As usual, I was thinking about something else entirely, but that will have to wait until next week. Whilst going through my inventory to find illustrations for THAT notion, I came upon another subject to worry about.
Postcards with dogs on them are always decent sellers: people do appreciate ‘em. A postcard publisher with lots of dog photographs will be guaranteed a goodly number of sales. And cartoonists who could draw cute dogs were a certain source of profitable jollity.
But a cartoonist can’t just draw a dog. There has to be an excuse, a caption, a joke or at least a mild pleasantry that requires the presence of a dog. Well, as many a cartoonist shows, the emphasizer “doggone” can be inserted into any sentiment to enhance the feeling.
I was aware, of course, that the word is a euphemism, a substitute for something you might not want to be heard saying when Aunt Charity was making fritters. The English language is rich with euphemisms. Some people, wishing to condemn a group of, say, fleas which had jumped to them from their pet, could simply say “Condemn those fleas!” But that sounded too much like the word they WANTED to say, so they would scale back to “Confuse those fleas!” or “Concern those fleas!” Making fleas concerned was so popular that it became the “Consarn it!” now heard primarily in westerns. (Euphemisms like being transformed to get as far as possible from their obscene or profane origin. This never works: folks are hardwired to look for offensive things–we may, one day, spend a few paragraphs recalling how shocked some moviegoers were at Disney naming a character Jiminy Cricket, with even a song exhorting someone in trouble to shout…where were we?)
So, no matter how it is spelled (hope you noticed the disappearing hyphen in these examples) it seems that, as one online dictionary put it, “doggone” is simply a substitute for “damn”. (It is clearly meant as a synonym for “God damn”—two syllables and all that—but the online writer was also doing a bit of euphemizing. Some other day we may argue which euphemism is less logical “God darn it” or “Gosh damn it” I can argue either side.)
This was not enough for some other websites, which took the phrasing “doggone it” (note the different spellings of THAT) and derive it through “dadgummit” and “dadburnit” (interesting substitution of Dad for God, probably more a matter of sound than a consideration of God the Father) up to “God blast it” and “dadblasted” and thence to “God ro it” or “dod rot it”, which became “dadratted” in some places, and simply “dratted” in others. That’s a long way to go to get to “drat”.
That seems to me to be getting farther and farther from the dogs (in contrast to those who feel our language is going TO the dogs, but that phrase deserves a whole nother blog) and I am more interested by those who start with “dog garn it”, which they trace to England in the 1840s. Whether or not this is related to the exclamation “Garn!” which is a nasal contraction of a disbelieving “Go on!” I can’t say. And which came first in the world of euphemisms: “darn” or “garn”? Inquiring minds want an answer to this goshdarn question.
The matter cannot be discussed without a bow in the direction of H.L. Mencken, whose writings on the English language are on a whole different level from his article about Millard Fillmore and the first bathtub in the White House. (Untrue, but he made it SOUND so authentic.) H.L. Mencken derives “doggone it” from “dog on it!” a curse that was itself a euphemism for “A pox on it!” frequently heard in merry old England, but increasingly unpleasant as time went on for those who knew that the pox was a reference to syphilis, and that therefore a euphemism was required.
Maybe we could all just look at the cute puppies on the cards and settle for the online writer who simply defined “doggoned” as “a slightly old-fashioned substitute for ‘confounded’.”
I don’t suppose there are a LOT of people in this country who recall reading the adventures of the Grey Ghost and Panther, a superhero team centered in a secret headquarters with a sign that said ‘SUPERSECRET HEADQUARTERS” on the lawn. The Panther’s equally secret identity was college professor Ursula I. Underwood, whom the Grey Ghost regularly addressed as “Deviled Ham.”
I was reminded of this recently when, discussing this most famous product, when someone asked “What is deviling, and how do you do it?”
I checked, and I find that you devil only two different foods: ham and eggs. Looking over the history of both these viands, I am convinced that there are places in this country where the two are served side by side, and a potluck lunch would not be the same without the two of them.
The “deviled” part of the name refers to extra spices, as you can see I Italian restaurants which offer a diavolo sauce on pasta or pizza. This part of the name has led to the eggs being referred to as “stuffed eggs” or “church eggs” in places where they still avoid drawing attention from infernal regions. It has also occasionally led to advertising bans.
There are no established traditional recipes for either of these foods, though the usual recipe for anything involving deviled ham simply involves opening a can from Underwood. (William Underwood, a British food expert who landed in New Orleans and then walked to Boston, pioneered the canned goods, especially sardines, which fueled the Western Movement and, incidentally, were also cited by some of the first complaints about littering.)
I note that, oddly, for something that is supposed to be spicy, all the DIY recipes for deviled ham involve mayonnaise, as do all the recipes for deviled eggs. The basic recipe for deviled eggs is “Hard boil the eggs. Slice in half the long way. Take out the yolk. Mash the yolk with mayonnaise and whatever else your grandmother used. Scoop back into egg.” Both deviled eggs and deviled ham are also subject to the hors d’oeuvres panic of the postwar world. The Fifties, especially, was an era of garnishing, so crackers with deviled ham and diced pineapple could be found next to deviled eggs tricked out with cocktail onions and maraschino cherries. This may have been the point at which several recipes added dill pickles to the yolk mix, still standard in many parts of the U.S. Nowadays, of course, the Interwebs spills over with interesting things to do with both of these foods, including slicing the eggs the short way across to make a deeper well for the filling and removing the filling from sandwich cookies and spreading deviled ham inside for a “savory surprise”. (Expect more people to be killed with cocktail skewers this fall. I’m surprised I have NOT found any recipes which involved stuffing deviled eggs with deviled ham, but maybe I just missed that page.
Yes, I hear your brain whirling. Devil’s food cake has no particular relation to these other dishes: they don’t call it Deviled Cake (yet.) Devil’s food cake was invented somewhere in the nineteen-aughts as an answer to Angelfood (or Angel’s Food) Cake, invented in the 1870s. Angelfood cake is light and airy; devil’s food was designed to be the darkest, heaviest chocolate cake around, with several diabolical twists on normal chocolate cake to make it denser and chocolatier.
I do suppose there are minds at work even as we speak, trying to reverse the process, and come up with angeled eggs or angeled ham (something less, spicy, I suppose: maybe a blend of mayonnaise and non-dairy whipped creamer, with marshmallows or….no. Surely any good angel would prefer a simple d…stuffed egg.)
Waking in the middle of a prodigiously tough snore, and sitting up in bed to get his thoughts together, Scrooge had no occasion to be told that the bell was again upon the stroke of One. He felt that he was restored to consciousness in the right nick of time, for the especial purpose of holding a conference with the second messenger despatched to him through Jacob Marley’s intervention. But, finding that he turned uncomfortably cold when he began to wonder which of his curtains this new spectre would draw back, he put them every one wide with his own hands; and lying down again, established a sharp lookout all round the bed. For he wished to challenge the Spirit on the moment of its appearance, and did not wish to be taken by surprise and made nervous.
