoon) left us with families enjoying one another even when stripped of goods. It's a Wonderful Life finishes with a lifetime of sown sacrificial goodwill reaping salvation through the sacrifices of an entire community. Even Dickens himself assured us that the benefits we gain from loving and helping others far outweigh the products of a self-centered existence. Polar Express tells us that the summum bonum of the Christmas experience is to retain a childish belief in the cult of Santa, which, according to this movie, is consummated beneath the Tree of Presents. Not faith in the dignity of human beings or the power of redemption or the profound effects of personal sacrifice, but faith in faith, because it feels nice to remain innocent of crass myth-destroying social forces.