“The Christmas movies are all gone,” I overheard one clerk at the video store say to another.

I figured I’d ask anyway. “Do you have ‘The Lion in Winter?’”

They did. I suppose they don’t consider it to be a Christmas movie; like my definition of ‘Blues,’ my definition of what constitutes a Yuletide film differs from everyone else’s. And yet ‘The Lion in Winter’ is one of the great Christmas films.

The movie centers on England’s King Henry II, and his efforts to establish the terms of his succession. A powerful man in life, he sought to control events after his death as well.

Described by Winston Churchill as “the very greatest King that England ever knew,” Henry II was a 12th Century dynamo who built the prototype of the modern state when he wasn’t warring, negotiating or marrying his way to ever-greater power. He consolidated his grip on England, then established dominion over much of France; as a feudal warlord in control of the richest French provinces, he was more powerful in that country than the reigning French sovereign.

His wife, Eleanor, from the French province of Aquitaine, was the annulled queen of Louis the VII of France. Eleven years older than Henry, tough, beautiful and brilliant, she still ranks as one of the most powerful women in history. Estranged from Henry later in their marriage, she plotted with his eldest son, Richard, to seize the throne. Henry threw her in jail and kept her there for sixteen years.

‘The Lion in Winter’ takes place on Christmas Eve, 1183. Henry has given Eleanor a reprieve from captivity, and brought her to the French fortress of Chenon, where he has also summoned Richard and his two other male heirs, Geoffrey and John. They are all joined by Philip II, who has recently inherited the French crown. Philip’s younger sister Alais is also present; she is betrothed to Richard, but Henry has grabbed her as his mistress. The aging patriarch wishes to establish some familial order and take a pre-emptive shot at establishing his legacy.

They are a dysfunctional family for the ages. The film, scripted by playwright James Goldman and released in 1968, is full of wit and invective. Indeed, if there’s a flaw it’s that near the end of the 160 minute flick the viewer is almost as worn out by all the verbal jousting as the characters themselves.

The film’s two stars, Peter O’Toole and Katherine Hepburn, eat up the scenery with a couple of the most flamboyant performances in film. They are supported by, among others, future James Bond Timothy Dalton and a young, Welsh-accented Anthony Hopkins, who is especially good in his screen debut.

The movie was actually O’Toole’s project. He was, in the mid-Sixties, a newly-coronated superstar, his most notable appearance being the title role of David Lean’s 1963 epic ‘Lawrence of Arabia.’ He knew playing Henry II would be a great vehicle, and knew equally that the role of Eleanor would be a plum part for any actress.

He snagged Hepburn for the female lead, and recruited Englishman Anthony Harvey to direct. The latter was a curious choice. Harvey had made only one film; an shortish art house piece called ‘The Dutchman.’ Most of Harvey’s experience in film was as an editor, cutting his teeth under the exacting standards of Stanley Kubrick in ‘Dr. Strangelove’ and ‘Lolita.’

Perhaps O’Toole and Hepburn figured they were getting a pliant sophomore who would let them run the show. Or maybe O’Toole saw a young director whose taste for clever dialogue and some swagger in the acting was akin to his own.

Once in charge, though, Harvey added some key elements to the picture, the most striking of which is the beautiful yet primitive ambience he creates. Shot by Douglas Slocombe, it is a lovely looking film, but its visual flourishes do not smother an underlying austerity that pervades the work and counterbalances the raging performances.

Many of the film’s subjects have become the stuff of legend. In addition to Henry and Eleanor, their sons Richard (the Lionheart) and John (the nefarious villain of the Robin Hood tales) are among the most storied characters English history has ever produced.

But Harvey manages to place them all in the context, even at the mercy, of their time. ‘The Lion in Winter’ does not, like many historical films, leave you with the idea that the characters have running water, central heating and microwave ovens.

Filmed in various locations in France, Wales and Ireland, the interiors are cold and stark. Fireplaces blaze constantly, candles are always flickering. Dogs roam cluttered courtyards and stone corridors, nobles eat on benches, courtiers and soldiers sleep on straw.

One of the most arresting scenes takes place early in the film. There is a large bowl of water. A half-inch thick layer of ice has crusted over the surface. A hand plunges in, grabs the ice in one piece, and tosses it aside.

The hand is Henry’s. He has risen in the morning, and he proceeds to wash his face. The bowl is in his room; it’s his washbasin. He may be ‘the greatest power in a thousand years,’ but he wakes to a frigid house, washes in stale ice water, and breakfasts on dry porridge and bread.

Eight-hundred years on, the descendants of the lowest of his subjects enjoy a lifestyle he couldn’t have conceived of.

It’s a conclusion the film leaves you to draw yourself, but it’s a conclusion nonetheless. And one as hopeful as you’ll find in any Christmas movie.