My kids are never going to watch The Nutcracker with me. Heavy sigh. I couldn't even bribe them into to supporting me through Frozen – The Sing Along. Granted they are boys, and one is old enough to join the militia in certain countries. Christmas music on television largely eludes our family.
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So who watches those various carols broadcasts in Christmas week? There are rare and special exceptions when a very talented singer performs a classic in some moving, original and jaunty way – so, to all the carol singers in the country, let's just presume that was you. But if we are speaking plainly, carols on television give newsreaders the opportunity to show their legs, wear funny dresses and wave their hands above their heads. After all these years, I still struggle to watch David Koch ruminate about the Aussie dollar. I don't ever want to see his eyes glittering as he sings Jingle Bells.
It is naive to balk at commercialism at this time of year, but should a supermarket own the community carols? Woolworths Carols in the Domain (Seven, Saturday, 8.30pm) was a very scrappy affair. No specials to be had there. Could anybody sit through that, drunk or sober, with or without toddlers? Somebody called Dami Im murdered a Christmas standard, and appeared to get a few lyrics wrong. From the calibre of the company she was keeping on stage I'm guessing she won a TV contest this year. Perhaps MasterChef. This is a network Seven vehicle. So she must have won My Restaurant Rules.
Very much more impressive was Michael Buble's Christmas (Seven, Saturday, 11pm) not only because it followed our local debacle, but because Barbra Streisand is a proper wistful Christmas drawcard in a way that Miss Im ain't. Even though Buble is slimy, shallow and Canadian, he has some old school Christmas variety special cred. Nobody is going utter Sinatra, Como or King Cole in the same sentence as Buble, but his duet with Streisand almost turned It Had to Be You into a Christmas song.
For worthiness in the Christmas music department, nothing could beat The First Silent Night (SBS, Wednesday, 7.30) a not entirely cheerless documentary about the history of one Christmas carol. In a similar vein, Mrs Carey's Concert (ABC, Thursday, 3.50) is a marvellous addition to the Christmas schedule. Not strictly Yule related, it has an uplifting beauty that we simply don't find when soap stars sing Jingle Bell Rock.
Most certainly it is the seasonal movies that deliver nostalgia, comfort, and tunes to wrap by. Irving Berlin's Holiday Inn (Fox, Monday, 8.30pm) still looks gorgeous and provides an effortless injection of both Fred Astaire and Bing Crosby; two talented men who largely share a room with The Nutcracker at our house, well out of earshot of children.
The Sound of Music, like The Wizard of Oz resonates seasonally, probably because these were movies we saw with our parents. It's unlikely that the next generation will share our fondness for yellow brick roads or brown paper packages tied up in string, unless somebody releases an I-package of some description.
My new go-to Christmas movie has to be Xanadu (Eleven, Friday, 7.30pm). Not a reindeer in sight but Gene Kelly and Olivia Newton John on roller skates are plenty festive. Thirty years later, every song sounds like a Christmas carol. (A new version of Have to believe We Are Magic is the theme song to the upcoming wonderful Olive Kitteridge. Haunting and pretty.) Our Livvy could a Christmas fairy after all these years. Now, how can I get the kids to watch Xanadu?
