When Eric assigned me to write A Charlie Brown Christmas, I’m not sure he knew what he was getting himself into. See, I’m not much like other merrymakers who fall all over themselves praising any little thing which carries the smallest iota of warmhearted nostalgia.  I can’t ignore things like horrible dialog, an annoying plot with laughable transitions, and just general bad direction and production all around.

No amount of feeling like I’m “supposed” to love something (and I do feel that it’s a sweet little piece of pop history) can make me ignore all of that. It’s a cute story with some touching moments, but all things considered it’s rather absurd and it doesn’t even try to make sense.

The story opens with Charlie Brown feeling depressed about Christmas, God only knows why (FORESHADOWING, THANK YOU!). Apparently he thinks Christmas has become too commercialized, though we only learn that through a few meandering and mumbling scenes with Linus, Snoopy, and Lucy. Finally, five minutes into this barely 30-minute piece, we have a reason why it exists.

So Charlie is depressed and basically disowns Snoopy because decorating his dog house is far too “commercial” an activity, and Lucy names him director of their Christmas play in the fleeting hope that it will get him to shut up.  No such luck.

Chuck has no success getting the other kids to respect him as a director, and Lucy (what is she, his mother?) sends him off to find a “Nice, aluminum Christmas tree,” because if being a director doesn’t make it so she doesn’t have to listen to him, making him leave the building sure will.

The Christmas tree lot scene is by far the best and the most relevant to modern day, as they look at all these perfect, colorful, fake trees. At the time, it was a dig at the popular aluminum trees, but it works just as well as a rallying cry against the plastic trees of our day. Naturally, like any smart person, Charlie gets a real Christmas tree, albeit a sickly one.

Then everyone hates the tree Charlie brings back, and they’re like “Charlie Brown, you fucking asshole, way to ruin everyone’s lives by selecting this stupid tree that doesn’t even make sense in the context of our ultra-religious, traditionalist Christmas play.”

Charlie gets depressed again, and reiterates that he simply doesn’t know what Christmas is all about. “Can’t someone tell me what Christmas is all about?” he whines to no one in particular.  And then, the most worthless, meandering, overrated, unfortunate piece of Christmas nostalgia takes place, as Linus says “I can tell you, shithead,” then takes his place in front of the microphone (what?) in the center of the stage.

“Lights, please,” Linus instructs.  And then, as the lights dim, he spouts a half-hearted, poorly written version of the Biblical story of Jesus’ birth. Aside from the tasteful lighting, the quiet background, and the quaint echo of his small voice in the amphitheater, his speech is out of place, awkward, hyper-religious (obviously), and ineffective.  It is the single most overrated moment in all of Christmas pop culture.

Then, Charlie takes his tree and goes home for some reason, somehow still depressed even after that clearly worthwhile homage to Christ our Lord and Savior. Except actually, he goes to Snoopy’s home, which won first prize in the neighborhood Christmas decoration contest. Naturally, Snoopy’s success fills Charlie with rage.

“Christmas is so commercial, godammit!” Charlie shouts as he mocks the decorations on Snoopy’s doghouse, and then he proceeds to take THOSE SAME DECORATIONS and put them on his tree to make it a happy tree. Because stealing a dog’s Christmas ornaments and using them to decorate a tree is okay, but decorating your house in a similar fashion is for heathen hellspawn.

But Charlie can’t even finish that before he whines and leaves, then all the kids come and finish the decorations for him and make his tree nice, which he failed to do.  Then he is kind of happy at the end and they sing a Christmas carol, leaving their play unfinished, the Lord worshiped, and Charlie still not being able to resolve any of his own damn problems.

And there you have it. One of the more overrated Christmas specials of all time. It’s still bearable, however, and even cute, if you spend your evening checking your fantasy football scores while it plays in the background.

If for some unfathomable reason you’re unfamiliar with the concept behind Pinky and the Brain, permit me to elucidate. As the theme song says, “They’re laboratory mice. Their genes have been spliced.” Each night, Brain comes up with a new scheme to take over the world. He and his dopey sidekick Pinky attempt to carry out the scheme with hilarious results.

Comedy gold.

On this particular occasion, Brain has invented a hypnosis device that will allow him to bend all the citizens of the world to his will. The devices are put into Noodle Noggin, a children’s doll Brain’s designed—in his own likeness, as befits a megalomaniac. All Pinky and the Brain need to do is get one of these dolls under every tree come Christmas morning and the world will be theirs to command.

