THE NIGHT THE ANIMALS TALKED

 

Publicity poster for The Night The Animals Talked (© Shamus Culthane/Zavala-Riss Productions/David Gerber Productions/Gamma Film/ABC – reproduced here on a strictly non-commercial Fair Use basis for educational/review purposes only)

One of my abiding, fondest memories of Christmas on TV as a youngster in the UK was a truly delightful American/Italian animated featurette entitled The Night The Animals Talked. Roughly 25 minutes long, and containing several specially-written songs by none other than that celebrated Hollywood songwriting duo Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne, this TV movie was shown each Christmas on television here for several years during the 1970s, but then abruptly vanished from the schedules, never to be screened again.

Consequently, despite still remembering it in great detail, almost 50 years had passed since I had last actually viewed this thoroughly charming cartoon when only quite recently I unexpectedly came across it on – where else? – YouTube, and watched it enraptured all over again. I have also been able to obtain a first-generation DVD of it.

So today, Christmas Day, is the perfect time to reveal and review here on Shuker In MovieLand this tragically-overlooked hidden gem from my childhood. I often refer to such all-but-lost TV and movie treasures as forgotten, but judging from the numerous and invariably glowing comments and commendations that I have read about it on YouTube, IMDb, and elsewhere online, The Night The Animals Talked is anything but forgotten.

On the contrary: it may have long vanished from our TV screens, and not just in the UK but also in the USA, Australia, and everywhere else, sadly, it would seem, but as with me the cherished memories of this charming little production have clearly remained intact and still very much alive within the minds of countless viewers worldwide down through the decades. So here are mine, within my following review.

Directed by James G. 'Shamus' Culthane, with David Gerber as its executive producer, its teleplay by Jan Hartman and Sam Rosen (from a story by Peter Hernandez originally created as a script for an MGM children's record), and first screened on television by ABC in the USA on my 11^th birthday (9 December 1970) as it so happens, The Night The Animals Talked was originally inspired by a Norwegian festive folktale. In it, animals miraculously gain the power of human speech during the early hours of Christmas Morning, to honour the birth of Jesus, now more than two centuries ago.

In The Night The Animals Talked, this miracle occurs when the Star of Bethelehem shines down one winter's morning long ago upon a lowly stable in this small Middle Eastern town. It is home to an assortment of livestock including oxen, sheep, chickens, mules, a sheepdog, a goat, and a couple of pigs. However, the other animals cruelly discriminate against the pigs, refusing to allow them to stay inside the stable as they deem them to be inferior and therefore unworthy of shelter, so the poor pigs are forced to remain outside in their sty.

 

The animals are overjoyed that they can communicate with one another (© Shamus Culthane/Zavala-Riss Productions/David Gerber Productions/Gamma Film/ABC – reproduced here on a strictly non-commercial Fair Use basis for educational/review purposes only)

When the divine rays of the Star of Bethlehem bathe the animals in radiant light, however, they discover to their astonishment that they can speak, and are now able to communicate directly with each other (cue this featurette's catchiest song, 'It's Great To Communicate'), and even with humans, if any were around.

Yet initially, they waste their precious gift by squabbling needlessly and heedlessly with each other, until the wise old ox (voiced by Joe Silver) reminds them that they are behaving no better than humans themselves do.

This sharp, shaming remonstration swiftly puts an end to their verbal sparring, until, that is, they are approached by a small donkey bearing a weary lady, Mary, who is very soon to give birth, and accompanied on foot by her husband, Joseph.

The donkey (Frank Porretta) informs the animals that the couple have been unable to find accommodation at any of the town's inns, and enquires whether they can take shelter and sanctuary in the stable where Mary can then have her baby in warmth and safety.

At first, this sparks conflict between the animals, not all of them being happy for the couple to stay, as their opinion of humans in general, based no doubt upon how they treat livestock, is not a favourable one. Once again, however, the kindly ox convinces all of them to show mercy and tolerance, instead of acting like people once again, but by now the donkey and the couple have already departed. Happily, they are soon tracked down and led back to the stable by a flock of friendly swallows, and the couple are duly welcomed inside by all of the animals there..

