How Christmas Movies Secretly Taught Me to Edit Documentaries

Since I can remember—probably even before I could remember—Home Alone has been the unofficial soundtrack to December chaos. That one scene where Kevin slaps his cheeks in the mirror? That’s not just a movie moment—it’s a childhood memory. The McCallisters’ frantic airport dash, the booby-trapped house, the way Kevin talks to himself like a tiny, resourceful general… it’s the kind of story that doesn’t just play at Christmas—it is Christmas. And somewhere between the paint cans and the feathered tarantulas, it taught me that the best stories aren’t just watched—they’re felt.

If Home Alone is the chaos of Christmas, The Santa Clause is its quiet magic. The year it came out, I was the perfect age to believe—just enough to wonder if I might accidentally become Santa by putting on a red hat. Scott Calvin’s reluctant transformation from skeptical dad to jolly saint isn’t just a plot—it’s the feeling of Christmas sneaking up on you. The snow that starts falling indoors, the way Charlie’s eyes widen when he sees the reindeer… it’s the kind of movie that doesn’t just play in December—it lives there.

The Grinch was never just a villain—he was the mood of every kid who ever rolled their eyes at holiday cheer. (Admit it, we’ve all had our Grinch moments.) But here’s the thing: this movie doesn’t just tell his story—it feels like him. The slinky, shadowy heist scenes, the way Whoville’s joy grates on him like nails on a chalkboard, and then—that moment when his heart grows. It’s the only Christmas movie that dares to say: yeah, the holidays can be annoying… but damn if they don’t get you in the end.

In the documentary film „Wer steckt hinter dem Weihnachtszauber?“, I used all these tricks—even though I didn’t do it on purpose. The realization came to me during that Christmas train journey I told you about. So here’s how it happened:

1. Silence: Okay, maybe it’s not completely silent. But there’s one scene where no one speaks, and all you hear is music. We see a horse on a carousel, and in the music, you can almost hear a horse neighing. It gives us that playful little break we need to process everything.

2. Real time: There’s this one dialogue between a father and daughter that could be cringe or humor—if you let it unfold in real time. The father delivers what sounds like a scripted compliment, and the daughter responds with sarcasm, but you can tell she’s also kind of embarrassed or maybe even likes it. The real-time pacing makes the whole thing come alive.

3. Montage is for emotion: The vendor at the sausage stand talks about how the smell of sausages lingers in your clothes and hair. Cut to the sizzling sausages, the grease, the close-up of the meat—and suddenly, you can feel both the yummy and the disgust at the same time.

So, my dear reader—you actually read all of this? I’m honored. And honestly, I’d love to keep going with this kind of work because it’s been so much fun. If you’d like to read more, feel free to reach out on my social or email.