My mom was a children’s minister, so Christmas Eve meant work, typically rehearsing for a puppet show or pageant as the clock ticked down to the 5pm Family Service. One year I remember the baby doll she’d purchased for the puppet nativity was too long, so she shortened its legs with sewing scissors. You couldn’t tell when it was wrapped in a white blanket and safety pinned to puppet Mary’s arms, but she sure didn’t want me telling people that she’d mangled The Savior. My husband’s family, in contrast, spent the night before Christmas watching It’s a Wonderful Life. The old me would’ve been horrified. In my world there were four types of Christian:
Real Christians who always put God first and didn’t even miss church for YMCA soccer
Lukewarm Christians (those who attended fewer than seven services a month)
Christmas-and-Easter Christians
Heathens
But things have clearly changed round these parts. My husband and I are puzzling out the traditions, morality, and religious frameworks we do and don’t want to pass on to our kids. We’re trying new things, and one of them was watching It’s a Wonderful Life in the week before Christmas.
My kids (ages eight and ten) were not thrilled. The younger one could not fathom why anyone would want to watch a movie without color and made several disparaging remarks about “life in the nineties”—to him, that decade represents ancient technology ranging from rotary phones to record players to the horse and buggy. “Did you have internet/Nintendo/cell phones in the nineties?” is a common question. Still, we pulled the “family time” card and required the kids to at least be in the same room as the movie played.
I hadn’t watched It’s a Wonderful Life in a decade or more, and it struck me as a both an idealized way of looking at community and slightly pathological. ICYMI, the story follows the life of George Bailey, whose dreams of traveling the world are continually scuttled by his feeling of obligation towards his hometown, Bedford Falls, and the Building & Loan his father founded. One night, after his uncle misplaces a deposit directly into the hands of the evil Mr. Potter, George despairs for his life. As he contemplates throwing himself off a bridge, his guardian angel arrives to show him what the lives of those in the town would’ve been like had he never been born. Frightened by this vision of what would’ve happened to his friends and loved ones, he pleads with the angel to return him to real life.
Once back, George is ecstatic, even willingly facing jail for the misplaced deposit. But the townspeople, having heard George was in trouble, pool their funds to replace the missing money. George realizes that he is rich in friends and rich in love and makes peace with his life.
My rewatch left me feeling somewhat divided. The ending is, no doubt, moving: George, who so many have relied on, gets to be the recipient of the town’s generosity. Emily St. James (one of my fave TV & movie critics) argues that the film represents America’s own deferred dreams throughout The Depression and World War Two; it proposes that the country’s sacrifices really did amount to something. But that message hits differently today, perhaps because our recent COVID-related sacrifices fell so unevenly, with the wealthy jetting off to private islands while service workers risked their lives to keep grocery shelves stocked and buses running.
The thought I had over and over again in the film was: what if George made a different choice here? In particular, the scene where his younger brother offers to run the building & loan while George goes to college felt like an easy compromise. I wondered if George had fought as hard for himself as he had for his community, if he would’ve ended up on that bridge on Christmas Eve. Don’t all self-inflicted martyrs eventually wind up lashing out at others for being insufficiently grateful, as George does at his daughter’s teacher and his family (while one of his children is LITERALLY VACUUMING?!?)
Is George’s continual self-sacrifice helping or hurting his community? Guardian angel Clarence certainly argues in favor of his saintly behavior. But isn’t the very foundation of community reciprocity? Not everyone contributes in the same way or perhaps even the same amount, but all must contribute or else risk becoming freeloaders, which, studies show, that even young children despise.
Individual psychology plays a large role in how communities function, of course. There are those who veer towards neediness and freeloading, and those who veer towards martyrdom—I count myself in that category. Relying on others feels too vulnerable for people like me, often due to early life circumstances in which we could not rely on others. “It’s better if I just do it myself,” is the mantra of the rigidly independent. But this over-self-reliance is just as harmful as freeloading. George Bailey’s over-independence led him to resent the community upon which he refused to rely. In community, we must aim for interdependence: being willing to meet our own needs but equally willing to ask for help.
Non-violent communication is a great example of this balance. In NVC, the goal is for each person to own their feelings, state their needs, and take responsibility for meeting those needs. If George Bailey had said to his brother, “I feel trapped in Bedford Falls because the community relies on me to run the building & loan. I need to take a break and travel/go to college. Could you run the B&L for the next four years?” His brother probably would’ve agreed. Even if he didn’t, there were likely other options for George to get his needs met. Could someone else be hired? Could he take more vacation time to travel in the summer? Could he work at the B&L for one more year and then quit? In non-violent communication, it is ultimately up to him to own his needs and decide on the best course of action.
For all this newly revealed ambiguity, It’s a Wonderful Life is still a sweet and thought-provoking film. I suppose these heathens have some good Christmas traditions after all.
Journal/Discussion Questions—feel free to pop your answers in the comments, and to respond to other people’s comments
What’s your take on It’s a Wonderful Life? Is George a saint, a martyr, something in between?
Do you think you are “too independent”? Here’s a quiz if you’re unsure.
Is there a worse song to fall in love to than “Buffalo Gals”?
Really cool analysis:) Also love NVC. Such a powerful tool.
I haven't seen IAWL for several years, but I have seen it quite a few times. For one thing when our small local independent cinema closed for refurbishment a few years ago it was the last movie shown, and when it reopened it was the first.
I'm not sure what I make of the movie, and never have. I do know though that I have a soft spot for James Stewart. When WWII broke out big tough guys like John Wayne stayed in Hollywood, while James Stewart flew B-52 bombers out of an air base, Old Buckenham, a few miles down the road from where I am now in East Anglia, England.
After those experiences he considered never acting again. He was persuaded by Frank Capra, and his first post-war film was It's A Wonderful Life.
Never mind what it it means to me... I wonder what it meant to him?