CHRISTMAS TELEVISION FAVORITES: A LOOK BACK AT 7 ANIMATED CLASSICS, INCLUDING THE GRINCH, FROSTY, AND RUDOLPH!

So I missed Hanukkah?  Goddamnit!  That's what happens when you convert your cozy den/office into a 100% federally-funded 125 child-capacity daycare center.  You get distracted. Well...what to do, then?   I guess I can't think of a better way to commemorate the rededication of the Second Temple in Jerusalem at the time of the Maccabean Revolt against Hellenistic King Antiochus IV Epiphanes and the Seleucid Empire, than to break out the animated Christmas toon collections!  I know the little tots will love it...if and when they ever show up.

I guess they still do broadcast the classic Christmas toons on television, but where and when...I don't know, nor do I care.  We don't operate like a community anymore, when it comes to pop culture (and everything else, come to think of it), which quite frankly, is increasingly okay with me.  I'm easing quite comfortably into reactionary isolation, so I'll just break out my Christmas physical media and tell the rest of the uncaring, not-listening world to, in the immortal words of Grandpa Munster, "drop dead."   

An oldie but a goodie: Warner Bros.’ Christmas Television Favorites disc set from 2007, featuring Dr. Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas!, The Year Without a Santa Claus, Rudolph and Frosty’s Christmas in July, Rudolph’s Shiny New Year, Frosty’s Winter Wonderland, ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, and Nestor, the Long-Eared Christmas Donkey seems like a good pick. 

DR. SEUSS’ HOW THE GRINCH STOLE CHRISTMAS!

By this point (and lets skip a synopsis)…what else can be said about this timeless, thoroughly brilliant classic from 1966, a near-perfect mixture of Dr. Seuss’ wonderfully playful storytelling, with Looney Tunes cruelty, courtesy of Chuck Jones? The solitary rival to the Rankin/Bass monopoly on Christmas TV favorites, Dr. Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas! is that exceedingly rare example of a “kiddie” short that is equally satisfying to adults (maybe more so…if you’re in a grinchy mood). 

Facing the daunting task of adapting Dr. Seuss’ primal, almost-scary children’s book, Looney Tunes genius Chuck Jones put his own personal stamp on the source material, creating a twisted, perverse riff on Seuss’ character that plays like a very mean, very cruel—and very funny—Daffy Duck take-off. Watching Dr. Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas! now, it’s fun to spot all the Looney Tunes visual references, as well as the surprisingly nasty humor (listen to little Max yip every time the Grinch cracks that whip…and he just keeps snapping him).

Dr. Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas! is also that children’s rarity where the visuals are matched by the vocal performances—in this case, Boris Karloff’s virtuoso take on the narration, and Thurl Ravenscroft singing You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch (who was cruelly left off the original credits). When you realize that it’s going to be the Boris Karloff doing the narration, it seems like an odd choice at first; his distinctive lisp, British lilt, and his well-established horror persona would seem outsized for the project, throwing the balance off for the viewer who may be distracted by the odd mix of Looney Tunes’s comic cruelty and Universal horror.

But as we know now, one can’t imagine Dr. Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas! without Karloff (one of the major missteps with Ron Howard's 2000 live-action version was hiring a thoroughly bored-sounding Anthony Hopkins to drone on and on and on as the dispirited narrator). A natural born storyteller, Karloff is so ingenious with his little verbal twists and turns, that one can just listen to the short, without actually watching it, and get an enormous amount of pleasure out of it. 

It’s a toss-up between Grinch, Rankin/Bass’ equally brilliant (for entirely different reasons) Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer and Bill Melendez’s A Charlie Brown Christmas for the honor of the most popular animated holiday classic…but I know which one I watch when I want my laughs to have a harder edge.

 

THE YEAR WITHOUT A SANTA CLAUS

When you mention 1974’s The Year Without a Santa Clause to someone who’s already watched it, you’re not going to get “Mickey Rooney!” or “Shirley Booth!” as a response…even though they’re terrific here (and you sure as hell better not hear, “John Goodman!”, from that excremental 2006 live-action version). You’re invariably going to hear, “Heat Miser and Snow Miser!” supporting characters in this delightful Rankin/Bass toon who became genuine icons of many 70s kids’ Christmas memories.

As I’m sure you remember, in The Year Without a Santa Claus, Santa (voice talent of Mickey Rooney) wakes up one morning with a cold, and after listening to his crotchety doctor, agrees that there’s no longer any Christmas spirit, and decides to cancel the holiday. 

After tucking the depressed Santa back into bed, Mrs. Claus (voice talent of Shirley Booth) instructs elves Jingle and Jangle (voice talents of Bob McFadden and Bradley Bolke) to travel to Southtown, U.S.A. to try and find some evidence of Christmas spirit to bring back, to convince Santa he’s still loved and needed. Baby reindeer Vixen is called into service to ferry them down south.