Gentlemen of the free-and-easy sort, who plume themselves on being acquainted with a move or two, and being equally equal to the time-of-day, express the wide range of their capacity for adventure by observing that they are good for anything from pitch-and-toss to manslaughter; between which opposite extremes, no doubt, there lies a tolerably wide and comprehensive range of subjects. Without venturing for Scrooge quite so hardily as this, I don’t mind calling on you to believe that he was ready for a good broad field of strange appearances, and that nothing between a baby and a rhinoceros would have astonished him very much.
Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by any means prepared for nothing, and , consequently, when the Bell struck One, and no shape appeared, he was taken with a violent fit of trembling. Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour went by, yet nothing came. All this time, he lay upon his bed, the very core and centre of a blaze of ruddy light, which streamed upon it when the clock proclaimed the hour; and which being only light, was more alarming than a dozen ghosts, as he was powerless to make out what it meant, or would be at; and was sometimes apprehensive that he might be at that very moment an interesting case of spontaneous combustion, without having the consolation of knowing it. At last, however, he began to think—as you or I might have thought at first; for it is always the person who is not in the predicament to know what ought to be done in it, and would unquestionably have done it, too—at last, I say, he began to think that the source and secret of this ghostly light might be in the adjoining room: from whence, on further tracing it, it seemed to shine. The idea taking full possession of his mind, he got up softly and shuffled in his slippers to the door.
Scrooge is not especially eager to get out of bed again, but he doesn’t want to be taken by surprise, either. Obviously, this fifteen minute interval has to be cut back for the flicks, but most Scrooges do have a little time to build up suspense, and even for Scrooge to say “Nothing” before trying to go back to bed. At this point, Dickens’s Scrooge believes implicitly in these Spirits; at least two Screen Scrooges are still clinging to a hope that everything up to tis point has been a dream.
Hicks wakes up and declares, “It’s one o’clock. I know it is.” He pulls the covers over his head, but can’t help sliding them down for a peek. Light startles him: a wavering, flickering light that frightens him a great deal. He stumbles out of bed.
Owen is snoring as a clock strikes two; he wakes with a start. After a quick look around, he checks his watch. He sits up, and a startling light makes its appearance.
Sim I is still saying “No” from the last scene when a clock strikes. He sits up, to be greeted by a loud “bong” and a bright light. Just as he realizes the light is coming from the next room, a sinister laugh joins it. He carefully pulls the covers up again, apparently hoping the Ghost won’t know he’s there.
March looks vaguely piratical in that cap and unbuttoned collar. The night watch passes outside, calling “Two o’clock and all’s well.” Light and music make Scrooge sit up in alarm.
In Rathbone, we return to the narrator (Frederic March) and the book; he consults a page to tell us Scrooge was ready for anything from a baby to a rhinoceros. Scrooge, uneasy, shuffles around his room, peeking up the chimney and peering out the window.
Magoo is wakened by his clock striking one, and grumbles about it until summoned to the next room.
In Sim II, the light is already strong and the curtains of the bed drawn. The snoring Scrooge opens his eyes as the clock strikes. He sits up.
Haddrick examines the chair where the Ghost of Christmas Past sat. He decides everything he saw was a dream. There is nothing there, after all, especially g…. A light terrifies him; he dives behind the chair.
Finney lights a candle, still weeping a bit from that last vision. “Stupid old fool: getting yourself all upset over nothing.” Walking around the room, he checks the clock and discovers the time has come for the second visit. He braces himself and shouts, “I’m ready for you, whatever you are!” Nothing happens. He is headed for bed when he notices a shifting light, apparently bright enough to shine through a closed wooden door.
In Matthau, the clock strikes and something laughs. The door to the next room opens, letting a golden glow fill the doorway.
McDuck, still demanding, “Why was I so foolish?”, hears the clock strike two. A bright light appears.
In Scott, the clock outdoors strikes two. Scrooge lies in his bed, waking when his watch in its stand reaffirms the hour. “Two. Well, Jacob Marley. Where is this Spirit of whom you spoke so glibly? You did say on the stroke of two, didn’t you, Jacob? Mistaken in death as you were in life, old partner.” He cheerfully makes himself comfortable against the pillow. Then a voice calls his name.
Caine rolls back in bed. A nearby clock strikes two, echoed by the mechanical clock. Scrooge sits up; Dickens tell us he is waiting. “Nothing,” he announces, just before light and music pour through an open door.
In Curry, the clock on the mantel strikes two. Scrooge is snoring. Debit, more restless in his sleep, kicks in some bad dream. He tears at the blankets, pulling them enough to leave Scrooge’s feet bare. Scrooge is apparently used to this; he merely mutters about it and pulls his knees up to take shelter of what he has left of cover. A bright light manifests itself. Debit barks at it and Scrooge sits up, shouting, perhaps unfortunately, “What in blazes?”
Stewart wakes in the middle of a prodigious snore. He snatches his bedclothes and curtains aside, obviously looking for a ghost. Seeing light under the door, he gets up and moves cautiously toward it.
If I ever get around to writing that series on “Is That Still Funny?”, we will look into what different generations regarded as taboo. As we have moved, in the last thirty years from “Nothing inoffensive is funny” to “Nothing offensive is funny”, this will be a mere side issue, but one which will use up a lot of space (which is the main goal of every blog writer.)
We have, hereintofore, considered the many representations of round people on postcards, without mentioning a side issue. It isn’t a universal feature, by any means, but in general once a woman passed a certain age, she tended to go round. But only if she was married. Unmarried women, as they got older, seem to have gotten taller and skinnier.
To some degree, it was a matter of fashion and perception. In another one of my digs into the archaeology of humor, I ran across a college newspaper of the 1880s which warned young men NOT to look at each other’s new mustaches and mutter “Too thin, too thin”, lest some of the female students think they were being insulted. That hourglass figure we still cite today required a great deal of sand at both ends of the timepiece.
(I have also run into a number of experts in fashion and figure who say we have exaggerated, as years have passed, how much the Victorians demanded plumpness. One scholar, after studying pornographic photographs of the 1880s and comparing them to similar photographs of the 1980s stated straight out that the nude models of the earlier century were just about 8 pounds heavier than those of the later date. Thus proving that it IS possible to find interesting jobs in statistical research.)
In any case, the stereotype of the tall, skinny old maid was firmly established in the vinegar Valentines and other jocular greetings during the first golden age of the postcard. (This example, mailed in 1908, puts the blame on her disposition rather than on her figure.
Another joke of the period, which I have not found on a postcard so far, is that some padding of the figure might be necessary for Cupid’s arrow to strike a young lady; otherwise there was a risk of “narrow misses.”
Which many a narrow miss sniffs about on mischievous postcards.
What is interesting, given our association of plumpness being a Victorian erotic requirement is that the tall, thin caricature went on representing an old maid long after the era had passed. Part of this can be attributed to comic actors like Charlotte Greenwood or Martha Raye, who emphasized their height and gawkiness to carve out careers as man-hungry unmarried women for decades. A more voluptuous contrast was often provided to make the joke more obvious. (Subtlety was not considered Box Office; neither was a movie completely devoid of cleavage.)
