Scrooge: A Christmas Carol

There is a specific brand of madness reserved for directors who look at Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol—a book adapted more times than there are stars in the sky—and think, "Yeah, but what if it had more neon?" In the current streaming landscape, every platform needs its annual holiday anchor, and for Netflix in 2022, that anchor was a psychedelic, animated musical remix of the 1970 Albert Finney classic. I sat down to watch this while eating a bowl of leftover spaghetti that I’d accidentally put way too much red pepper in, which honestly matched the spicy, occasionally overwhelming color palette of the film perfectly.

A Ghost of Musicals Past

We are firmly in an era where "new" often means "recontextualized for a generation with a shorter fuse." Directed by Stephen Donnelly, this version of Scrooge doesn’t try to reinvent the narrative wheel because, let’s be honest, the wheel works fine. Instead, it leans heavily into its status as a reimagining of the Leslie Bricusse musical. Bricusse, who also produced this version, passed away before its release, making this something of a final curtain call for the man who gave us the songs for Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory.

Because it’s a Netflix production, the budget is clearly visible in every frame. The animation, handled by Axis Studios, feels like a hybrid of traditional character designs and the kind of hyper-stylized lighting you’d find in a high-end video game cinematic. It’s a far cry from the dusty, Victorian gloom we usually associate with the Muppets or Alastair Sim. Here, the Ghost of Christmas Past—voiced with wonderful, chaotic energy by Olivia Colman—is a shapeshifting candle-lady who drags Scrooge through memory like she’s leading a rave. Scrooge looks like a high-end pachinko machine hallucination, and while that might sound like a dig, in the context of our current "more-is-more" digital age, it’s at least an aesthetic choice that doesn't feel like a retread.

The Man in the Red Waistcoat

At the center of the spectacle is Luke Evans, a man who has cornered the market on playing "handsome jerks who can sing." After his turn as Gaston in Beauty and the Beast, playing Ebenezer Scrooge feels like a natural evolution into a more bitter form of arrogance. Luke Evans brings a legitimate Broadway-caliber belt to the songs, especially in "I’ll Begin Again." He plays Scrooge as a man who isn’t just greedy, but physically exhausted by his own misery.

The supporting cast is equally stacked, which is a hallmark of these contemporary streaming "prestige" animations. Jessie Buckley shows up as Isabel, and her duet with Evans is genuinely the emotional high point of the film. It’s a reminder that even when a movie is buried under layers of CGI particles and "virtual production" flourishes, a simple, well-acted scene about a failing relationship still hits the hardest. Johnny Flynn gives Bob Cratchit a soulful, slightly more modern edge than the usual "sad clerk" archetype, and Fra Fee (who I last saw shooting arrows in Hawkeye) turns Harry into a buoyant, necessary counterpoint to Scrooge’s gravity.

Technology vs. Tradition

One of the most interesting things about watching a drama—even an animated musical drama—released in the 2020s is seeing the tension between the tech and the heart. The film uses de-aging techniques (in animated form) to show Scrooge’s progression, and the camera movements are far more "cinematic" and sweeping than what was possible in the hand-drawn era. At times, the "franchise-ification" of cinema feels like it’s nipping at the heels of this story; there are moments where the action beats feel designed to keep a kid from scrolling on their iPad rather than serving the narrative.

However, the film succeeds when it honors its roots. The decision to keep the Bricusse score was the smartest move Stephen Donnelly made. Songs like "Thank You Very Much" are still absolute earworms, even if they are now accompanied by elaborate, physics-defying dance sequences that would be impossible on a physical stage. It captures that specific 2020s trend of the "legacy sequel" or "legacy remake," where the goal is to bridge the gap between the nostalgia of the parents and the sensory expectations of the kids. It’s not a masterpiece, but it’s a fascinating example of how we continue to package our oldest stories in the shiny, plastic wrap of modern streaming.

Ultimately, this version of the story is a sensory feast that occasionally risks giving the viewer a sugar crash. It’s a loud, proud, and technically impressive production that proves Luke Evans is one of our most reliable musical leading men, even when he's only appearing as a collection of pixels. While it doesn’t replace the 1951 or 1970 versions in my personal holiday rotation, it’s a vibrant enough distraction for a cold December night when you want something that looks like it cost a billion dollars. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a high-tech LED Christmas tree—maybe not as charming as the real thing, but it sure does light up the room.