Mrs. Claus spills the beans to Santa about her plan, and he immediately sets off to rescue the group, knowing that the Heat Miser and Snow Miser (voices of George S. Irving and Dick Shawn), who guard the way back between the North Pole and the rest of the world, can be formidable obstacles. 

Down in Dixie, the trio run into trouble. The children don’t believe in Santa any longer, and Vixen is locked up in the dog pound. It’s up to Santa to rescue Vixen, and it’s up to Mrs. Claus to persuade Mother Nature (voice talent of Rhoda Mann) to convince her two quarreling boys to let it snow in Southtown, while having a nice spring day at the North Pole.

The Year Without a Santa Claus always feels like a near-miss Rankin/Bass effort to me. Based in part on the celebrated 1956 short story by Phyllis McGinley, The Year Without a Santa Claus has all the ingredients of the traditional Rankin/Bass holiday special: clever, sweet songs (you know you can sing the Miser boys’ songs…), charming stop-motion “animagic” animation, a simple, clear storyline, and some top-flight voice work from veteran pros.

It all comes together quite well, but somehow I always feel that the center is diffused by too many characters going off on their own missions: Santa comes to Southtown; Mrs. Claus visits the Miser Brothers and Mother Nature, Jingle and Jangle travel also to Southtown, and non-believer Ignatius (voice talent of Colin Duffy) follows them all around. It’s not that any of the individual parts don’t work; it just never feels like a single, whole, contained piece. 

Perhaps that’s why the Miser Brothers are so well remembered from the show, but the remaining characters and story elements, as well as the title song, aren’t. Still, The Year Without a Santa Claus is entertaining, with a sweet story that young children still respond to over forty years after its original broadcast.

 

RUDOLPH’S SHINY NEW YEAR

For Rudolph’s Shiny New Year, Red Skelton is heard as old Father Time, who sends a message to Santa (voice talent of Paul Frees) that the Baby New Year is missing. Santa, seeing how dark and snowy and foggy it is outside, decides that Rudolph (voice talent of Billie Mae Richards) is the only one who can go to Father Time, and find out how to track down Baby New Year. 

Clued in by Father Time that the Baby New Year ran away because everyone was laughing at his enormous ears, Rudolph goes to the Archipelago of Last Years to find the runaway, aided by various friends including knight Sir Ten-to-Three (voice talent of Frank Gorshin), caveman One Million (voice talent of Morey Amsterdam), “Big” Ben Franklin (voice talent of Harold Peaky), and General Ticker (Frees). But can the group get past the evil Eon (Frees), the vicious buzzard who hopes to live forever by kidnapping the Baby New Year?

Well, what’s mostly wrong with it is…it’s not a Christmas story. Much like the similarly structured Here Comes Peter Cottontail, 1976’s Rudolph’s Shiny New Year relies on the lead character, Rudolph (cannily shoehorned into the plot), going on a journey through time to correct an upcoming event. Unfortunately, it doesn’t offer one single memorable song, and that’s a big minus with any Rankin/Bass offering (the depressingly morbid and contemplative Turn Back the Years should bring the small fry to tears right smartly).

Still… Rudolph’s Shiny New Year may champion a holiday that doesn’t mean much to young children (“Stay up to watch Mommy and Daddy get drunk and fumble around in the linen closet? Pass.”).  But it is a suitably low-level, slightly surreal “animagic” journey that will keep your interest through its running time. And it does sport some fun voice work, particularly from Red Skelton and the original voice of Rudolph, Billie Mae Richards.

 

NESTOR, THE LONG-EARED CHRISTMAS DONKEY

Speaking of depressing, don’t let your kids watch Nestor, the Long-Eared Christmas Donkey if they cried during Bambi or Dumbo. Telling the story of the little donkey who carried Mary to Bethlehem, Nestor, the Long-Eared Christmas Donkey starts out marvelously, with the dolefully-voiced Roger Miller perfectly suited to voicing Speiltoe, Santa’s donkey (yes—Santa has a donkey, apparently). 

Recounting his ancestor Nestor’s (voice talent of Shelly Hines) part in the Nativity scene, Speiltoe flashes us back to those ancient times when Nestor was the butt of jokes in Olaf (voice talent of Paul Frees) the donkey breeder’s stable. Evidently, Nestor’s extra-long ears puts him in company with Rudolph’s shiny nose and Baby New Year’s huge ears, engendering the mocking cruelty of his fellow animals (gee...I hope there's Twitter outrage for this....).

