Skip to main content

Great Pumpkin (II)

What a treat to watch “The Great Pumpkin” last night. A few thoughts:

*Is that a reference to Monet--the image of Snoopy (as a WWII fighter) asleep on a haystack in the French countryside? And the sketches of tiny trick-or-treaters in a pack--are those meant to evoke thoughts of Bruegel? (Oh, gosh. Sweaty!)

*A great highlight is the passionate conversation between Charlie and Linus at the end. Both gentlemen are defeated. Each defeat has its own character. Charlie’s defeat seems to be a statement on life’s random malignancy: There truly is no reason why he, and he alone, would receive so many rocks in his treat bag, at so many houses. Linus’s defeat is different: Linus has been a fool, and he has suffered accordingly, and yet he can’t quite admit he has been a fool. This is how we end the show: With Linus fighting mightily against the tug of humbling self-knowledge. (Who could fail to relate?) What I really love is the gestures assigned to these two: They’re holding their faces in their hands, they’re gesticulating wildly. Very therapeutic.

*Lucy’s “journey,” in this episode, is striking. Lucy’s pain, anger, and harshness are difficult to take, particularly when she is antagonizing Charlie. But, often, Lucy has a point. Linus really *is* being daffy. A little care with the scissors *would* result in a better costume for Charlie Brown. At the end, we see Lucy wordlessly scooping up her brother and carrying him to bed. It’s a surprising, redemptive moment.

*One site informs us that “Great Pumpkin” is the *best* of the Charlie specials. (I’m not sure about that.) “A CB Christmas” is ranked number three--shockingly. (Number Two is something random I hadn’t heard of.) “You’re Not Elected, Charlie Brown” fares well, and I can understand that. “Thanksgiving” is treated brutally. And “It’s Arbor Day, Charlie Brown” generates a rave. Who knew?

Happy Halloween!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...