Not long afterwards, Mary gives birth, not shown on screen but watched humbly in awe and amazement by the animals, whose new-found benevolence has even extended to the pigs, now allowed to enter and be present alongside all of them, gazing in great joy upon the infant Jesus, the newly-born Christ Child, Saviour of the World, brightly illuminated by the glorious Light of God streaming d0wn from the Star of Bethlehem directly overhead in the sky. Accompanying this serene setting is a beautiful Cahn-Styne composition, 'The Greatest Miracle of All'. Interestingly, the Holy Family are never actually named nor even portrayed directly here, Joseph and Mary being represented only via their shadows, and Jesus by an incandescent glow of radiant light within the stable but emanating from the Star of Bethlehem above it.

 

The animals gaze in awe at the infant Jesus, bathed in holy light from the Star of Bethlehem (© Shamus Culthane/Zavala-Riss Productions/David Gerber Productions/Gamma Film/ABC – reproduced here on a strictly non-commercial Fair Use basis for educational/review purposes only)

The animals are so inspired and uplifted by what they have beheld that they race outside, eager to tell the humans everywhere what has occurred on this holy night, and that love itself is a miracle. But as they attempt to do so, their human speech transforms back into the respective sounds that these animals normally make – the sheep bleat, the mules bray, the dog barks, the chickens cluck and crow. The miracle is over, at least for them, but for humanity it has just begun.

Indeed, the last animal to retain speech, the wise ox, does so just long enough to wonder outloud if humanity will realize what an incredible miracle it has been given, before he too loses his vocal gift and, together with all of the other animals, returns silently to their stable. Yet although their speech is now gone, the lessons in love and kindness that it taught them will remain with them for all time.

It is clear that this skillfully-produced, poignant featurette presents a number of significant adult-themed concepts to its predominantly child-based audience – discrimination, racism, tolerance, segregation, co-operation, even vanity all feature within it – but in a very gentle, subtle manner, far removed from the decidedly unsubtle, sledgehammer approach all too frequently applied by contemporary movie-makers.

Whereas not up to the high standards achieved by Disney cartoons, for instance, during the 1970s, and far short of any produced today, the animation in The Night The Animals Talked is certainly more than serviceable, especially when augmented by the tuneful Cahn-Styne songs and a strong voice cast. Moreover, having watched this featurette all over again before writing this review, I can testify that its charm has neither been diluted by age nor exaggerated by rose-tinted memories.

Consequently, I feel certain that it would delight new generations of children in exactly the same way that it delighted previous generations, including mine, if, after being off-screen for far too long, this superb Christmas treat were finally rescreened on TV – which would be a veritable and much-welcomed Christmas miracle in itself.

There are currently several uploads of The Night The Animals Talked available to watch for free on YouTube, but of those, the one offering the best visual quality in my opinion can be accessed here. Happy viewing, and Happy Christmas!

Finally: to view a complete chronological listing of all of my Shuker In MovieLand blog's other film/TV reviews and articles (each one instantly accessible via a direct clickable link), please click HERE, and please click HERE to view a complete fully-clickable alphabetical listing of them.

 

The animals joyfully greeting the entry into their stable of Mary and Joseph (© Shamus Culthane/Zavala-Riss Productions/David Gerber Productions/Gamma Film/ABC – reproduced here on a strictly non-commercial Fair Use basis for educational/review purposes only)

 

THE NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS

 

Publicity poster for The Nightmare Before Christmas (© Henry Selick/Tim Burton/Touchstone Pictures/Skellington Productions/Buena Vista Pictures Distribution – reproduced here on a strictly non-commercial Fair Use basis for educational/review purposes only)

My movie watch on 11 October 2023 (I couldn't wait until 31 October, a more suitable date for watching a Halloween-relevant film like this one) was actually a rewatch – of one of my all-time favourite animated musical films. Namely, Tim Burton's supremely spooky stop-motion masterpiece The Nightmare Before Christmas (or Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas, to give it its full official title).

Directed by Henry Selick, conceived and co-produced by Tim Burton from his original 1980s story-poem, and released in 1993 by Walt Disney Studio's Buena Vista Pictures (followed by a 2006 re-release in 3D by Walt Disney Pictures), The Nightmare Before Christmas has as its central character the charismatic, enigmatic, Gothic-garbed, and eponymously-skeletal Jack Skellington (voiced when speaking by Chris Sarandon).