When the rest of the donkeys are taken away by Roman soldiers, Nestor is thrown out of the stables in a snowstorm, with his mother (voice talent of Linda Gary).  escaping to help him. She shields him through the snowstorm, but dies of exposure the next morning, leaving little Nestor all alone (cue the bawling kids watching). 

A cherub named Tilly (voice talent of Brenda Vaccaro) inspires Nestor to follow a star, informing Nestor that his life is meant for a very special purpose. Soon, Nestor is chosen by Mary (voice talent of Taryn Davies) and Joseph (voice talent of Harry Rosner) to carry her to Bethlehem, and Nestor becomes a hero to the other animals.

Nestor, the Long-Eared Christmas Donkey is a fairly violent little Rankin/Bass production (watch how many times Nestor gets tossed around by Olaf), and a rather sad one, too, with the death of Nestor’s mother a major bummer for kids on vacation who just wanted to see some puppets walking around. Singer/songwriter Roger Miller is a particularly amusing narrator (just as he was as Disney’s animated Robin Hood) in the opening scenes, shaking his head and rolling his eyes when he mournfully intones, “But you know them elves,” when he’s describing how they won’t fix the donkey toy in the stable manger set-up. 

But with the exception of Vaccaro and Frees, the voice talent line-up is decidedly less-starry than previous Rankin/Bass efforts (spotting the celebrity voices is half the fun of these outings).

 

It’s a speedy entry, running only about 23 minutes, but with so many elements lifted from other stories, along with the sometimes downbeat story elements, it’s not surprising that Nestor, the Long-Eared Christmas Donkey is one of the less popular Rankin/Bass Christmas offerings.

FROSTY’S WINTER WONDERLAND

This was a R/B sequel I had very little personal background on. Did I see it when it first came out in 1976? If I did, it didn’t register (and thank god this disc doesn’t have that John Goodman—again!—Frosty sequel). Starring the voice talents of Andy Griffith, Shelley Winters, Paul Frees and Irish tenor Dennis Day, Frosty’s Winter Wonderland a delightful, speedy sequel to its more famous predecessor.

Narrated by Andy Griffith Frosty’s Winter Wonderland tells the story of Frosty’s (voice talent of Jackie Vernon) return to all his friends south of the North Pole, once the first big snowstorm of the season arrives. There, he still enjoys playing with his friends, but soon, Frosty becomes sad because he’s often left alone, particularly at night, when all the kids return home. 

Hoping to solve the problem, the children promise they’ll make Frosty a wife, creating Crystal (voice talent of Shelley Winters) out of the newly fallen snow. But she’s lifeless without a little bit of magic, which Frosty provides with a gift of love: a bouquet of snow flowers he quickly makes.

When Frosty asks Crystal to marry him, Parson Brown (voice talent of Dennis Day), a snowman himself, is made to marry the chilly couple. But danger looms for Frosty and Crystal, because Jack Frost (voice talent of Paul Frees) is jealous of Frosty’s fame and the love he receives from all the children. And so he decides to steal Frosty’s magic hat, and return him to just a plain, ordinary, inert snowman.

Of course it’s great to have the gentle-voiced Jackie Vernon back as Frosty, and Dennis Day adds a touch of Yuletide cheer with his sterling voice, but I was most pleased with Andy Griffith’s inclusion here in the Rankin/Bass world. He’s a perfect choice for this kind of voice work. 

Griffith, a natural-born storyteller who first shot to fame doing comic monologues, is marvelously free and easy with his narration, bringing a lot of oomph and energy to his line readings. He also gets to sing a few songs, and if you’ve ever heard him sing on The Andy Griffith Show, you know what a pleasant voice he has.

Shelley Winters (if you can believe it) is actually subdued here. As a huge fan of this underrated actress, I’m not sure I want a subdued Shelley Winters, but she does manage a girlish, sweet delivery that fits the character. The story is logically set out, and it moves swiftly from song to song, while the animation is wonderfully evocative of that later Rankin/Bass house style (I love the heavy outlines on the characters). A charming, effective sequel.

 

‘TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

Another Rankin/Bass traditional animation short that often gets overlooked, 1974’s ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas takes just a kernel of an idea from the famous poem by Clement Clarke Moore (“‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”), and expands it into a charming little story of Father Mouse (voice talent George Gobel) and Joshua Trundle (voice talent of Joel Grey), a clockmaker, who must find a way to bring Christmas and Santa back to Junctionville.

Evidently, someone wrote a letter to the town paper, denouncing Santa as a fake, which got back to Santa, who returned all of the town’s letters to him, unopened. Father Mouse figures out that his egg-head son Albert (voice talent of Tammy Grimes) is the culprit, and, with Joshua, devises a plan for the clockmaker to fashion a huge clock which will play a song to Santa, letting him know that the town still cares about him. But Albert inadvertently messes up the clockworks, and no one knows for sure if Santa will arrive Christmas Eve night.

