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Last Wednesday I received my first Christmas card of the year from a business, which I suppose marks the end of the beginning of the pre-Christmas season, even though Ordinary Time doesn't officially end until today. Yet another reminder of how the holiday has changed since Dickens first conceived of it in 1840. The traditional Christmas of work houses, ghosts, humbug, little children on crutches, etc. seems far removed from the grotesque spectacle it has become.

Those of you who have watched the original Gremlins will no doubt recall the scene in which Phoebe Cates, having suffered a massive psychotic break on camera, ad-libbed for ten straight minutes in a trace-like monotone a fantastical tale of her drunken father having broken his neck whilst attempting to enter the house via the chimney wearing a Santa outfit, before herself collapsing and being rushed to hospital. It being the final day of shooting, Spielberg had no choice but to include the scene, heavily edited with an actress double filling in continuity shots, in place of the intended sap-filled confession of undying true love that almost assuredly would have sunk the entire film. Instead, it captured the true meaning of Christmas in a way yet unsurpassed, and of course, the film itself was a box office smash.