There is this, for example, where the goal was to present women both prudish and clueless, but the one on the right had to have SOME curves in the right place, or we might have missed the joke.
The institution of the unmarried schoolteacher is something someone else can write about, but they and librarians were fair games for this sort of gag for two generations. (It has to do with two World Wars in quick succession, a belief that no woman would take a job if she could find a husband, and the fact that any authority figure is fair game for any kind of joke, but you can cover that in YOUR blog.)
And, anyway, the ladies involved were at least up to our modern standard of people who don’t let advancing years and body shape dampen their dreams. So you see, if looked at from the right angle, this offensive stereotype is actually not offensive at all. (Yeah, I know; I’ll try that one again in another ten years or so.)
I discovered that somehow, in the rush of the mad social whirl that is my existence, I had failed to observe the seventy-fifth anniversary of “The Lottery”. This was a subversive, controversial story which is probably still one of the top ten items which caused people to cancel their subscriptions to The New Yorker. The problem was that in it, Shirley Jackson suggested the American Heartland, the small towns and rural areas, might NOT be the refuge for common sense and folk wisdom we all know it to be.
(It would be an interesting list to see what the top ten reasons for subscription cancellations was for some of our major journals. I believe the Saturday Evening Post had its moment in 1955, when Norman Rockwell did that cover featuring a—kind of—topless mermaid And I had an editor suggest to me once that my editorials were really dragging down readership of…well, why do HIM any publicity?)
So I hurried to the Interwebs to find out what other literary occurrences rippled our ponds in 1948. I was not expecting to be thrown headfirst into Book Fairs of the past. I don’t know if the shelf life of a book is thirty, forty, or fifty years, but book after book from 1948 came in time after time among the donations at the end of the last and beginning of this century.
None of these books were necessarily bad; they were just books which a LOT of people in Chicago decided had taken up shelf space long enough. These included later books by people famous for earlier works–Peony by Pearl S. Buck. Catalina by Somerset Maugham—as well as bestsellers which made a stir in their day but now gather dust (until the next movie version, of course): Ross Lockridge’s Raintree County, or Harry Bellaman’s Parris Mitchel of King’s Row.
Some books went on to land on Required Reading lists: Alan Paton’s Cry, The Beloved Country, or James Michener’s Tales of the South Pacific. William Faulkner’s Intruder in the Dust came out in 1948, as well as Norman Mailer’s The Naked and the Dead. Elizabeth Bowen published The Heat of the Day in 1948, but no one seems to have bothered much with it until the late 1980s, when suddenly everybody had to buy it (and, a decade later, donate it.)
Other books of 1948 seem to have been perennials, books which people will continue to buy whether there’s a movie or a protest movement or a critic touting them: My Father’s Dragon by Ruth Stiles Gannett (illustrated by Ruth Chrisman Gannett) or Marguerite Henry’s King of the Wind. Winston Churchill started publishing his history of World War II in 1948, Thomas Merton produced the Seven Storey Mountain, and Evelyn Waugh gave us The Loved One.
And I was reminded of several running gags, mere expressions of prejudice against certain authors who probably deserved better. For reasons not known to us, virtually every Chicago collection of Thomas Mann’s works (including, always, his 1948 opus Joseph and His brothers) came to the Book Fair in a roughly six year period. All of these treasured volumes were looked up against current book prices, and NONE of them was ever worth more than the average price for HB Literature, M-Z. This led to despairing cries of “Thomas Mann!” every time a box was being unpacked.
The Golden Hawk, possibly our most donated work by Frank Yerby, was published in 1948. One of the most jovial and active of Book Fair volunteers, a constant source of ignored advice, used often to inform me that Yuppies (which she had decided were our core market) would not buy any book more than five years old, and objected to my championing of bygone authors like Frank Slaughter and Frank Yerby. She would generally finish her latest advice with “And I say the hell with Frank Yerby!” (I felt vindicated when a seminar on Frank Yerby’s work was offered at the Library, but this did not move her.)
But then I found IT. This year marks the seventy-fifth anniversary of the publication of one of the top ten best selling books in American history, a book that haunts my dreams, a book that I, personally, have probably dumped into the recycling bin more often than any other book written by man, woman, or computer in this world of toil and tears.
If you get a chance, pour yourself a very dry beverage some time this year and raise a toast to Paul Samuelson, and his immortal textbook “Economics”. I do not know how much Dr. Samuelson had to do with those horizontal stripes on the cover of the book, but I suspect the classic design was at least PART of the reason he won his Nobel Prize.
But the relentless Spirit pinioned him in both his arms, and forced him to observe what happened next.
They were in another scene and place: a room, not very large or handsome, but full of comfort. Near to the winter fire sat a beautiful young girl, so like the last that Scrooge believed it was the same, until he saw HER, now a comely matron, sitting opposite her daughter. The noise in this room was perfectly tumultuous, for there were more children there, than Scrooge in his agitated state of mind could count; and, unlike the celebrated herd in the poem, they were not forty children conducting themselves like one, but every child was conducting itself like forty. The consequences were uproarious beyond belief; but no one seemed to care; on the contrary, the mother and daughter laughed heartily, and enjoyed it very much; and the latter, soon beginning to mingle in the sports, got pillaged by the young brigands most ruthlessly. What would I not have given to be one of them! Though I could never have been so rude, no no! I wouldn’t for all the wealth of the world have crushed that braided hair, and torn it down; and for the precious ;little shoe, I wouldn’t have plucked it off, God bless my soul! To save my life. As to measuring her waist in sport, as they did, bold young brood, I couldn’t have done it; I should have expected my arm to have grown round it doe a punishment, and never come straight again. And yet I should have dearly liked, I own, to have touched her lips; to Have questioned her, that she might have opened them; to have looked upon the lashes of her downcast eyes, ad ever raised a blush; to have let loose waves of hair, a inch of which would be a keepsake beyond price: in short, I should have liked, I do confess, to have had the lightest license of a child, and yet been man enough to know its value.
But now a knocking at the door was heard, and such a rush immediately ensued that she with laughing face and plundered dress was borne towards it the centre of a flushed and boisterous group, just in time to greet the father, who came home attended by a man laden with Christmas toys and presents. Then the shouting and the struggling, and the onslaught that was made on the defenceless porter! The scaling him with chairs for ladders, to dive into his pockets, despoil him of brown-paper parcels, hold on tight by his cravat, hug him round the neck, pummel his back, and kick his legs in irresponsible affection! The shouts of wonder and delight with which the development of every package was received! The terrible announcement that the baby had been taken in the act of putting a doll’s frying-pan into his mouth, and was more than suspected of having swallowed a fictitious turkey, glued on a wooden platter! The immense relief on finding this a false alarm! The joy, and gratitude, and ecstasy! They are all indescribable alike. It is enough that by degrees the children and their emotions got out of the parlor and by one stair at a time, on to the top of the house; where they went to bed, and so subsided.
And now Scrooge looked on more attentively than ever, when the master of the house, having his daughter leaning fondly on him, sat down with her and her mother at his own fireside; and when he thought that such another creature, quite as graceful and full of promise, might have called him father, and been a spring-time in the haggard winter of his life, his sight grew very dim indeed.
