Let’s even get past the sexism of 1964, when Rankin/Bass created the animated TV show Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Rudolph’s girlfriend Clarice and his Mom (who remains nameless, identified only as Donner’s mate and Rudolph’s mother) clearly are just pretty window dressing to the main male characters (who are reminded by narrator Burl Ives that they need to get the “women back to Christmastown” after their escape from the Abominable Snow Monster).
The fundamental problem with Rudolph is the nastiness of the adults, namely father Donner, reindeer coach Comet and most of all Santa. Well yes, some parents behave that way (perhaps more so in the 1960’s before parenting became a verb) and probably even more coaches do (after all, it’s not their kid and the goal is to win, right? Right.) But Santa? Proxy that he is for Jesus in a secular Christmas, every kid knows that Santa should be a model of acceptance and fairness. After all, if Santa rejected Rudolph because of a physical nonconformity, accepting him only after he became useful, what does that say to the rest of us kids who aren’t perfect? Get a job?
Perhaps Rudolph is a bit of a period piece reflecting prejudices of its time. (To calm my righteous indignation I tell myself that the ongoing Rudolph reruns are retro and reflect parents’ desire to relive their childhoods rather than preferences by today’s children). But even in 1969 when my six-year old self gobbled up its adorable animation, it just felt wrong. The correction at the end, when everyone realizes the error of his ways and celebrates Rudolph’s unique attributes, just can’t set right the fundamentally incorrect starting place: Santa wouldn’t do that, ever. And by the way, in our Christmas fantasies, parents and coaches don’t either.
This error of course makes the alert viewer particularly sensitive to the numerous other illogical heresies, like the Island of Misfit Toys: If these misfit toys were rejected by children in the past, then why will they suddenly be accepted now? Does Santa’s epiphany transfer to all the world’s children? And if they weren’t previously rejected, then why did they end up on this island? How did Santa not know about them? If Santa knows if we’re naughty or nice, then surely his omniscience extends to neglected toys. My geologist husband adds that it bugs him that Yukon Cornelius is prospecting for gold where there’s no bedrock, just ice. But my husband is clearly a nerd: This particular technicality is not up there on the list for the rest of us.
Honestly, I don’t go around applying biofeminist analysis to How the Grinch Stole Christmas, A Charlie Brown Christmas or other favorites. As a child, I didn’t believe in the Grinch or Charlie Brown’s wonderfully unsupervised friends and dancing beagle. But they made a good story and you didn’t have to buy it all to enjoy. (Although I have to say there’s no way that little dog could have budged that ginormous sled full of the Who’s Christmas goodies one inch up Mount Crumpit.) In fact, despite its many flaws Rudolph remains one of my holiday traditions. But tradition can be a sort of twisted tautology at times: It’s tradition to follow traditions at Christmas. And so, Rudolph lives on.
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