Showing posts with label Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 29, 2020
Thursday, December 3, 2020
Holidaze 12/3/20
Friday, November 30, 2018
Monday, December 29, 2014
Holidaze Review: Rudolph's Shiny New Year (1976)
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer was an immediate hit when it was first broadcast in December 1964, when your humble correspondent was still in diapers, and it quickly became traditional holiday viewing.
So it’s a bit surprising that it took Arthur Rankin and Jules Bass a dozen years to produce a followup, perhaps because they were focused on other holiday specials, some of which also went on to become perennial favorites (Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town, The Year without a Santa Claus) and several others failed to catch on.
Rudolph’s Shiny New Year picks up right where the original Rudolph left off, on the same night that that the little reindeer with the big, glowing red nose lead Santa’s sleigh on a dark, stormy night and helped save Christmas.
You’d think the poor guy could get a break after flying all around the world. You’d be wrong.
That same night, Santa gets a letter from his old friend, Father Time (voiced by Red Skelton, who also narrates), who writes that Happy, the Baby New Year, has gone missing with a week left in the old year. If he’s not found, the New Year won’t start, and it stay December 31…forever.
Santa wants to send out a search party, but who could possibly find his way in all that snow and fog? Who else? Santa tells Rudolph that “Once more, the happiness of the world’s children depends on you.” So…no pressure or anything.
And off Rudolph heads to Father Time’s Castle, the Palace of Happy New Years, and gets the scoop on why Happy ran away: Turns out the tike (who looks more than a little like Harpo Marx) has big, floppy ears and is really sensitive about them. So when everyone laughs when they see his ears, he takes off in search of friends who won’t crack up every time he takes off his hat.
Rudolph can certainly relate—everyone made fun of his shiny nose…until it came in handy for saving everyone, of course—and he speculates that nobody would let Happy join them in “any New Year’s games” (whatever those are).
Father Time tells Rudolph that Happy has probably fled to the Archipelago of Last Years, a group of islands where old years go to retire; on each island, time stands still as it had been lived by each old year.
Along the way, Rudolph also picks up allies in his search: General Ticker, whom Father Time describes as “a real clockwork soldier”; a camel named The Great Quarter Past Five; Big Ben, a whale who carries Rudolph and friends from island to island; One Million B.C., a very chatty caveman; Old Sir 1023, a knight from the days when fairy tales really happened; and 1776, a Benjamin Franklin lookalike who tells Happy that his friends call him “Sev.”
All the while, Rudolph and friends are menaced by Eon the Terrible, a vulture who wants to keep the New Year from happening so he can live forever and thus is also hunting for Happy.
Throughout Shiny New Year, there’s an odd preoccupation with abbreviated names: Rudolph asks The Great Quarter Past Five, “May I call you Quart for short?” “I’d rather you didn’t, if it’s all the same to you,” the dour camel replies. One Million B.C. insists on being called “O.M.,” and Big Ben calls Rudolph “Rudy” (how he knows who Rudolph is before he’s actually introduced himself is anyone’s guess).
If only the rest of Shiny New Year had been so interested in brevity.
The songs, with music and lyrics by Johnny Marks (who handled the same duties on the original Rudolph) are all catchy, the stop-motion animation retains its charm, and the familiar voice cast (Morey Amsterdam as O.M., Frank Gorshin as 1023, Harold Peary as Big Ben and Paul Frees in several roles) lend a comfort level to the proceedings.
Unfortunately, the script by Romeo Muller (who, like Marks, also did the same in the original) feels badly padded, with the same scenario playing out over and over again—Rudolph and friends very nearly find and rescue Happy, only to see the baby get away from them. Happy is even tricked more than once into taking a lift from Eon, who flies with the baby New Year to his desolate island for a final showdown.
There’s also the matter of Skelton, who handles the narration duties fine and even does triple duty as the voice of a baby bear, but struggles when he has to sing—and he sings several times (including a reprise of Rudolph’s theme song during a flashback sequence). He just doesn’t have the strength of voice that Burl Ives displayed in the original.
Rudolph’s Shiny New Year might have been fine as a half-hour special. However, at a full hour in length and saddled with a conclusion so ridiculously simple (if well intentioned) that it tries the patience of even the most nostalgic viewer, leaving the impression that the search for Happy was really much ado about nothing.
Rudolph’s nose may indeed be shiny, but Rudolph’s Shiny New Year is, unfortunately, dull.
So it’s a bit surprising that it took Arthur Rankin and Jules Bass a dozen years to produce a followup, perhaps because they were focused on other holiday specials, some of which also went on to become perennial favorites (Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town, The Year without a Santa Claus) and several others failed to catch on.
Rudolph’s Shiny New Year picks up right where the original Rudolph left off, on the same night that that the little reindeer with the big, glowing red nose lead Santa’s sleigh on a dark, stormy night and helped save Christmas.
