I honestly don't have an enormous problem with the commercial nature of Christmas. I like shopping for people. I enjoy drinking a Starbucks Peppermint Mocha as I stroll through a tinsel-covered mall with a constant stream of Christmas classics (and covers of Christmas classics and covers of covers of Christmas classics) blaring from somewhere overhead. I am also fully aware that our economy would turn to poop if the holidays truly became entirely about love and family. That being said, every year since I learned to be cynical and disillusioned, one thing about Christmas commercialism has bothered me: the "Peanuts" gang and their Christmas special.
Every December, Charlie Brown forgets to take his Prozac and then proceeds to complain about how commercial Christmas is and whine about how no one has a real tree anymore. Not only do I disagree about the tree (a shiny blue plastic tree with built-in lights sits in the front atrium of my house), but I refuse to respectfully do so. Because "A Charlie Brown Christmas" (1965) and commercialism are as linked as Dasher and Dancer, stockings and fireplaces or Jews and Hanukkah.
This has been the case since the beginning really. Initially, after the Peanuts gang triumphed over the great evil of pink aluminum trees and finished singing "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing," viewers were informed that this past half-hour of anti-capitalist propaganda was "Brought to you by the people in your town who bottle Coca Cola!" Good grief.
Since then, it's only gotten worse. From the beginning of my childhood, I can remember Hallmark selling ornaments of Charlie, Snoopy, Lucy and the rest of the gang all with Christmas stockings, or, sometimes, the pimped-out tree from the end of the movie. Clearly, everyone knew that the only good live tree is one that looks as good as an artificial one.
Mr. Schultz, you may have been able to make the case that the initial Faustian deal with Coke was necessary to get your message across to millions of kids who had been picking Santa over Jesus. You might have even argued that you were really using The Man's own money against him. But after hundreds, possibly thousands of the aforementioned ornaments, Snoopy-adorned stockings, cards with Linus shouting "Merry Christmas!" with no mention of "The Gospel of Luke" (okay, granted, no one wants a card with that … that part always seemed to last an eternity when I was a kid) and countless other items, can you really defend the message of your cartoon? So what if you're dead; you only left us a little under nine years ago and this has been going on a lot longer than that.
In Charles Schultz's defense, this hypocrisy was only ridiculous until recently. Two years ago, though, it reached its ultimate crescendo of absolutely, absurdly, penguin-wrapped-in-garland-doing-the-Macarena-level ludicrous. As I walked around Urban Outfitters (in my defense, I needed a pair of khakis and it was the closest place), my eyes were blindsided with more irony than if I had just seen Ralphie from "A Christmas Story" (1983) at a gun-control rally.
You can buy a replica of the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree. The pathetic, charming-because-it's-real tree, in all its pre-pimping non-glory. So, um, you can buy a fake version of the tree that's celebrated because it's not fake. Hey, at least your fake tree is a celebration of non-fake trees when you really should have just gone out and got a real tree if you want that but that isn't as iconic. And hey, at least you don't have a gaudy aluminum one that's painted pink! As you may have guessed, I short-circuited a little writing that last bit. And everyone in the English department just got their dose of irony for the month.
I was out of the states for most of last year's holiday season, but already I'm being blind-sided by gift-carrying Lucies, tree-trimming Pig-Pens and antlered, red-nosed Snoopies from all sides. And I'm sure that if I dared to turn on the television to a channel other than MSNBC, I'd be hearing some blockhead shouting, "Isn't there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?" Something has to give.
Chuck, you can't have your fruit cake and eat it too. Either embrace the commercialism of the season and get off your high reindeer, or stop using the clout that you earned through preaching against the spending spree to then push toys and various other worthless trinkets on people.
Okay, I realize I'm talking to either a fictional character or a rotting corpse, but really, someone out there has to acknowledge the oxymoronic stupidity of this whole thing. We as a people have to band together against Charlie Brown and his two-faced ways. We can simply boycott the products, or we can put Linus's speech on mute (or, blast "Jingle Bell Rock" over it if you're feeling particularly festive) and exclaim, "Well, thank Santa that the tree doesn't look like crap anymore!" at the end of the special. But, for the love of Peppermint Patty, we can't just sit back and do nothing.
It seems my director is making a slashing motion across his throat (props to all who got that). Looks like it's time to end yet another semester of my ranting ways. Till we meet again, pop-culturites, have a holly, jolly and very commercial holiday season!
