Merry Rantmas to All

“Of all the Charlie Browns in the world, you’re the Charlie Browniest.”—A Charlie Brown Christmas

The Rant understands. You’re out there trying to maintain that holiday cheer while haunted by the never-ending doubt that you missed an online coupon that could have saved you $2.47 on that outrageous perfume¹  your pampered niece declared must be given in tribute. Please. Like the chauffeured limo for her sixteenth birthday wasn’t luxury enough for a lifetime. Brat.

The Rant once had an easy answer for these situations: our animated holiday trifecta of A Charlie Brown Christmas, Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer, and How the Grinch Stole Christmas. The first features the enduring jazz soundtrack of Vince Guaraldi; the second, the voice of Burl Ives² and a gay elf named Hermey that just wants to do dental work; the final pairs the greatest comedic genius of animation, Chuck Jones, and Boris Karloff. Dr. Seuss also participated.

As the years pass, with the exception of Grinch, The Rant finds it ever more difficult to enjoy this fare. To endure Charlie Brown, The Rant must operate under the assumption this entire nightmare occurs in the tortured mind of Charlie. There’s no other way to survive this Theater of Cruelty. Lucy’s crew makes Mean Girls look like The Mother Teresa Story. Other than the magnificently baroque dance sequences set to Guaraldi’s music, it’s hard to the justify the nastiness. “Boy are you stupid, Charlie Brown.” Right to his face without the distance of social media. There’s no spa day that’s going to soothe that ache.

The Rant always identified with Charlie’s pain. Perhaps the real appeal of the show was watching someone suffer more than us. At least we thought we were suffering, the way lonely, shoe gazing kids will do, forever avoiding potential disaster that would cause someone to exclaim, “Boy are you stupid, Rant.” We’re still gazing at our shoes, but now we’re contemplating a snappy comeback, and we have access to bourbon.

Look, maybe the Keto diet Santa follows in the offseason is making him cranky, but his supermodel physique and tantrums at the start of Rudolph are hard to take. He treats Rudolph and his family like the Manson clan. It’s just a red nose Santa, relax. Wait until you find out about Hermey. The dysfunction of the entire North Pole feels like an upcoming Wharton case study on the toxic workplace. The Rant isn’t buying his act of not wanting to disappoint the kids because they’re fogged in on Christmas Eve. He can’t wait to get back on the protein powder and terrorize the workshop.

Rudolph can’t even catch a break on the Island of Misfit Toys. By the way, if your were a winged lion, would you devote your life to product recalls? Your’e telling me a winged lion isn’t getting invited to all the hottest parties in Hollwood and invited on oligarchs’ yachts? His name is Moonracer for the love of Mufasa. He was killing it when kids were still being named Chet. You know Moonracer is doing the Island thing for the pub and has a whole other life you would watch a reality show about.

Only the Grinch endures. Chuck Jones understood every nuance of animation³ and how to create a narrative with conflict and tension without the psychodrama. Charlie Brown will need more therapy than can Lucy can offer, her posse will suffer several unhappy marriages until they begin to question their behavior. After Rudolph and Hermey’s joint class action suit against Jolly St. Nick, Inc., both will write scathing memoirs and hit the talk show circuit.

But the Grinch finds redemption in a glorious twenty-six minutes. His heart adjusted to proper size, he gleefully carves the roast beast. His faithful dog Max gets a slice and all is well in Whoville. Jones understood long before anyone else that animation can only understand the joy and anarchy of a child by behaving like an adult.

1. The holidays deliver one of The Rant’s favorite joys: a plethora of bewildering, Daliesque fragrance ads. All of them scream, “This is art, not a smelly substance in a jar. Bow before it and empty your bank account to bask in its pleasures and Olympian aspirations!” Nothing can top the Versace Eros ad, featuring a moody archer, so complete in its perfection they have been running it since 2012. In ad years, the equivalent of showing grainy footage of Babe Ruth rounding the bases at impossible speeds. This ad makes The Rant yearn for things we cannot articulate, but we feel somewhat confident we would buy Eros by the tankerful in exchange for those thighs. So much rain, so many abs, so many things beyond comprehension. Why must the arrow Mr. Thighs shoots shatter the Eros bottle? Isn’t this bad retail strategy? With all due respect to Channing Tatum’s sequel for Eros Energy, which chronicles Channing chasing Mr. Thighs’ arrow, through a waterfall naturally, and catching it, you may capture Mr. Thighs’ arrow but never his essence. At least take your shirt off, bro. Our current fave has Adam Driver also running, sans shirt as god intended, stride for stride with a horse. But where’s the water? Don’t worry. Suddenly Adam is swimming with the horse, then riding the horse in water, evoking water polo jokes for all. And finally it appears Adam has become a Centaur on the beach in a bit of jump-edit alchemy better left unconsidered. Burberry’s message: Smell like a horse. That’s The Rant’s takeaway. If that can’t cure your holiday depression, consult a health care professional immediately.
2. Criminally underrated, Ives is only know by most people for Rudolph and some folk songs. He sang with Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger, was a tremendous actor, no one could play a sinister Southern “gentleman” better, and he became a country music staple.
3. Our favorite Jones gesture remains the long stare of a character directly at the audience, followed by an almost imperceptible display of emotion. In this case, the Grinch registers disgust with Max by his Santa hat suddenly going limp. Daffy Duck seething with quiet anger at Bugs Bunny remains the gold standard.