Welcome back to VHS Heaven, fellow travelers! Today, we're unwrapping a tape that feels like it belongs equally beside your worn copies of Gremlins and A Christmas Story. It’s a film that arrived in 1993 looking like nothing else on the rental shelves, a gorgeously grotesque tapestry woven from Halloween spooks and Christmas cheer. I'm talking, of course, about the stop-motion marvel, The Nightmare Before Christmas.
Pull up a comfy chair, maybe grab some leftover candy corn or a stray gingerbread cookie, because revisiting this one feels like stepping back into a dream – albeit a delightfully peculiar one. Was it a Halloween film? A Christmas film? The glorious truth, which became clearer with every viewing on those chunky CRT TVs, was that it was brilliantly, uniquely both. The brainchild of Tim Burton, whose distinct gothic-meets-whimsy aesthetic was already enchanting us in films like Beetlejuice (1988) and Edward Scissorhands (1990), Nightmare brought his darkly charming sketches to life in a way live-action couldn't capture.
### Welcome to Halloween Town
Let's be honest, the sheer look of this film was, and remains, breathtaking. Under the meticulous direction of Henry Selick (who would later give us James and the Giant Peach and Coraline), the world of Halloween Town springs – or perhaps lurches – to life with astonishing detail. Remember leaning closer to the screen, just mesmerized by the textures? The rough burlap sack look of Oogie Boogie, the skeletal grace of Jack Skellington, the stitched-together fragility of Sally? This wasn't slick computer animation; this was tangible artistry, painstakingly crafted one frame at a time. It reportedly took a team of over 100 artists roughly three years to complete the principal photography, shooting at a snail's pace of about one minute of film per week! Each second required 24 individual adjustments and photographs. Knowing that somehow makes the magic feel even more potent, doesn't it?
The story itself is wonderfully unconventional. Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King of Halloween Town, voiced with melancholic grandeur by Chris Sarandon (speaking) and given his soaring singing voice by the film's composer, Danny Elfman, finds himself weary of the same old screams and scares. His accidental discovery of Christmas Town, a place of blindingly cheerful color and warmth, sparks an existential crisis and a hilariously misguided plan: to take over Christmas himself. It’s a plot fueled by genuine character yearning, wrapped in layers of spooky delight.
### Ghouls Just Wanna Have Fun (and Christmas)
The characters are simply unforgettable. Jack, with his pinstriped suit and expressive skull, is an instantly iconic figure – part gothic ringmaster, part misunderstood artist. Sally, voiced with heartfelt vulnerability by Catherine O'Hara (yes, Kate McCallister from Home Alone!), is the film's soulful counterpoint, a rag doll creation longing for freedom and connection. Her quiet wisdom and pining ballad, "Sally's Song," offer a poignant contrast to Jack's manic holiday enthusiasm. And who could forget the gloriously grotesque Oogie Boogie, the burlap sack bogeyman with a penchant for gambling, voiced with villainous relish by Ken Page?
But perhaps the true star weaving everything together is the music. Danny Elfman didn't just score the film; he gave it its very pulse. From the rousing opening number "This Is Halloween" to Jack's yearning "What's This?" and the chaotic energy of "Kidnap the Sandy Claws," the songs are integral, driving the narrative and defining the characters. I distinctly remember these tunes burrowing into my brain after the first viewing, humming them for weeks. It's one of those rare movie musicals where every song feels essential, perfectly capturing the film's unique blend of macabre and merry.
### From Cult Curiosity to Holiday Fixture
It's fascinating to recall that Disney initially seemed a bit nervous about Nightmare's darker themes, releasing it under their Touchstone Pictures banner instead of the main Disney brand. Made on a relatively modest budget of around $18 million, its initial box office take of $50 million was respectable, but perhaps didn't scream "blockbuster." Yet, like a slow-creeping fog from Halloween Town, its popularity grew steadily over the years through home video (hello, VHS!) and annual holiday showings. It blossomed from a cult favorite into a genuine cultural phenomenon, spawning merchandise empires and cementing its place as essential viewing for both Halloween and Christmas.
The film’s genius lies in its ability to blend the spooky and the sweet without compromising either. It respects the aesthetics of horror – the creepy crawlies, the skeletal grins, the shadowy corners – but filters them through a lens of childlike wonder and Burton's signature quirky melancholy. It celebrates the 'otherness' of Halloween Town's inhabitants while gently poking fun at the sometimes saccharine nature of Christmas traditions. Seeing Jack try to scientifically understand Christmas cheer ("A pox? How delightful, a pox!") never fails to raise a chuckle.
Rating: 9.5 / 10
Why almost perfect? Because The Nightmare Before Christmas is a triumph of imagination and craft. It dared to be different, blending genres and tones with astonishing confidence. Its visual artistry remains stunning, its characters endure, and Danny Elfman's score is simply iconic. It captured a unique feeling back in '93, a kind of spooky enchantment that hadn't quite been seen before, and its magic hasn't faded one bit. It might lose half a point only because its singular focus means it doesn't quite have the sprawling narrative depth of some other animated epics, but what it does, it does flawlessly.
So, whether you pull this one out when the pumpkins appear or when the snow starts to fall (or frankly, anytime in between), The Nightmare Before Christmas remains a hauntingly beautiful ode to finding your own kind of holiday spirit. It’s a perennial invitation to a world both spooky and spectacular, forever preserved on tape and in our nostalgic hearts. What a wonderful nightmare!