“Belle,” said the husband, turning to his wife with a smile, “I saw an old friend of yours this afternoon.”
“Who was it?” “Guess!”
“How can I? Tut, don’t I know?” she added in the dame breath, laughing as he laughed, “Mr. Scrooge.”
:Mr. Scrooge it was. I passed his office window, and as it was not shut up, and he had a candle inside, I could scarcely help seeing him. His partner lies upon the point of death, I hear; and there he sat alone. Quire alone in the world, I do believe.”
“Spirit!” said Scrooge in a broken voice, “remove me from this place.”
“I told you these were the shadows of the things that have been,” said the Ghost. “That they are what they are, do not blame me!”
He turned upon the Ghost, and seeing that it looked upon him with a face, in which in some way there were fragment of all the faces it had shown him, wrestled with it.
“Leave me! Take me back! Haunt me no longer!”
In the struggle, if that can be called a struggle in which the Ghost with no apparent resistance on its own part was undisturbed by any effort of its adversary, Scrooge observed that its light was burning high and bright; and dimly connecting that with its influence over him, he seized on the extinguisher-cap, and by a sudden action pressed it down upon its head.
The Spirit dropped beneath it, so that the extinguisher covered its whole form; but though Scrooge pressed it down with all his force, he could not hide the light: which streamed from under it, in an unbroken flood upon the ground.
He was conscious of being exhausted, and overcome by an irresistible drowsiness; and, further, of being in his own bedroom. He gave the cap a parting squeeze, on which his hand relaxed; and had barely time to reel to bed, before he sank into a heavy sleep.
Young Dickens indulges himself here. You get a touch of personal history (he wrote elsewhere of being the baby who actually did swallow part of his older sister’s toy kitchen), a glimpse of his romantic fancies, and his conviction that a truly jolly Christmas involved being surrounded by as many children as one could muster. Belle, named here for the first time, is celebrating what Dickens regarded as a perfect family Christmas, though she has married someone nowhere near as affluent as Ebenezer Scrooge.
Very little of this achieves screen time. Belle’s lookalike daughter turns up nowhere; only Hicks and Scott bother with this vision of the later Belle at all. (Sim I’s “Alice” does reappear, but in a vision with Christmas Present, as we shall see later.) The others prefer to end the visions of this Spirit with having Scrooge so distraught at the breakup with Belle that he ends the visit.
Hicks comes as close as anyone to Dickens’s version. Belle has at least a dozen children, who dance around two Christmas trees, singing “Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush”. (This song, more a British than an American tradition, does turn up in other Carols.) When their father appears, his pockets are plundered. Then he and Belle discuss the old friend he saw; she grows solemn as he discusses the lone Scrooge in the office. When her husband delivers the line about being all alone in the world, she kissed him. Scrooge orders the Ghost to haunt hi no more. The Ghost replies, “These are the shadows of the things that have been; that they are what they are, do not blame me!” Scrooge lowers an arm violently in the direction of the Ghost. We then see Scrooge snuffing out a candle in his own bedroom. He lies back on the bed.
Owen argues with the Ghost, who now promises to show him the “black years” of his life, and how he grew into a clutching, ungrateful creature. He appears to extinguish her light by grabbing her skirt and throwing it over her head. “I can’t stand more!” He wakes clutching his bedclothes and drops back onto his pillow.
Sim I covers his face, crying “No no no!” He finds himself saying it in bed.
In March, the Ghost simply fades from sight while Scrooge is looking elsewhere. When he realizes she has disappeared, meaning he has basically lost Belle a second time, he opens the shutters and backs through the window into his bedroom crying “No more! No more!”
Rathbone and the Ghost have returned to Scrooge’s place. “Leave me!” “I told you that these are the shadows of the things that have been. Do not blame me that they were what they were.” With a hand on Scrooge’s shoulder, he disappears.
Magoo cries “Show me no more!” The Ghost replies, “One shadow more.” They stand alone on a featureless plain; Scrooge goes on begging to see no more. The Ghost seems disgusted by this groveling and finally rises into the sky, laughing as though she really does delight to torture him. He is left all alone on the plain to await the next Spirit (who, if you recall, will be the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.)
Haddrick rises with the Ghost and returns to his own room. “Have you learned anything this night?” “Only that as a youth I was an irresponsible fool. You’ve made me regret it and Im grateful.” The Spirit, furious, thumps his crozier on the floor and vanishes. “Ghosts?” Scrooge snaps, “Bah!”
Sim II is told that these are the shadow of things that were, and begins to struggle with the Ghost, forcing the cap down over her. The Ghost shrinks into the cap and vanishes in his hands.
Finney, having pled, “Spirit, remove me from this place!”, is sitting in his bed, clutching his pillow.
In Matthau, we cut to a splitscreen vision of young Scrooge in his office, and a weeping Belle outside. Waves crash to represent the passage of time. Ebenezer ages into the Scrooge we’ve been watching; Belle becomes a thin-faced, despondent old woman in a shabby gray gown, who finally turns her face away from us. Scrooge cries, “I cannot bear it! Haunt me no longer!” He grabs up the cap and shoves it down over the Ghost. Then we watch hi snuff his bedside candle. Lest we think he has dreamed all this, B.A.H. Humbug from the window ledge, exclaims, “My word! How did he get back?”
McDuck sees rain coursing down the windows. He begs to be taken home; he cannot bear these memories. The Ghost tells him, “Remember, Scrooge: you fashioned these memories yourself.” He comes to in his bedroom, demanding, “Why was I so foolish?”
In Scott, we see Belle walking outdoors with a baby. The camera pulls back to show us four older children, who demand that she come admire their snowman. Shortly thereafter, we see four MORE children building another snowman. Their father, apparently rather well-to-do, arrives in a carriage. The children run to him, demanding their presents. While he reminds them that they must wait, Scrooge exclaims, “What a brood! Fancy! They might have been mine.” The Ghost notes smugly that she has thought of that as well. Belle’s husband dares her to guess whom he has seen; laughing, she guesses correctly. He describes Scrooge in the office, “a single candle on his desk.” Belle’s expression goes all tragic; she sighs “Poor Ebenezer! Poor wretched man!” “Spare me your pity,” snaps Scrooge, “I have no need of it.” The Ghost, grinning, reminds him that they can’t hear him. He turns on her, telling her he has seen enough of her “pictures from the past.” “Truth lives,” she tells him, over and over. Smoke erupts as he forces the cap down over her; she vanishes completely, and he finds he is growling as he wrings a bit of his bedroom carpet. “A nightmare. A horrible nightmare.” He crawls exhausted into bed. “Oh, God, let me sleep. Let me sleep in peace.”
Caine is told that these are the shadows of things that were, and that they are what they are, do not blame the Ghost. “Leave me,” he orders. He list left alone on the bridge where Ebenezer ad Belle parted, which becomes his bed. Dickens tells us that “Scrooge was left alone and exhausted.”