Jack is the Pumpkin King, the perennially popular Leader of the perpetually phantasmal, ghoulish realm of Halloween Town (cue this film musical's first song, 'This is Halloween'). Lately, however, he has become bored of his realm's annual Halloween festival (cue the poignant, melancholic song 'Jack's Lament'), and seeks something new, something different. So Fate duly if unexpectedly obliges him, when Jack accidentally enters the perpetually festive, joyful realm of Christmas Town and becomes enraptured by what he sees, hears, and senses there (cue the movie's most famous song, 'What's This?', sung in amazement by Jack when he encounters and explores the wonders of Christmas Town – click here to listen to and view it as it appears in the film).

Inspired immeasurably with unconscionable cheer, Jack decides to bring Christmas – and Santa Claus (voiced by Ed Ivory after first choice Vincent Price had to drop out through ill health) – to Halloween Town. Like so many good intentions, however, Jack's don't go according to plan, and although they don't lead to Hell, they do lead to Halloween Town's dreaded bogeyman, Oogie Boogie (voiced and sung by Ken Page) when this evil entity (an animate sack filled with hundreds of creepy-crawly bugs!) captures poor Santa and threatens to do bad things to him – very bad things!! Moreover, like so many of the most memorable Disney villains, Oogie Boogie has one of the best songs in the movie – namely, the self-explanatory 'Oogie Boogie's Song' (and here it is), staged in a dazzlingly psychedelic setting.

Meanwhile, it's up to Jack, assisted by Frankensteinian rag doll and love interest Sally (Catherine O'Hara), created from spare parts by the sinister, hyper-controlling mad scientist Doctor Finkelstein (William Hickey) to be his compliant daughter but who only has eyes for Jack (cue 'Sally's Song'), together with all of the other Halloween Town inhabitants (including Jack's ghostly but seriously cute glowing-nosed pet dog Zero), to rescue Santa Claus (or Sandy Claws, as Jack and co all mistakenly call him!) and restore him as well as everything else to how it all used to be and needs once more to be in both Towns – no easy task!

The Nightmare Before Christmas is painstakingly detailed, immensely inventive, and visually spectacular, but this incredible dark fantasy-themed movie is enhanced still further by the suitably eerie music and almost a dozen songs composed for it by Danny Elfman – who also provides the singing voice of Jack.

 

Wearing my Jack Skellington t-shirt, from The Nightmare Before Christmas (© Henry Selick/Tim Burton/Touchstone Pictures/Skellington Productions/Buena Vista Pictures Distribution / photo © Dr Karl Shuker – reproduced here on a strictly non-commercial Fair Use basis for educational/review purposes only)

I'm not a massive Burton fan – quite frankly, I find his obsessive pre-occupation with darkness and death somewhat morbid and not a little disturbing and depressing at times – but this movie is truly amazing to watch and listen to, a perfect example of the very special cinematic magic that no other medium can even begin to conjure forth.

Indeed, The Nightmare Before Christmas was actually nominated for an Academy Award for Best Visual Effects (losing out to Jurassic Park); and was accorded the coveted #1 position by voters for a 2008 listing by the film review website Rotten Tomatoes of the Top 25 Best Christmas Movies (click here to access the entire listing and check through its 25 ranked entries, film by film).

Although there have been thoughts by Disney ever since 2001 about producing a sequel to this movie, but in either CGI animation or live–action format rather than stop-motion again, nothing has materialized; ditto re a recently-expressed wish by its original director, Henry Selick, to produce a prequel, revealing how Jack became the Pumpkin King. Moreover, earlier this present month, November 2023, Burton was quoted in an Empire magazine interview article (click here to read it) as saying that he has no wish to revisit the movie, either via sequels or reboots.

So with the exception of its appearances in certain video games, it looks as if we shall have to content ourselves with re-experiencing the one and only visit to Halloween Town and Jack Skellington that is currently (and may well ever be) available – The Nightmare Before Christmas. But as this is such an eminently rewatchable movie, one that reveals new delights each and every time that we return to it, this is not so terrible a hardship as might otherwise be the case.

And if you would like to pay a visit to Halloween Town right now, be sure to click here to watch an official trailer on YouTube for The Nightmare Before Christmas.

Finally: to view a complete chronological listing of all of my Shuker In MovieLand blog's other film reviews and articles (each one instantly accessible via a direct clickable link), please click HERE, and please click HERE to view a complete fully-clickable alphabetical listing of them.