While the traditional cel animation for ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas may not be the best example of Rankin/Bass’ art, the simple, effective songs included in the short are entirely in keeping with their successful track record. Maury Laws’ Give Your Heart a Try and Even a Miracle Needs a Hand are lovely, and help put this minor effort over. 

The story may not be as artfully constructed as others in their canon, but the voice work is quite good (it’s nice to hear Gobel’s singing voice again), and the simple message—believe, and do what your heart tells you to do—won’t hurt any child who hears it. Nor any adult, I suppose.

RUDOLPH AND FROSTY’S CHRISTMAS IN JULY

The only clunker in the Christmas Television Favorites collection, 1979’s Rudolph and Frosty’s Christmas in July is a largely unsuccessful attempt to mix two beloved Rankin/Bass holiday fixtures—Rudolph and Frosty the Snowman—and graft them onto a Fourth of July storyline that’s as convoluted as it is unpleasant.

Apparently, Rudolph (voice talent of Billie Mae Richards) got his shiny nose from Lady Boreal (voice talent of Nelli Bellflower), who ruled over the North Pole before Santa (voice talent of Mickey Rooney) came, and in opposition to the evil Winterbolt (voice talent of Paul Frees). Rudolph was given his magical nose to aid Santa through one of Winterbolt’s evil schemes; for his crime, he was put into a deep sleep by Lady Boreal. But he has now awakened, and he plans on taking out Rudolph and Santa, and he’s going to use Frosty (voice talent of Jackie Vernon) as the patsy.

Knowing that Frosty wants to help out Milton (voice talent of Red Buttons) the ice cream salesman, marry Laine Lorraine (voice talent of Shelby Flint), Winterbolt offers to give Frosty, his wife Crystal (voice talent of Shelley Winters) and their children special crystals that will stave off melting. You see, Frosty wants to take Rudolph down to Laine’s mother’s circus, where a big draw is needed to keep the circus in Lily Loraine’s (voice talent of Ethel Merman) hands. 

But Winterbolt has no intention of letting Frosty or his family stay frozen. He rigs it so they’ll stay past the July Fourth fireworks (when the crystals wear off), and gets Scratcher (voice talent of Alan Sues), a mangy reindeer fired by Santa, to implicate Rudolph in a crime (stealing the circus’ receipts), so his noselight will go out forever. Will our heroes save the day?

You can’t really blame Rankin/Bass for trying to branch out and hit the other holidays with their stop-motion efforts (hey, if the networks had their checkbooks out, why not?), but the obvious, clumsy grafting of Christmas favorites Rudolph and Frosty onto the Fourth of July just doesn’t work. 

The plot is entirely too clunky and busy for little kids to appreciate, and most of the characters sound and act like rip-offs from other Rankin/Bass efforts (Winterbolt is Winter Warlock; Milton is Fred Astaire’s postman from Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town).

What’s more, the basic notion of not only adding a totally superfluous back story to Rudolph’s red nose (hey…I thought he was just born with it?), along with the scurrilous notion of Rudolph committing a crime (I know he didn’t, but little kids don’t get that subtlety), is really beyond the pale. 

Worst of all, the songs are sub-par…not to mention some of the celebrity warbling, as well (I love the Merm, but she’s way off her game, here). Justly obscure, this later Rankin/Bass effort is a big misfire. Skip this one, and go ask Gramps where the TV Guide is for other holiday television fare.

Yogi's First Christmas: Wondering Where Past Cartoon Icons Go When the Love's Gone

So where do beloved cartoon characters go, when they're no longer needed or wanted by a new generation?  I was thinking about that today, while Christmas shopping for my granddaughter.  Apparently, she's all about Mickey and Minnie Mouse, and thanks to the evil merchandising overlords at the House of Mouse, every single store I stopped at had more than enough M & M items to choose from--at a premium price, too, I might add.

 

What I didn't see, were so many of the beloved animated characters I grew up with as a kid.  Where was Popeye or Fred Flintstone or even Bugs Bunny--I thought for sure I'd see him in some form of holiday commodity.  Of course I'm aware of why these once-familiar icons go dormant.  Simply put:  if there's no promotion, there's no product.  

If Fred Flintstone isn't featured in a new TV or movie project, you're less likely to see him on the Walmart shelves.  And anyone can find old timey toon characters grafted onto virtually anything, from coffee mugs to Tshirts to fridge magnets, if they search online.  But try and find a Yogi Bear board game at Target and you're S.O.L..

