Ithink we are all of the same opinion that Christmas Eve cannot be said to have reached its full splendour until the first proper – charming, joyful, fun, family-friendly, tear-inducing – Christmas drama has been consumed. So thank the seasonal gods and commissioners for Christmas Carole (Sky Max), a glorious, modern retelling of Charles Dickens’s tale by Anil Gupta and Richard Pinto that will set you up brilliantly for the whole yuletide shebang. Carole Mackay (played by a pitch-perfect Suranne Jones in her most severe bob and red lipstick yet) is 2022’s Scrooge – a successful, wealthy entrepreneur who is about to become even more wealthy (“I’m giving myself £100m for Christmas!”) through the imminent sale of her Christmas decorations and merchandise business (“Cheap tat!” says the awful Carole, who cares not a jot that she is filling the planet with waste as long as it makes her a profit) to Limpopo. “The massive American online retailer?” asks her put-upon assistant. “No, the river in Africa,” replies Carole, rolling her eyes. I cannot imagine who this is meant to be. She fires her put-upon assistant Bobbie Cratchit-Singh – on Christmas Eve! – when Bobbie tells her that she needs to spend it with her family rather than at the public announcement of the sale. Carole then goes home to endure a visit from her brother and his loving family, who believe in being together for Christmas and homemade decorations. However, she punctures the children’s football when they won’t stop bouncing it round her immaculate home, which makes me warm to her greatly, although this probably isn’t the intended effect, and refuses to join them and their father (Mark Benton) for Christmas dinner, because she will not forgive him for driving their mother away when they were young. Anyway, she snarls: “Christmas is a lie, made up by German royals, American corporations and Charles bloody Dickens!” Bah humbug! It’s terrific already – broadbrush but believable – but once the ghosts start turning up, the fun (and the heartwrenching, which is of course such a large part of the fun) really begins. Morecambe and Wise are the ghosts of Christmas past, with impersonators Jonty Stephens and Ian Ashpitel channelling the spirit of Eric and Ernie, as well as providing spookily accurate impersonations for those who remember them bringing us sunshine the first time round. Weaving visits back to the Christmas her mum left with dance numbers (Jones channelling the spirit of Angela Rippon) and some of Eddie Braben’s greatest hits, they begin the process of softening that hard entrepreneurial heart, before passing the baton to the light entertainment ghosts of Christmas Present (Jo Brand – “I have died on my arse many, many times”) and Christmas Future (Nish Kumar – “I’m, like, the next generation of stars, the national treasure of the future”, he assures us). Carole and Jo travel by electric scooter (“I thought we’d be flying or something” says Carole. “This isn’t The Snowman,” replies Jo sternly), the latter flinging Christmas spirit over bickering couples, whose tiffs turn to embraces, and cabbies arguing with customers, whose rows continue. “Doesn’t work on everyone,” Jo shrugs. The three sets of ghosts take Carole back and forth through time, into the Cratchit-Singh household – setting us up for a Tiny Singh joke that merits a moment of applause all of its own – and to her brother’s place up north, where her dad is saddened by her absence, then to a graveyard, to her childhood again, then back to her own home and her own time. No spoilers, but let us just say that truths are uncovered, lessons are learned, hearts are opened, redemption is vouchsafed, Limpopo is left out in the cold, and messages of goodwill are conveyed – money is the root of all evil, environmental sustainability is needed all year round. If you don’t add Christmas Carole immediately to your list of annual viewings, I will start to question your own non-Scrooge credentials. It’s so clever, ebullient and goodhearted – with the extra joy, that really should have its own name, that comes from feeling you are in the presence of something so much better than it needs to be. It stays warm and compassionate, without ever becoming cloying, and witty and self-referential, without ever slipping into cleverness for its own sake. An absolute triumph. God bless you, every one.