Head Butler - Movies

The Snowman
directed by Dianne Jackson

The best holiday stories are simple fables. “Believe,” they instruct us. “Love,” they dare us. “Trust,” they implore us.

And the child in us --- connecting with the child who inspired the holiday --- responds. “Yes,” we say, eyes misting, because we so want it to be so. And because, looking down at our kids, we know that it is so.

Sometimes the fables work right through the holidays. Sometimes they inspire us whenever we dip into them.

E.T. has that power.

So does Chris van Allsberg's classic Polar Express.

And so, in spades, does the least well-known of this trio, “The Snowman.”

The 22-minute animated film was adapted in 1982 from the 32-page book by Raymond Briggs.

Don't know Briggs? There's a reason. He's English --- and he works as a freelance illustrator, book designer and writer of what are known as “children's books.” They're anything but. Oh, kids adore them --- on any given day, Butler 's two-and-a-half year-old daughter will watch “The Snowman” half a dozen times --- but they function quite well, or maybe even better, as books for adults.

The first reason for the appeal of “The Snowman” is its deceptively simple story. A boy in rural England builds a snowman. At midnight, as the boy looks out his window, the snowman lights up. The boy runs outside. He invites the snowman to tour his home. Then the snowman takes his hand. And off they fly, over England, over water, to the North Pole. There, Santa gives the boy a scarf. The boy and the snowman fly home. As the boy is going inside, the snowman waves --- a wave of goodbye. The boy rushes into his arms and hugs him. The next morning, the snowman's just a few lumps of coal and an old hat. Did that magical night really happen? The boy reaches into his pocket and finds the scarf. He drops to his knees and, almost as an offering, places it by the snowman's hat.

A desolate ending? Yes and no. Yes, because the boy's alone again. No, because the boy has had a magical experience with a special, secret friend --- he's been given a night of exquisite sweetness that will forever be his to cherish. That's too deep for kids; they'll be more fixated on the magic than its loss. But the bittersweet ending makes the fable a realistic one for adults, who have learned --- usually the hard way --- how ethereal a friendship can be.

Then there is the artistry. This is not machine-driven animation --- Briggs works with colored pencil. "I once kept a record of the time it took to do two pages,” he told an interviewer. “Penciling --- 20 hours. Inking --- 18 hours. Coloring --- 25 hours. And all that's after months of getting ideas, writing and planning." And the feelings in “The Snowman” couldn't be more personal. The boy's house? That is Briggs's own house and garden in Sussex. The flight over the South Downs and the top of Brighton 's Royal Pavilion to Brighton Pier --- those are old Briggs haunts.

The final appeal is to beauty. The film begins with Briggs walking across a field, talking about the snowstorm. From then on, the film is silent, except for a song. It is called “Walking In The Air,” and it is life-changing --- the sequence when the boy and the snowman start to fly and the song comes in is one of the greatest moments in film. Period.

Butler once had a job helping several hundred people be better writers. There were two hobby-horses he rode continually: “Whenever you use the word ‘hopefully,' you are using it incorrectly. And there is no such thing as ‘perfect.'” Butler was wrong. There is perfect. “The Snowman” defines it.

--- by Jesse Kornbluth, for HeadButler.com

To buy "The Snowman" from Amazon.com, click here.