An Animated Christmas: The Director's Cut

Over the weekend, I was buried under the anxiety of my Christmas card project. Two weeks to go, and not a single card had been made. Never mind the envelope addressing and gourmet stamp licking. So, I did what any project manager woefully behind schedule would do: I re-scoped the project. If I could come up with a way of sending cards without sending cards, *that* would be a good solution. I was considering how much my cred would plummet if I sent out some naff Hallmark e-card. On the verge of concluding I should just get over it because no-one sends Christmas cards anymore, instead I decided to make an animated movie. Somehow, in whatever altered state was affecting me on Saturday, it seemed to me easier to make a movie than to cut and paste a couple hundred addresses into an e-card website. Yeah, I thought, it'll chafe less to do something I've never done before. Just quickly jumping to the end of this story, I should mention that I did, in fact, end up sending a little animated movie as my Christmas card. Observing that it's a movie that required no skill whatsoever would be rude of you. The point is, I achieved a lofty and laudable goal: I got out of sending Christmas cards, and still sent Christmas cards. The finished little movie is here, and you don't have to poke around much to see just how brain-dead you could be and still reach the troughs of cinematic prowess I achieved. That doesn't mean I didn't spend hours and hours on it. Labor? Oh, I laboured. But like all great auteurs, my masterpiece was cut to ribbons in the last moments before release by the faceless damn studio suits. Which is one way of saying that I failed to notice the software I used had a limit of 18 lines of dialogue. When I say I failed to notice this, what I mean is that I had already enthusiastically poured myself into a 1,400 word script. It then became clear I would have to edit down to "hello", "goodbye" and a loud belch in between. Now, however, basking in the glow of my movie's fantastically successful theatrical run on screens acros this great wide spam list of mine, I think the time has finally come for the original material -- the vessel of my true artistic intent -- to come to light. I think enough time has passed -- 6 days -- for the public to embrace the foundational work as the avant-garde genius it was. So, without further pomposity, I give you the original manuscript of "A Spencer Christmas". * * * [Houston and Flame-Haired Angel appear in their living room, with a bright fire burning in the fireplace, and a beautifully decorated Christmas tree. Flame-Haired Angel wears a sexy, red Santa’s Helper outfit. Houston is, inexplicably, a snowman.] Houston: Hey, Angel, could you give me a hand? I’m struggling a bit. Flame-Haired Angel: Sure. What’s on your mind? Houston: Well, remember those Eiffel Tower Christmas cards I made last year? FHA: Uh… Remind me. Houston: You know, I drew ornaments on the Eiffel Tower to make it look like a Christmas tree? FHA: Oh, I loved those! Such a sophisticated Holiday pastiche of self-reference to our time in Paris! Houston: Right. Plus the obvious sub-textual critique of the materialistic hagiography that is modern Christmas. FHA: They also had a homey arts-and-crafts vibe that rendered your creative insecurity completely transparent. Houston: Exactly. Tres arty. But I’m stuck on what to do this year as a follow up. I got nothin’. FHA: Gosh, and it’s getting late. No ideas at all, my big Slush-Tush? Houston: Bupkis. Nada. Niente. Rien. Zilch. FHA: Ooh, you’re so multi-cultural! Even Yiddish to include our non-Gentile brethren in these seasonal holiday remembrances! Houston: Shhhh! Bill O’Reilly might hear you. He’ll say I hate America. FHA: Especially since you haven’t sent any Christmas cards, yet! What are you considering? Houston: I thought maybe I’d blog a prose poem paean to altruism, but that seems a little… FHA: Pretentious? Insipid? Naff and narcissistic? Houston: Exactly. And -- just to equal your challenging alliterative panache -- a little louche, lame and lazy. FHA: Why not just pick a really nice plastic object on Amazon and send everybody one? Houston: Well, I’d like to say it’s because no gift is that universal but, really, I’m just too cheap. FHA: How sexy! How about a romantic candle-lit bath, ya big Snow Pirate? [FHA and Houston move to a sumptuously candle-lit bathroom, where a full tub awaits. Houston is still, rather inexplicably, a snowman, challenging the audience to imagine how a snowman will