Naturally, they need an assembly line to produce enough Noodle Noggins in time, and when it’s Christmas only one assembly line fits that bill. After answering an ad in the paper reading “Elves wanted for holiday rush. Apply North Pole” (”Apply North Pole to what?” asks Pinky) the Mus musculus duo sets off for the Arctic to turn Santa’s workshop into their own personal Noodle Noggin factory. As a bonus, it will also give Pinky the chance to deliver his letter to Santa in person.

Along the way they have this exchange.

PINKY: I don’t want to be an elf.
BRAIN: Really? What do you want to be?
PINKY: A dentist!
BRAIN: You’ve seen too many Christmas specials.

That kind of  throw-away reference, whether to pop culture, fine arts, history, or anything else, was the hallmark of Pinky and the Brain and what made it so good; it was able to appeal not just to the kids in the viewing audience. For example, when the two mice have been discovered and are suspected of espionage, they’re asked who they work for: the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, or Hershel the Hannukah Goblin. That mightn’t exactly tickle a little kid’s funny bone, but it surely made me laugh.

But don’t go thinking it’s all jokes. Like any good Christmas special, this one has the kind of love-your-fellow-man-and-joy-to-the-world sentiment you expect, and it has it in just the right dose. For most of the show, it’s Pinky and the Brain business as usual; it’s set at Christmas, sure, but it’s the same kind of comedy that made every episode so good. It’s only for about ninety seconds at the end that it throws in some sweetness and you dab at the corners of your eyes with your shirt when nobody’s looking.

That’s how this kind of Christmas episode should be. When all the other installments of your show are strictly comedy, you want to treat most of your Christmas episode as no different. Then, right at the end, you throw in just a little holiday spirit; not so much that it becomes cloying, but not so little that it seems tacked on. It’s a delicate balance to strike, and A Pinky and the Brain Christmas gets it just right.

In fact, this show gets everything just right.

Our hosts are Herb and Rex, a wackily mismatched pair of dinosaurs (don’t your Christmas traditions involve dinosaurs?). These two thunder lizards will be our guides on a voyage of yuletide magic.

Or, more accurately, they’ll throw a few facts our way about the various Christmas carols that are showcased in this musical extravaganza. Either way.

WE THREE KINGS

Our old friends Melchior, Caspar and Balthasar sing their signature tune, and they sing it with all the seriousness and gravitas Christian types like to imagine their holy days deserve. Fortunately, there are some camels taking the choruses, and they sing like a swingin’ 1950s vocal group.

I think we all agree that anything with singing camels is awesome.

CAROL OF THE BELLS

Nobody knows more about bells than deformed weirdos, and so “Carol of the Bells” is an instrumental number conducted by none other than everyone’s favorite hunchback, Quasimodo (not to be confused with everyone’s favorite hatchback, the Toyota Starlet). The instruments being played—playing themselves, actually—are anthropomorphic bells. Creepy looking, anthropomorphic bells.

One of the bells is tell-me-about-the-rabbits level stupid and keeps whiffing it when it comes time for him to sound out his lusty tone, much to ol’ Hunch’s mounting frustration. But perhaps he wouldn’t be so stupid if he weren’t being called upon to repeatedly beat himself about the head for the amusement of cruel Parisians; did you ever think about that, Quozzy?

O CHRISTMAS TREE

An unseen children’s choir sings “O Christmas Tree” as we’re treated to a series of visuals depicting the life and times of the teeny-weeny monsters that live inside Christmas ornaments.

Sleep tight, little Billy and little Susie! Santa won’t come if you’re awake! And the assorted terrifying homunculi living on our Christmas tree won’t be able to escape and devour you if you don’t shut your peepers right now!

ANGELS WE HAVE HEARD ON HIGH

Ladies and gentlemen: if you, like so many people, live with the constant dread that you’ll never be able to see walruses ice dancing, you can put those fears safely to bed.

They’re big, blubbery walruses and they’re skating around! The boy walrus is wearing a little hat and bow tie! This, in two minutes, is the very essence of everything entertainment is about.

A bow tie!

JOY TO THE WORLD

If you wanted something that combines Christmas, the abstract ethos of the “Toccata and Fugue” segment of Fantasia, and David Bowman going into the Stargate, here you go.

RUDOLPH THE RED-NOSED REINDEER

OHMANOHMANOHMAN!! Seriously, you guys have no idea!

“Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” is here sung by the California Raisins [hold for applause].

Did you guys hear me? I said the California Em Effin Raisins!

When I was just the wee-est of bairns, I was absolutely gagakookoo nuts for the California Raisins. I had California Raisins toys and wore my California Raisins shirt virtually every day (until the day came along that I got my Ghostbusters II shirts). They might have been the first ridiculous pop culture thing I was crazy about, and my zeal for the wrinkly little guys hasn’t abated a scintilla in the ensuing years.

Why do I love the California Raisins so much? Dude! THEY ARE RAISINS AND THEY SING, DUH!

And then the whole cast comes out to sing Here We Come A-Wassailing (throughout the show, Herb and Rex have been trying to deduce just what in the hell “a-wassaliing” actually is). And then, after that, I rewind it and watch the segment with the California Raisins 136 consecutive times.

I know I’ve mostly poked fun at this little show, but it’s definitely something special. Vinton’s Claymation characters sometimes delight and sometimes frighten; fortunately they mostly delight in this particular television special. I don’t know if this gets aired on TV at all, but it’s available on home video and you can find it on the YouTubes, so be sure to give it a watch. It’s well worth your time.

This thing was just awful. To say it was the longest 61 minutes of my life doesn’t begin to describe it—that would be akin to saying Abell 1835 IR1916 is pretty far away. Every moment of this cartoon was an exercise in torture both mental and physical, in maddening inanity, in record-breaking tedium.

The story it tells is a loose approximation of “The Nutcracker and the Mouse King,” but there are some Care Bears thrown into it, too. I don’t even want to talk about it. Fuck this stupid cartoon.

Here are some facts I learned about the Care Bears.

1. They are not all bears. There were definitely a lion and an elephant. In what sense an elephant can be considered a bear, I assure you I do not know.

2. The Care Bears fire rainbow-lasers out of their stomachs, and use this to incapacitate their enemies.

3. The Care Bears are also able to actually manifest physical things from their weird belly-blasters, things like flowers and balloons. These flowers were also used to incapacitate enemies, though what effect a bunch of petals wafting on the breeze could be said to have remains a mystery to me.

4. The Care Bears suck so hard.

In the Nutcracker story we’re familiar with, a little girl is given the titular toy as a gift by her grandfather, right? My memory is admittedly a little vague—I was forced to attend the ballet once when I was much, much too young to be at all interested in a ballet and was bored right off my balls, so I didn’t pay attention—but I’m pretty sure the grandfather gives the girl a Nutcracker.

Not so in this insane cartoon. The Nutcracker just appears from a weird hole in space-time, accompanied by thunder claps and lightning strikes. You would be forgiven for expecting him to tell the little girl (Anna, I think) to come with him if she wants to live and then protect her from a time traveling robot.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen. All that happens is some shit with some bears.

There’s a totally pointless B story about two Care Bear cubs who have snuck along on the journey to Toyland in an effort to find their own perfect, personalized Christmas ornaments. I think they’re doing this because all the other Care Bears have ornaments, or something. But who knows? Who cares? Not me, that’s for sure.

I can’t believe girls my approximate age actually liked the Care Bears! I always knew that girls had cooties and went to Jupiter to get more stupider, but I had no idea just how much more stupider they’d gotten, nor how far into their brains the cooties must have delved. Let me just come right out and say it: If you like or have ever liked the Care Bears, I wish you were dead.

This cartoon would be good for foisting on your enemies, or if you’re deliberately trying to ruin Christmas. Otherwise, stay far away! I’ve already seen it, it’s too late for me. But not for you! Escape! Escape while you still can!

In conclusion, fuck this.

The show is worthy of all the devotion it gets—and even of some that other shows get. I rather suspect that at least some of the love people feel for the subsequent Rankin/Bass specials is actually residual adoration for Rudolph and Hermey and Yukon Cornelius.

Of all the modern stories that are intended to expand on existing Christmas lore, this is the one that feels most natural, like an actual story waiting to be told rather than something more obviously expanded from a thin premise.

The essential story is the same one told in the familiar song, an ugly duckling story with a nasally noteworthy reindeer instead of a Medusan waterfowl. Everyone laughs at Rudolph and his shiny proboscis and they bar him from participating in reindder games (is his nose’s glow the result of steroid use, perhaps?), but ultimately Rudolph proves himself of value and saves Christmas. It’s that simple and simple stories are the best.

