On Dec. 6, 1964 Americans had their first meeting with a creature who, in his own words—though he was anything but self-aggrandizing—was a dear of a reindeer.
Some of them may have already known of him, thanks to a 1939 poem by Robert May and a song from that same year by Johnny Marks—more on this apace—as well as a 1948 Max Fleischer cartoon, but they didn’t know him as they were about to know this fine buck named, of course, Rudolph, he of the brilliant red nose that could cut—and still can—through any storm, including one that could cancel Christmas.
There is perhaps no Christmas special more beloved than Arthur Rankin and Jules Bass’ Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Little looked like it at the time, with Rankin/Bass pioneering what they called Animagic—a form of stop-motion animation that seemed to exist nowhere else save within the duo’s wondrous world where Santa Claus was nonetheless almost always stressed and hectoring, snowmen talked, and misfits banded together to save the day.
But the true present to unwrap was this: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer is among the most socially progressive works in the history of American television.
When I watched this as a kid, which was well after 1964, I remember thinking there was some extra stuff going on here that wasn’t just about Christmas and it wasn’t only about bullying, either. Rudolph gets hit with it right from birth. He’s about a minute old and his father is telling him he’s a screw-up as a result of being born with a glowing nose. No sooner has this squall died down before Santa arrives at the family cave and dishes out some abuse of his own.
Then we have Hermey the elf, who is screamed at by his boss and told he’s worthless. And we all know how the reindeer games go after Rudolph’s fake nose—which Burl Ives’ Sam Snowman tells us was intended to cover up his “nonconformity”—falls off and everyone—the kids, the adult in charge—flay him alive with their words and laughter.
But it’s after Clarice—the reindeer who is still kind to him—gets caught walking with Rudolph by her dad that Rankin/Bass made it clear the message they were really sending with this special. I’ll never forget first hearing how her father practically spits the words right out of his mouth—like they were laced with venom—in saying that no girl of his will ever be going out with a…red-nosed reindeer. He lands hard on that red. It’s all about color for this bigot.
1964 was a flashpoint year for the Civil Rights Movement. Rudolph was doing its part in no less meaningful a way than the likes of Sam Cooke’s “A Change Is Gonna Come,” without receiving the same amount of credit, because of its holiday veneer.
But make no mistake about it: Rudolph is a Messianic figure in his own special, someone who has it rougher than George Bailey did in It’s a Wonderful Life, but doesn’t rate suicide as the option that the latter does. Bailey was willing to abandon his wife and kids; Rudolph, who has no one, seeks to find others whom he can help. Think how much time passes in Rudolph with our hero on his own (he grows up, Sam tells us), wandering the North Pole until he meets his buddy, Hermey the former toy-making elf.
If Rudolph is a stand-in for Black Americans, Hermey is his gay best friend—self-proclaimed misfits who were in actuality the coolest individuals up there in Christmas Town. Elf, deer, didn’t matter—you identified with these characters on an emotional level. But they are also symbols of larger forces, ideas, aims. Totems of inclusivity. Sources of inspiration.
Rankin and Bass, along with scriptwriter Romeo Muller, didn’t know that they’d go on to be constant purveyors of holiday fare and, let’s be honest, a particular brand of holiday treacle. There is no Rankin/Bass production I won’t watch a limitless amount of times, but they aimed higher with Rudolph, as if it might have been their only chance to say what they wanted to say in a time when much needed saying. Then again, what was true then is true now.
I think we love this special because we’re all misfits. What is wrong with me? Where do I fit in? How are my people? Who is my person? The special hits on that personal level. But Rudolph also took up the cause of race and sexual orientation because it’s ultimately a work about identity and the dignity that all humans, as humans, are owed. Each of us should be allowed our chance at those reindeer games. If you can’t fly as well as someone else and land that spot pulling Santa’s sleigh, then so be it. But the playing field is level for all races, creeds, orientations.
Rudolph hit me hard the first time I saw it, and it’s hit me hard harder each of the times since. The story can be dark, but it is light—both literal and metaphorical—that triumphs. The light from within is what actuates Rudolph’s light from without. Despite his own pain, he thinks of others first. Rather than put his friends at risk, he goes it alone.
Hermey and Rudolph are down—shunned, insulted—but they never give in. They help each other rise from their first moment together when Hermey pops up out of a snowbank. If you’re going to create a Christmas-centric work that lasts, it has to be about more than Christmas. Linus Van Pelt understood as much. So too did Ebenezer Scrooge, after he’d been visited by enough ghosts. And the same may be said about Rudolph and Hermey, the would-be outsiders who instead fostered community while still being true to their highly individualistic selves.
Is this radical, agitprop art? You bet your last candy cane it is. It’s unflinching and raw and real and cutting-edge and vital. The kids will love it because kids always have. Increasingly, I think kids are our best and brightest because they are open to possibilities in ways that adults often are not. Watch Rudolph with them this year. It’s the light on the inside that cuts through the storms of storms, the storms that range beyond matters of the meteorological. And that’s a truth—for everyone of every age—as plain as the nose on a certain reindeer’s face. A very special nose at that.
