How does she know that “11 Inches of Snow in Minnesota” is my p*rn star name?
2,547 words
Part 2 of 2 (Part 1 here)
Third commercial break
There’s another spot from GM, and after that is an ad for Pillsbury Plus Yellow Cake. It has pudding in the mix! Nom nom nom . . . (Speaking of annoying piss-ants, Saddam Hussein ordered his nuclear weapons researchers to buy 550 metric tons of it, according to anonymous sources in the Pentagon. Although they couldn’t get any fissionable uranium out of it, they did find it to be especially yummy when it was taken, piping hot, out of the isotope separators.) The next spot is for Hungry Jack Flaky Biscuits. Delish! They bake in only 11 minutes, did you know that? These commercials got me stoked!
Then an anchorbabe delivers a news break. (I’ll give credit where it’s due; she’s endowed with a succulent pair of Khazar milkies.) Speaking of evil empires, she says Comrade Brezhnev discussed an experimental neutron bomb. Other than that, William Kampiles got busted for selling documents to the Soviet Union; obviously not a brilliant move. This reminds us that Communist expansionism was an ever-present fear back then. The world map had been turning steadily redder since 1945, in no small part due to our Deep State’s shortsightedness, incompetence, and sometimes outright treason. It was also worrisome that an itchy trigger finger on the Big Red Button could end the world at any time. The Cold War is surely incomprehensible to kids these days, however, whose professors taught them that Communism is all about free goodies.
Speaking of cold things, Minnesota got 11 inches of snow, with Michigan and Wisconsin getting hit hard, too. Snow up north in November? Wow, who knew? Other than that, it was nine months after a big nor’easter had hit Yankee-land. (Did I ever mention walking uphill to school in the snow? For real!) A small baby boom was predicted earlier as a result of couples who were stuck at home with a lot of time on their hands — ahem — but it didn’t happen. I recall that this was about when the Carter administration was putting anti-natalist propaganda on TV, telling people not to have kids. Funny thing: If the government wanted to reduce population growth, why didn’t they also scale back on welfare bennies and curtail immigration?
After that is a Contac commercial. It relieves symptoms caused by every known virus. How about that? Then there’s a teaser for Bobby Vinton’s Rock ‘n Rollers. Dang, and I missed that show, too! Oh, yeah, and a Chevrolet dealership was selling cars for $99 down and $99 a month. Imagine that: In the days of yore, a car note might be just under a hundred clams a month! Well, inflation isn’t so bad, because the public is also getting regular pay increases, too, right? Let’s have a show of hands: Everyone got their cost of living raises yet? If not, have your shop steward rattle some cages. Your workplace is unionized, isn’t it?
In the immortal words of William Jefferson Clinton, “Ah feel yer paiiiin!”
Back to the show. The cartoon continues, with Chewie, Luke, Leia, and the droids about to get set up by Boba Fett. (It’s never explained who “filmed” all this, and for what reason; perhaps it’s a samizdat counterpropaganda clip?) One could make a drinking game out of spotting the cartoon’s plot holes. Moreover, Lumpy picked a really strange time to watch a bunch of Rebels on the Empire’s Public Enemy Number One list. The Imperials are still at the treehouse, and one of them nearly catches the hyperactive punk watching the subversive video. What a moron!
Then they toss Lumpy’s room. During the search, one of the jackbooted thugs commits an act of utter heinousness, ripping the head off of a toy Bantha. (Maybe the Stormtrooper suspected it was a secret Rebel stuffed animal?) After mourning the decapitated toy, Lumpy assembles his gift from Saun Dann, a do-it-yourself transmitter. The narrator for the instruction video — named Dromboid, not that anyone cares — is a robot intermittently losing power, much like Sleepy Joe Bidet lately. Surely the screenwriters thought it would be cute, but Harvey Korman deserved combat pay for these utterly moronic roles.
Fourth commercial break
Cream-On Blush: nightie and sequins not included.
At nearly an hour and 20 minutes, we’re over the hump, oh, yeah! The first commercial is for Tobor, the telesonic robot. Batteries are not included. (Are they ever?) The next is for a line of Revlon Cream‑On Blush — “and baby, it’s waterproof!” Then Whirlpool had an important announcement about — well, I’m not sure what, but they were really trying to say something.
Maybe The Phantom Menace wasn’t such a pit of burning shame after all.