 

The front and back covers of my copy of the definitive book on this movie – Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas: The Film – The Art – The Vision, written by Frank Thompson, with a foreword by Tim Burton, and packed throughout with countless beautiful full-colour illustrations as well as the film's complete song lyrics (© Frank Thompson/Roundtable Press Books/Disney Enterprises, Inc. – reproduced here on a strictly non-commercial Fair Use basis for educational/review purposes only)

THE GHOSTS OF OXFORD STREET

 

The full cover of the official cassette single containing two different versions of the song 'Magic's Back' from The Ghosts of Oxford Street; also, all of the music from this TV production has been released on a CD album (© McLaren/Stock/Waterman/RCA/Channel 4 – reproduced here on a strictly non-commercial Fair Use basis for educational/review purposes only).

Earlier today I watched a truly obscure yet engrossing if unseasonal televisual oddity entitled The Ghosts of Oxford Street.

If I say that this peculiar production is a made-for-TV musical fantasy-cum-historical documentary set at Christmas and featuring several pop/rock/rap chart performers, you'll understand that what I'm really saying is that it is one of those totally unclassifiable crossover creations that come along every so often to intrigue or irritate, depending upon your tastes. Tantalising or twee, erudite or eerie, whimsical or just plain weird? A confection of curiosity for the imagination and for enquiring minds, or nothing more than a small-screen Jack of all genres and Master of none?

Produced by the British TV station Channel 4, which first screened it during Christmas 1991 (but has it ever been screened again?), The Ghosts of Oxford Street has a very novel theme – the shady past of what is today one of central London's most upmarket, iconic shopping experiences, Oxford Street. It is presented by Malcolm McLaren, he who launched the Sex Pistols, Buffalo Gals, Duck Rock, and Double Dutch upon an unsuspecting world, and who plays in this hour-long (including adverts) TV Yuletide special a mysterious, initially-masked figure carrying a big red sack of presents on his back. And no, it's not Santa Claus.

The Ghosts of Oxford Street opens with a suitably spellbinding, sepulchral, Beethoven-sampled and beatifically-sumptuous musical mash-up entitled 'Magic's Back', in which McLaren's softly-spoken wish during these shadow-ensheathed final hours of Christmas Eve to restore the magic and mystery of this historical street of bygone wonder and mayhem is accompanied by an exhilarating singing performance from Stepney-born vocalist Alison Limerick. It proved sufficiently popular to be released as a single, which entered the lower reaches of the UK chart.

During his journey along Oxford Street, McLaren flits back and forth in time via a series of self-contained scenes showcasing various real persons who were and in some cases still are intimately associated with this very special, specific location in London. And at each particular spot where he pauses in his reflections and recollections, he hides a present that he considers would be appropriate for and appreciated by the ghost of the erstwhile Oxford Street inhabitant whose life he has been recalling. A gift-wrapped revolver, for example, is left by him for proficient criminal and prevalent prison escapee Jack Sheppard, who was finally captured and hung from the Tyburn Tree where Marble Arch now stands, with so many others (around 50,000 in total) back in the bawdy, bad old Oxford Street of the early 1700s. (Incidentally, Sheppard is believed to have at least partly inspired the creation by John Gay of the robber leader Macheath in his 1728 ballad opera The Beggar's Opera, which was revamped exactly two centuries later by Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht as The Threepenny Opera (1928), in which villainous Macheath is introduced to the audience via the now-classic swing song 'Mack the Knife'.)

Also linked to each such scene is a musical performance by a famous chart act. In the case of the Tyburn hangings, the act in question is the English rock band The Happy Mondays, an apt choice inasmuch as these hangings normally took place on Mondays (though they were happy ones only to those attending to watch, not to those poor wretches actively participating in these grisly public spectacles).

Later in this strange and sometimes quite unsettling extravaganza we meet former Oxford Street inhabitant Thomas de Quincey (played by John Altman, best known as Nasty Nick Cotton from the London-based soap Eastenders). Today, de Quincey is remembered almost exclusively as the author of the autobiographical Confessions of an English Opium-Eater (1821), recording his real-life descent into a drug-fuelled phantasmagorical world of delusion, delirium, and decadence. Here he hallucinates a vision of a pretty young prostitute named Ann, only ever encountered by him once in reality but frequently haunting his fevered dreams and fantasies, who is played by a very ethereal Sinead O'Connor singing 'Silent Night' in the purest of voices as he chases vainly after her phantom form until she vanishes before him like the insubstantial illusion that she is (click here to view and listen to this evocative scene).

