Santa Does Not Find Imitation Very Flattering in One Thousand Christmas Beards

A couple years ago, I discovered the Beach Boys song Santa’s Beard, in which a boy recounts a rather traumatic experience taking his little brother to meet Santa. The curious tyke tugs on the jolly old elf’s beard, and it comes right off in his hands. Needless to say, the result is something akin to the classic Norman Rockwell painting in which a shocked lad holds up a Santa suit he discovered in a drawer. The suit and the beard make the counterfeit Santa. The illusion isn’t too tricky to pull off, but neither is the unmasking.

In Roger Duvoisin’s 1955 picture book One Thousand Christmas Beards, Santa has had enough of all the impersonations. They really get his dander up, and one year he decides that ranting to Mrs. Claus isn’t enough. He’s going to take matters into his own hands and rid the world of all these extra Santas. He wants to be able to say, to take a page out of Tigger’s book, “The most wonderful thing about Santas is I’m the only one!” His strategy? Travel extensively and yank the beards off of every Santa he sees.

This book is five and a half decades old, and it looks it. The illustration style is a mix of sketchy black and white drawings and drab color pictures that mostly incorporate red and green. Aside from the first two pages, which are fairly text-heavy, most pages only have a sentence or two, and it’s presented in a sort of free verse form. Most of the lines are fairly short, and some are pretty poetic, particularly as Devoisin describes the situations of the various Santas, most of whom are engaged in public services while dressed in their disguises. I think my favorite is the sandwich man Santa, “who was so thin / his red suit hung on him / like a flag on a pole on a windless day.”

Santa Claus is a character known for his kindness and generous spirit, and this shines through in virtually every book and Christmas special that features him. Every once in a while, though, Santa is portrayed as a real grouch. Rankin and Bass have portrayed him this way a couple of times. In The Year Without a Santa Claus, he is ornery and self-indulgent, and in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer he’s just plain rude. Both times, he comes around, but it’s a little jarring to see him behave that way, and that’s the case here as well. He comes across as an egotistical crank, and only a stern talking-to from the Mrs. is sufficient to show him the error of his ways

This is a nostalgic book that offers a peek at Christmas of the 1950s. Some parts of it are indeed outdated, like the shoeshine man on the corner or the idea of buying a doll for a quarter. But I hope the most outdated idea of all is the thought that Santa would fly into a rage over some ordinary Schmoes just looking to spread a little Christmas cheer. The situation is milked for humor, and in an entertaining touch, the man so aggravated by imitation happens to have a pet parrot. This is a cute and quirky tale, but really, Santa ought to know better.

Mark Bittner, Bird Man of San Francisco, Stars in The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill

Because January 21 is Squirrel Appreciation Day, I had squirrels on my mind all day yesterday, but I wrapped up my evening with The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill, a documentary about more colorful creatures, at least in terms of plumage. It’s an odd sight to see parrots soaring over the streets of San Francisco as though they belong there; I just don’t think of wild birds in America boasting that kind of spectacular color. These are immigrants for the most part, but they feel welcome in the California sunshine, and that is due, in no small measure, to the efforts of Mark Bittner, the man who oversaw their care and feeding for several years.

Mark, an articulate, eccentric man who, at the time of this film, hadn’t paid rent in more than a decade, thrives on the generosity of his friends and neighbors, and in turn, he passes the goodwill on to his feathered companions. He gets to know the unique markings and other distinguishing characteristics of each bird; they become like family, even though he insists that they are not “his” birds. Few of them ever see the inside of a cage. His aim is to keep them free, and he imprisons them only for the purposes of rehabilitation - though he does amusingly recount his experience with Mingus, a parrot who, atypically, seems to crave captivity.

Judy Irving, a filmmaker and neighbor of Mark’s, found his story intriguing enough that she decided to document some of his experiences. Hence, we get a lot of up-close and personal shots of the parrots as Mark gives us their life stories as he sees them. “Boy, he sure does a lot of anthropomorphizing!” my dad commented, and perhaps that’s true; he’s constantly telling us what the birds are thinking and feeling, with such certainty that one might wonder whether he thinks he has a direct pipeline to their minds. Still, most of his assumptions struck me as fairly reasonable, considering the circumstances he describes.

The footage of the birds is quite lovely, and it’s interesting to hear Mark talk about them and try to help us see them as individuals. Unfortunately, I still found it pretty tough to tell the birds apart. He’s had years to get to know these creatures; it’s a little harder for us to manage in an hour and a half, and with only the benefit of sight. Additionally, there’s little narrative structure to the movie. Certain parrots have some semblance of a story arc, and there is a major conflict toward the end, but it seems to come out of nowhere, much too suddenly to feel like a major plot element. Rather, the film feels largely plotless. Which is, I suppose, somewhat typical of documentaries, but I think Irving could have done a better job of weaving her film together in a more linear and compelling fashion.

There are those who won’t like this movie because of its acceptance of the presence of an invasive species amongst indigenous wildlife. Others will protest Mark’s lack of traditional employment, while still others will simply wish for better editing. While I don’t object to the main ideals presented in the movie, I confess my attention wandered. Rarely did I find my eyes glued to the screen. These are beautiful birds, and if a flock of parrots decided to settle here in Erie, Pennsylvania, I would certainly want to go see them. But the movie doesn’t use them to their full advantage.

I do recommend The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill to anyone who loves birds. The primary focus is on the parrots, which are fascinating in themselves, but there are side trips dealing with lorikeets, quails and all sorts of other birds, some domesticated, most wild. Chances are you’ll learn something and that you’ll find yourself falling in love with these bright green birds as well. But I think the movie could use a more detached narrator to give it a bit more structure. Have a look at this unique slice of life; just don’t expect another March of the Penguins.