 

Due to money spent on promotion; due to the level of sustained popularity in various media over the decades; and due to the timelessness of the characters themselves, a pop culture winner like Mickey Mouse will probably chug along for decades to come, while a funny goof like Yogi Bear continues to disappear into relative obscurity.  As most of us real-life characters do, as well. 

Luckily, the actual physical reality of these character-based products allow them the chance to be handed down from generation to generation, or be rediscovered by the uninitiated.  If my kid remembers playing with one of my childhood Yogi Bear Avon soap bottles, while watching Boomerang reruns of The Yogi Bear Show, well...there's at least a chance that kid might pass on the good memories and have his kid watch a Yogi Bear episode.  Or maybe a Christmas special. 

 

A good-enough Hanna-Barbera late entry for the smarter-than-the-average-type bear, Yogi's First Christmas, starring Yogi, Boo Boo, and Ranger Smith, with some special guest stars including Huckleberry Hound, Snagglepuss (even), Augie Doggie and Doggie Daddy, and Cindy Bear (and let's not forget the fat man himself, Santy Claus), premiered in sydication back on November 21st, 1980. 

Almost critic-proof, Yogi's First Christmas isn't rocket science: it puts some H-B superstars together in a Yuletide-themed story filled with a lot of gags, and the Christmas-minded small fry―even if they've never heard of these characters―will respond favorably (we hope). 

Christmas-time in Yellystone Park (they, um...actually misspell the iconic "Jellystone Park" here). Pic-a-nic-stealin' bear Yogi (voice talent of Daws Butler), and his little buddy, Boo Boo (voice talent of Don Messick) have never had a Christmas celebration before, because they always hibernate right through the holiday time. This year, however, their slumber is disturbed by friends Snagglepuss, Huckleberry Hound, Augie Doggie (voice talents of Daws Butler), and Doggie Daddy (voice talent of John Stephenson), when Ranger Smith (voice talent of Don Messick) drives the gang over to Jellystone's Winter Lodge, where the beginnings of a music-filled, loud Winter Carnival stir the sleepy Yogi and Boo Boo from their den. 

The scarcely-frequented Lodge, owned by Mrs. Throckmorton (voice talent of Janet Waldo), is about to be closed due to the tourist-scaring, Christmas-hating antics of Herman the Hermit (voice talent of Don Messick), who lives in the mountains above the Lodge. Yogi, desperate to have his first Christmas, decides to help entertain Mrs. Throckmorton, falling *ss-backwards into clover, as usual, as he unwittingly battles Herman and Mrs. Throckmorton's snotty little nephew, Snively (voice talent of Marilyn Schreffler).

If I saw Yogi's First Christmas when it premiered in first-run syndication back in 1980, I don't remember doing so (I was 15-years-old...so I may have watched it on the sly).  I've watched it several times since then (something about that VHS cover always grabbed my older kids), but even if I hadn't, there's an air of familiarity to it that's not hard to place.  Yogi's First Christmas has elements of at least a half-a-dozen other Christmas movies and specials incorporated into its storyline, from Dr. Seuss' How the Grinch Stole Christmas to Disney's The Snowball Express, to Der Bingle's White Christmas. 

And quite frankly, who cares?  I'm not looking for originality in something called Yogi's First Christmas.  Fans of H-B who grew up on holiday-dial offerings like this aren't going to find too much to complain about here because they already have a nostalgic soft spot for vintage TV specials like Yogi's First Christmas. 

In those pre-cable, pre-VCR days, being home for Christmas break (yaaaassss...Christmas break―my Hanukah-celebrating best friend next door called it the same thing) meant watching a lot of TV.  And usually, in addition to your regular series that featured Christmas-themed episodes (winner hands-down was The Odd Couple's Christmas Carol take-off), a whole slew of one-offs would hit the networks and local stations (through syndication), as Yogi's First Christmas certainly did, year after year. 

 

As for the little kids today who might watch Yogi's First Christmas, they're not going to care one bit that it was made in 1980, nor that it's derivative as hell. All they care about is whether or not it will make them laugh and keep their interest for 90 minutes. Which Yogi's First Christmas does.

Surprisingly, some heavyweight talents are behind the scenes here, including veteran animator/director Ray Patterson (Dumbo, Fantasia, Tom and Jerry, Spider-Man), and Tony Award-winning (for How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying) scripter Willie Gilbert. That kind of professionalism doesn't save Yogi's First Christmas from the usual (and at least in this particular effort, frankly embarrassing) continuity flubs that dogged the quickly and cheaply-made H-B product from this time period.

 

But it does ensure that the product moves surely through its admittedly thin story, with a modicum of gags that work well within the story's framework. Even though some of the songs are recycled from other H-B efforts, they're innocuous and sometimes even a little fun (Boo Boo's recycled Hope is a sweet effort, and Cindy Bear's tune about kissing Yogi under the mistletoe was an up-tempo charmer), while the accompany montages are frequently quite clever (I liked the one where Yogi turns into a star constellation and then a snowflake). 