We also see McLaren's never-named character (though I suspect it is meant to be McLaren himself) chasing after a vagabond boy (played by John Pickard) who has stolen one of his presents. McLaren pursues him relentlessly through alleys and down a flight of metal stairs into an underground tunnel, as the boy sings a decidedly spooky version of 'Pick a Pocket or Two' from Lionel Bart's smash-hit London-based musical Oliver! Finally, McLaren draws near and calls out despairingly to the boy, asking him who he is – to which the boy grins at him, shouts "You!", then gives a maniacal laugh before disappearing. Deep, man, very deep - yes indeed, The Ghosts of Oxford Street is that kind of production…

Another scene focuses upon the infamously expensive Oxford Street courtesan Kitty Fisher (played by Kirsty MacColl) and the infatuated but financially embarrassed Duke of York (Shane MacGowan from The Pogues – I'm sure that you can guess where this particular scene is heading musically…). The upshot is that the two argue on the doorstep of her palatial residence, singing, as if you hadn't already guessed, 'Fairytale of New York' – the fact that they are in London, not the Big Apple, seems to have somehow escaped their attention. Ah well, it's Christmas!

Another scene features rap group Rebel MC, but perhaps my favourite one documents the arrival on Oxford Street during the 20^th Century's opening years of Selfridges, the colossal department store that would dramatically transform forever the face not only of Oxford Street but also of the shopping experience as a whole throughout Britain. Its founder, the larger-than-life American retailer Harry Gordon Selfridge, is played by none other than Welsh singing mega-star Tom Jones, whose upbeat rendition of Barrett Strong's classic 'Money (That's What I Want)' very effectively embodies Selfridge's exuberant, exorbitant, and totally execrable attitude to money and especially to spending it, until eventually he is forced to retire, having lost his fortune and ultimately the monumental London store that continued without him but retained his name.

Encapsulating this very different set of circumstances to which Selfridge is now reduced, abandoned by his former friends and colleagues, a social pariah, one of the disaffected and ostracized (to quote McLaren's on-screen description of him), Tom Jones now sings very expressively and with great pathos the jazz standard 'Nobody Knows You When You're Down and Out', which was originated by Scrapper Blackwell and subsequently immortalized by the likes of Bessie Smith, Nina Simone, and Eric Clapton (in Derek and the Dominos).

I found The Ghosts of Oxford Street to be both an entertaining and an educational watch, although the two components often sit quite awkwardly and uncomfortably alongside one another. What was presumably intended to be screwball sometimes comes across as oddball, and McLaren's lecturing is hectoring in places. Moreover, following a grand masked ball in Oxford Street's grandiose Pantheon, once a glittering venue for concerts and dancing, now long since demolished and replaced by Marks and Spencers, the whole production basically fizzles out, its anti-climactic ending very much a damp squib in my opinion. Indeed, for me the one saving grace of this otherwise underperforming finale is the masked ball's rendition of Ponchielli's glorious 'Dance of the Hours' – which originated in his ballet La Giaconda but is best known nowadays as that delightfully playful piece of classical music featuring hilarious dancing ostriches, hippos, elephants, and alligators in Disney's wondrous animated feature film Fantasia.

Nevertheless, as an aficionado of the absurd, a connoisseur of the curious, a devotee of the droll and the dream-like, overall I enjoyed The Ghosts of Oxford Street. Certainly I am glad to have discovered and watched it, especially in view of how ostensibly difficult this production is to find, bearing in mind that it has never been released in any home media format as far as I am aware, and according to some sources has never even been reshown on mainstream television.

So where did I locate it? On Channel 4's very own free-to-register (and watch) on-demand catch-up service, All4 – so click here if you'd like to view The Ghosts of Oxford Street while it is still available. And click here to view its very atmospheric, stage-setting opening scene, featuring the afore-mentioned song 'Magic's Back'.

Almost forgot: just in case you're wondering, the classical composition by Beethoven that is sampled in this latter song is the Allegretto from the 2^nd Movement in A Minor of his Symphony No. 7. You can thank me later.

And to view a complete listing of all of my Shuker In MovieLand blog's other film/TV reviews and articles (each one instantly accessible via a direct clickable link), please click HERE!

