The new adaptation of A Christmas Carol is, simply put, astonishing.

Zemeckis has done his magic (again), picturing a London that never was, but lively exists in our minds. The ‘Victorian age’ of the movie is not the historic age we know, nor Dickens’, nor Wilkie Collins’. It is a Victorian London made of dreams and half-forgotten memories, made of images and imagination. It is a mythical London – and, exactly for this reason, it is a real London, as real as one can get.

This is the fascination of London: its (her?) imaginery, the mythic world created by writers, comic books artists, poets, filmmakers, game designers, tourists, photographer, copywriter. People.

There are two London. One is made of flesh and concrete, of steel and tarmac. It is a beautiful London, full of vibes and lives, but not as beautiful as the other one. This is the London of the mind, the London of the soul. A London in which the Victorian Age has never past, in which Jack the Ripper kills again and again, Sherlock Holmes has a real home in Baker Street, and in which steam computers are built underground by mad geniuses. Both the cities are full of secrets and joys, but only together they are Wonder. And yes, this city is able to keep together its two halves, its two dimensions.

Go see A Christmas Carol – and dream of a London that never was, but will always be.

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