by Helen Langdon
Today, we’re talking about How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Let’s get this out of the way right at the start – not that abominable Jim Carrey film, which deserves to die in a Yule-Log-fuelled fire. No, this is the 1966 cartoon, which is half an hour of glorious technicolour cheesy fun. Half an hour, because the story isn’t bloated out with unnecessary characters, side plots, Jim Carrey in dodgy prosthetics and a badly attempted Tim Burton aesthetic (OK, that’s the last time we’ll mention That Film, honestly).
Today, we’re talking about How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Let’s get this out of the way right at the start – not that abominable Jim Carrey film, which deserves to die in a Yule-Log-fuelled fire. No, this is the 1966 cartoon, which is half an hour of glorious technicolour cheesy fun. Half an hour, because the story isn’t bloated out with unnecessary characters, side plots, Jim Carrey in dodgy prosthetics and a badly attempted Tim Burton aesthetic (OK, that’s the last time we’ll mention That Film, honestly).
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