 

SANTA CLAUS CONQUERS THE MARTIANS

 

Publicity poster for Santa Claus Conquers The Martians (© Nicholas Webster/Jalor Productions/Embassy Pictures – reproduced here on a strictly non-commercial Fair Use basis for educational/review purposes only)

In the early hours of Christmas Day in the morning this year, I didn't see three ships come sailing in, nor, sadly, a visit from St Nicholas. Instead, what I did see was a classic Christmas movie – but which one? If we pretend just for a moment that you haven't read the title of this present review and therefore don't already know the answer to that question(!), could it have been It's A Wonderful Life, or the original (and best) version of Miracle on 34^th Street, or the chilling version of A Christmas Carol (aka Scrooge) featuring a superlative Alistair Sim as miser Ebeneezer Scrooge, or its hilarious updated version Scrooged starring Bill Murray, or any of the numerous Grinch outings? Of course not. Much as I love all of those movies, for me there could only be one festival film to choose for reviewing here on Shuker In MovieLand – yes indeed, Santa Claus Conquers The Martians!

It is a well known fact that this movie regularly appears on lists of the worst films ever made, but until now  I had only ever watched it once (and never in colour), which was so very long ago (upward of 50 years, and on a b/w TV) that I could remember nothing whatsoever about it. So what better time to pay Santa Claus Conquers The Martians a very belated revisit and discover whether or not it truly deserves its infamous reputation than today? And does it? No, not at all.

Directed by Nicholas Webster and originally released in 1964, Santa Claus Conquers The Martians is a delightfully oddball movie aimed fair and square at young children but with a few subtle inclusions to appeal to parents watching it with them. It tells the droll tale of how the children on Mars are becoming ever more listless lately, interested only in watching TV programmes screened on Earth but received on Mars that show Earth children playing happily with their toys and anticipating with great joy the impending arrival of Santa Claus to bring them even more in just a few days' time when Christmas Day comes around again.

The reason for the Martian childrens' interest, and envy, is that they are not allowed toys or even to play – from the moment that they are born, they are plugged into machines that tutor them in every academic subject until by the time that they can walk, they are fully adult. In short, they skip the childhood phase undergone by earth children completely, but Earth programmes, especially Christmas ones, are showing them what they are missing, thus making them sad and depressed.

In a bid to overcome this listlessness, which is even affecting his own two children, Bomar and Girmar (their names derived from 'Boy Martian' and 'Girl Martian', the latter of whom is played by a very young Pia Zadora), the kindly but concerned Martian leader Kimar ('King Martian', played by Leonard Hicks) visits Chochem (Carl Don), an ancient Martian sage, for advice. In response, Chochem states that their planet's children need to be allowed individual thought and the freedom to play, to enjoy themselves. Consequently, Kimar proposes a very radical solution. Namely, to visit Earth clandestinely and abduct Santa Claus (John Call), bringing him back to Mars where he will be retained permanently in order to make toys for the Martian children, in the hope of restoring them back to their former contented state of mind. However, one of Kimar's councilors, the villainous Voldar, is vehemently against the plan, because he considers Earth children weak and foolish, and Santa too, and does not want Martian children to become the same by being allowed to think for themselves and enjoy themselves,

Nevertheless, Kimar's plan is put into practice, but when he, Voldar, and the other Martians from their visiting spacecraft are accidentally encountered on Earth by two children, Billy and Betty, Voldar declares that they will have to abduct them too, in order to prevent them from informing the authorities about the Martians. And so, after travelling to the North Pole and seizing the jolly but somewhat bemused Santa in his workshop, the Martians with their three earthling captives return to Mars and put Kimar's scheme into operation, creating a special workshop for Santa containing a toy-manufacturing machine that he can operate to mass-produce toys for children all over Mars as quickly as possible.

A disgruntled Voldar and his two henchmen Stobo and Shim promptly abduct Santa – or so they think – with the threat to kill him if he and the two children are not sent back to Earth at once and Kimar's plan for showing the Martian children how to have fun and to play is not abandoned forthwith. In reality, however, they have not abducted the real Santa, but instead a somewhat simple but sweet-natured Martian assistant to Kimar named Dropo, who has become a massive Santa fan after meeting him, and was wearing Santa's spare costume and a fake beard at the time of his abduction by Voldar and his two cohorts.