Animation isn't all Fantasias and Pixar® "triumphs," you know. It's also the meat-and-potatoes sked-fillers like Yogi's First Christmas, a cheaply-produced romp that may look skimpy to some, but which made a whole bunch of kids back in 1980 very happy to be sitting in front of their Curtis-Mathis and Sony Trinitron sets. And it plays just fine, 45 years later, on a disc in front of your 75-inch Vizio.  I wonder if this Warner Archive disc is available at Walmart.... 

A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving: Fun While Snoopy's On...But Not Top Three Peanuts

In the Midwest, the chilly arrival of Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas creates the perfect environment to draw the drapes and hunker down to watch some television.  Because there's absolutely nothing else to do here.

 

To TV lovers in my age bracket (the Punic Wars) who are rooting around for something nostalgic, triggered memories of annual CBS airings of Charlie Brown animated specials (screw you, Apple) such as A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, are inevitable.

By Paul Mavis

Not in the top tier of the classic Peanuts shows, A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving resembles the gold standard A Charlie Brown Christmas a little too much for its own good. There’s no denying, though, that Snoopy (as usual) makes the toon worthwhile, as does the beautiful score by Vince Guaraldi (arguably the guy who introduced more people to jazz…who didn’t know they were listening to jazz).

In case you’ve been living on the Moon, a very brief synopsis of A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving is in order. Charlie Brown (voice of Todd Barbee), after having humiliated himself yet again by falling for Lucy’s (voice of Robin Kohn) old football trick, looks forward to another depressing holiday: Thanksgiving. 

It’s bad enough about the football, but then he sees that Snoopy (voice of Bill Melendez) gets more mail than he does, and he soon discovers from his sister Sally (voice of Hilary Momberger) that the stores already have Christmas items for sale (back when people were still worried about the commercialization of our holidays).

Adding to his existential troubles is the fact that Peppermint Patty (voice of Christopher DeFaria) calls up on Thanksgiving Day, and invites herself over for dinner…along with Marcie (voice of Jimmy Ahrens) and Franklin (voice of Robin Reed). 

But Charlie Brown’s family is headed to his grandmother’s home for the day, so it’s up to Linus (voice of Stephen Shea) to come up with a plan—with the help of Snoopy and his bird-brained pal, Woodstock (voice of Bill Melendez)—to save Charlie’s holiday.

After countless repeat viewings, what primarily interests me now with these Charlie Brown TV specials is my own nostalgia factor, weighed against the reaction of my kids to these perennial favorites. Anyone growing up in the late 60s, early 70s remembers what a comparative “wasteland” prime-time network TV was for kid-specific animation fare. 

You had the groundbreaking The Flintstones and a few other prime-time cartoon series here and there, as well as a few syndicated offerings, but overall, before cable, VCRs, DVDs and streaming provided 24-hour-a-day access to toons, it was a relatively rare event to see a cartoon on prime-time network TV. 

Saturday mornings were it, but holidays were a good bet, too, and certainly the Peanuts specials took on an almost quasi-religious aspect for most kids’ “must-see” TV schedules. Nobody missed a Peanuts special.

Today, of course, with a myriad of media options, it’s difficult if not impossible to ratchet up that kind of viewer consensus for any TV show, as those skimpy ratings for ABC’s previous repeats of Peanuts specials bore out (and sorry—they never felt the same coming out of the now-wretched Mouse House or soulless Galactic Empire, Apple). While today’s parents who grew up during that original Peanuts era probably still view the specials as de rigueur holiday experiences, they’re more likely to pop in a disc or search Hulu than sit through the edited, commercial-laden network broadcasts. 

My kids are no different. I don’t think we’ve ever watched the classic Peanuts specials on network TV; it’s always been video or disc (you want me to watch them on TV again? Put back the vintage Dolly Madison commercials and I’m in).

Which brings us to A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. First aired on November 20, 1973, when Charles Schulz’s strip comic was at the apex of its cultural saturation, the short is now widely regarded as one of the “Big Three” of the classic Peanuts specials. And while A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving isn’t the equal of either the superlative A Charlie Brown Christmas or It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown (nor even the underrated Be My Valentine, Charlie Brown), it’s relatively amusing, while conveying enough of the “Schulz touch” to be recognizable as one of the “classic” outings with the Peanuts gang.

A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving‘s biggest problem is familiarity: it’s structured too closely along the lines of the better A Charlie Brown Christmas. Both feature Charlie Brown fretting about an upcoming, depressing holiday. He then has to (ineptly) provide or produce some kind of event in conjunction with the holiday (the play and the tree in Christmas, an impromptu dinner here)—an event that of course falls short, thus ticking off the gang (Lucy is the main complainer in Christmas; here, it’s Peppermint Patty). 

