And the Christmas bells that ring there are the clanging chimes of doom

This morning my coworker Cynthia talked about the Charlie Brown Christmas tree she bought over weekend; she felt so sorry for it, she almost cried when she saw it looking so pitiful on the tree lot. As someone who has been known to *ahem* anthropomorphize the occasional item, I sympathized greatly. Naturally this got us talking about how depressing that cartoon is, with its poor, mocked Christmas tree who is only considered worthy in society’s eyes when it becomes a flashy, showy, garish replica of all the other trees; when it’s forced to surrender its individuality in order to become acceptable to the derisive and conformist masses (okay, I didn’t actually say that last bit out loud, although—let’s be honest here—nobody would’ve been surprised if I had). From there we got started on those other depressing classics, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and Frosty the Snowman.

So, I thought I’d take a break from fretting ceaselessly about my finances and my increasingly chilly condo to expound on the dreary tidings brought to us by certain traditional Christmas specials.

But let me preface this by saying that I do, in fact, like Christmas. I really do. Not from a religious standpoint, because I’m not religious, but I love the secular, usually pagan-oriented side: decorations, lights, traditions. I love giving gifts and receiving gifts. I decorate most years (not this year, though, because of my move) and I own several Christmas CDs. I do loathe how the holiday comes earlier and earlier each year, so before Halloween has even occurred, Christmas items appear on store shelves, lurking smugly in the periphery around the glare of bats and pumpkins. It used to be that Black Friday was the start of the Christmas season, and that was great for me, because it gave me a month to enjoy all the trappings. But now Christmas is starting in October, so by the time the holiday actually arrives, I’m over it. No single day can really live up to months of anticipation—it’s bound to feel anticlimactic in the end. And afterwards it feels so much worse, because there’s this hallow sense of letdown that, as a kid, could be weakly alleviated by New Year’s Eve/Day (because it was a family-oriented holiday that was always fun), but as an adult doesn’t do much to help that deflated sense of “What now?” that comes after Christmas. And I do have to wonder what’s lacking from modern life to such a degree that it causes us to cleave frantically and wild-eyed to Christmas, distending it to ridiculously bloated proportions that leak into every crevice of our awareness and daily activities. Just what the hell kind of void are we trying to fill in our lives?

Anyway, back to my review of Christmas specials.

Granted, there’s a great lesson to be learned in A Charlie Brown Christmas’s treatise on the overcommercialization of the season and the hijacking of a religious holiday by runaway secularism, but at the heart of the matter is this: all but one person felt compelled to mock a sad little tree who looked different from all the other trees. And the tree apparently only deserved their respect after they forcibly transformed it into what they thought it should look like—a mirror image of all the other Christmas trees. It wasn’t, “Oh, it’s beautiful and special the way it is.” It was, “Let’s plump up its branches and douse it in tinsel, ornaments, and lights, and then it’ll be beautiful and we’ll stop laughing at it.” Nice lesson there.

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer examined the outcast story from a slightly different angle. In this version, the mocking and ostracism didn’t end when he became Stepfordized, but rather when his unusual nose proved beneficial to society at large. He was considered a freak until he was able to provide them with material gains.

This story breaks my heart on so many levels. First of all, the sheer rejection he faced was staggering. Rather than defend him and bolster his self-esteem by reiterating that the problem wasn’t with him, but with the other intolerant reindeer, Rudolph’s parents forced him to cover his “defect” in shame. Look, I know they were only trying to make life easier on him, but behaving as if his nose were truly a badge of shame that needed to be hidden at all costs really wasn’t the kindest move they could make. Even Santa—kind, beneficent Santa—treated him like damaged goods. If he had stood by Rudolph, everyone else would’ve been forced to stand by him as well. Santa’s the iron-clad ruler of the north; nobody would’ve dared to go against him. If Santa said, “Rudolph is fine the way he is—we’ve gotta respect him even though he’s different, and BTW, you bigot shitheads, different isn’t bad,” everyone else would’ve toed the line. No reindeer or elves would’ve dared to openly mock Rudolph after that point. Mentally they probably still would’ve ridiculed him, but hey, at least the brazen, sanctioned bullying would’ve stopped.

