A ways back we received a traumafession regarding THE LITTLE DRUMMER BOY (HERE)- specifically about the scene where the title character witnesses the horrific murder of his parents. Although personally my heart was filing its nails during that incident, it did break into a zillion Legos during a scene that occurs later in the program.
I am talking about the moment that Baba the lamb is run over by a chariot. I think it may be the worst thing that ever happened in the history of ever and even thinking about it now makes me want throw my computer out the window and scream to the heavens like WESLEY SNIPES in JUNGLE FEVER. To me, Baba's death was more tragic than a 1,000 Bambi's moms. Have you ever seen that Baba guy? He is adorable. Especially when he is dancing around on his little hind lamby legs. Naturally, I'd rather throw myself into a volcano than see something bad happen to Baba.
When you are a kid the time period between when Baba gets plowed down and the point where he is miraculously brought back to life lasts eons. In reality, it takes less than five minutes for the little baby Jesus to conclude that the kid's drum playing (and heart) are decent enough to splash some resurrection mojo on his poor dead friend.
For some reason the Bible neglects to include the story of THE LITTLE DRUMMER BOY and I'm guessing it's because the song it's based on didn't exist until 1941. I suppose that will do for an excuse. They should really add it though because it's got most Bible stories beat because it can't be misinterpreted to spread evil and it doesn't talk smack about delicious shellfish.
THE LITTLE DRUMMER BOY ends with the very clear statement that hate, ALL hate, is and always will be wrong. I like when stories cut to the chase and don't include a bunch of random rules and sloppy propaganda. In the end the Little Drummer Boy and I are so psyched that Baba is alive that we both can't help dumping our free-floating elephantine hatred of all things human. Well, most of it anyway, I still wouldn't mind seeing that chariot driver dragged into the middle of town and his smug puppet head sliced off with a rusty scythe. Careful driving this Christmas Eve kids and hold on tight to your lambs!
I'm with you on the saving of Baba.
Years after seeing first this, I saw Mrs. Miniver and got some clue who Greer Garson was. With that added bit of Blitz era context, her voice narrating The Little Drummer Boy and calling for an end to all hate . . excuse me, something got in my eye, gotta go. Please give Baba and the rest a scratch behind the ears for me.
I have a somewhat similar traumafession about '70s/'80s Christmas TV programming. When I was little my mother sadistically made me turn off FROSTY THE SNOWMAN right after he melted because it was "time for bed" (who *does* that?!) I cried myself to sleep, failing to surmise that a Christmas cartoon would never end with the death of Frosty the Snowman. My mom recorded the special and the next day I, of course, learned that he was resurrected. But I never quite got over it.
KR Seward,
Holy Moses!
I had no idea that was Greer Garson!!!!! That explains so much.
That narration is killer and there always seems to be something in my eye at the end of LDB….
darn dusty house!
darn allergies!
Ben Scher,
Haha. That's mean! I can't imagine Frosty is dead that much longer than Baba. She should have let you stay up!
You're so great Unk! You always make me smile!
Have a great xmas!!!
Aw, Thanks Cmcmcmcm!!
Hope you have a great Xmas too! đŸ™‚
What about Nestor the Long Eared Donkey? So traumatizing!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nestor,_The_Long-Eared_Christmas_Donkey
Merry Christmas Unkle Lancifer! Thanks for writing about this traumatizing moment! Wonderful as always! It does remind me that I wrote my first traumafession four years ago today about Frosty the Snowman melting. Good old Rankin and Bass specials are good for traumatizing children.
I always get somethin' in ma' eye at that part in "Santa Claus is CominĂ¢â‚¬â„¢ to Town" when Santa marries Mrs. Claus in the woods because nobody would marry them.