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Here Comes Santa Klaus


Though Disney has become a terrifyingly powerful media conglomerate impossible to avoid in modern discussions of cinema, there are still those who remember and understand what made Disney special in decades past. When artistry and commercialism seemed to go hand-in-hand, imagination and magic were studio emphasized brandings that were somewhat accurate. Its’ earliest features inspired hundreds of subsequent animators and studios, and fostered the talents of others. One of those was Sergio Pablos, a Spanish animator who began working at Disney in the 90’s as a character designer on the likes of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Hercules, and Tarzan. Subsequently he conceived Despicable Me for Universal, but never stepped into the directors’ chair until Netflix gave him and his newly formed animation studio the opportunity to produce an original, traditionally-animated movie.
That is a big deal. Traditional animation is essentially dead in North American cinema, and certainly no prominent studio would take the risk of attempting to revive it, even Disney –the only company that meaningfully could- despite the fact as numerous non-American animated films have proven, the hand-drawn (or hand-drawn simulated) 2D form still reigns supreme in terms of aesthetic creativity and visual splendour. Klaus, Pablos’ Christmas movie that acts as a mythic yet contemporary origin story for Santa Claus, is a Spanish production but an English-language film, complete with name voice talent and American screenwriters. Most importantly though, it feels like an American animated feature for the fact it owes so much stylistically to the Disney legacy.
This is particularly evident in the characters, who have an energy and expressiveness very reminiscent of classic Disney (and here and there, elements of late Disney, two of the leads bearing similar designs to Treasure Planet for example –which Pablos had worked on); though the Mouse isn’t the only source -the character designers (including animator extraordinaire James Baxter) apparently taking cues from Don Bluth, early DreamWorks (notably The Prince of Egypt), and even Warner Brothers cartoons. Yet for as familiar as the animation on Klaus is, it’s also newly innovative, abundantly unique, and utterly spellbinding. The deep textures and volumetric lighting give the film a distinctly rich look that conveys the illusion of 3D renderings of 2D illustrations. It’s a technique that is sharp and captivating, and really works to the advantage of the environment -which is a far north settlement in Svalbard, cold and desolate and imposing. Therein the highly expressionist, rigid look of the architecture and dreary, colourless veneer of the foggy climate stands in sharp contrast to the boldly eclectic and aesthetically lunatic tendencies of the character animation. And yet such backgrounds are among the most striking visual components of the film, especially in daylight. The movie is just all round a cornucopia of glorious hand-crafted imagery that any animation fan would adore.
The narrative itself is eventually pretty good too, in spite of an uneven start. While the holiday icon has the films’ title, its’ protagonist is actually an arrogant, wealthy, and spoiled young postman called Jesper (voiced by Jason Schwartzman) sent to a remote island in the Arctic Sea to be the local mail carrier for its isolated village. The characters’ bratty attitude, mean-spirited sarcasm, and whininess is an obnoxious throwback to David Spade’s equally insufferable pampered prince in Disney’s Emperor’s New Groove, but fortunately Jesper becomes more bearable as the film goes on and Schwartzman plays his personal journey with apt conviction. Where Klaus himself is introduced, voiced with solemn gravity by J.K. Simmons, the film takes a Santa Claus: The Movie approach to his provenance and personality: he’s a woodsman with a very sad backstory and a consequent penchant for making toys, who strikes up a partnership with Jesper to deliver them to the village’s forsaken children. And it’s with the meeting of these two characters that the story improves considerably, that the films’ soul and meaning begin to take shape and it doesn’t let up for the duration of the runtime. Not only is it just a neat and engaging origin for the Santa Claus figure, but the film is made noticeably warmer for this friendship and the heartwarming holiday spirit it takes pleasure in.
As sentimental as it may seem, the movies’ virtuousness really goes a long way towards rendering it endearing –not a surprise really for a film that aims to be a holiday classic. It’s no accident that the villain of the piece is less a singular figure as it is essentially hate itself, and that the most lovable embodiment of the ripple effect of altruism, generosity, charity, and kindness is an adorable little Sámi girl called Márgu. The movie has its priorities straight and in following through on its precepts, showing why what Klaus and Jesper are doing is a noble thing and how it affects change for the better both personally and universally; it accentuates the movies’ charm and thematic grandeur.
The movie is funny, much more so than the trailer let on (in fact it’s often wild and very creative with its’ humour), and in addition to Schwartzman and Simmons, the voice cast features a great Rashida Jones and Joan Cusack, the former as the towns’ cynical schoolteacher and obligatory love interest.  It’s true the film doesn’t exactly skirt conventions with its clichés, another staple no doubt adapted from Disney. But it does convey them through a different lens and an enrapturing style that spurns the homogeneity that exists in a lot of American film animation today. Klaus is a wonderful Christmas movie, one that may have real staying power, and it’s a reason for optimism for Netflix’s (and other streaming services’) future endeavours in animation.
After all, Nora Twomey’s making a movie for them!

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