Not something you'd really wish on anybody: the final minutes of Lang's Scarlet Street, with a desolate, derelict Edward G. Robinson walking the bustling New York streets as the sounds of Christmas carols mix with the voices in his head: the woman who made a chump out of him and the man who wrongly went to the chair for her murder, mocking him from the afterlife in between cooing at each other...and then the crowds dissolve, the carols fade, and it's just him, and the cold, and the voices.
No; if you can do so, you should absolutely avoid having A Fritz Lang Christmas.
I'm gonna take a few days off from this enterprise to rest and enjoy the holiday. I'll be back around the 26th with, among other things, a surprising tale of airline employee helpfulness and ingenuity, but blogging will be light after it resumes at least until after the new year, because I think we've all got other stuff to do, no? In the meantime, have a joyous, peaceful time, and thanks as always for spending time here.