Then, with Charlie Brown at his lowest, he’s given a pep talk by one of the quieter characters (Linus in Christmas, Marcie here) who explains the real reason for the season, and lifts his spirits. Except for some minor differences here and there, they could be the same cartoon.

Which is fine, if A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving could at least hold its own with the beautifully modulated, surprisingly emotional A Charlie Brown Christmas. While Schulz’s patented cruelty towards the forever shat-upon Charlie Brown is on display again for Thanksgiving (not only do his friends invite themselves over, but then they have the nerve to complain about the food he serves them), the motivation seems thin and arbitrary. 

In the Christmas special, the children razz Charlie Brown constantly, but when he brings that admittedly pathetic tree to the play, that’s their cue to really lay into Charlie Brown. Of course they can’t see the cruelty in what they’re doing (what little kid does?), but they eventually understand how truly kind Charlie Brown is, deep down.

In Thanksgiving, however, the basic premise of Patty inviting herself and the other kids over to Chuck’s seems a small, forced plot device (to further bolster the thin premise, a parent’s okay is thrown in by Patty when she speaks to Chuck over the phone—a story crutch that seems strangely out of place in the normally adult-less Peanuts world). 

Her outraged reaction to a meal that most little kids would probably love (popcorn, jelly beans, pretzels, toast (?), and some kind of ice cream drink) seems calculated only to follow the pattern of abuse/redemption that was established in Christmas.

Christmas was artfully simple in letting the audience discover for themselves that Charlie Brown’s concern for the little tree was the only true expression of the real Christmas spirit. A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, however, clumsily insists on Marcie spelling everything out for the audience with her literal dressing-down of Patty’s rude behavior and her obvious declaration of Charlie Brown’s essential goodness. 

Even worse, Christmas delivered a small but powerful emotional wallop with Linus’ direct declaration of what the Christmas holiday is really about, when he quotes the Bible. Thanksgiving’s botched kids’ dinner conveys none of the simple blessings that are inherent in our own uniquely American holiday (nor certainly any of the religious aspects, either—another mistake).

Still…whenever Snoopy is on in A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving, the film picks up considerable energy, and he’s more than enough to push the short into the plus column. The Snoopy craze of the early 70s was really peaking at this point, so it’s not surprising he has a much more central role here than Charlie Brown. 

Snoopy’s centerpiece sequences, including the fight with the folding lawn chair and his efforts to make toast and popcorn, never fail to get the kids laughing, while the short’s final “gotcha” gag—Snoopy and Woodstock had a huge turkey and pumpkin pie in his dog house all along, while poor Charlie Brown suffered—fits in nicely with Schulz’ essentially pessimistic world view (and yes, that would extend to Woodstock being, essentially…a cannibal).

Finally, despite the drawbacks of the toon’s script, it’s impossible to dislike A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving when Peanuts composer Vince Guaraldi lays down some sweet, mellow autumnal sounds (Thanksgiving Theme is lovely), along with the decidedly un-Thanksgiving-sounding Little Birdie, a fat funk groove that comes out of nowhere and almost lifts the short up with the best of the Peanuts classics.

PAUL MAVIS IS AN INTERNATIONALLY PUBLISHED MOVIE AND TELEVISION HISTORIAN, A MEMBER OF THE ONLINE FILM CRITICS SOCIETY, AND THE AUTHOR OF THE ESPIONAGE FILMOGRAPHY. Click to order.

Read more of Paul’s TV reviews here. Read Paul’s film reviews at our sister website, Movies & Drink.

Hanna-Barbera's The Thanksgiving That Almost Wasn't: 70s Cartoon Weirdness to Chase Away That Whole Sports Thingy

I know it's hard for some people to read this, but...I'd rather watch Hanna-Barbera's The Thanksgiving That Almost Wasn’t than college ball or a bowl game or whatever other sports are on during the holidays.  Straight up.  I just...go into a catatonic fugue state watching grown felons playing grab-ass with each other, chasing around a stupid ball for millions of dollars while other out-of-shape grown men in the stands and at home scream and cry like little girls, living vicariously through the ersatz gladiators down there on the pitch.  

Don't feel threatened by that statement.  Learn from it, and join me.  You big girl blouses. 

By Paul Mavis

A few years ago, Warner Bros.’ Archive Collection released a crappy 1979 toon called Casper’s Halloween Special on m.o.d. disc. It’s rather dire.  However, the disc’s “added bonus,” the animated Thanksgiving special, The Thanksgiving That Almost Wasn’t, which first aired in syndication back on November 21st, 1972, is a classic weirdo H-B offering that should easily take your mind off hilariously clueless, virtue-signalling multi-millionaire crybabies.

