Like many others, some of the most fundamental years of my childhood were underscored by Disney’s animated classics. The 2D marvels like The Little Mermaid, The Princess and the Frog and Hercules captured a sort of magic that seemed impossible to my young mind, and I clung to every word and note that escaped the mouths of my animated heroes. There was one film, and one performance, however, that has remained by my side for far longer than its peers.
There’s something hypnotic about Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas. Perhaps it’s the film’s singular use of stop-motion that brought to life only the most chilling of my childhood fears, or maybe it’s the film’s ability to toe the line between children’s fantasy and a foray into the dark and disturbing. Whatever the reason may be, The Nightmare Before Christmas has culturally separated itself from other Disney animations, establishing itself as a sort of primary school cult classic—the kind of movie that might get dismissed as too macabre by a kindergarten teacher during a wet weather timetable.
Despite the film’s twisted storybook nature, however, exists a glimpse of such inescapable human sorrow that perhaps accounts for the most feeling minutes of its runtime. Near its midpoint, we catch a glimpse into the inner world of Sally—who until this point has been little else but a Frankenstein pastiche. With ‘Sally’s Song’, the full spectrum of human emotion is laid out before listeners in less than two minutes, as Sally reveals her inner turmoil and envelops listeners into the innate tragedy of her mind. As a child, the song fascinated me, as I could not begin to comprehend the maturity expressed by Jack Skellington’s forlorn beau. It was not until recently that I revisited the piece and found it had taken on an entirely new meaning.
Catherine O’Hara, the legendary comedic performer that lent her voice to ‘Sally’s Song’, passed away on January 30th, 2026. This loss was something much deeper than any celebrity death I’ve previously reckoned with. Not only was O’Hara renowned for her deep and varied catalogue, she was also actively pursuing further greatness. In the last year alone, the actress held two large roles in culture-defining shows—a grieving psychologist in The Last of Us and an eccentric studio executive trying to claw her way back to the top after termination in The Studio. These two roles speak volumes regarding not only O’Hara’s incredible range as a performer, but also her sheer cultural prominence. She had graduated to an actress who was not only skilled in her own craft, but also the sort of figure that elevated whatever form of media she found herself in, immediately assigning it with prestige and cultural relevance no matter her level of involvement.
If it were another performer, this sort of prevalence could be associated with overexposure, but such sentiments were never raised against O’Hara. An actress who had spent over 60 years active in the film and television industry, it wasn’t the case that she was reaching for greatness with every new role, instead she was meaningfully welcoming new roles into her storied career that spoke to her concerns and capabilities as a veteran of the industry in the truest sense of the phrase.
In some divine coincidence, O’Hara’s last narrative film role was a rare instance of the actress encouraging self-reflexivity. The actress reprised her role as Delia Deetz in 2024’s Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, over 30 years since she originated the role in Tim Burton’s original film. The unintentionality of this being O’Hara’s final performance does not escape me. For a performer so intent on charting further into new and boundary-pushing roles, it hardly seems likely that this was where her film appearances were supposed to end. While it seems poetic, there’s something invertedly abrupt about it. The performance was not meant to bookend a career, but now holds the weight of such an expectation. For O’Hara, however, any one of her roles could provide meaningful scope to reflect on the rest of career. She was not an actress to float between roles, but instead provide every script with her unique brand of intelligence and wit, making any of her characters a resolute note to conclude on.
The response to O’Hara’s passing, however, does encourage some level of hope and optimism. The actress’ legacy exists not only within the scope of my own career, but stretches far beyond, lining the fabric of the performances and public personas of her contemporaries. While we cannot hope for another defining O’Hara turn in our film and television, we can search for glimpses of her influence between the noise, reminding us of what once was and might come to exist because of it.
Art by Kelly Ly