Reviews: Frosty The Snowman
...But where\'s the cereal?
Okay, so Rankin/Bass whiffed a sure thing with their messy take on ol' Ruthless Rudolph. Everybody makes mistakes. Surely, given the chance to adapt another classic C̶h̶r̶i̶s̶t̶m̶a̶s̶ winter song into an animated short they could avoid disaster striking Twice Upon a C̶h̶r̶i̶s̶t̶m̶a̶s̶ Winter from the sheer force of their learning experience? ...What's that, you say? Do you hear what I hear? In a desperate search for attaining even passable mediocrity, they would sacrifice even the quirky and awkward filmmaking ineptitude that hallmarked Rudolph as something that was, at least, uniquely theirs? Thumpity thump thump thumpity thump, we're in for a bumpity ride here, kids. You know the story: some kids create a snowman and make him come alive with a magic hat so he can say "Happy birthday" to himself (Okay?) and romp around, at least until the clock strikes twelve and he is transformed back into a Shopkin. Problem is, said magic hat belongs to the worst magician in the world (but only because he predates the birth of Criss Angel), and he wants his hat back... despite not giving a crap about it until he lost it, like he's a five year old or something. Humanity, folks. It was at this point I was wondering... which brand of cereal is this commercial for? There's nary a mention of, like, Frosty-O's or whatever, anywhere to be found. ...Oh shit! They probably gone and pulled a A Charlie Brown Cancer Cola Christmas on our asses and cut it out of the master print after they lost the licensing rights ten years down the line! Someone get the Lost Media Wiki on the case! But, to be cereal... that's exactly the level of effort inherent in Frosty the Snowman. Throwaway cookie cutter guff created just for the sake of making some money. It's completely fine for kids, but unless you've some very forgiving nostalgia for, it it's about as nourishing and satisfying in the long term as a bowl of sugar-glazed hamster bedding... in an off-brand box, at that. And now we come down to this special's most singular point of failure... where's Burl Motherfucking Ives? If he didn't want to work with R/B again, I don't blame him. But failing that... hello, Ella Fitzgerald? The goddess made flesh who turned the title song (otherwise a mid-tier effort) into the stuff of legend? ...Okay, so she'd probably demand payment that would equal at least 478 shoestring-budget Rankin/Bass specials, I see that now. Checks out! But couldn't you get someone better than the chain-smoking grandpa you ended up having? This being said, it's not completely charmless, and is blandly inoffensive, at best. At least it isn't filled with rotten sentiment like Rudolph at its worst. Wow, you know, those specific adjectives would also fit a certain piece of junk food... ...You know, fruitcake!