But it’s the flourishes hung on that simple frame that make Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer the enduring classic that it is. Through the course of the story, our reindeer hero encounters numerous interesting characters and has fantastic adventures that have firmly secured their place in the hearts and minds of every holiday merrymaker.

Rudolph meets a kindred spirit in Hermey, an elf who doesn’t want to make toys at all and would rather chase his dream of becoming a dentist. He meets Yukon Cornelius, a grizzly, old-timey prospector who’s more interested in prospecting for excitement than any kind of motherlode. And of course there’s the Bumble, a misunderstood Yeti who’s more than just a scary snarl.

Rudolph’s travels take him through polar wildernesses, drifting on ice floes, and to the unforgettable Island of Misfit Toys. Here reside all the toys that nobody wanted: a spotted elephant, a square-wheeled train, a Charlie-in-the-box. Each one works its way into the viewer’s heart and occupies a warm spot in his memory.

(A question for knowledgeable readers: Remember the doll who lives on the Island of Misfit Toys? What’s unusual about her? I’ve seen Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer many times over the course of my life, and I’ve never yet figured out what makes that little dolly a misfit.)

Of all the Rankin/Bass specials, this one has the best story to tell, the most memorable characters and the greatest songs. I’m sure you could sing several of them with me from memory—songs like “We’re a Couple of Misfits,” “Jingle, Jingle, Jingle” and “We are Santa’s Elves.” And let’s not forget “Silver and Gold,” which has become something of a standard, sung each year even when people forget where it originates.

You don’t need me to tell you to be sure to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer this year. You know you’re going to, or maybe you have already.

But I’ll tell you anyway. Be sure to watch this one. An absolutely indispensable classic.

However he rationalizes it to himself, his decision is final. Santa Claus ain’t givin’ presents to nobody this year!

This is big news. Front page stuff.

But that’s a digression. Mrs. Claus doesn’t like her new lazy grouch of a husband, so she sends two elves, Jingle and Jangle, out into the world to find some proof that Christmas spirit still exists so that Santa will be convinced to get out of bed and take on the onerous task of working one night out of an entire year.

And that’s the real story, of Jingle and Jangle searching for some Christmas Spirit. They hop on Vixen (who is revealed in this story to be a girl, which blew my mind—I’d always assumed all the reindeer were male) and fly off to Southtown, U.S.A. It seems to them as good a place as any to find some peace on Earth and good will to men.

But that’s because they’re idiots.

They’ve barely touched down in Southtown before a policeman—who I guess is supposed to be a typical southern sheriff but is clearly an English constable—writes them a ticket for wearing funny looking suits on a Sunday and Vixen is captured by the dogcatcher.

Then some other stuff happens, but none of it is particularly interesting. I’m sorry to report that this particular Christmas special isn’t such of a much. It never works its way into your heart and mind they way Rudolph and Charlie Brown do, so after an hour of story and song you end up no richer for the experience. That’s unfortunate, but not every Rankin-Bass special can be an enduring classic, and they have plenty of those to their credit to be proud of.

There is, however, an aspect of The Year Without a Santa Claus that people remember very fondly, and deservedly so. People love the characters of Snow Miser and Heat Miser, and in particular the songs they sing.

The Misers are brothers, one in charge of making it snow in the northern part of the world, the other in charge of keeping it so hot in the southern part of the world (in this cartoon, as in real life, the southern hemisphere doesn’t count). They’re constantly bickering in a comical way, and they look pretty funny, so they’re the definite standouts of the piece. They’re also set up early on as the villains, but then when they actually feature in the story they’re basically helpful the whole way through.

As cartoon characters often do, each sings a song all about himself. Actually, it’s the same song with different lyrics for either character, but it’s a darn good one. I’m sure you know the song, even if you can’t remember if you’ve ever seen the cartoon it comes from.

Jam on this:

“Hey, remember that Rudolph thing? People love it! We should do that but with, I don’t know, a donkey.”
“A red-nosed donkey?”
“That’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?”
“Haw haw!”
“No, we need something else, something like…”
“Long ears?”
“Perfect!”
“But how does that help Santa? I guess if he flapped his ears he could help with the flying sleigh.”
“No, no, no good. Santa’s sleigh isn’t pulled by donkeys, people won’t stand for it. We need someone Christmasey who could use a donkey.”
“…Jesus?”
“Beautiful! I think somebody’s earned himself Chinese takeout for lunch.”

