Prologue
“Marley was dead: to begin with.”
I was five years old when I saw A Muppet Christmas Carol in theaters.
The year was 1992. Walt Disney Studios, then at the peak of its movie-making prowess, timed the film’s release for December 11th, just in time for the Christmas season.
I don’t remember much about the experience. For instance, I couldn’t tell you what candy I got at the theater, if any, but I doubt I much cared. And I don’t remember exclaiming, “Ew!” when the Marley brothers sang, “Our hearts were painted black.” But my sister tells me I did, so I’ll take her word for it.
What I do remember is my feeling of total surrender to the characters, the story, and Michael Caine’s unmatched performance as Ebenezer Scrooge.
It is probably a trick of memory, but when I look back on my experience seeing A Muppet Christmas Carol, I remember it as me reliving a story I had already known and loved for a long time.
But, as I said, I was only five years old. So, it must be a trick of memory. Or more of gravy than of grave, perhaps.
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