Happy Holidays, all! Hanukkah's a-comin', and will be well under way before I write in this journal again, in all probability, though I hope to get in another entry by Christmas.

(By the way, if you're looking for Hanukkah/Xmas gifts and haven't checked in here in a while, scroll down and click on some of the books listed below.)

By way of a gift, allow me to pass along to you a little something I cooked up a couple of years ago: the original version of a section from Chapter 8 of The Verb 'To Bird', "An Owl for the Moping." My rant on the subject of animated Christmas specials was originally presented in somewhat more depth, but my editor, the eagle-eyed and savvy John Corenswet, convinced me that it took an even more-roundabout-than-usual route to my point, and would therefore only serve to cause confusion. He was right, but I hated to make the cuts. I'm cheered, however, by the fact that I can present the original version--the demo version, if you like--of the section for you here. Enjoy!


Yes, dammit, we're Americans, and as a result, even our most basic family rites revolve around that glowing box in the living room that Chris Van Allsburg so aptly represented as "the Wretched Stone." It's not Christmas unless we get to watch our Christmas Specials on television.

Some, admittedly, are more wretched than others. Frosty the Snowman, never a favorite in my childhood, has only become more annoying as I've grown up. It's tough to make a good thirty-minute show out of a two-minute song, sure, but instead of adding material, Frosty tries to get by with repetitive animation, repetitive jokes, and a plot that isn't even as complex as most Road Runner cartoons.

What makes Frosty's failure even more galling is that its producers, Rankin-Bass, had done it right only a few years before with Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Both follow the same formula:

Step 1) Select popular Christmas carol. Let's note that "Frosty" really isn't a carol; in terms of Christian significance, it makes "Rudolph" looks like Handel's Messiah. The song has nothing to do with Christmas whatsoever, unless you want to see Frosty as an allegorical Christ-figure, in whom only those who come to him as children can believe. You can argue that this parallel is extended when he symbolically accepts the cup that is set before him by saying that his followers must enjoy his presence "before I melt away," and when he refuses to compromise his principles as he leads his flock through the town, only to be accosted by the unbelievers and minor officials of the region; you can also argue for a certain Christian symbolism in his departure and his promise to "be back again someday." You can argue all that, but why would you want to?

Step 2) Sign up celebrity narrator. Frosty gets Jimmy Durante, Rudolph gets Burl Ives. In another context, I might prefer Jimmy over Burl, but as a children's singer/storyteller, I've certainly got to give Burl the nod here.

Step 3) Add characters to extend the carol's basic storyline. Rudolph pulls out all the stops here: we meet Rudolph's family, the whole reindeer community (including Clarice, the love interest), Santa and his wife, Hermie the wanna-be dentist and the other elves, prospector Yukon Cornelius, the Abominable Snow-Monster, and King Moonraiser and his entire island of Misfit Toys.

Honestly, I think the whole "misfit toy" thing is pretty ridiculous, and it's partly for ornithological reasons. One birdlike toy complains, "How'd you like to be a Bird That Can't Fly? I swim," and leaps into a fishbowl to demonstrate. Well, what's wrong with that? Isn't it normal for some birds? Penguins, say? Plenty of birds are more able in the water than on land--loons and ducks, in particular. The Ruddy Duck is flat-out unable to walk, but it swims perfectly well, and I dare say other birds (like grebes or anhingas) are more at home in the water than in the air, too. After all, you can float without a lot of effort, but staying aloft requires some serious energy expenditures. The Bird That Can't Fly is no misfit.

In fact, none of these toys are misfits. Out of the whole bunch, the only one I feel even remotely sorry for is the Boat That Can't Stay Afloat--that's a significant hindrance to a toy boat's raison d'etre, no question there, but it can probably be fixed with a cork and a little Krazy Glue. Everybody else on the Island of Misfit Toys is just a garden-variety whiner, complaining about problems that are both trivial and laughably easy to solve.

The misnomer-burdened "Charlie"-in-the-Box can change his name with a simple form or two, or just go by a nickname--he doesn't really even need to make a legal change--and he'll still spring out of his box regardless. The Choo-Choo with Square Wheels on his Caboose should consider that a caboose is detachable, or even replaceable; it's not like a vestigial tail. Similarly, the Water Pistol That Shoots Jelly will only shoot jelly if you fill it up with jelly, and who'd be stupid enough to keep doing that? GIGO, man, it's a basic principle. The Polka-Dot Elephant should say it now and say it loud, "I'm Polka-Dot and I'm proud." (Is this show intended to make kids insecure about their physical traits, or what?) And unless the Cowboy Who Rides an Ostrich has been stapled to his mount, he can damn well climb off it and find a horse. Frankly, I think the main reason these toys haven't been accepted in the past isn't that they're misfits--it's that they're too bloody stupid.

Other than the malcontents above, though, Rudolph's newcomers are fairly interesting. Frosty, on the other hand, adds only a few characters to the song's cast: an annoying "evil" magician, a surly rabbit who mimes everything he wants to communicate, a bunch of interchangeable moppets, and Karen, a too-cute kid for whom Frosty gladly sacrifices himself, only to rise again from the dead when--hmm. Maybe the Christian allegory isn't so far-fetched after all...

Step 4) Add songs. Here's where Rudolph really cleans up. Frosty contains the eponymous song, and that's it. We get reprise after reprise, accompanied by the same animation cels of the kids marching along behind Frosty, over and over, thumpity-thump-thump, gag me with a broom. For Rudolph, on the other hand, Johnny Marks, the composer of the original "Rudolph" song, was given the job of writing a slew of other tunes, including "Silver and Gold" and "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas," winners both, at least as performed by Burl Ives.

In fact, if anything, the show may have too many songs. In a holiday variation on the once-popular college drinking game "Hi, Bob!" (where the viewers of a Bob Newhart Show rerun must drink every time a character says "Hi, Bob!") my wife and an old roommate once sat down to watch Rudolph and decided to do a shot of peppermint schnapps for every song. When they conceived this game, neither could think of more than a few tunes in the show, but they were soon knocking back schnapps every couple of scenes: first came "Jingle Jingle Jingle," sung by Santa as he looks over the newborn Rudolph; then "We Are Santa's Elves," sung by the Elf Glee Club (minus Hermie); then "There's Always Tomorrow," sung by Clarice to the dejected Rudolph; then "Fame and Fortune," sung by Hermie and Rudolph as they run away... let's just say that by the time Burl had launched into the title song, there wasn't a lot of schnapps left in the bottle, and the audience was blearily sobbing over the hopeless Kafka-esque existence of the Cowboy Who Rides an Ostrich.

(c) 2003 Peter Cashwell. All rights reserved
2:12 PM

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