You’d think the poor guy could get a break after flying all around the world. You’d be wrong.
That same night, Santa gets a letter from his old friend, Father Time (voiced by Red Skelton, who also narrates), who writes that Happy, the Baby New Year, has gone missing with a week left in the old year. If he’s not found, the New Year won’t start, and it stay December 31…forever.
Santa wants to send out a search party, but who could possibly find his way in all that snow and fog? Who else? Santa tells Rudolph that “Once more, the happiness of the world’s children depends on you.” So…no pressure or anything.
And off Rudolph heads to Father Time’s Castle, the Palace of Happy New Years, and gets the scoop on why Happy ran away: Turns out the tike (who looks more than a little like Harpo Marx) has big, floppy ears and is really sensitive about them. So when everyone laughs when they see his ears, he takes off in search of friends who won’t crack up every time he takes off his hat.
Rudolph can certainly relate—everyone made fun of his shiny nose…until it came in handy for saving everyone, of course—and he speculates that nobody would let Happy join them in “any New Year’s games” (whatever those are).
Father Time tells Rudolph that Happy has probably fled to the Archipelago of Last Years, a group of islands where old years go to retire; on each island, time stands still as it had been lived by each old year.
Along the way, Rudolph also picks up allies in his search: General Ticker, whom Father Time describes as “a real clockwork soldier”; a camel named The Great Quarter Past Five; Big Ben, a whale who carries Rudolph and friends from island to island; One Million B.C., a very chatty caveman; Old Sir 1023, a knight from the days when fairy tales really happened; and 1776, a Benjamin Franklin lookalike who tells Happy that his friends call him “Sev.”
All the while, Rudolph and friends are menaced by Eon the Terrible, a vulture who wants to keep the New Year from happening so he can live forever and thus is also hunting for Happy.
Throughout Shiny New Year, there’s an odd preoccupation with abbreviated names: Rudolph asks The Great Quarter Past Five, “May I call you Quart for short?” “I’d rather you didn’t, if it’s all the same to you,” the dour camel replies. One Million B.C. insists on being called “O.M.,” and Big Ben calls Rudolph “Rudy” (how he knows who Rudolph is before he’s actually introduced himself is anyone’s guess).
If only the rest of Shiny New Year had been so interested in brevity.
The songs, with music and lyrics by Johnny Marks (who handled the same duties on the original Rudolph) are all catchy, the stop-motion animation retains its charm, and the familiar voice cast (Morey Amsterdam as O.M., Frank Gorshin as 1023, Harold Peary as Big Ben and Paul Frees in several roles) lend a comfort level to the proceedings.
Unfortunately, the script by Romeo Muller (who, like Marks, also did the same in the original) feels badly padded, with the same scenario playing out over and over again—Rudolph and friends very nearly find and rescue Happy, only to see the baby get away from them. Happy is even tricked more than once into taking a lift from Eon, who flies with the baby New Year to his desolate island for a final showdown.
There’s also the matter of Skelton, who handles the narration duties fine and even does triple duty as the voice of a baby bear, but struggles when he has to sing—and he sings several times (including a reprise of Rudolph’s theme song during a flashback sequence). He just doesn’t have the strength of voice that Burl Ives displayed in the original.
Rudolph’s Shiny New Year might have been fine as a half-hour special. However, at a full hour in length and saddled with a conclusion so ridiculously simple (if well intentioned) that it tries the patience of even the most nostalgic viewer, leaving the impression that the search for Happy was really much ado about nothing.
Rudolph’s nose may indeed be shiny, but Rudolph’s Shiny New Year is, unfortunately, dull.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Holidaze 12/23/14
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Monday, December 3, 2012
Friday, December 16, 2011
A Fistful of Rudolphs
One of the first entries I wrote for this blog when I started it 10 years ago (again, yikes) was about the TV Christmas classic, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I've always identified with the outsider, the different kid, the freak. I still want to live on the Island of Misfit Toys--I think I'd fit in. This could explain why I have so many Rudolphs.
My first ornament as a child was a white glass Rudolph, and that love of the "different" reindeer carried well into adulthood. The plush Rudolph in front has been around for years and was purchased at Montgomery Ward, where Rudolph's story first began way back in 1939 when Ward's copywriter Robert May came up with the story of the little buck everyone laughed at until they needed him to save their sorry furry asses. That original storybook was sold at Ward's years before the song (most famously covered by cowboy star Gene Autry) and the TV special.
The other Rudolphs accumulated over time. I found the flocked one on the left at Quake (the best second-hand toy store in the world, I tell you--and within walking distance of La Casa!). The semi-plush one in the middle was picked up at the neighborhood Village Discount Outlet for cheap--and it sings! The one on the right? That popped up at Walgreens this year. And all the way in the back? The book that started it all (well, a facsimile thereof).
