In which the author expresses
his belief that he’s not that bad.
Two things I have to explain
before I begin this time around.
The first is my love for Ernie
Bushmiller’s comic strip Nancy. Nancy gets a bad rap in some circles for
being moronic, but it truly is the Zen of comics. Everything in it has been
boiled down to its most essential element, to the point where, as someone once said,
“It takes less effort to read Nancy
that it does to not read Nancy.”
The three rocks ...
The second is a review of one
the Star Trek movies – Search for Spock (best of the series) or
The Final Frontier (one of the
worst), I believe. The reviewer for the Los
Angeles Times was discussing the plot and described the entrance of the
characters as being “as ritualized as Kabuki;” that is to say, each of them had
assigned characteristics that the audience both knew and expected to see.
Now, with those in mind, let’s
turn our attention to A Christmas Carol,
which is certainly one of those stories that not only does everyone know (it
may be the only story everyone knows;
it’s out there in the ether, just seeping into our consciousnesses), but is also
something that takes more effort to not see than to see. I’m not even sure if I’ve
read it or not; I think I have; but
does it really matter?
It’s certainly one of the most
parodied of stories (along with the hideously overrated It’s a Wonderful Life –
and I have to say on that one is to echo Gary Kamiya: “Portersville
rocks!”) All the characters act in the ways we’ve come to expect and demand.
For Scrooge to not say “Bah! Humbug!” or Tiny Tim to not be tooth-achingly
sweet is rather like expecting Spock to act illogically to McCoy claim to not be
a doctor. These are archetypes whose behavior we have learned to anticipate and
predict, maybe even dread.
Scrooge is just inescapable
this time of year, isn’t he? No matter how much we may want to ignore him and
give him a year off, he’s always there. It doesn’t matter if the adaptation is
good (there have been at least a couple of those in town in recent days) or
lousy (and some of those), no matter how much we want to be rid of this
turbulent priest, he’s coming back.
But one of the versions which
I saw recently got me thinking that, for the most part, he’s really not all
that bad. Sure, he’s greedy and parsimonious, but in spite of his character
flaws, he’s still managed to be successful in his chosen line of work. I mean,
how good a businessman must he be if, in spite of the way he’s portrayed,
people still do business – a great deal
of business – with him?
So, he’s smart, he’s relatively
witty (able to pun in the face of seeing the ghost of his late partner), and
successful. And, yet, everyone seems determined to “reform” him; make him live
up to their expectations of proper conduct. Sure, he could treat Bob Cratchit a
little better, but, even with the way Scrooge treats him, he seems happy in his
state – except for his son Tim, of course, who’s dying of … something … Is that
Scrooge’s fault?
George C. Scott. The best Scrooge. Don't even try to argue otherwise ...
So here’s a man minding his
own business, happy in his state, being harassed by ghosts who demand that not
only does he have to relive the pain of a bad breakup, he has to spend Christmas
with his family, and then make the “discovery” that he’s going to die? Like he
didn’t know that? Granted, the prospect of dying alone and unmourned isn’t the
most pleasant, but he’s never given any indication that being friendless is a
big deal for him. Do we condemn, say, Hamlet for treating his own friends so
shabbily – even driving his girlfriend to suicide? Even Scrooge never went that far …
In fact, after his “reformation,”
Scrooge pretty much shows signs of being bipolar, racing from grimness to
mania, acting gleefully – and uncomfortably – cheerful, spending money like a
drunken sailor, shouting, dancing, playing pranks. A little lithium might have
done a world of good.
Parenthetical digression.
Years and years ago, I was in a production of the musical Scrooge. (No, I played nephew Fred, not the title part – despite my
unmerited public reputation.) Sparing no expense – except the one that involved
paying the actors … – the producers emulated Act Two Scrooge and bought the
largest goose they could find.
Not a prop goose. A real one.
It must have weighed twenty pounds. It was the size of a small child; it may
have been larger than the kid playing Tiny Tim.
Unfortunately, along with not
paying the actors, the producers apparently also didn’t want to spring for refrigeration
during the break between the first and second weekends of the show, so the
goose carcass was left to do what unrefrigerated goose corpses do. During the
second weekend, it was apparent to everyone on stage exactly where that goose
was at any given moment. It made its presence known, and I’m actually kind of
surprised it didn’t walk around.
End of digression.
A
Christmas Carol (and its infinite number of adaptations) isn’t
bad, by any means; it’s just tired. It’s like Kabuki or a Greek play; we know
the myth, we know the outcome, we know the moves, we know the characters, we
know how they’re going to end up. There’s no suspense. It’s like a bath – warm or
cold, depending on your feelings about it. It’s just going to see how they’re
going to tell it this time.
You could say that about any
classic text; we know that Hamlet will die; we know that Sam I Am will eat (and
like) the green eggs and ham; we know Dorothy will get home; we know the Star Wars spoilers – and we know that
Scrooge’s heart will grow three sizes that night.
"Bah! Humb -- hey, wait; this is pretty good."
So, despite what is ultimately
an uplifting message – don’t be an asshole; help others – I still think Scrooge
himself isn’t a bad guy; he’s just misunderstood. As such, let’s give him some
time off for good behavior to try to get him out of our collective heads.
Imagine. A year without A Christmas Carol. That would be the
greatest gift of all.
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