America, Fall, 1972. Little Jimmy and Janie, playing outside on a swing, are called for Thanksgiving dinner. Ready to dig in, their father asks them if they forgot something, and the family bows their head to pray. 

Outside the comfortable upper-middle class home, up a tree, Father Squirrel (voice talent of Vic Perrin) also watches his disgusting rodent family pray as his son (voice talent of June Foray) asks about how Thanksgiving came about—to which Father Squirrel states that if it wasn’t for his Great Great Great Grandfather Jeremy Squirrel (voice talent of Hal Smith), there wouldn’t be a human Thanksgiving.

Flashback: America, Fall, 1620. The Pilgrims, showing “hard work, perseverance, and courage,” fight back from lack of food and disease, to survive their first hard winter. In the spring, help from the local Indians leads to a bountiful harvest, which the Pilgrims plan on celebrating with their Indian brothers. 

Mirroring this development, Johnny Cook, a young Pilgrim boy, befriends a young Indian brave, Little Bear, son of Chief Massasoit. When their adventures that first Thanksgiving day take them away from the settlement, it’s up to Jeremy Squirrel, who got the two boys to stop fighting and be friends in the first place, to find them before vicious wolves rip them apart.

Produced and directed for syndicated TV markets by William Hanna and Joseph Barbera, based on a story by soon-to-be rivals-in-animation, Ken Spears and Joe Ruby, The Thanksgiving That Almost Wasn’t is so well remembered by adults from my generation because it was one of the very few animated prime-time toons that were built around the Thanksgiving holiday. You can probably name twenty classic Christmas toons right off the top of your head, and even a handful for Halloween…but how many were specifically produced for Thanksgiving back during the 1970s?

Watching it again here for about the 30th time (I know I caught it on TV most years up to the 1980s…only to start all over again in the 90s with my kids and Boomerang), it’s impossible not to like this silly, action-filled outing the minute you hear its catchy, moonshine jug, thud-puckin’ theme song, complete with those insane kazoos and Don Messick’s big, booming bass drops (H-B were geniuses when it came to instant “grab ya” theme songs). After just the first few bars, we’re hooked on that classic, golden Hanna-Barbera nostalgia that sticks to adults from my generation like bad cholesterol to our narrowing arteries.

Produced in 1972, before political correctness had seeped out of the liberal universities to infect and destroy our national culture, you won’t have to worry about sitting down your Little Johnny and Janie to watch The Thanksgiving That Almost Wasn’t, only to have them see the Pilgrims being portrayed as either backward dolts who needed to be spoon-fed like babies by the Indians, or the even more popular canard that they were cold-eyed genocidal racists looking to scam the New World away from those trusting, childlike-yet-ever-so-wise, sartorially-challenged Indians (what the hell goes with beaver pelt?).  

The Thanksgiving That Almost Wasn’t comes from a long-gone time in American entertainment when, no matter how gussied up it was for entertainment purposes, a history lesson aimed at an American child was first and foremost a celebration of what used to be—and what could be—great about this country.

In The Thanksgiving That Almost Wasn’t, we’re given just a quick timeline of the Pilgrims coming to America, with a rightly justified nod to their bravery and tenacity (good luck hearing that coming from your own Little Johnny’s commie socialist millennial school teacher punk today). Here, when Johnny and Little Bear are lost in the woods, they buck themselves up by both stating they’re proud of their heritages, before the rest of the episode goes into a busy but toned-down Jonny Quest Goes Native playlet. 

 

Little kids will enjoy Jeremy Squirrel scampering around trying to save the boys, while you’ll crack up at unintentionally funny stuff like 1972 Jimmy’s weirdly androgynous mixture of June Foray’s Rocky Squirrel voice coming out of his hybrid Cindy Williams/Rosie O’Donnell head, or the modern children’s positively morose, funereal reply, “Yes, Daaaaaad,” as they’re forced to pray before digging into dinner. 

So this Thanksgiving, when you’re taking a pass on unpatriotic NFL thugs and that fourth piece of pumpkin pie, pop in The Thanksgiving That Almost Wasn’t for a heaping helping of positive, long may they American waves.

PAUL MAVIS IS AN INTERNATIONALLY PUBLISHED MOVIE AND TELEVISION HISTORIAN, A MEMBER OF THE ONLINE FILM CRITICS SOCIETY, AND THE AUTHOR OF THE ESPIONAGE FILMOGRAPHY. Click to order.

Read more of Paul’s TV reviews here. Read Paul’s film reviews at our sister website, Movies & Drinks.