Santa Claus is Comin' to Town

A helpless child strategically abandoned at the imposing home of a local magistrate, who has no time for unexpected complications and quickly sends the infant away. 

But as it's transported to its new lodging a mighty wind serendipitously picks up, and wildly blows it into the forest where the resident animals note its landing.

They swiftly aid the oblivious child and beatifically bring it to a new dwelling, where the jolly inhabitants warmly welcome their newfound friend with fly enthusiasm. 

Delicate toy makers by trade, they're able to teach the young learner their craft, while also emphasizing useful subjects to encourage flourishing knowledgeable industry (the animals also help out).

They've been making toys for some time but have been unable to share them, since they can't move them across the mountain which the Winter Warlock haunts. 

On the other side of the mountain lies gloomy morose Sombretown, which keeps things unexceptional without much colour, spice, or flavour. 

The baby all grown up, he decides to defy the Warlock and bring the toys to Sombretown. 

Just as they mayor madly decrees. 

That toys from now on are forbidden. 

Kind-hearted wisdom innocently tasked with fluently delivering joy and wonder, his candid pluck widely overflowing with resourceful freeform humble simplicity. 

One of my favourite depictions of Santa which I didn't discover until recently, Arthur Rankin Jr. and Jules Bass at their best as they freely conjure childlike imagination. 

If more people thought like this Santa and loved and lived spontaneous play, kinder hearts would likely cultivate a much less cold and calculating aesthetic. 

His flight likely already having begun, the tantalized world vehemently awaiting his gifts. 

Miraculous speed, transformative knowhow.

Nothing quite like it.

Blessed artistry. 

*Merry Christmas / Joyeux Noël / Happy Holidays!

The Last Unicorn

A lone unicorn forages in her forest (Mia Farrow), rather peaceful and unaware, as two hunters ride by attentively, distraught yet boastful as they search in vain.

But they converse as they critique their fortunes and unicorn listens closely, only to discover she's the last of her kind, should their bold declarations prove to be true.

Then accidentally, shortly thereafter, a boisterous butterfly stops by to say, "hello"(Robert Klein), full of song, rhyme, lyric, and flutter, composed through verbose disorientation.

Unicorn expresses her discontent with butterfly but still asks if she's the last of her kind, and he eventually presents a statement that's less befuddling if not still indirect.

Consequently, equipped with legendary knowledge and the passion to expedite change, she ventures forth in search of the Red Bull who has cruelly cloistered her fellow immortals.

Unaccustomed to questing or the world beyond her forested domain, she soon finds herself trapped by a witch and suddenly showcased in a travelling sideshow (Angela Lansbury). 

But also within the witch's employ is Schmendrick the Magician who's grown rather frustrated (Alan Arkin), not only with his position but with his fickle powers as well.

He's able to see the unicorn, her innate magic isn't hidden from view, he feels sad, he helps her escape, they move forward together, with undaunted high hopes.

A world of riddles and cryptic bemusement playfully yet hauntingly awaits, as a decrepit castle and its melancholic ruler guard a wicked age old secret (Christopher Lee). 

In terms of magic, The Last Unicorn bedazzles through charming character enchantingly invested, the narrative's music, romance, and import conjuring eloquent rhythms eclectic.

If legendary genesis never seems quite so lofty at the time of its humble début, its cheeky contemporaries full of suspicion, its requisite quest somewhat less mesmerizing, then any legend can take on the visions of a disgruntled merrymaking present, and a timeless quality effortlessly emerges, as ahistorical, as it is wise.

Thus, The Last Unicorn, while cultivating agéd times and lands, still resonates with postmodern fortitude, with ancient concurrent melodies.

Is "postmodern" still a synonym for "contemporary", insofar as this has been claimed to be the postmodern age, for some time, an incredibly diverse inclusive metaimpetus 😌, with loopholes outrageously exploited through aggrieved populism?

Nevertheless, I'm resoundingly hopeful that Rankin & Bass's Last Unicorn will endure, I never saw it in my youth, and have watched it twice in recent memory.

The butterfly scene more than that, what a beautiful idea, butterfly and unicorn.

I have seen their Hobbit cartoon several times. But alas. I can no longer find it. 😔