National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation

Dear Erica,

It's sort of sad to see that Chevy Chase's career has gone down the crapper, Beverly D'Angelo has vanished from the face of the earth and Randy Quaid is now a raving psychopath. Twenty some odd years ago the three of them teamed up to make what was the modern Christmas classic until Elf came along to take the title.

It's impossible to pick out my favorite scenes because they are all hysterical. It all starts out in true John Hughes fashion with some awful exposition followed by an absurd sequence of comic misfortune. In this case, as the family goes to chop down a Christmas tree, a pre-Big Bang Theory Johnny Galecki asks a clunky question along the lines of: "Tell me again, why are we going into the forest?" Of course it's so that we, the audience, can follow along. But what he should really be saying is: "Dad, I am totally stupid and have short term memory loss." I don't think the complexities of a National Lampoon plot need to be explained. No matter, it gets the job done, even if it does make you feel like a moron for a split second. What follows is a paint-by-numbers comedy of errors, yet the cast rises above the insipid material and makes it fly far better than it really should be.

I said I could not pick out my favorite scenes, but now I think I have one for you. I love when Chevy Chase gets locked in the attic and watches old family movies, swathed in a ratty fur coat, fuchsia gloves and turquoise turban. I also love Beverly D'Angelo's inappropriate top that she wears during the big finale. I bet you never noticed it before, but pop it in and take another look. It may look prim at first glance, but her tits are practically spilling out from a gaping hole at her bust. Then there is Randy Quaid, who gets my absolute favorite line in the entire movie: "Every time Catherine revved up the microwave, I'd piss my pants and forget who I was for about half an hour or so."

This movie has become a Christmas tradition for millions. It's too bad it marked the end of a golden era for Chevy, Beverly and Randy. It's not like I stay awake nights wondering about what happened to them. That would be like losing sleep over concerns about who bought the Queen of England's tampons. Think about it. She had them, but where did she get them? And what brand? Or size? Anyways, it's best to forget their descent into oblivion and instead enjoy their grand contribution to the Christmas season.


Till next time,
Bradley