It’s December 1985, I’m six years old and I’m sat next to my dad in a small-town cinema in Norfolk. Some might unkindly describe the venue as a fleapit permanently on the brink of closure. Today, though, there’s snow on the ground and magic in the air.
Instead of the usual sparse attendance, the place is packed. It’s already been a legendary festive season for the young cinemagoer: The Goonies and Back to the Future have just been released. But even those Hollywood behemoths have nothing on the excitement that has brought out this record crowd.
We’re crammed together to watch Santa Claus: The Movie, and as the house lights dim there’s a palpable hum. By the time the final credits roll, we’re all true believers. I’m certain I’ve just watched a timeless classic that will take its place in the pantheon of Christmas greats.
