Everyone should see 'A Nightmare Before Christmas,' hear 'London

Host: The night had settled over London like a velvet cloak, heavy with fog and the faint hum of the Thames rolling beneath its bridges. Streetlights glowed in soft amber halos, their light dissolving into mist. In a narrow bookshop café near Covent Garden, the windows steamed faintly against the cold, and the sound of a record player spun quietly from the corner — The Clash’s “London Calling” crackling through the speakers like a ghost refusing to age.

Jack sat at a wooden table, his coat draped over the back of the chair, a copy of Great Expectations open in front of him. He wasn’t reading — just staring at the page like it held an answer that wouldn’t reveal itself. Jeeny walked in, shaking the rain from her hair, her cheeks flushed, eyes alive with that familiar fire of curiosity. She spotted him instantly.

As she approached, the record changed tracks — “Train in Vain.” The café’s light flickered in rhythm with the music, gold and blue and human.

She pulled out the chair across from him, dropped her bag, and smiled.

Jeeny: “You’re rereading Dickens again? What is this, your annual ritual of melancholy?”

Jack: “It’s not melancholy. It’s recognition.”

Jeeny: “Of what?”

Jack: “Of how the more things change, the more disappointed we stay.”

Jeeny: (smirks) “You’re in rare form tonight.”

Host: She leaned across the table, plucked a small napkin, and wrote something quickly in ink — sliding it toward him.

It read:
“Everyone should see ‘A Nightmare Before Christmas,’ hear ‘London Calling,’ and read ‘Great Expectations.’” — Brian Fallon.

Jeeny: “I saw that quote earlier today. Three pieces of art that explain everything about being alive — childhood, rebellion, and heartbreak. What do you think?”

Jack: “I think Fallon’s too optimistic. He assumes everyone wants to understand themselves. Most people would rather distract themselves than dissect their souls.”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly why he’s right. Art like that forces you to feel when you’ve forgotten how. They each wake up a different part of you.”

Jack: “So what part does A Nightmare Before Christmas wake up — your inner skeleton?”

Jeeny: (laughs) “My inner child, actually. The one that believed even monsters could learn to love. You?”

Jack: “My cynic. The film’s proof that even when you try to be something better, you ruin it.”

Jeeny: “Only if you mistake imitation for transformation.”

Host: The rain outside deepened, a soft percussion against the glass. The record skipped slightly before resettling, the familiar riff of “London Calling” roaring like an anthem through the quiet.

Jack: “That song… It’s a war cry disguised as music. It’s the sound of the world collapsing — and people dancing through it anyway.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. It’s about rebellion — not against others, but against surrender. Every great song, every great story, screams the same thing: Don’t give in.”

Jack: “And yet, most of us already have.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe art is the part of us that refuses.”

Host: Jeeny’s eyes gleamed, alive with defiance. Jack looked at her — really looked — and something shifted in his expression, a crack in his usual steel composure.

Jack: “And what about Great Expectations? Where does that fit into your holy trinity of heartbreak?”

Jeeny: “That’s the soul of it all. The lesson no one wants to learn — that dreams cost, that love wounds, that hope is the cruelest teacher. Pip spends his life chasing an idea of who he should be, and in the end, he realizes the only person he can be is himself.”

Jack: “So your point is?”

Jeeny: “That Fallon’s right. Everyone needs to see what innocence looks like (Nightmare), hear what rebellion feels like (London Calling), and read what heartbreak teaches (Great Expectations). Together, they’re a map — childhood, revolution, reflection.”

Jack: “And what comes after reflection?”

Jeeny: “Understanding. Maybe forgiveness.”

Host: A burst of laughter came from another corner of the café — students, young and invincible. The fog outside thickened, pressing the city closer around them like a secret. The record played on.

Jack: “You know, I used to think people fell in love with art because it comforted them. But now I think it’s because it ruins them in a way that feels meaningful.”

Jeeny: “That’s the point. It ruins the numbness. It shakes you awake. Nightmare reminds you of wonder, London Calling of rebellion, and Great Expectations of heartbreak. Without those three, you’re just existing.”

Jack: “Existing’s easier.”

Jeeny: “Easier, yes. But dull. And you, Jack, were never made for dull.”

Host: The camera lingered on their faces — Jeeny’s lit with the warm light of conviction, Jack’s shadowed, softened, the faintest curve of a reluctant smile on his lips.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what Fallon meant. That art — the right kind — teaches us how to feel everything again. The strange, the loud, the painful. Like a defibrillator for the soul.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Jack: “But there’s a danger in that. Once you start feeling again, you can’t stop. You see too much, want too much, remember too much.”

Jeeny: “That’s what makes it living, not surviving.”

Host: Jeeny rose, moving toward the window, her reflection glowing in the rain-soaked glass, the city’s lights bleeding into her silhouette.

Jeeny: “You know, A Nightmare Before Christmas was always my favorite when I was a kid. Not because of the animation — because of Jack Skellington. He wanted to escape his own perfection, to find something more. And he failed, yes — but he failed beautifully.”

Jack: “So failure’s the moral?”

Jeeny: “No. Curiosity is.”

Host: The music swelled as the song reached its last chorus — “London calling… we live by the river…” — and for a moment, the sound seemed to carry the pulse of the whole world.

Jack closed his book.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe every life needs those three lessons. Wonder, defiance, heartbreak. And maybe, if you’re lucky, a fourth — forgiveness.”

Jeeny: “You just wrote your own sequel.”

Jack: “Maybe.” (smiles faintly) “But only if someone reads it.”

Host: The camera pulled back through the café window, past the rain, the fog, the lamplight. Inside, they were still talking — hands gesturing, laughter breaking through the melancholy — two souls caught in that rare intersection of art and truth.

Outside, London pulsed — alive, electric, eternal.

Host: And Brian Fallon’s words lingered in the air like smoke and melody:

“Everyone should see A Nightmare Before Christmas, hear London Calling, and read Great Expectations.”

Because life is built of these — the child that wonders, the rebel that fights, and the heart that breaks but still believes.

Art is the bridge between who we were and who we might still become.