[7.4/10] I increasingly think of stories in terms of character arcs. How does the protagonist grow and change over the course of the story? What is the catalyst for their transformation. Why are they different at the end of the tale than at the beginning? It is, admittedly, a myopic view of storytelling, one that unfairly marginalized more plot-driven works or stories that don’t fit so neatly into boxes. But it’s the default lens I find myself watching and reading and thinking about great stories through.

And I think part of that comes from *A Christmas Carol* in all its many forms. While not the first story to show growth and change in its protagonist, it is arguably the plainest and most enduring in the Western canon. Scrooge is a miser and a grump. He’s shown the error of his ways by divine intervention. And when he emerges on the other side of that spiritual journey, he is a changed man.

In some ways it’s bog simple. But there’s a potency within that simplicity. The 1999, TNT-sponsored retelling of that famous story focuses on the catalyst for that change in Scrooge. While it hits the same beats that any quasi-faithful adaptation of the Charles Dickens classic must, it spends its adaptive ammo on the man that Scrooge was, the emotional connections that let him realize the depth of his folly, and the man that he eventually becomes after such a piercing dose of epiphany.

The anchor of that transformation is, as inevitable in any production of *A Christmas Carol*, Scrooge himself. Patrick Stewart acquits himself quite well in the roll, selling the gruff resentfulness of the humbugger before his spiritual challenge, the conflictedness of the man facing the shadows of his past, present and future, and the mirthful being given a second chance by the fates.

Stewart is a pro throughout, who does his best work in the middle portion of the film, where the audience feels its protagonist being pulled back and forth between his lucre-worn principles and the heartstring-tugs of a different path that lay before him. Perhaps his most interesting choice comes when he’s confronted by the three spirits in the comfort of his bedchamber, seeming to treat them as a bit of a nuisance he’d rather do without instead of a set of frightful spectres whom he should regard with awe. It adds a touch of light, almost casual humor to an outsized situation.

The TV movie leans into the imaginative nature of the scenario by including a fair dose of special effects in the story, some of which work better than others. Jacob Marley’s ghastly haunting works, with the semi-transparent apparition bridging the gap between straight horror and lamenting human who’s feebly grasping a fraying tie to the living. By the same token, the film includes some clever transitions between Scrooge’s bedroom and the places past and present that the three ghosts mean to transport him to, from a bed of leaves replacing his hardwood floors, to a spill of apples leading him outdoors.

But in others, a certain chintziness of the T.V. production stands out. A section in the middle portion of the film, meant to illustrate the plight of working class folks far beyond the visibility or appreciation of Scrooge, loses itself in the cheesiness of late-nineties computer-generated tornadoes and obvious green screen effects. In the same way, bits like the Ghost of Christmas Future or Scrooge stepping through walls have a vaguely stagey quality that betrays the integrity of the television medium.

Still, the performers do a superb job of balancing out the “of its time” aesthetic choices with timeless personal acting choices. Dominic West as Scrooge’s nephew, Fred, brings a committedly cheery counterpoint to his uncle’s inveterate gruffness. And Richard E. Grant as Scrooge’s clerk, Bob Cratchet, manages to communicate both a certain respectful fear of Scrooge in his master’s presence, while also shifting to the lovable head of an endearing household when in his own chambers.

Both provide key features to the film. For Fred, one of the major choices this adaptation makes is to emphasize Scrooge’s connection to his nephew through Scrooge’s dearly-departed sister. There’s a familial connection there, the revived bond between siblings that the old codger had forgotten in the throes of his workaholic wealth, that adds emotional depth to Scrooge taking up Fred’s offer to join him on Xmas. That choice, in both the film’s flashbacks and pronouncements from its ghosts, makes Scrooge’s decision to join his nephew for the holiday and apologize to his niece-in-law for his absence, one freighted with his lost connection to a sister who once encouraged his more mirthful and loving side.\

For Cratchet, the film captures, better than any other adaptation, the sheer warmth and heartstring-tugging joy of the holiday season. Ah to be at the Cratchits’ table, a party to the love and cheer that suffuses each moment they’re together, and drives home better than anything else the type of wealth that Bob enjoys despite his station in life, one that Scrooge could never hope to know absent a great, personal change. In the same way, there’s a carefree cheerfulness to Fezziwig’s celebration, one steeped in freewheeling fun that reminds Scrooge of what he once appreciated in a boss and a merry-maker.

As much as Dickens’s story is a sober warning against the ill-fate that awaits those who prioritize material wealth over spiritual wealth, it’s also a simple reminder of the down home pleasures one forsakes when pursuing the former over the latter.

So we exalt when Scrooge exalts. We lament when Scrooge laments. The penultimate section of the film, when Scrooge sees the world hardly blink at his departure from this world, the film stalls out a bit, spending too much time with barely-drawn characters and an obvious (albeit textually-mandated) point. But otherwise, this adaptation ably gives us the major beats of the season’s most renowned tale of transformation.

Those beats are as straightforward as they are imaginatively delivered. Scrooge is a penny-pinching grumbler who loathes Xmas. He sees the fun and connections he used to experience in his youth, the joys of family and friendship he’s missing in the present, and the hardships inflicted on others and abject fate that lies for him in the future if he continues down this path. Faces with all that good and bad, his faith and appreciation and empathy is renewed.

It is, in many ways, the most basic of arcs. Jacob Marley himself signposts these steps. But it works because of something elemental inside us, that believes when presented with the vision and the opportunity, each of us can change for the better, especially when the spirit of the season gives us a little extra push.