There is much to dissect about John Hughes’ 1994 remake, from its overarching heaviness and drear to its melodramatic take on retailer rivalries, to its depiction of spurious Santa Clauses as drunken reprobates, and the generally leaden performances by an otherwise superb cast. 

The upsides are few. It looks great. And Bruce Broughton’s score enhances the viewer’s experience without intruding. Otherwise, Hughes should have embraced the hint provided by Macy’s, which enthusiastically declined to participate; he could have avoided subjecting audiences to two hours of discovering why masterpieces should be left well enough alone.

But this site focuses on politics, and that purpose must be served.

The central reason to avoid the 1994 version is — spoiler alert — Hughes’ reliance on judicial activism to release Kris Kringle from his legal snare.

You know the story: Kris Kringle, a nice old man with whiskers hired by a department store to play Santa Claus, claims to be the real deal.

In the original, seemingly betrayed by those in whom he’d placed his trust, Kringle tanks his psychological exam at Bellevue. Commitment papers are drawn up, and John Payne’s Fred Gailey, a lawyer who befriended Kringle and took him in as a roommate, vows to beat the wrap.

Wonderfully, in the original, Kringle’s counsel must earn every point that produces the desired verdict. Critical to the success of the final third of the film: The entire hearing unfolds against the political backdrop of a district attorney and judge wishing the cup had never been passed their way, all the while committing to do right by their oaths.

Maybe audiences in 1947 were smarter, or, at least, better informed about the role of the judiciary. If Gailey hadn’t applied a winning blend of legal skills and common sense to win his fantastical case, it’s doubtful Americans with fresh memories of World War II — waged, at least in part, to prevent dictators from governing by whim — would have bought in.

The hearing proves to be a tour-de-force for Gailey, who’s been stuck with tedious tasks at the prestigious firm where he’s a junior associate. He indeed shines like Darrow, feeding prosecutor Thomas Mara (Jerome Cowan) little bits of rope at a time.

Y’all doubtless know how this goes, but it is useful to review the timeline that establishes the original’s clear superiority. 

• Gailey lets Edmund Gwenn’s Kris Kringle confess his belief in open court, then, astonishing the court, declares his intention to prove him right.
• Unwittingly aided by crusty political consultant Charlie Halloran (William “Fred Mertz” Frawley), he persuades Judge Henry Harper (Gene Lockhart) to “keep an open mind” regarding the existence of Santa Claus.
• By putting the prosecutor’s utterly charming son on the stand, he maneuvers Mara into conceding that Santa Claus is real.

So far, so good, with every point duly earned. Finally, though — and here is the essence of the original’s success — everything turns on an act of faith: Skeptical 6-year-old Susan Walker (played spunkily by Natalie Wood) sends Kringle a letter declaring her belief in him, addressing it to the courthouse.

Absent little Suzie’s proclamation, all of Gailey’s legal craftsmanship would have collapsed. Mara and Harper demanded evidence of support for his position by an established, legitimate authority, and Suzie’s letter literally delivered: Spotted by a mail-sorter, and backed up by a supervisor who’d seen the results of Gailey’s publicity scheme, Suzie’s missive joins 21 sacks of letters dispatched by U.S. Post Office workers to “Mr. Kringle down at the courthouse.”

Case dismissed. And everybody wins. Fred and Kris, obviously. But also Mara, who has done his proper duty. And Harper, who has been gift-wrapped the decision he ached to make.

In the ill-advised remake, Hughes sweeps all that aside with the indifference of a janitor brooming dust. 

Rather than earn victory for his client’s fanciful claim — there is a Santa Claus, and here he is to prove it — through shrewd construction of legal evidence, defense attorney Bryan Bedford falls for a cheap trick. Contriving to switch roles, he designs to make the prosecutor defend an unpopular point of view: Prove Santa doesn’t exist. He’ll overreach, Bedford tells Kris, and then we’ve got him.

Never mind that the burden of proof was entirely on the defense, and district attorney Ed Collins could have declined the challenge. Oh, no. Played with smarmy relish by J.T. Walsh — possibly the only character, besides Richard Attenborough’s Kringle — who appeared to have skipped the cast caterer’s Prozac-laced egg nog, Collins assumes the role of Pontius Pilate, carefully and methodically pursuing The Truth.

The closest he comes to crossing the line is when, like Herod Antipas confronting Jesus, Collins requests a miracle of the defendant: Producing a reindeer, he instructs Kringle to make it fly. Kringle declines, of course, explaining reindeer fly only on Christmas Eve.

All the while — and this says much of Hughes’ 1990s view of the world — Bedford and Suzie’s mom, Dorey Walker (Elizabeth Perkins) have conspired to create a worldwide surge of believers, as though arousing such a clamor should influence justice.

Even so, Judge Harper (Robert Prosky) seems prepared to deliver Kringle into the custody of the state when Suzie marches up to the bench — Where’s the bailiff? — to present a Christmas card.

Inside, there’s a dollar bill put there by Bedford, with In God We Trust circled in red. Although the gambit is nothing shy of a full-on Hail Mary, Judge Harper gathers it in. (Where’s Collins’ objection?)

Tossing the verdict he was prepared to deliver with reluctance and sorrow, the judge declares an astonishing — OK, not so astonishing anymore — epiphany. If the U.S. government can put fealty to an unseen greater power on its currency, what’s to stop a judge from ruling similarly? He doesn’t like the law or the evidence or the process, and neither does a critical mass of the public, so he invents a decision that makes him and them feel really good.

Call it Judge Harper’s Justice Kennedy Moment. It’s pure judicial activism.

The outcome may be the same — Kris Kringle is freed just in time to perform his annual miracle, and perform it he does — but the remake lacks the sense of triumph embedded in the original.

In the 1947 version, an earnest defendant and his resourceful champion flog the American legal system into certifying a fanciful notion: Not only does Santa Claus exist, occasionally he walks among us. For a great nation, recently tested to its limits, that wanted to believe its institutions, laws, and processes were superior and functioned as intended, it was sublimely reassuring that Fred Gailey was forced to cobble together a winning argument (with only the tiniest, timeliest, absolutely allowable boost of a Christmas miracle).

Hughes’ 1994 version relies on a trick of the ancients, a mischievous Deus ex Machina that makes serious legal toil irrelevant, one that, if satisfying in the moment, undermines the very faith it strains to support.

The original fills us with joy because it makes us earn the outcome we rooted for. The remake waves a wand that allows people with agendas, not written law, to decide what’s what.

Which one is better? It’s not a contest. Not even close.

For those who have forgotten, here’s the version gets this moment right. But better yet, watch the whole thing for yourself again this year.