Back at the treehouse, the Imperials view a propaganda broadcast about Tatooine’s decadence. Soon this show-within-a-show depicts a cantina scene. Now take a wild guess what band is on stage. (Yep: Figrin D’an and the Modal Nodes, and of course they have an extensive page of fan wank.) You already know which number they’re playing; for more unnecessary trivia, it’s called “Mad About Me.” Not bad, but don’t they know any other tunes? For more obsessive pointlessness, their space bebop is called “ji*zz” — yes, really. Didn’t anyone at Lucasfilm realize this word really means DNA evidence?
The barkeep Ackmena is played by Bea Arthur, an actress whose best days were in the past, but her career fortunately survived this accursed show. Her admirer, Krelman, arrives, and drinks through a hole on top of his head. (It’s the versatile Harvey Korman again, whose idiotic Holiday Special roles probably gave him post-traumatic stress disorder.) When Robin Williams drank orange juice through his fingers in Mork and Mindy a little earlier that same year, it worked, because the show was intended to be a goofy sitcom. But that stuff doesn’t fly in a space opera. What the hell, CBS? Again, this isn’t a nightmare, but a bad psychedelic trip, or a mass MKultra mind-screw. This really is a Star Wars movie.
Then the bar must close, because a curfew is suddenly imposed. Ackmena hands out lots of free drinks on the house and then declares, “Run a tab on the Empire.” (I’m sure Darth Vader himself will whip out his credit card and settle up for the hooch any day now . . .) It takes another round of free booze and a bittersweet serenade by the barkeep — that is well done, actually — to get everyone out.
Just under half an hour of agony remaining
Ooh, fanservice! Did I mention that the ads are better than the show?
The ending is so close I can taste it . . . First up on the fifth commercial break is an Anacin promo. Remember, Anacin combines safety with extra strength. Awesome, right? Come to think of it, I could use a couple of them about now! Then there’s a Woolite spot. Hey, it’s great for beautiful clothes! Next up is Sheer Indulgence pantyhose. They hired some cute actresses for that one. Hello, legs! Following that is an Egg McMuffin ad, still a relatively new product at the time. Then there’s a teaser for the following show, Flying High, a series which was surely a cultural masterpiece.
Another car dealership ad appears, showcasing the Mercury Bobcat. Like most 1970s cars, it’s rather ugly, but with a base price is $4142, which of course is unthinkably low for a new car these days. The next item is a promotion for The Wiz, a soul-brother musical version of The Wizard of Oz. This one includes a young Michael Jackson before exposure to radioactive Chernobyl fallout scrambled his DNA, gradually turning him into a non-binary alien.
If this were the big bug zapper from Logan’s Run, then this would be a happy ending.
Lumpy, still dealing with an Imperial Stormtrooper at the treehouse, finally gets busted for video conferencing with the Rebels. (Who put this hyperactive rug rat in charge of comms, anyway?) That’s a felony stupid charge, and he’s in deep doo-doo. I’ll skip the plot resolution so as not to spoil it for anyone unwise enough to watch this thing. Then the dénouement begins, which gets a little schmaltzy.
There are more commercials, a Life Day ritual (Princess Leia sings pretty well despite Carrie Fisher being co*ked up out of her gourd), some retrospective shots from the original Star Wars movie, and more commercials. Finally, it’s back to the treehouse, where the Wookiees bow reverently at the table. This is one of the best scenes, since nobody is grunting, yowling, or buzzing. The credits roll — oh, blessed relief! — and it’s a wonder Alan Smithee’s name didn’t appear.
Most of the secondary characters in this program were actors whose stars were fading. Unfortunately, their participation didn’t revitalize their waning careers. Instead, it was more like a curse — an inflection point after which they were in terminal decline. Becoming a has-been is a lamentable fate for a performer.
Luckily, the original Star Wars cast escaped that curse, even though the actors mostly looked as if they’d rather get waterboarded than be on the show. Carrie Fisher was so tweaked out on dumb dust during the filming that the song was the only part she remembered performing. Mark Hamill seems as if he’d prefer to not to remember it at all. As for Harrison Ford, when grilled about it during an interview by Conan O’Brien, he squirmed like a politician in a church. All told, the project is covered with shame. The only one who seemed to be happy about it was Peter Mayhew, the actor who played Chewbacca, since it added a lot of background to his character.