Curry cries, “Don’t show me any more!” “I told you: these are the shadows of the things that have passed; don’t go blamin’ me for your choices.” “Why are you torturing me like this, Spirit! Leave me alone, please! Take me back home! Haunt me no longer!” He finds himself pulling at his bedclothes. “Crying in your sleep,” he snorts. “Thickheaded old ninny.” He shouts at the spirits that he will take no more of this (I thought he’d decided it was a dream) and goes back to bed.
Stewart is standing on the stairs to his apartment; he turns to order the Ghost, “Haunt me no longer!” The Ghost shakes its head. Scrooge, rushing back down the stairs, seizes the cap and thrusts it down over the unresisting Ghost. It is a difficult struggle all the same; just when it seems Scrooge has won, and the cap has been forced all the way over the Ghost, the light streams out brighter than ever. Scrooge throws his hands up before his face, and wakes back in bed.
FUSS FUSS FUSS #11: Songs of the Scrooge
What good is a carol without music? A movie needs background at least: ominous chords as Scrooge mount the stairs to his rooms, dance music for the Fezziwig party, and so forth. Many early Scrooges made do with songs involving no royalties: “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” or “Gid Rest ye Merry, Gentlemen,” say, or, in the case of Hicks, “The Mistletoe Bough”. Nowadays even a nonmusical Scrooge requires a theme song to run under the opening and closing credits.
Musical versions do their best to translate the mood and action into song, succeeding to various degrees. March’s songs, for example, are all by the legendary Bernard Herrman. As it happens, though, Herrman was not legendary for writing SONGS, but for his suspenseful and spooky background music. Further, a number of these songs had to be written for the Robert Shaw Chorale. You either like choral music or you find it tedious. (Their best is the opening number, on the street outside Scrooge & Marley’s.)
Jule Styne WAS legendary for his songs, and the numbers he wrote for the Magoo Carol are sprightly, easy to listen to, and contribute much to the overall bright tone of this version. In the number which is repeated most in the soundtrack, he managed to produce a love song (similar to Meredith Willson’s similar achievement in The Music Man) which can double as a march elsewhere in the show.
Haddrick is not a musical Scrooge, but without warning gives us one scene delivered as a musical duet. This is a not unpleasant recitative, but since there is little but background music in the rest of the film, one does wonder how it got there, and whether it isn’t trying to find a way out.
Finney’s songs are hearty, as one might expect from the crowd that also gave us “Oliver!” It was nominated for an Oscar for Best original Score, and oe of the songs, “Thank You Very Much”, was nominated for Best Original Song. This is one of the most exuberantly musical of Scrooges.
Matthau’s songs come from an earlier television version of the same script, but were shortened to fit into the lesser running time allowed for a cartoon. This is a pity, since you not only lose a little of each song, but there seem to be a LOT of them crowded together by the abridging of the non-musical dialogue. The songs are infectious, nearly as bright as Magoo’s numbers.
McDuck was not a musical, but does have a pleasant theme song which, with the right push, could become a minor Christmas standard. Similarly, Scott includes a song about Scrooge which runs under the opening credits, is sung by the street choir Scrooge pushes through, and is even echoed by the chiming watch (repeater) by his bed. It has the same lush feel as the rest of the production.
Caine’s songs are delivered with gusto. Composed by Paul Williams, they include hits as well as misses. They have been criticized: apparently people who do not like Muppets also dislike Paul Williams songs.
Curry’s songs display a certain spirit, and are certainly well-meaning. But they all seem to have wandered in from different Broadway musicals.
There are other uses of music which we will consider later (The Ghost of Christmas Present often includes a montage set to some Christmas standard.) But for now, here follows a list of Scrooge songs. Those I feel are particularly worthy of your notice are marked with an asterisk. (My criterion for this is how likely I am to find myself humming the tune the next day.)
A.Theme Songs
A Christmas Carol (Finney)
A Christmas carol (Matthau)
God Bless Us, Every One (Scott)
Sing a Christmas Carol (Curry)
B.A Clutching, Covetous old Sinner
*Ringle Ringle/ It’s Cold (Magoo; note some of the rhymes)
Spirit of Christmas/Christmas is Humbug (Haddrick)
*I Hate People (Finney; even more amazing rhymes)
When You Say Merry Christmas I Say Humbug (Matthau)
C.Mocking Old Scrooge
*Father Christmas (Finney)
*Nr. Humbug (Caine)
*The Stingiest Man in Town (Matthau)
D.Merry Christmas
*A Very Merry Christmas (March)
The Spirit of Christmas (March)
*This Shall Be Our Christmas Tree (March)
*December the 25th (Finney)
*An Old-Fashioned Christmas (Matthau)
*Listen to the Song of the Christmas Spirit (Matthau)
One More Sleep ‘til Christmas (Caine)
*It Feels Like Christmas (Caine)
*Oh, What a Merry Christmas Day (McDuck)
Christmas Children (Finney)
E.Songs of Love/Disappointed Love
What Shall I give My Lad/Girl for Christmas (March)
Winter Was Warm (Magoo)
Happiness (Finney)
You…You… (Finney)
Golden Dreams (Matthau)
It Might Have Been (Matthau)
The Love is Gone (Caine; a slightly hipper version, played over the closing credits, seems to be “WHEN Love Is Gone”
F. God Bless Us, Every One
God Bless Us, Every One (March)
The Beautiful Day (Finney)
*Bless Us All (Caine)
G.Other Characters
I Wear a Chain (Matthau; Marley and the wandering Spirits)
See the Phantoms (Finney; The wandering Spirits)
All Alone In the World (Magoo; Young Scrooge)
When Shadows Fall (Curry; Young Scrooge)
“The Lord’s Bright Blessing/Razzleberry Dressing (Magoo: The Cratchits)
In the interest of fair play and equal time for opposing views, something I am very serious about if it will bring me another subject to write a blog about, I thought we might consider postcards which present another side of childhood than the cute, well-dressed, well-behaved tots we considered in our last column.
We wish here to look at postcards which consider the child as someone who deliberately does something antisocial, or at least something in contradiction to parental rules. There are plenty of postcards like the one shown here, where children are engaged in things that shock a parent because they just didn’t know any better. That’s not what we’re after here.
You will notice at once that cartoonists’ renderings outnumber the actual photographs this time around. This is because a nasty prank just doesn’t seem as realistic when staged as adorableness does, and few children posed for photographs of themselves doing things which would get them scolded, spanked, or left with no dessert at dinner. (This was, you understand, in the days before Social Media.)
We have discussed theft before, as with the young lady swiping sweets or this lad who knows where his sister keeps her mad money. This is a constant theme: children were EXPECTED to steal fruit (often unripe, leading to a different postcard theme) or jam or pie. (Oddly enough, stealing cookies—a standard gag in comic strips from the 1950s on, seems to be absent. Was it a rarer crime in those days than jam-stealing or just harder to draw?)
But children also engaged in more dangerous games: where they might risk capture and chastisement if seen. Some of these were stealth missions.
While others involved the laying of traps, many of which involved a risk of serious injury to the target.
