I Won't Rewatch A Christmas Story Even If You Triple Dog Dare Me

Look, I won’t argue the merits of A Christmas Story that have made it the fan favorite it is today. I can appreciate its memory play structure; it’s a story told by grown-up Ralph and his nostalgic depiction of a Christmas memory that more meaningfully reflects his relationship with his Old Man. I can admire some truly quotable lines like the Old Man’s, “Fra-GEE-lay? It must be Italian” as he opens his “major award,” and the complaint from a bundled-up Randy, “I can’t put my arms down!”

This movie is a touchstone for viewers who connect to it on a far deeper level than myself. Many can relate to Ralphie’s childhood dream of owning a Red Ryder BB gun as it can represent the general feeling of wanting something so badly and doing whatever you can to get it. And Ralphie’s dejection is relatable in the many moments where he faces criticism from people who brush aside his dream only to warn him, “You’ll shoot your eye out!”

If you love A Christmas Story, then you might start to picture me as Miss Shields giving you a C+ on your essay as I say this: Despite being someone who knows the story well (I’ve seen the film many times, I’ve visited the Christmas Story house museum in Cleveland, I’ve seen the play version of the film, even performing in it as a high school freshman), I have no desire to rewatch A Christmas Story.

This is an unpopular opinion for a Clevelander to have, as many scenes were filmed here. However, I do not like the movie because it is slow and cringe-inducing at times. Most impactfully, what’s nostalgic to some viewers just reads as outdated to me, as my strongest distaste for the film is the lack of dynamic female characters that keeps the movie stuck in 1940.

No tongues on flagpoles, please!

Allow me to begin with a scene that still haunts me to this day: the moment when Ralphie’s friend Flick is “triple dog dared” to lick the frozen flagpole.

The whole scene is painfully long, from the coercion from school friends to Flick’s realization that his tongue is stuck to the entire schoolyard abandoning him once the school bell rings to the teacher’s discovery that Flick is gone and what has happened. It takes forever for this poor boy to be rescued, and his horrified scream when his tongue is separated from the pole is something out of a horror film. And this is told as a funny childhood anecdote? It reads more like childhood trauma to me. In fact, a friend told me how shaken up she felt as a child after watching this scene for the first time and how it still haunts her. Same girl, same!

There are plenty of other unpleasant moments — namely, anytime Ralphie’s bully Scut Farkus is on the screen. (Though, TBH, that is a fantastic character name and so fitting, too, since it is comprised of the ugliest sounds.) I don’t care that Scut got a major redemption in the sequel; he was an a$$hole.

Oh, fudge!

Adding to the childhood trauma angle of it all, can we talk about Ralphie’s “Oh, fudge” moment for a second? Now, let me say that I absolutely love the Old Man’s nonsense words that substitute swear words whenever he’s cursing out the pesky Bumpus hounds or the “blasted stupid furnace, dadgummit!” That’s pure poetry. But the scene in which Ralphie attempts to help his old man fix their car’s tire, only to lose the screws, is absolutely heartbreaking.

As a parent, I cringe even more thinking of this moment because I know how tough it is to manage big emotions when something goes really, really wrong. What crushes me more, though, is the aftermath of the scene. I feel bad for Ralphie, who was just trying to help out his dad, but more so, I feel worse when thinking about his friend, Schwartz, who gets wrongly blamed for Ralphie’s utterance of the forbidden word “fudge.”

The following scene, where Mrs. Parker calls Schwartz’s mom, haunts me more than the failed tire change. In this scene, we hear what sounds like Schwartz’s mom hitting Schwartz as a punishment. And that’s meant to be a comedic moment for the film? Mrs. Parker responds in a slapstick way, grimacing and then hanging up. This is meant to be a throwaway “Oh, that’s how kids were disciplined back in 1940” moment, but for me, this scene makes the movie feel archaic.

Also, Ralphie’s Lifebuoy punishment gives me the vicarious sensation of soap mouth. Yuck!

It’s not a major award, OK?

OK, am I still bitter that after getting a callback for Mother, I ended up stuck in the background as a non-speaking child role in my high school play? Absolutely! More so, I’m pissed that the only roles for girls in the play (and the film in general) revolve around Ralphie. We have Ralphie’s mother, Ralphie’s teacher, and Ralphie’s childhood crush. Though there are a few other females in the background, the movie — like life in the 1940s — centers around the male perspective, simplifying the female roles to limiting stereotypes of housewife, school marm, and sweet schoolgirl.

The traditional nuclear family roles in the Parker house feel entirely out of touch, which doesn’t interest me much as a viewer. I don’t need to watch this film again because the family dynamics are so predictable. Mother plays the dutiful, peace-keeping role, while she and her sons tiptoe around the Old Man’s volatile emotions and his strange fixation on an ugly lamp: the sexualized, fetishizable leg clad in fishnets and pin-up heels. Mother, all I have to say is kudos to you for breaking that lamp. I would have done the same!

Fudging watch it if you want to, babe!

If you like A Christmas Story, that’s great! I’m no Grinch looking to steal DVD or VHS (lol) copies of A Christmas Story or to petition TNT to pick another damn Christmas movie to play for an all-day marathon. I won’t be unplugging anyone’s leg lamp anytime soon. Actually, my parents do own a leg lamp and display it each year, and I’m totally cool with that cause it makes them happy.

But if you want to watch this tired old movie while in my vicinity, then — respectfully — I will be in the next room watching literally any other Christmas movie. Except for National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. Don’t get me started on that one.