The feel-good continues with the Richard Donner directed Scrooged (1988), another clever updating of Dickens’ Christmas Carol template. Bill Murray is unforgettably nefarious as Frank Cross, the cynical, selfish TV exec haunted by three very unusual spirits on Christmas Eve in the Big Apple. This is Murray dialed up to 11 and the film is such fun and so fondly remembered precisely because he works so hard to make Frank such an unrepentant, over-the-top, uncaring prick. I mean who the hell gives their staff towels as a Christmas bonus? And yet, we can’t help but kind of love him. It’s a great physical, comedic performance, though Cross is such a scoundrel that his eventual transformation into philanthropic, chorus-leading good guy is a little hard to accept.
It's an astutely sharp and satirical Christmas movie, opening with a fake trailer for film-within-a-film ‘The Night the Reindeer Died’ a none-more-‘80s bonkers action flick filled with machine gun fire and explosions that’s essentially Die Hard at the North Pole, starring Lee Majors. We segue into an ad for ridiculous musical special ‘Bob Goulet’s Cajun Christmas’, before pulling back to the boardroom, giving us a glimpse of the mad, ratings-obsessed TV executives who come up with this stuff. It’s exaggerated, but funny as you get the impression none of this is too far off what really goes on in these places.
Frank’s planned live TV version of – you guessed it – ‘A Christmas Carol’ is an ill-conceived tacky musical with go-go dancers and a somersaulting Tiny Tim, not to mention mice with antlers glued/stapled to their heads. He’s just the sort of ratings-hungry tyrannical ass who would stage a live performance on Christmas Eve night so all his staff need to work instead of being at home with their families.
The film is a crazy mess of sequences all tied together by the glue that is Murray’s performance, with a little help from forgiving love interest Karen Allen). A whistle-stop ghost-guided tour of Frank’s past illustrates how an essentially sweet guy got his priorities messed up by a negligent dad and how he forsook a loving relationship in favour of the pursuit of fame and fortune. It definitely feels like a big dig at the outrageous excesses of the ‘80s. Man, that decade really isn’t coming out good in this quest so far at all.
Carol Kane is great value as a high-voiced, ever-so-slightly touched Ghost of Christmas Present, her floaty performance seeming almost like a little girl playing dress-up. Elsewhere, New York Dolls singer David Johansen turns up as a truly scuzzy, cigar-chomping, mystical cab-driving Ghost of Christmas Past who’s as frightening as he is funny.
It's enjoyable to watch Murray scream, shout and lose his marbles as he’s put through the wringer by the spirits, but an unexpected treat is seeing his warmer, quieter side and the sad, soulful expression that creeps over his face as Frank slowly comes to terms with how bad he’s screwed up the chances he had for true happiness.
The scene that gets me is when Frank’s courteous brother (played by Murray’s actual brother Joel Murray) explains how he’ll always invite Frank to his Christmas party every year, even though he never shows, just because, well, he’s his brother. I’ve been guilty of missing a lot of get-togethers, especially since we’ve struggled a bit with our mental health following the birth of our daughter. But still, the invites have kept coming, so I feel eternally grateful and look forward to accepting a few when this virus decides to take a hike.
Scrooged is a pleasing, entertaining tale, though one that’s also a bit uneven, eventually devolving into a torrent of perhaps not totally earned feel-good schmaltz by its all-guns blazing, sing-along, third-wall breaking climax. But Murray’s manic energy just about carries the whole thing off. God bless us, everyone, indeed.
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