George Lucas, according to an apocryphal quote, said that if he had had sufficient time and a hammer, he would have destroyed every remaining copy of the show. In a better-sourced quote, he stated regretfully, “That’s one of those things that happened, and I just have to live with it.” One can’t blame him for the outcome, though. It turns out that he had little to do with the project. For the most part, it was delegated to CBS, and some brainiac there decided to make it a goofy variety show. They had their own screenwriters work on the script accordingly. It seems that they just didn’t get what the epic science-fantasy saga was all about. That’s what made the Star Wars Holiday Special a veritable Thanksgiving turkey. There were a lot of Red Sea Pedestrians in the credits, but that didn’t help; aren’t those guys supposed to be good at showbiz?
You can buy Trevor Lynch’s Classics of Right-Wing Cinema here.
Although variety shows were a happening thing back in the day, adapting science fiction to that format seems like a dodgy proposition from the outset. In this case, the final product went over like vanilla ice cream topped with diced raw onions. This is especially so since they made something juvenile and lame — a string of inconsequential vignettes linked by a weak plot — within a franchise that’s supposed to have some gravitas. Unfortunately, the harsh lesson about goofiness and excessive kiddie appeal was forgotten by the time The Phantom Menace was scripted. Since it was a much-anticipated prequel rather than a made-for-TV movie that vanished into obscurity, the damage was far greater, and arguably caused the Star Wars franchise to jump the shark.
Furthermore, the Holiday Special was plagued with cost overruns that nearly derailed it. What it needed was for someone to make a sober reassessment and at least rework the worst “WTF” moments, but its budget had already been blown. The editors had to work with the footage they had, pad it with a little recycled Star Wars: A New Hope material, and cut it into a made-for-TV movie — come hell or high water.
They turned a space opera into a sitcom, those damn dirty apes!
There’s one theme the show gets right. Although it’s played lightly, it’s a reminder that the big year-end holidays can have some less-than-delightful aspects. They’re an alteration of the usual domestic routine, which isn’t always bad, but it’s not merely a vacation when one can kick back and relax. Visiting relatives, who are sometimes a pain in the butt, need accommodations. Alternatively, you might have to endure a cavity search before being stuffed into a depressurized tin can that will hurtle through the sky at Mach 0.8, or take an hours-long road trip sometimes involving white-knuckle conditions such as congested highways and bad weather — all so you can be a pain in the butt to your distant loved ones. Moreover, preparations have to be made, kids are out of school and underfoot, expectations abound, and things get a bit crazy.
Most significantly, thanks to commercialization a pilgrimage to the mall is inevitable; insh’Allah, the credit card tab will be paid off by April! When money is tight, it gets downright galling. Don’t even get me started on the ubiquitous corny Christmas music, which lately begins in October, with the constant subtext of “Buy! Buy! Buy!” The sound of sleigh bells on a commercial still can give me trauma.
All the chaos and expectations can add up to a big ball of stress. Throughout, one more obligation is to be joyous and have fun, or at least fake it convincingly even while counting the minutes until the holidaze are over. No wonder so many housewives became pill-heads back in the day!
This show is practically an affectionate tribute to the end-of-year craziness I recall vividly from the 1970s and ‘80s. In recent times, I get in my blast-proof deluxe fallout shelter before Thanksgiving and emerge on Boxing Day. If I see my shadow, I’ll retreat to the bunker until Eastern Orthodox Christmas is over. Life Day, bah humbug!
Other than that, the Holiday Special isn’t just a dud; it’s almost Manos: The Hands of Fate kind of bad. There’s no excuse for the cosmically lame results, since there was a workable budget and no lack of experience on the part of the actors, screenwriters, and so forth. Even saboteurs could’ve done a better job than CBS. You made it suck, you Klingon bastards! The franchise’s first three theatrical films were epics and a notable addition to American culture, such as it is. As a celebrated cinematic bright spot, it’s a reminder of bygone times when Hollywood still had talent. But the Holiday Special was as symbolic of the era’s malaise as Jimmy Carter’s infamous vorpal bunny encounter.
After The Phantom Menace came out, scores of Generation X Star Wars fans bitterly complained that George Lucas had violated their childhood memories. Well, things could be worse. Watching the Star Wars Holiday Special makes Jar Jar Binks, the midi-chlorians, the eminently forgettable Obi‑GYN, Princess Amidala’s overdone costuming, and the rest of the awfulness forgivable. On the other hand, The Force Awakens was remarkably unoriginal, cynically designed to generate ticket revenue by gnawing at the carcass of a formerly majestic space opera, and — worst of all — it willfully insulted its fan base. By comparison, that cinematic atrocity did much to rehabilitate the goofy variety show from 1978.
Last up, although Life Day ain’t real, and it’s still 242 shopping days until Black Friday, I hope the review of this forgotten treasure perked up your April Fools’ Day.
