Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life was not always the staple of Christmas television viewing it is now. Time was, even though rights to air the 1946 film had lapsed into the public domain, no one seemed to think it quite as inspiring as A Charlie Brown Christmas, say, of The Wizard of Oz. 

But that all changed in the last twenty years. At some point Zuzu’s petals and all that became synonymous with yuletide cheer, despite the attempted suicide and endless home renovation depicted in the story of George Bailey (I see a causal relationship between the two!). And like the much maligned fruit cake, Frank Capra’s fable of small town life is now ready for its backlash. 

Consider last week’s piece in the New York Times that mentions the home reno and blanket of compromise that hangs over George Bailey’s thwarted dreams — the poor guy just can’t leave Bedford Falls! The essay’s author, Wendell Jamieson, called it “a terrifying asphyxiating story about growing up and relinquishing your dreams.” Okay, Jamieson’s tongue is slightly in his cheek (anyone who mentions the Clash in this context can’t be all bad). But it speaks to the pernicious holiday impulse to always ask for More, to look every gift in its proverbial mouth and say, So this is all I’m worth to you?

I first saw It’s A Wonderful Life when I was in my twenties, and already well acquainted with life’s disappointments. I saw George Bailey’s ultimate acceptance of his fate, and final acknowledgment of all the lives he had touched, as profoundly existential, despite all the God and angel business. Like Camus’ Sisyphus, he learns to love pushing that stone up the hill, knowing it will roll back down again. It never actually crushes you. “Happiness and the absurd are two sons of the same earth,” wrote Camus. Consider that as you contemplate the meaning of Christmas.