Yes, this 1977 Rankin-Bass special is another story of a cute little animal with a physical deformity, in this case long ears. And I mean comically long. Long enough for Nestor, at one point, to ski down a hill on them. Because nobody wants to use this long-eared weirdo to do the usual donkey stuff, all of the other donkeys laugh and call him names. His human owner laughs at him, too. At every turn, Nestor is thoroughly shat upon.

Of course, I imagine everything around him is thoroughly shat upon, too. He does live in a barn.

Eventually his cruel human master gets tired of Nestor being good-for-nothing and throws him out into the snowy night. His mother follows to keep him safe, and in sheltering him from the storm with her body, ends up dead and buried under a pile of snow.

Now that’s what I call Christmas cheer!

Nestor wanders alone until he meets up with a Cherub, who explains to him that his mother’s brave sacrifice was for a reason, so he should keep his chin up and head toward—get ready—Bethlehem. There’ll be important work for him on the road to Bethlehem, so off he goes.

Eventually, circumstances are such that Nestor is claimed by a young couple heading into Bethlehem for a census (remember this?). The wife is heavy with child and needs a donkey to ride the rest of the way to Bethelehem. Nestor is happy to oblige.

LOOK OUT FOR THE SANDSTORM! Oh no, guys, a huge wind kicks up and blows sand everywhere, blocking everyone’s vision so they can no longers see the star that guides them into Bethlehem. It seems they’ll be lost forever in the desert. If only there were some sensory organ other than eyes that someone in their party might use!

Did you guess it? Nestor’s super ears, “as sensitive as they are long,” are able to hear the voices of a choir of angels guiding them the rest of the way into Bethlehem. They reach town safely—and when they find the inns full, it’s Nestor’s bright idea that they stay in a stable—and Mary and Joseph keep their appointment with religious destiny. Huzzah for the donkey!

Sure, it all seems a little familiar, but it’s cute and fun (except for, you know, the part where Nestor’s mom freezes to death). Roger “King of the Road” Miller narrates and sings almost constant songs, so if you like Roger Miller—and lordy, do I ever—you’ll probably like this.

The stop motion animation is smoother and more refined than in the earlier, 1960s specials and all the animal characters are cute as a bug’s ear. Plus the whole thing just flies by. The cartoon’s barely started and before you know it it’s done (though even at 25 minutes, it’s still padded out with some snippets of reused footage from The Year Without a Santa Claus and Rudolph’s Shiny New Year).

I’m fairly sure this special gets an annual showing on one cable channel or another. I recommend it as a fun enough way to spend half an hour.

NOTE: I think it’s important to point out that I made it through this entire review without once succumbing to the temptation to use the term “donkey show.”

Boy, that was a weird example, wasn’t it? Anyway, that’s not really important (though Scoop is a pretty good movie).

Courtesy of our narrator, Fred Astaire, we learn the story of where Santa came from, how he met Mrs. Claus, how he came to deliver toys on Christmas Eve—just about everything you’d want to know about ol’ Kris Kringle. It’s almost as if Fred Astaire did some serious investigative reporting about Santa, like how in Scoop Scarlett Johansson is investigating Hugh Jackman.

It turns out that Santa was once just a wee baby like the rest of us—a foundling, in fact, who was taken in by a family of toy-making midgets named the Kringles. And not just any toymakers, these Kringles. In days gone by they manufactured the greatest playthings in all the world and were the First Toymakers to the King (even kings like to get down on the rug and play with K’NEX now and again).

Alas, those days are long gone. Now nobody gets their toys because the evil Winter Warlock (Keenan Wynn) blocks the mountain pass into the town below. When young Kris Kringle—for so the baby has been named—grows up and develops Mickey Rooney’s voice he pledges to deliver the toys to the eager children, Winter Warlock or no Winter Warlock.

But you don’t get to be a Winter Warlock by rolling over and taking it. He intends to stop Kris Kringle, and he’ll use all the magic powers he has at his disposal. Sort of like how, in Scoop, Woody Allen plays a magician.

Further standing in the way of Kringle’s delivery is a cruel Burgermeister who’s outlawed all toys in his realm. His reasoning behind the ordinance is as follows: “BLAAWGHH I HATE TOYS MYACKGHH GRA!”