Some of these pastimes were seasonal, of course. Anyone wearing a tall hat past a boy on a snowy day knew what was likely to happen.
While the use of out and out explosives was centered on the Fourth of July.
And some diversions which are now, alas, a thing of the past. When a train moved into a tunnel in days of lesser technology, the passengers would be plunged into darkness. Amorous couples took advantage of the darkness, and impish tots might, as here, light a match to show them in mid-embrace. (The boys involved in this sort of thing could piously protest that they were merely showing up the misbehavior of their elders. This did NOT prevent them having to make a quick escape into the train corridor.)
The standard upheld by the Katzenjammer Kids (and their opposite numbers in Foxy Grandpa) suggested that some children made a general career of being disobedient, loud, and disruptive. There is not a LOT of evidence to show these stories were so very far from the truth.
Many a parent has sighed with relief and satisfaction when their little bundle of bounce has finally gone off to bed.
So that they can sit back in a comfortable chair and reflect that, after all, people without offspring are missing so much of life.
Any sort of cheap entertainment reflects the interests and dreams of the buying public for whom it is made. As such, postcards show us what appealed (or what the publishers hoped would appeal) to the greatest number of potential buyers. And ONE thing that amused Mr. and Mrs. Consumer was children dressed up.
We speak here not of the rppc, where Dad would take pictures of the kids in their new Sunday-go-to-meeting garb; we mean commercial postcard publishers who showed us children dressed up. And we don’t mean babies, because babies are a whole nother subject.
A baby’s face can always entertain, no matter what the baby is doing. Even if young Cloverblossom doesn’t want to do anything.
Nor do we speak of children posed with adults, something which could be used for any number of fine old jokes.
No, we speak here of children by themselves or in pairs, dressed to impress and to serve as enticers for the person looking for the postcard rack for something to send Cousin Mehitable. (Which do you like better: his buttons or her parasol?)
These were all but designed to be put in albums by their purchasers. If the cute face won no one over, the pretty clothes would. How many girls wore a design that Mom was inspired to improvise so it would look like what this young lady wore for the photographer? (And how many said “I’d rather have the puppet”?)
In the day, there were plenty of child models who appear over and over in postcards, sometimes as part of a traditional tableau for the holidays. One wonders what THEY thought of it, and what the working conditions were. “(Yes, you have to wear that winter coat under these lights until we’re done. And show your dimples when you smile at the pig! I’m NOT telling you again!”)
The French seem to have had an absolute mania for this sort of postcard (although in THEIR New Year postcards, as mentioned hereintofore, the model was supposed to hug a fish instead of a pig.)
You constantly find their cards featuring children posed in balloons or balconies or birdcages, releasing doves or songbirds, or…WHAT is this little girl holding? From her face, she was expecting a kitten but got a black bag of garlic and was told to pretend it was a kitty.
Or flowers: a pretty face and a flower would sell thousands of cards.
The Germans preferred to pose their little girls with pigs, of course. And they did not neglect dressing up little boys, either. (Those pig new year cards were traditional across the continent, by the way, and though I haven’t got an example to hand, little boys AND little girls would be dressed up as chimney sweeps to accompany the pigs. See, it was all about symbols of good luck and…you want to go back and check the previous blog on this subject.)
Oh, and Americans would never neglect a profitable postcard idea. Though, of course, OURS had their own singular flavor.
This was not addressed to Scrooge; nor to anyone whom he could see, but it produced an immediate effect. For again Scrooge was himself. He was older now, a man in the prime of life. His face had not the harsh and rigid lines of later years; but it had begun to wear the signs of care and avarice. There was an eager, greedy, restless action in the eye, which showed the passion that had taken root, and where the shadow of growing trees would fall.
He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair young girl in a mourning dress: in whose eyes there were tears, which sparkled in the light that shone out of the Ghost of Christmas Past.
“It matters little,” she said, softly, “To you, very little. Another idol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve.”
“What idol has displaced you?” he rejoined.
“A golden one.”
“This is the evenhanded dealing of the world!” he said. “There is nothing on which it is so hard as poverty, and there is nothing which it professes to condemn with such severity as the pursuit of wealth!”
“You fear the world too much,” she answered, gently. “All your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until the master-passion, Gain, engrosses you. have I not?”
“What then?” he retorted. “Even if I have grown so much wiser, what then? I have not changed towards you.”
She shook her head.
“Am I?”
“Our contract is an old one. It was made when we were both poor and content to be so, until, in good season, we could improve our worldly fortune by our patient industry. You ARE changed. When it was made, you were another man.”
“I was a boy,” he said impatiently.
“Your own feeling tells you that you were not what you are,” she returned. “I am. That which promised happiness when we were one in heart, is draught with misery now that we are two. How often and how keenly I have thought of this, I will not say. It is enough that I HAVE thought of it, and can release you.”
“Have I ever sought release?”
“In words. No. Never.”
“In what then?”
“In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another atmosphere of life; another hope as its great end. In everything that made my love of any worth or value in your sight. Of this had never been between us,” said the girl, looking mildly, but with steadiness, upon him; “tell me, would you seek me out and try to win me now? Ah. No!”
He seemed to yield to the justice of this supposition, in spite of himself. But he said, with a struggle, “You think not.”
“I would gladly think otherwise if I could,” she answered,. “Heaven knows! WhenI have learned a Truth like this, I know how strong and irresistible it must be. But if you were free today, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believe that you would choose a dowerless girl—you who, in your every confidence with her, weigh everything by Gain, or, choosing her, if for a moment you were false enough to your one guiding principle to do so, do I not know your repentance and regret would surely follow? I do; and I release you, with a full heart, for the love of hm you once were.”
He was about to speak, but with her head turned from him, she resumed.
“You may—the memory of what is past half make me hope you will—have pain in this. A very, very brief time, and you will dismiss the recollection of it, gladly, as an unprofitable dream, from which it happened well that you awoke. May you be happy in the life you have chosen!”
She left him; and they parted.
“Spirit!” said Scrooge, “Show me no more! Conduct me home. Why do you delight to torture me?”
“One shadow more!” exclaimed the Ghost.
“No more!” cried Scrooge. “No more. I don’t wish to see it. Show me no more!”
A whole lot of this never makes it to the screen. Scrooge’s remark about the evenhanded dealing of the world sounds too much like sense to be allowed. Belle is hardly ever dressed in mourning, And many of her speeches are removed, as they are unnecessary if we have been shown the happy couple plighting their troth earlier on.
But the sequence must not be omitted entirely, as it is the only place a musical version can logically slip in a love song (a musical without a love song might as well not even bother.) And it provides a good, solid role for a woman, something the Carol is not replete with. It also serves an important purpose in moving te plot along: this is the first time Scrooge is shown that part of his misery is his own fault. (It is traditional to compare Scrooge’s engagement to Fred’s, claiming that Scrooge kept putting off marriage until he achieved some goal of financial stability, from fear of marrying someone while he was poor. There is only the barest hint of this in the text.)
