We Wish You A… Swedish Christmas?

There are so many beautiful, time-honored, and happy Christmas traditions.

In their own unique and special way, they contribute to the warmth and joy of the season. But as is often the case, when taken out of context: they make no sense whatsoever. For example:

“Let’s go out to the woods and look for a perfectly healthy and graciously CO₂-sucking Douglas Fir. We’ll hack it down, and – bring it inside the house”

“And then? As mother nature intended: we’ll daisy-chain some cheap and likely hazardous colored lights together, and we’ll scatter them all throughout the branches of the hypo-hydrated tree.”

Now, before you all start thinking that I’m some sort of hoodie-wearing Scrooge, let me confirm that I’m solidly on Team Tannenbaum. And yes, Tiny Tim, we’re talkin’ your traditional evergreen. Not one of those red Melania murder trees, thank you.

For me, the only option is a real live and festive holiday reminder of the upcoming winter solstice. And all that comes with it.

Pinesap allergies aside: to each culture, their own. Because at Christmas, our Beloved Yuletide Tree Tradition is as normal to us as a 1950’s Donald Duck Christmas Eve Television Cartoon Festival is to the Swedes.

Wait, what?

Oh, yes. Gather ‘round children. This is real:

Every year on December 24 at exactly 3:00 PM Central European Standard Time, just about half of the population of Sweden will assemble around flatscreens that sit atop beautifully DIY-constructed IKEA cabinetry. And they will watch a very special, commercial-free holiday presentation.

A 1958 Walt Disney Presents Christmas production:

From All of Us to All of You

Or, as it is known in Sverige:

Kalle Anka och hans vänner önskar God Jul! Which, as all you polyglots are well aware, means, … um…

(Hey, Google? Help me out, here?)

The festivities start with good ‘ol Jiminy Cricket presenting various Disney cartoons from the ‘30s, ‘40s, ‘50s, and ‘60s. Most of these have absolutely nothing to do with Christmas.

In his trademarked insecto-sotto voce, Jiminy serves up the old Disney Silly Symphonies shorts, as well as clips from films like Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, and The Jungle Book.

This formula is the same every year, likely in order to cash in on the maximum amount of multi-generational nostalgia. The only deviation is the introduction from a live host, who plays the role of Walt Disney from the original Walt Disney Presents series.  

Because intellectual property rights know no international boundaries, you can be sure that there is a produktplacering clip of the latest Disney-produced movie of the day. That’s apparently the tradeoff negotiated by the ever-transactionally minded folks that live in a corner office in Orlando.   

The cartoon-fest gets its name from the star of the show’s second cartoon, a 1944 epic called Clown of the Jungle.

In the course of six minutes, Donald Duck, aka Kalle Anka:

• gets sprayed with seltzer
• blown up
• shot
• nearly hung
• and eventually driven insane by a demented woodpecker-ish kind of bird.

Just right for Christmas. It’s right up there with The Gift Of The Magi.

You can just picture of the scene:

But this is not the case. The entire event is taken very seriously, and the unspoken yet fully understood rules are:

• You do not DVR Kalle Anka for viewing later.
• You do not eat or even prepare Christmas dinner while watching Kalle Anka.
• Regardless of your age or tolerance for Walt’s creations: every member of the family is expected to sit quietly together and watch.

And, you know, in its own way, that kind of dedication does sound fun.

Sort of. I guess.

So, how exactly did this become such an irreplaceable part of A Swedish Christmas?

Like a lot of off-beat traditions, it was the confluence of a few random circumstances.

For many years, the Kalle Anka Christmas event was the only time when Swedes could see American cartoons, Disney or otherwise. The fact that there was only one channel on the air – and that it would take twenty-three years to get another – helped as well.

Now, TV traditions aside, I did some digging. And I assumed that 64 years of this might be, well, enough, already. I figured that perhaps the good people of Sweden would want to move on to something a little more 21^st century.

And I figured wrong. Every time the network programming team has quietly floated the idea of cancelling Kalle Anka, there is a widespread public revolt. As early as the 1970s, when the news media learned of proposed plans to axe the show, the TV1 braintrust was excoriated.

This passion has only grown stronger with the passage of time.

The love for the Disney characters has become an indelible part of Christmas Eve. Even a gentile suggestion to perhaps tweak the schedule, and maybe slot Kalle Anka and his buddies in an overnight graveyard shift is vociferously vetoed by the adoring public. Much like ABBA and Saab, Kalle Anka has somehow become a definition of something Swedish. And it is not going anywhere.

It also made a star out of Arne Weise, one of the program’s ersatz Walt Disneys. He hosted the show live from 1972 to 2002.

The whole thing took a toll on Arne. In 1992, he asked the network to allow him tape his portion of the program ahead of time so that he could be with his family on Christmas, and there was more outrage. “Sorry, Fake-Walt. No can do. We need you live.”

“I wasn’t easy to live with. I was in a bad mood out of nervousness before going on air, and tired afterwards. That doesn’t help to make you a good father or lover.”

Source: Aftonbladet, 2007.

Whether it was because he was tired, or maybe it was just good old-fashioned passive aggressiveness: during his final taping of the show in 2002, Weise claims to have been “high as a kite” on the prescription morphine pills he was taking at the time.

So, is there a future for Kalle Anka?

Very likely so. It may seem offbeat to some.

But maybe the generations in Sweden are onto something?

Most of the program is not about Christmas. But it doesn’t matter: The Kalle Anka fanbase will imitate the cartoon characters, quote lines, and generally have a jolly good time.

Exactly like: How everyone you’ve ever known tries a Thurl Ravenscroft impression in the month of December.

A Swedish newspaper asked Feldreich about the phenomenon in a 2008 interview. He summed it up pretty well.

“People always want to change everything, and make everything new.”

“And then, like in a fairy tale from when we were kids, there’s something familiar.

”Kalle Anka offers security in a confusing world.”

Source : Länstidningen , 2008

Bra för dig, Bengt.

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