manage a hot bath.] FHA: You’re still looking tense, my Frozen Lamb. Can I help with your Christmas card problem? Houston: Well, you’re a creative goddess. Got any ideas I can skive off you and, you know, present as my own? FHA: Not off hand, my Erotic Ice-Capade. You see, I’m not sending out any cards this year. Houston: What are you doing instead? FHA: Well, I considered writing a cheery holiday sentiment on my new resumé and sending that out. Houston: What kind of message did you have in mind? FHA: “Happy Holidays Especially If You’re Hiring” Houston: Huh. How many did you send out? FHA: Actually, I decided against it in the end. It just seemed a little too… Houston: Mercenary and self-serving at a time when we’re supposed to be focused on others? FHA: Yeah. So, instead, I’m just going to close my eyes on Christmas Eve, and sing a quiet song dedicated to my friends and family. Houston: You mean, like, a cosmic vibration kind of thing? FHA: Totally. I think everyone will subconsciously feel they’re sharing my holiday love bomb, you know? Houston: Damn. You come up with the best stuff. FHA: It just seemed a good way to send Christmas wishes to those I love, and the only way I could include the dead and the un-born. Houston: Man! Even stem cells will feel the love! I wish I had your bang-on creative instincts. FHA: Thanks. I feel lucky it comes so naturally. I just close my eyes and the good ideas flow. Houston: So, what are you going to sing? FHA: AC/DC’s “Back in Black”. But with, you know, a Christmassy feel. Houston: Tribute to your Australian roots, too. Nice touch. FHA: Speaking of which, I need to pack for the trip home. My plane’s tomorrow. Houston: I’m gonna miss you somethin’ chronic, lover. FHA: Your wanton, unbridled, public devotion is endearing, you Big Popsicle. Houston: Hey, before you pack, can you help a bit more with my Christmas card dilemma? FHA: I’d like to, but the triviality of your Hallmarkian struggle is filling me with ennui. Houston: Well, any recommendations to at least get the creative juices flowing? FHA: Try putting on some Kenny G. Or drip some Tabasco in your eyes. Both work a treat. Houston: Uh, I might just help you pack, instead. [Houston and FHA walking on a beach in Australia. Houston, persisting as a snowman in true Dada-esque fashion, looks uncomfortable in the heat.] Houston: It’s so good to be close to you again, babe. And your family, of course. And my wine cellar. FHA: You’re too sweet, Chill Chunks. Hey, how did your Christmas card conundrum come out? Houston: Fantastic, actually. I had a breakthrough and decided to make a movie I could send to everyone by e-mail. FHA: Wow! How groovy! How impressive! How renaissance! Houston: Yeah. It’s an elegant cloak on a cheap stunt to make me look hip even as I approach 40. FHA: And it cleanly dodges your obvious failure to get off your ass in time to send real cards? Houston: Exactly. You think anyone will notice the ruse? FHA: Unlikely. I mean, people still believe Saddam was somehow linked to Al Queda. Houston: Fair point. The old fantasy of hot tyrant-on-terrorist action is just too good to let go of. FHA: So, what’s the film like? Houston: Kind of Truffaut meets Spielberg meets South Park, but with crushing Yuletide verisimilitude. FHA: Wow! Sounds perfect, my little Arctic Auteur! Houston: Not quite. I couldn’t figure out how to make the soundtrack loop “Sookie, Sookie”. FHA: I can see how that would have spiked your hipness quotient with in-the-know groovers. Houston: A veritable billboard of pointy retro bona fides. FHA: Stop! You’re making me hot, you Salacious Snow-cone! Houston: It’s not me, Angel. It’s 43 degrees out here. FHA: Golly! That’s 109.4 Ferenheit! Houston: *Now* who’s being multi-cultural? I love how sensitive you are to my brazen American-ness. FHA: Wanna see brazen, Blizzard Boy? Take me somewhere private and I’ll let you peak under my fur trim! Houston: Oh, Angel! There’s just one thing we need to do on the way… [Houston and FHA appear in front of a set that looks eerily like a Perry Como Christmas Special. Snow falls gently outside the window, upstage left, and Houston is still, you know, a snowman.] FHA: What was it we needed to do before getting slushy, you Frosty Flirt? Houston: Just this: Happy Holidays, everyone! FHA: Whether it’s Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Saturnalia, Solstice, or the feast of Isis… Houston: …We hope your celebrations are full of love, family and friends. FHA: And may your New Year be one of health and passionate living. ..