Girls Unscripted

nothing good can come from this

The Polar Express: A Tale of Horror

So it has been a friggin long time since I’ve posted anything. It’s been nearly two months. I could give all sorts of excuses. It’s been a hectic holiday season. I had a very time-consuming editing job for about three weeks. Nothing interesting has happened to talk about. But really I think I haven’t posted because it hasn’t occurred to me to do so.

Really plenty of interesting things have happened. Let’s see, there was Thanksgiving. Really that was just your average, run of the mill Thanksgiving, though. We gathered, we cooked, we ate, we cleaned up. Really only two things have happened that I feel are worth writing about, and I’m not sure I even want to think about one of them anymore.

The first is this: Thanks to, I have discovered a new found dislike for religious or atheist comments. I was raised a Christian, and was devout in that belief through my entire childhood and adolescence. I have since made the switch to atheism for reasons that I am truly tired of repeating to myself, to family, and to strangers on the internet. I have discovered that the argument is self-perpetuating. The more you argue one side, the more the other side bands together to gang up on you. I wish everybody would just shut up about it. The choice to be atheist or religious is so completely personal. Nobody can truly change your mind about something like that. It’s something you have to come to on your own in your own time.

Looking at that little paragraph, it seems so small and short. Really I spent weeks arguing about it on the internet and learning some hard lessons (and annoying Ortego) about the whole thing. You had all better be grateful I didn’t feel like blogging during those weeks because I bet I would have gotten really preachy about it.

The other thing is The Polar Express. Two weeks ago, my mother introduced it to Isaac, who is currently obsessed with trains. We have since watched it at least twice per day. Right now were on viewing number three for today (I’m a bad mother. My child has watched the same movie three times today.)

Anyhow, seeing as I’m not really interested in the movie, I’ve only half watched it while doing other things. The result: I have decided that The Polar Express is really a horror movie.

I’ll elaborate.

The movie begins with a mysterious train that comes in the middle of the night to lure little children out of their beds. The children are bribed with sweets and promises of magical destinations. At one point, a little boy pulls the emergency brake, and the conductor comes and yells at him, obviously terrified that his prey will escape.

Next, a little girl loses her ticket. The mean conductor is upset, and he removes the girl from the group to be punished. I can only assume she will be fed to the boiler.

Now, at this point I must have dosed off, because the next thing I know the main character is on top of the train, drinking coffee with a man who turns out to be a ghost. He looks and sounds exactly like the mean conductor, which is surreal and raises terrifying questions in the viewer.

Again, I must have dozed for a bit, because next the main character, along with the girl who lost her ticket (who miraculously escaped the boiler) have been taken by the mean conductor into a car filled with broken toys. These toys are clearly trophies, having belonged to other bad children who lost their tickets and were fed to the boiler. The toys are, of course, possessed, and they attack the main character and his little girlfriend.

Later I find that no children died, though. All of those naughty little children were given to the mysterious Mr. C., who then ate their souls, shrinking them down into elf-size, and then put them to work in his slave colony. They build toys to perpetuate the “Good St. Nick” reputation that he has carefully cultivated through the decades.

These souls provide Mr. C. with a great stature and long life, though such atrocities have turned his hair and beard white.

It is at this point that I realize that Mr. C., the mean conductor, and the Christmas ghost are all the same entity. He must have the ability to project himself into the minds of children, and must do so because he has no other adults to use for his nefarious schemes, only soulless elves.

Somehow, all of the children manage to strike some sort of deal with Mr. C. I assume it has something to do with the main character stealing one of his magic bells. They are delivered back to their homes. It is at this point that the narrator, who is supposed to be the main character telling the story of his childhood, begins speaking again. He has the same voice as Mr. C., which leads me to believe that his evil telepathy can even penetrate my head through the TV. None of us is safe.

God. It’s cold in my house.