Thanks to an enterprising Billy, aided by Betty and the real Santa, however, Voldar et al. are duly defeated, and Kimar swiftly arrests them. Moreover, when Santa points out that Mars now has its very own Santa in the able form of Dropo, who can provide plenty of good cheer and, with the aid of the toy-making machine, plenty of toys too for the children of Mars, Kimar agrees to send Santa, Billy, and Betty back to Earth, a decision greeted with much rejoicing by everyone.

Overall, Santa Claus Conquers The Martians plays out very much along the lines of Babes In Toyland meets Lost In Space (the cult US TV show originally screened during 1965-1968), particularly in terms of its hilariously basic special effects, kitsch 60s décor, green-skinned Martians spangled with hefty smatterings of Christmas-card glitter, and space-age technology concocted from what look suspiciously like spray-painted cardboard boxes, toilet rolls covered in metallic wrapping paper, and an array of coloured electric light bulbs. Yet these epitomise the basement-level production values that so endeared Lost In Space to viewers, so why was (and still is) Santa Claus Conquers The Martians so denigrated for them, especially as it actually preceded Lost In Space (meaning that one might have expected improved values in the latter later show)? The whiff of critical hypocrisy hangs very much in the air here, it would seem.

Similarly, critics have denounced its storyline as trite, while choosing to ignore the blatantly obvious fact that this is a children's movie, pure and simple, filled with silly jokes, traditional slapstick and pratfalls, a brace of winsome but enterprising kids, and the absolute living, breathing, ho-ho-ho-ing embodiment of Santa Claus himself in John Call's archetypal portrayal of kindly old Saint Nick. Having said that, there are a few whimsical little nods here and there to real, topical aspects that would go straight over the heads of most children but adults would smile at, as I did when spotting them. One such example is the rocket scientist at Cape Kennedy alerted to the approaching Martian ship having the name Werhner von Green – a playful play on the name of a real, famous pioneering scientist in this field, one Wernher von Braun (Braun also being German for the colour brown).

In addition, I loved the fact that after Billy, Betty, and Santa escape through a very narrow chimney-like ventilation tube from an airlock into which Voldar had imprisoned them on the ship (planning to secretly jettison them into outer space), and are asked by a perplexed Kimar how Santa could have possibly got through such a narrow tube, Santa simply laughs and replies that he has plenty of experience in such matters!

Despite being perennially maligned and mistreated by film critics, Santa Claus Conquers The Martians actually performed well at the box office, especially as it was re-released many times at Christmas down through the years. Moreover, it has latterly become something of a cult classic in moviedom. However, in my opinion it is greatly deserving of nothing less than full rehabilitation as that rarest of cinematic confections available nowadays – a delightful and thoroughly wholesome, family-friendly, corny-but-cute movie that parents can allow young children to watch and enjoy safe in the knowledge that there is nothing in it to frighten or subvert them, but plenty to entertain them and fill them with the innocent joy that Christmas used to be all about, back in those long-gone pre-CGI days of simple festive yore.

Quite frankly, if I were in charge of the Christmas TV schedules, the Snowman would go walking in the air somewhere else, Sister Maria would liven up the hills with the sound of music far far away (wait, isn't that where Shrek lives??), and instead of giving out a heart, a brain, and some courage the Wizard of Oz would give us all a break by making way for an annual small-screen appearance of Santa Claus Conquers The Martians!

Due to all manner of complex legal issues that I don't even pretend to understand, despite being released as relatively recently as the 1960s Santa Claus Conquers The Martians is already in the public domain. I bought an official DVD of it because I specifically wanted it in my collection of movie DVDs and videos, but the entire film can also be watched legally for free on YouTube, by clicking here. And if you want to sing along to its infectiously catchy theme song, 'Hooray For Santa Claus' (as performed by Milton De Lugg & The Little Eskimos, released as a single in the States and now very collectable), be sure to click here. Altogether now: "S-A-N-T-A C-L-A-U-S, Hooray For Santy Claus!"

And to view a complete listing of all of my Shuker In MovieLand blog's other film reviews and articles (each one instantly accessible via a direct clickable link), please click HERE! 

My official DVD of Santa Claus Conquers The Martians (© Nicholas Webster/Jalor Productions/Embassy Pictures – reproduced here on a strictly non-commercial Fair Use basis for educational/review purposes only)