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What's wonderful about 'Miracle On 34th Street (1947)' - and this isn't something I realised until after it had finished - is that it never actually provides a definitive answer as to whether Kris Kringle really is the Santa Claus. Personally, I took it as fact from the moment he walked into frame, but I'm pretty sure that was due to my preconceptions surrounding the plot of the picture (Santa goes to court to prove his existence). Thinking back, I had no definitive reason to think that. The absolute ambiguity of the film's central dilemma is brilliant because it forces the viewer to engage with the question that's on almost every characters' lips: is this the real Santa or is it just a kind old man who thinks he's the real Santa? In turn, this allows the movie's theme of belief to transcend its boundaries and truly take root in the audience. Whether you choose to believe in Santa, whether you choose to have faith in him, whether you choose to accept the unacceptable is entirely up to you. As such, it's that much more magical if you do. It's really impressive that the picture can actually use its ambiguity to this effect, especially that it can do so while remaining wholesome and sincere throughout. This charming Christmas tale is enjoyable from beginning to end and it holds up remarkably well seventy-five years after its initial release. It's a delightful experience overall.