Monday, November 26, 2001
When Reindeer Attack!
Okay. Thanksgiving has now come and gone. So now I must accept the things I cannot change: Christmastime is indeed upon us. I like Christmas. Truly, I do. But some years, I'm just not in the mood for it, especially when it gets rammed down my throat like it did this year. So I'm trying to ease into it. I listened to holiday CDs Thanksgiving morning (more on these next week). I watched Miracle on 34th Street Thanksgiving evening at Mom's house.
And I decorated my apartment. Somewhat.
I battle myself annually over the issue of how much decoration to put up in the happy (heh) home. Some years, I dig up the full-sized fake pine tree and use every ornament in the storage container--carousel horses and angels and glass balls and cartoon characters like Superman and Batman and the Tick (SPOON!) and Ren & Stimpy and Pinky & the Brain and I think you get the damn idea so I'd better stop now while I can.
Other years, I give in to my less cheerful impulses and decide that it won't matter what I put up because nobody will see the decorations except for me and the cats so there's really no point, right?
This year, I split the difference. I brought out the smallest tree that I own--the 18-inch-high lighted tree that Grandma kept in her center living room window for year--and stood it on an end table. Then I untangled the string of red chili pepper lights and hung them over the three living room windows. And finally, I decorated the tin dollhouse (a remnant of my mother's youth) with various festive figures, like 50-year-old angel ornaments and a Father Christmas figurine (hand-painted by me when I was inclined to be artistic). But most of the figures placed in, on and around the tin dollhouse were from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.
I'm not exactly sure why I've always had such an affinity for Rudolph above all other holiday specials. Maybe it's because it first aired the year I was born (1964, if you must know). Maybe it's a matter of civic pride, since the original story on which the song (and, subsequently, the TV special) was based came from an ad writer at Montgomery Ward's, the late, great department store chain that was based out of the Windy City. (Its former corporate headquarters still says "WARDS" in huge white letters.)
But most likely, I like Rudolph for the same reason I like Edward Scissorhands and the movies of Ed Wood. I like outsiders. I root for underdogs. And it's always coolest when the class nerd saves the day.
The special itself still retains its uplifting message, even when viewed as a jaded adult, but some of its elements do seem bizarre now. For instance, I understand the other reindeer giving Rudy shit for his glowing nose. Kids will seize on whatever abnormality they can--thick glasses, crooked teeth, a radioactive schnoz--to make fun of in order to feel some sense of superiority, of power, of not being as much of a freak as the geek with the neon nostrils.
But why are the adults so skeeved? Rudolph's dad, Donner (which should be "Donder," by the way, he said in his most superior, snooty, know-it-all voice possible), is horrified the first time he gets a look at his kid's "blinkin' beacon" and covers it with mud. And Santa comes right out and says that Rudolph's nose disqualifies him from ever pulling his sleigh. But why? His nose doesn't inhibit his ability to fly. Why, Santa, why?
There's only one answer, boys and girls: Santa Claus is a bigot.
That's right. You heard me. Old Kris Kringle, the King of Jingling himself, is the Archie Bunker of the Arctic Circle. And he proves it himself when, during the reindeer inspection, he rejects Rudolph even after the little buck flies his fuzzy little Dynamagic butt off when the adorable doe Clarice tells him she thinks he's "cute." (Funny, I react the same way when women tell me that.) Santa doesn't give a reason for his rejection. He doesn't have to. He's Santa-Fuckin'-Claus, Baybee! Rudolph is different, and that's enough.
Of course, being an outsider has its benefits. Rudolph winds up making all kinds of strange (but wonderful) friends, like Clarice, who sings Rudy a heart-felt song about how "there's always tomorrow for dreams to come true" (with rabbits and raccoons singing backup) even though she's only known him for, like, five minutes; Hermie, the elf with the oral fixation; Yukon Cornelius, the most half-assed prospector who ever lived (and who has a blue poodle in his dogsled team); and most heart-wrenching of all, all the inhabitants of the Island of Misfit Toys.
I thought I belonged there. I still think I do.
Rudolph triumphs in the end, naturally. He leads Santa's team (bet that nose is looking mighty tasty now, huh, Mr. Bigot in the Big Red Suit?), Hermie gets his own dentist office, Yukon lands a peppermint mine (highly lucrative, given all the candy canes that need to be made), the Misfit Toys all get homes and Sam the Snowman sings the title song.
And then there's the Abominable Snow Monster, who looks like about 12 miles of hairy ass to an adult viewer, but is one of the most scary things every to crawl over a mountain to a five-year-old hunkered down on the living room rug, staring up at the big black-and-white Zenith console in mingled wonder, awe and fear. The "Bumble" gets his teeth yanked out and is good for little more than placing the star atop the tree without a ladder, but at least he's reformed and lives out his life eating baby foot and getting poked at by sharp sticks by the emboldened elves...
