The Snowman

By Emily Palmer

As a child I was, as many were, accustomed to Christmas family traditions. And as the years drew to a close and the temperatures fell further, each Christmas Eve I grew to anticipate receiving a brand new pair of pyjamas and watching The Snowman with my older brother in suspense of the coming day. The Snowman is a cherished animated film based on the book by Raymond Briggs, an illustrated story that that has become warmly associated with the childhood joy of Christmas, and an example of the power of books as gateways to our past.

The storyline follows a young boy who, upon waking up to a snowy morning, races outside to build a snowman, which he adorns with great attention to detail, a hat, a scarf and, unmistakably, an orange for a nose. In a restless midnight slumber, the boy sneaks to the backdoor, where he witnesses his creation come to life. Out of curiosity, the boy shows the snowman inside his home, where the snowman amusingly interchanges his fruit-garnished nose with pineapples and pears, playing dress-up with the boys’ parents’ belongings as they slept. The snowman is afforded a charming, human-like manner in his characterisation, bestowing the story a sense of nostalgia in recollecting the childlike dream of snowmen coming to life. 

The wordless narrative of ‘The Snowman’ provides a unique opportunity for each individual to make the story their own

In the crisp air of the night, the snowman accompanies the boy on a remarkable adventure across undulating snowy hills and hushed towns, fostering a community of tomato-nosed and top-hatted snowmen along the way. After meeting Father Christmas and partaking in a Wintery fête, the boy and the snowman journey the way home, and bid each other goodnight. In the wake of the day, the boy rushes outside to greet his new-found friend, however is met unexpectedly by the site of a mound of melted snow, marking a solemn end to a heartwarming story.  

The wordless narrative of The Snowman provides a unique opportunity for each individual to make the story their own, conveyed through the authentically rugged style of the illustrations. Briggs’ adoption of visual imagery allows evokes a childlike manner in his approach to storytelling, conveyed in particular through the visible pencil strokes of each frame. The hand-drawn scenes encapsulate the means by which emotion can produce narrative, mirroring the nature of childhood play in encouraging the viewer to use their imagination. Briggs provides the ability to immerse oneself fully in the story, encouraging his audience to engage closely with each scene in their interpretation, highlighting the capacity of storytelling in transcending linguistic boundaries, and producing a distinct universal charm.

Simultaneously a sweet story of boy-meets-snowman, and a pathway in which to reconnect with the magic of Christmas

The story’s ability to evoke such nostalgia is found in its potential to reach these levels of personal association, acting as a gateway to the childhood joy of Christmas that so many lose sight of in their departure to adulthood. The boundlessness of childhood imagination is expressed through the boys’ flight alongside the snowman, and while the truthfulness of his experience may be questioned, it is undeniable that a sense of magic and wonder prevails. The visual narrative is particularly compelling in the story’s conclusion, allowing the viewer to individually reflect on the story’s end. I myself have always interpreted the snowman’s melt as a motif of the ephemerality of life, provoking the viewer to consider the significant, yet fleeting nature of childhood in the context of Christmas experience.

The memorability of Brigg’s The Snowman is in its cross-generational reach, simultaneously as a sweet story of boy-meets-snowman, and a pathway in which to reconnect with the magic of Christmas that fell victim to the rationality of adulthood. 

Image credit: Henry Farrer via The Met