Secondly, the Island of Misfit Toys? Jesus H., if that doesn’t break your heart, nothing will. But on the bright side, being banished to a deserted island just because you’re different is at least better than being tossed in a landfill or sent to a work camp. And the toys did find homes at the end…although I wonder if anybody would’ve bothered with them if they hadn’t been so dazzled by Rudolph. If “freak” Rudolph—versus “heroic” Rudolph—had begged them to find homes for the misfit toys, would anyone have bothered?

So, okay, Rudolph was a freak until he was able to use his nose to save Christmas. Then the other reindeer didn’t love and adore him because he was a good guy, but because he gave them something they wanted. I’d like to think they would’ve eventually come to their senses and realized that, hey, Rudolph really is cool, with or without his guiding nose, but, given my general lack of faith in humanity, I’m doubting that this was the case.

The Grinch Who Stole Christmas is depressing on an obvious level, of course—he burgled every home in Whoville and robbed them of their loot. And yes, it all turned out to be for the best, because it taught everyone the true meaning of Christmas, helped his heart grow 10 sizes, etc, etc. But here’s what depresses the shit out of me: the Grinch’s treatment of his dog. Forcing him to haul heavy sleds up perilous mountains was just one of the many ways in which he displayed flagrant animal abuse. This always upset me—even when I was an ignorant kid who blithely stomped on bugs and carried around a rabbit foot for luck. It bothered me to the point where I had to close my eyes during that scene. It’s been a few years since I’ve seen the show, so my memory is a bit rusty, but if I recall, the Grinch’s epiphany didn’t cause him to ever apologize to his dog and make amends for his appalling and abusive behavior. If I’m wrong about that, please correct me.

Frosty the Snowman is also depressing, but not in the same subtle and insidious ways as the other specials. No, it’s depressing simply because Frosty DIES. It’s admirable that he gives his life to save Karen, sure, and we all know that he comes to life again (hmmm, messianic parallel, anyone?), but before his resurrection children are treated to the traumatizing sight of him slowly dying before their very eyes. Yeah, Merry Christmas.

’Twas the Night before Christmas—one of the lesser-known Christmas specials—casts Santa in a most unfavorable light. Here he’s the merciless autocrat who abruptly cancels Christmas for all of Junctionville simply because one little mouse pissed him off with a letter to the editor expressing doubt about Santa’s existence. Granted, the letter was signed “from all of us,” but how can a man who professes to be omniscient not realize that not everyone in Junctionville truly felt that way? And really, Albert the cute nerdy mouse was entitled to his beliefs. I’m an agnostic, and so, if the mood strikes me, I want the freedom to write a letter to the editor denying god’s existence without fear of retribution. If I am wrong and there is a god, I sure wouldn’t want my entire town to be punished because of my belief. The Santa of this special isn’t quite a terrifying tyrant of Old Testament proportions, but nonetheless, I sure wouldn’t want to get on his bad side.

Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town has one kick-ass element going for it: it’s set in a place called Sombertown. Otherwise known as Scranton. HAW HAW HAW. No, Sombertown is wherever I live, truthfully, be it Scranton or London or Frederick.

(A second kick-ass element? Mrs. Claus starts off as a voluptuous va-va-voom schoolteacher named Jessica with mile-long eyelashes that your average woman would kill to have.)

Sombertown is ruled by a tinpot dictator named Burgermeister Meisterburger who has outlawed all toys; anyone found with a toy is arrested and thrown in a dungeon. Niiiiice. It seems like all or most of the town’s children are forced to toil in a Gulag-like state of permanent hard labor. Eventually a young and red-headed Santa triumphs in the end, after being on the Burgermeister’s Most Wanted list for a few years, blah blah blah. Of course it has a happy ending. But that doesn’t negate the fact that the holiday special opens up in a bleak burg called Sombertown where children are forced into hard labor, now does it?

Truthfully, I don’t think I’ve ever seen The Year without a Santa Claus. If I did, it was wiped clean from my memory. And who can blame my memory traces for heading for the hills? The show features a baby version of Vixen getting sent to a pound in the southern US, where she soon becomes deathly ill from the heat. Umm, okay?

Anyway, “heartwarming” Christmas specials and things like Sid and Marty Krofft programs might help to explain why we Gen-Xers can be kind of fucked up and neurotic. Just a thought.


song heard most recently before posting:
Porushka—The Revels Chorus, Dmitri Pokrovsky Ensemble, and Karelian Folk Music Ensemble