From there it’s a series of adventures, magic and civil disobedience. Kris Kringle meets his special lady, begins his practices of filling stockings and shimmying down dirty chimneys, claims the name Santa Claus and fills in the backstory of every last bit of Santa lore (with the exception of where he got the most famous of all his reindeer; that’s a story for this Friday).

Throughout this Rankin/Bass special are numerous darling moments and fun escapades for the entire family. There’s the usual allotment of musical sequences, most toe-tappingly catchy and one—sung by the not-yet-wed Mrs. Claus—very bizarre indeed. The memorable characters and sweet sense of fun that permeates all of this cartoon place it squarely among the best of the Rankin/Bass TV Christmas shows.

Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town is recommended as a part of this balanced breakfast merry Christmas.

Oh, and once Christmas is over you should probably watch Scoop.

Of course, Jesus only puts in an appearance at the end of the show. The Little Drummer Boy is really the story, if you can believe it, of a little drummer boy. His name is Aaron and we first meet him as he’s being kidnapped and forced to perform by an obese desert showman. We then learn that, some time before, people burned down his house and killed his parents. As a result, he hates all people and has love only for his animals, a camel a donkey and a sheep. (Sometimes Camels are buy-one-get-one-free at the Village Pantry, so I can understand his fondness for them. But donkeys and sheep?)

So right in the first few minutes we’ve got kidnapping, slavery, murder, misanthropy, and an unnatural love for sheep. Merry Christmas!

After enraging the crowd that has gathered to see him perform by telling them they’re all murderous, thieving bastards, Aaron, his trio of dancin’ animals and Fatass T. Showman are forced to flee into the desert. It’s there that they meet up with not one, not two, but three kings of the orient. (See where this is going?) The kings are Melchior, Balthazar and Caspar, and they’re following a star.

I’m almost positive this isn’t right

So yes, it’s not until about the last minute of the show that it finally gets around to telling the story from the song on which the whole enterprise is ostensibly based.

The Little Drummer Boy is definitely worth your time this holiday season even if, like me, you’re all about Santa rather than the Bible. The Rankin Bass stop motion style is always fun, it’s got a couple of catchy songs, and features voice work from such talents as Jose Ferrer and cartoon mainstays Paul Frees and June Foray.

It also uses the famous arrangement of the title song by the Harry Simeone Chorale, and if there’s a funnier name than Harry Simeone, I haven’t heard it.

SPECIAL BONUS:  Please enjoy everybody’s favorite version of the song “The Little Drummer Boy.”

A Charlie Brown Christmas

In style, it is similar to the equally forgettable It’s Christmastime Again, Charlie Brown. That is, instead of having an actual story developed over the course of a half hour, it’s just an assemblage of individual Peanuts strips that are sort of about the same three or four things. Each strip is recreated word for word to make the dialogue. When only one strip appears in the paper each day, it’s not really a big deal for the first panel to say the same thing about what’s going on; when one strip appears every twenty seconds, it gets a little tiresome to have every third sentence be: “Maybe Santa will bring me a dog.”

Since the special is so weak on story, at least we can take solace in the fact that it stars a lovable Peanuts character, right? WRONG! The star of this picture is Rerun Van Pelt, little brother of Linus and Lucy. Rerun ranks about with Shermy and Violet on the list of characters we don’t care about, but he gets a forty minute special to himself anyway. As the show begins, we see little Rerun riding on the back of his mom’s bike and complaining about the way she drives. Every time the dialogue from one strip ends and a new one begins, there’s a frame jump or a fade that’s just noticeable enough to be upsetting. It’s sort of like a coded message from the animators that says: “We do not care even a little.” And these unsettling transitions continue throughout.

When Rerun makes it home, he sits on the couch with Linus and Lucy, complaining about having siblings and the trials and tribulations of being the youngest child. The scene is remarkably unfunny and establishes Rerun as a big whiner. It also goes on for three minutes and has nothing to do with Christmas or wanting a dog. This, ladies and gents, is known as padding the running time.

Next up is a scene about Rerun’s adventures in kindergarten. Aside from a few holiday decorations, this scene doesn’t deal with Christmas either (although Rerun does mention not having a dog). Rerun talks to a little girl in his class; they laugh, they flirt, he asks her to run off to Paris with him, the usual five year old stuff. When the principal gets wind of this Parisian invitation, he suspends Rerun from school on the charge of harassment. We’re never told what kind of harassment, and it’s hard to infer anything from what the principal says since he only speaks through a muted trumpet, but we all know it’s about the big S-E-X. When Rerun comes home, he relates to his sister the story of his suspension and announces that at least Christmas vacation starts tomorrow. And now the real plot, thin though it is, may begin.