Hicks begins with a young couple in the counting house, pleading for more time to pay off their loan. Scrooge refuses brusquely, unaware that Belle has entered and is listening to everything. When the despondent couple depart, she informs him that she has refused to believe what she’s heard about the kind of man he has become. Now she has seen for herself, and she is furious. “But this is business,” Scrooge tells her, “If I were to allow sentiment to enter this counting house, I should be in bankruptcy court within a year.” He explains that the couple she has seen is a worthless, shifty pair who “have spent my good money.” She is adamant; he grows stubborn. She is to leave business affairs to him. “When we are married, I shall insist….” She takes off her ring and plants it on the mantel. “Have you taken leave of your senses?” he demands. This doesn’t serve to win her over, somehow; she grows more and more agitated. He tries to convince her that he has not changed toward her, but she stalks away, hoping he will be happy—alone—in the life he has chosen.
Owen omits this sequence.
Sim I and Alice rearrange the text, but the scene runs very much along the lines Dickens has drawn. At the end, when they have released each other from the engagement, Scrooge snatches up the ring. “You know I’m right,” says Alice. “I bow to your conviction,” he replies. “May you be happy in the life you have chosen.” “Thank you. I shall be.” When she is alone, Alice breaks down; apparently, she expected him to relent. The older Scrooge demands, “Show me no more.”
March redesigns the sequence, putting it right during Fezziwig’s party. The Ghost tells Scrooge “Your happiness was short-lived. Look again.” The happy couple argue; Ebenezer tries to explain, “That is not what I meant.” This does him as much good as it would any man; Belle says she has seen his nobler aspirations fall off, concluding, “You no longer need me.” “Have I ever said so?” “In words, no. In a changed manner” and so on. She finally walks away, declaring that he would never choose a dowerless girl. “Perhaps you will never choose any.”
The Ghost orders Rathbone to “look again”. He gets a much closer look at Belle as she sits on a bench under green trees. Her clothes are rather nice, but not so nice as Ebenezer’s. She explains how another idol has taken her place, and he replies with the line about there being nothing so hard as poverty. The conversation proceeds much as written; Ebenezer seems quite a pleasant, amiable chap, honestly confused by her attitude. She notes that their contract is an old one, made “before I was poor,” and she releases him. Neither of them seem terribly upset by all this, but old Scrooge begs to be taken away.
Magoo is one of the few Scrooges who is actually sitting with Belle when the scene opens. “It matters little,” she is telling him, and the dialogue runs much as written through the declaration that the master passion, Gain, has engrossed him. “True!” he says, “I’ve grown so much wiser!” She offers to release him. “Have I ever sought release?” “In words. No. Never.” “In what, then?” “In the very things you worship. Tell me truthfully: if you were free, now, would you choose a girl whose father left her so little money?” The older Scrooge cries “Yes, Belle! Yes!” while his younger self turns away. Belle wanders to the parlor window for the musical number “Winter was Warm”. Belle finally leaves, with a simple “Goodbye.” (Was it Scrooge’s parlor, then?) The older Scrooge calls after her, pleading, and when she does not turn back, cries “Spirit! Show me no more!”
Haddrick is in a green park with a Bell dressed in poor, drab garments. “It doesn’t matter to you; it doesn’t seem to matter at all. I love you, Ebenezer, but you love something more than me. I take only second place in your life.” “What do I love more than you?” “A golden idol, which you seemingly worship: money.” She leaves; the Ghost turns to the old Scrooge to say “Well?” “Bah! If she’d had sense and stayed with me, she’d be well off now.” “You have a cold heart, Ebenezer Scrooge.” “And a cold body, Spirit! Haunt me no more. Take me back.”
Sim II shows us a couple under a weeping willow; the field is green. This Belle is dressed in mourning, and looks a bit middle-aged. “You ae changed,” she announces, and explains about his nobler aspirations falling off. Ebenezer is now a heftier, harder man, who rolls his eyes impatiently as she speaks what he regards as missish nonsense. They go through the dialogue offering him release; when he fails to answer her question about whether he would do it all over, she concludes, “May you be happy in the life you have chosen.” Old Scrooge demands to be taken home, and wants to know why the Spirit delights in torturing him.
Finney is in the counting house. (This is one of a small number of versions, like hicks, in which young Ebenezer and old Scrooge are played by the same actor.) Isabel enters and calls his name. He grunts acknowledgement, and she announces, “I’ve come to day goodbye. I’m going away, Ebenezer. You will not see me again.” This attracts his attention. “But you’re going to marry me!” “No. You’ve found another love to replace me. She is much more desirable than I am.” He has no idea what she’s talking about, until she runs a hand through his gold coins. “How shall I ever understand this world?” he exclaims. “There is nothing on which it is so hard as poverty, and yet there is nothing it condemns with such severity as the pursuit of wealth!” They work through the dialogue much as written, save for Isabel’s cry of “Yes you are!” when he says he is not changed toward her. This is obviously difficult for them both, but harder on the two spectators. When Isabel asks if Ebenezer thinks he would still seek her out now, old Scrooge cries “I would! I do! I still do!” The Ghost shushes him. “I’m trying to listen.” Ebenezer finally refuses to discuss this any further in the office. Isabel tosses her ring into one pan of his scales, and puts two coins in the other. The coins outweigh the ring. “I am not good enough for you,” she tells him, and goes on with the “I would gladly think otherwise” speech. Ebenezer is silent; his older counterpart shouts, “Say something, you fool” Isabel delivers her last speech; old Scrooge calls “Don’t go! It’s a mistake!” When she leaves, Ebenezer calls after her, and does follow as far as the stairs. Then he returns to his desk. The older Scrooge calls him a fool, and reprises her song from earlier, watching her from the window. Ebenezer joins him for a moment, but then goes back and, resentfully, snatches up the ring from the scales and drops it into a drawer. “Spirit, remove me from this place! I can bear it no more!”
Matthau is informed, “There is another Christmas. You had just formed your partnership with Marley. Your business was new, but your ways were set.” “Oh, Spirit! Spare me the rest!” “You must drink this cup to the dregs.” Belle has just confronted Ebenezer in his office. “Yes! Another idol has taken my place!” Ebenezer is sarcastic. “Oh, really? That’s going a bit far, don’t you think, Belle?” Working on figures, he starts to explain that business is more important than Christmas, which is a humbug. This turns into a song, wherein much of the scene’s dialogue is delivered. As Belle sings about what might have been, we see visions of the possible Mr. and Mrs. Scrooge with two children, next to a Christmas tree. She eventually ends the engagement and flees the room. Ebenezer takes two steps after her, changes his mind, and sits at his desk again.
McDuck is in his counting house, counting. Isabel enters, saying she has been waiting for years in the honeymoon cottage she bought. She must have an answer: has he made up his mind? He has. She was an hour late with her last payment; he’s repossessing the cottage. In case old Scrooge has missed the point, the Ghost gives him a lecture about his failure.