Okay, I made that last bit up. But that'll happen when you've spent way too much time in the so-called "Real World," and not nearly enough time on the Island of Misfit Toys.
And I decorated my apartment. Somewhat.
I battle myself annually over the issue of how much decoration to put up in the happy (heh) home. Some years, I dig up the full-sized fake pine tree and use every ornament in the storage container--carousel horses and angels and glass balls and cartoon characters like Superman and Batman and the Tick (SPOON!) and Ren & Stimpy and Pinky & the Brain and I think you get the damn idea so I'd better stop now while I can.
Other years, I give in to my less cheerful impulses and decide that it won't matter what I put up because nobody will see the decorations except for me and the cats so there's really no point, right?
This year, I split the difference. I brought out the smallest tree that I own--the 18-inch-high lighted tree that Grandma kept in her center living room window for year--and stood it on an end table. Then I untangled the string of red chili pepper lights and hung them over the three living room windows. And finally, I decorated the tin dollhouse (a remnant of my mother's youth) with various festive figures, like 50-year-old angel ornaments and a Father Christmas figurine (hand-painted by me when I was inclined to be artistic). But most of the figures placed in, on and around the tin dollhouse were from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.
I'm not exactly sure why I've always had such an affinity for Rudolph above all other holiday specials. Maybe it's because it first aired the year I was born (1964, if you must know). Maybe it's a matter of civic pride, since the original story on which the song (and, subsequently, the TV special) was based came from an ad writer at Montgomery Ward's, the late, great department store chain that was based out of the Windy City. (Its former corporate headquarters still says "WARDS" in huge white letters.)
But most likely, I like Rudolph for the same reason I like Edward Scissorhands and the movies of Ed Wood. I like outsiders. I root for underdogs. And it's always coolest when the class nerd saves the day.
The special itself still retains its uplifting message, even when viewed as a jaded adult, but some of its elements do seem bizarre now. For instance, I understand the other reindeer giving Rudy shit for his glowing nose. Kids will seize on whatever abnormality they can--thick glasses, crooked teeth, a radioactive schnoz--to make fun of in order to feel some sense of superiority, of power, of not being as much of a freak as the geek with the neon nostrils.
But why are the adults so skeeved? Rudolph's dad, Donner (which should be "Donder," by the way, he said in his most superior, snooty, know-it-all voice possible), is horrified the first time he gets a look at his kid's "blinkin' beacon" and covers it with mud. And Santa comes right out and says that Rudolph's nose disqualifies him from ever pulling his sleigh. But why? His nose doesn't inhibit his ability to fly. Why, Santa, why?
There's only one answer, boys and girls: Santa Claus is a bigot.
That's right. You heard me. Old Kris Kringle, the King of Jingling himself, is the Archie Bunker of the Arctic Circle. And he proves it himself when, during the reindeer inspection, he rejects Rudolph even after the little buck flies his fuzzy little Dynamagic butt off when the adorable doe Clarice tells him she thinks he's "cute." (Funny, I react the same way when women tell me that.) Santa doesn't give a reason for his rejection. He doesn't have to. He's Santa-Fuckin'-Claus, Baybee! Rudolph is different, and that's enough.
Of course, being an outsider has its benefits. Rudolph winds up making all kinds of strange (but wonderful) friends, like Clarice, who sings Rudy a heart-felt song about how "there's always tomorrow for dreams to come true" (with rabbits and raccoons singing backup) even though she's only known him for, like, five minutes; Hermie, the elf with the oral fixation; Yukon Cornelius, the most half-assed prospector who ever lived (and who has a blue poodle in his dogsled team); and most heart-wrenching of all, all the inhabitants of the Island of Misfit Toys.
I thought I belonged there. I still think I do.
Rudolph triumphs in the end, naturally. He leads Santa's team (bet that nose is looking mighty tasty now, huh, Mr. Bigot in the Big Red Suit?), Hermie gets his own dentist office, Yukon lands a peppermint mine (highly lucrative, given all the candy canes that need to be made), the Misfit Toys all get homes and Sam the Snowman sings the title song.
And then there's the Abominable Snow Monster, who looks like about 12 miles of hairy ass to an adult viewer, but is one of the most scary things every to crawl over a mountain to a five-year-old hunkered down on the living room rug, staring up at the big black-and-white Zenith console in mingled wonder, awe and fear. The "Bumble" gets his teeth yanked out and is good for little more than placing the star atop the tree without a ladder, but at least he's reformed and lives out his life eating baby foot and getting poked at by sharp sticks by the emboldened elves...
Okay, I made that last bit up. But that'll happen when you've spent way too much time in the so-called "Real World," and not nearly enough time on the Island of Misfit Toys.
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