As the two Van Pelt brothers go out sledding, Rerun suggests that their mother should let them get a dog. Soon, however, it becomes clear that their mother doesn’t want them to have a dog at all. There’s definitely no hope of getting a dog from mom, and Santa probably wouldn’t run contrary to a mother’s wishes, so things look mighty bleak for Rerun.

KAPOW! Suddenly we’re blasted into a random scene in a sandbox and then Rerun is back on his mom’s bike. You won’t find any story coherence here, so let’s just run with it. I promise not to worry about it if you won’t. This bike sequence does have one funny pun about running over a pedestrian, but it has nothing about Christmas or about wanting a dog. Why is it here? I don’t know. I promised I wouldn’t worry about it, but it’s just so dang confusing.

Speaking of confusing, superfluous scenes, it’s time for Lucy to visit Schroeder as he bangs away at his piano. Lucy makes it clear that she wishes Schroeder would start banging away at her, but he’s only interest in playing Beethoven sonatas and having weird eyebrows in his closeups. The two bicker for a while and the irrelevant scene ends. There was a Christmas tree in the background, though, in case the audience forgot why it was watching this.

Outside, Rerun has a heart-to-heart with Charlie Brown about wanting a dog. Charlie Brown tells Rerun all about Snoopy’s assorted brothers, including: Marbles, who hates to fly; Andy and Olaf, who ruin everything; and Spike, who lives in the desert, perhaps out beyond the Dune Sea like a strange, old hermit. Rerun wishes one of those dogs could be his, but since momma says no he settles for playing with Snoopy sometimes. Charlie Brown agrees to allow this, prompting Rerun to exclaim “This will be the best Christmas ever!” Rerun is so easily impressed.

Rerun tries over and over again to get Snoopy to play with him, but even a dog has no interest in hanging with a chump like Rerun. When he finally does come outside, he just steals Rerun’s cookies and runs off, proving that Snoopy is a total sadist. Suddenly, the two are playing together because this cartoon has no real story threads, and the dog kicks Rerun’s ass at everything from basketball to blowing bubbles. God, Rerun sucks.

Back at home, Rerun tries to convince his mom to get him a dog, but to no avail. Rerun has no choice but to go see the jolly red fat man and plead his case. Of course, first we’re treated to another pointless scene with Lucy and Schroeder, followed by an irrelevant sidebar about Sally Brown talking to Santa. I had truly never known the meaning of “filler” until I watched this.

After the fade to black, Rerun and Lucy go to see Santa (or, rather, Snoopy in a Santa suit). Even after the visit to the canine Kris Kringle, Rerun still is worried that he won’t get a dog, plus he’s pissed about being out of grape jelly. Lucy suggests observing Charlie Brown and Snoopy to see how much work owning a dog really is. This is when we’re treated to a sequence of Snoopy flying around on his doghouse. Remember those pointless World War I flying ace segments in It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown? This is even more boring than those.

Snoopy gets a letter from his brother Spike, detailing how he celebrates Christmas out on Tatooine. This gives Rerun the bright idea to write to Spike asking him to come be a pet, since he’d be much happier celebrating Christmas at the Van Pelt house than out in the Jundland Wastes.

After more pointless Lucy and Schroeder action, Spike finally arrives. Everyone tells Rerun that his mom will never let him keep the dog, but he’s too stricken with puppy love (rim shot!) to care. Spike’s an ugly, scrawny dog (not at all like the ultra-cool vampire who shares his name), so the Van Pelt children fatten him up. After Spike is returned to health, he and Rerun play all manner of games and even ride on the back of the bicycle together.

Soon enough, Rerun’s mom pulls her head out of her ass and realizes what her children have been up to and says it’s time for the dog to go. Charlie Brown tries to get someone in town to adopt Spike, but not even Franklin or Violet will take him. With their inclusion, this cartoon has run the gamut of people we don’t care anything about. Eventually, rejected at every turn, Spike heads back to his lonely life in the desert.

A pointless scene about a Christmas play follows, after which Snoopy refuses to play nicely with the despondent Rerun and on that sour note the credits roll. We in the audience are left feeling confused and empty and longing oh so desperately for the good old days when Linus never thought it was such a bad little tree.