“But you did forget, often,” Scott is told. “Oh?” “Look: another Christmas Eve. Delayed by the pressure of business. Do you remember?” “No!” he shouts, not answering the question but recognizing the scene. The couple are outside in the snow. Belle’s face is tragic as she tells Ebenezer she thought he might not come at all, now that he’s so busy. Ebenezer is brisk, well-dressed, somewhat after the manner of his father. He tries to explain about business; she exclaims, “Another idol has taken my place!” “What idol has replaced you?” “A golden one. You fear the world too much.” The scene goes on as written. She asks if he would seek her out, and, after a long pause, he answers as in the text. “Oh, Ebenezer,” she cries, “What a safe and terrible answer!” Both faces show great pain. “Ebenezer, I release you! You are a free man! I let you go with a full heart. May you be happy, etc.” The music swells; she walks away, still tragic. Old Scrooge remarks to the Spirit, “I almost went after her.” “Almost carries no weight,” the Ghost informs him, “Especially in matters of the heart.” She asks why he didn’t follow, and he explains how his father’s death left him a small inheritance, which he had invested toward their future. He was laying the foundation for success, which he has achieved. “Congratulations.” “I’ll thank you not to sneer, Spirit, show me no more. Conduct me home.” “You have explained what you gained. Now I will show you what you have lost.”
Caine is told, “There was, of course, another Christmas with this young woman, some years later.” “Oh, please. Do not show me that Christmas.” The Spirit concentrates; her eyes are all that show in the flash of white that follows. Then they are outdoors. Belle explains that Ebenezer has put off their wedding again, but that he is, after all, a partner in his own firm now. He keeps setting higher standards for his business before they can marry; he points out that he is doing this for her. “I love you,” he tells her. “you did once.” This leads to a song, “The Love Is Gone”. She moves to a bridge. Every time Ebenezer joins her, she moves farther along. He finally quits trying. The old Scrooge steps up behind her, joining the song until he is weeping too much to continue. Dickens and Rizzo are crying as well. “Spirit! Show me no more! Why do you delight in torturing me?”
It seems to be autumn. Curry is also late for a meeting with Belle; they are outside, and meet on a bridge. “Good news, mt darling! Guess what I’ve got!” “Give me a hint, Ebenezer.” “It’s small and round and gold, and holds the future.” “A ring?” “No. The profits from my first business venture.” Belle’s eyes dim as Ebenezer tells her all about it; Scrooge snaps at his younger self, “Stop talking, you mindless bump!” The song “I’ll Cross This bridge with You” presents the debate between Love/Passion and Gold/Security. Old Scrooge grows depressed; as belle leaves, he tells his younger self, “Go after her, you fool!” he then turns to the Ghost. “Stop. Don’t show me any more.”
We are outdoors with Stewart as well; it is snowing. Recognizing the place, Scrooge turns to the Ghost. “The years change people. I don’t wish to look, Sir.” “You must.” Ebenezer is complaining about the condemnation od the pursuit of wealth; the dialogue moves through Belle’s offer to release him. Old Scrooge cries “No! No!” Ebenezer asks if he has ever sought release, and they continue through the question of whether Ebenezer would seek Belle out now. Old Scrooge tries to answer for him, but Ebenezer is silent until Belle concludes “No.” “You think not,” Ebenezer counters. As belle goes through the next speech, Scrooge desperately coaches his younger self. “Speak to her! Why doesn’t he speak to her?” Belle explains that if he did choose her, “There’d be no profit in it, and if you forgot your principle of profit and did marry me, you’d regret it, my love.” She walks away; old Scrooge commands, “Go after her!” Ebenezer starts to rise from the bench, but sits again. “Don’t be afraid!” Old Scrooge implores, “Go after her!” Belle does look back twice to see if he is following; Old Scrooge watches her move on, until she disappears in snow and mist. “No more. Show me no more. Take me home. Why do you delight in torturing me?”
20 ½: Interlude
Sim I now interpolates some business episodes in the life of our protagonist. Having been ordered by Old Scrooge to take him away, the Spirit replies, “Very well. But we are not done yet, Ebenezer Scrooge. We do but turn another page.”
The Board of the firm managed by Mr. Jorkens has conducted an inquiry, turning up a deficit of 3200 pounds. Jorkens is not only a bankrupt, but an embezzler. This does not worry him much apparently, though it is a hanging offense. He warns the Board that if he prosecuted, they will gain only the eleven pounds, eight shillings, and tenpence left in the till, and a panic on the part of the shareholders which will put an end to any hope of a recovery. His young associates, however, have a proposition which offers a way out. Scrooge and Marley will make up the deficit from their savings, provided they can purchase shares to give them 51% od the enterprise. The Board expostulates; Scrooge and Marley sit back, knowing the Board members have no other choice.
The movie then jumps some years forward. Marley’s housekeeper, Mrs. Dilber, hurries to the counting house on Christas Eve. She tells a young Bob Cratchit that Mr. Marley lies dying; he is calling for Mr. Scrooge. Scrooge, however, refuses to leave the office before closing time. Business is business.
At seven, he deliberately takes his leave, declining Bob’s attempt to discuss Martley’s impending demise, and growling, “You’ll want all day tomorrow, I suppose.”
“If quite convenient, sir.”
“Every Christmas you say the same thing,” Scrooge replies, almost smiling, “And every Christmas it’s just as inconvenient as the Christmas before.”
He eventually reaches Marley’s quarters, where Mrs. Dilber and a man he mistakes for a doctor are waiting. The man turns out to be an undertaker, whom a grimly amused Scrooge apparently regards as a fellow businessman. “Is he dead yet?” he inquires
The undertaker and housekeeper offer to check, but he marches back to see for himself. A little uncertain, he leans warily over to listen for signs of life. Marley opens one eye.
“Have they seen to you properly?” asks a hearty Scrooge. “Last rites and all that, hmmm? There’s nothing I can do, hmmmm?” This last is not so much a question as a statement.
But Marley does want something. As we saw at the start of the picture, Marley has had some kind of deathbed vision of his fate; he desperately tries to warn Scrooge. Scrooge cannot figure out from what he is supposed to save himself. It seems to involve some moral principle, and he explains to Marley that they have been as good as the next man; probably better. Marley dies before he can explain. Scrooge walks out leaving the undertaker to pull the sheet up over his old partner.
“One shadow more,” says the Ghost. “No. Mo more. I cannot bear it.” The Ghost lectures him on his lack of feeling at the death of the man he worked with for eighteen years, and shows the Scrooge of seven years ago signing the register as he takes possession of Marley’s property. Scrooge, signing the book, does look a bit smug; the Ghost calls him a wretched, grasping, scraping, covetous old sinner. Scrooge replies “nonononono.”
If anyone within traveling distance did not already know, you should be visiting the Newberry Library Book Fair this weekend, at 60 W. Walton Pl., Chicago (about six blocks west of the John Hancock Building.) It is an improvement over last year’s Covid-afflicted venture and open from 10 A.M. to 6 P.M. There may be a line to get in if you go early, but it moves quickly. Efficiency seems to be their watchword (they’re not taking cash, for one thing) but there are books galore and plenty of fun to be had. (In the Grand Renovation, the drinking fountains and vending machines went away, so bring your own hydration source or visit the Walgreen’s or Potash Brothers Market within a few blocks).
Blogsy Babbles 