As the Christmas season approaches more closely, Guest Writer Adrian Ho offers a Christmas film rec.

While Christmas and the New Year bring a tide of festive cheer and respite from our hectic schedules, I find that its focus on family and community brings a weight of its own, especially for those who find themselves alone during the holiday period. This annual season often brings a bittersweet nostalgia for a year nearly past, as we reminisce about the things we’ve done and what we’ve failed to do, and some holiday blues for the people we wish were with us but aren’t. But that’s where a good Christmas film comes in. 

For those in need of a form of escapism, the subgenre can provide a launchpad back to cozier days, providing relief through emotional comfort and a familiarity that warms the heart. For those who are already rocking the festive spirit, the Christmas film can be a celebration of community, togetherness, and the joy of giving. I find that the best Christmas films then are the ones who manage to satisfy both of these needs, oscillating between a celebration of the ideals of Christmas as well as providing an emotional resonance to audiences in need of some comfort.

It’s a subgenre of film that is easily dismissed for its humorous theatrics and blissful ignorance towards the ethics of modern-day secular Christmas celebrations, but that’s arguably part of the fun. After all, part of the joy of these films comes in its predictability, and its insistence on personal growth, redemption, and the importance of community as core themes that are repeated throughout the decades. It is why modern Christmas films typically lend themselves to be rom-coms or at the very least, comedies. After all, it’s easier to let go of our cynicism in the presence of the guardrail of genre. 

I believe then that while it is easiest to sketch the earnesty of early classic Christmas films like It’s a Wonderful Life (1946) or Miracle on 34th Street (1947) to the rom-com genre, with its propensity for cheer and its embrace of earnesty, other genres allow for an embrace of the holiday spirit through a complete reinvention of holiday kitsch into different forms of genre expressions.

For those looking for action rather than romance this holiday season, look no further than John McPhail’s Anna and the Apocalypse (2017); a British zombie Christmas musical that is self-described as Shaun of the Dead (2004) meets La La Land (2016). A combination which may sound trite, but the film delivers on its potential and turns the genre mash-up into a deeply satisfying experience. 

An unruly blend of genres that only work because it's plastered together by spunk and heart, Anna and the Apocalypse is a joyous celebration of the best part of every one of its genres, gift-wrapped in the aesthetics and larger thematics of Christmas. A film that plays to its strengths, levelling its own humour with plenty of heartbreak. Just as it borrows from a variety of genres, the film also generates an emotional centre through a multitude of well-threaded clichés which it attributes to its cast of characters. 

The titular Anna can't wait to leave the nest and explore the world, while her overprotective father can't fathom standing by the sidelines and watching it happen. Her best friend John is nursing an unrequited love for her, while Steph, another member of the ensemble, struggles with being alone for the holiday. Everyone has a reason to be down in the dumps but none of it seems quite so relevant against the backdrop of people rising from the dead. 

As saccharine and one-note as it sounds, McPhail manages to develop these characters into relatable people we would come to feel for. Some of that can be attributed to the genres with which the film exists in, where painting with a broad brush only seems to match the larger-than-life theatrics of the song-and-dance numbers, which is ever more ridiculous in context with the living dead. However, some credit has to be shared with the performers. Ella Hunt in particular as the titular Anna anchors the film, often singing and dancing her way through, and with much gusto. Though for me, the heart of the film lies with John (Malcolm Cumming). Not only because pining for your girl best friend is exactly the sort of unrequited romance that I can’t help but relate to, but also because Cumming delivers it with such puppy-dog pathos that I just can’t help but sigh along with him. Their will-they won’t-they nascent romance is just the sort of emotional centre that’s easy to latch onto and invest in with a film that’s bombarded with action otherwise.

Whether it's the giddy satisfaction of a great song-and-dance routine or the frenzied buzz of a never-before-seen zombie decapitation, every moment of goofy fun only continues to drum up festive cheer and set us up for more heartbreak around the corner. The best part of Anna and the Apocalypse is just how much of a surprise it is the first time around – nothing feels like it should work, and yet, everything does. From the moment the score rises to a peak and Anna breaks out singing, and the first zombie in a bloody snowman costume lurches towards our leads, the film blasts off and it doesn’t stop till the credits roll.

Even the modest budget of the film, and the rough-around-the-edges production can hardly put a damper on this midnight movie. There's truly something in it for everyone.