It wasn’t until 1972––58 years after President Woodrow Wilson made Mother’s Day official––that Father’s Day become a nationwide holiday. On Sunday, June 19, 2016, Americans will again honor and celebrate paternal bonds.
HAPPY FATHER’S DAY!
To celebrate the summer and to coincide with an impending Father’s Day, I am reposting this piece on National Lampoon’s Vacation. I reassert that the film is a formidable contribution to American humor, a fact made even more evident by the lame updated version of the film released in 2015 (simply titled Vacation), written and directed by Jonathan Goldstein and John Francis Daley. The return to the Griswold family featured an adult Rusty Griswold (Ed Helms) repeating the desperate but loving efforts of his father all those years ago. The film is just plain awful but still managed to make substantive money at the box office. I see that success as testament to the legacy of the original film along with the enduring appeal of disastrous family vacations in the American psyche. The original film remains the seminal statement of this beautiful and dysfunctional family ritual.
In the summer of 1983, Americans were treated to one of the best comedy films to examine the American family vacation and its inescapable heart of darkness: National Lampoon’s Vacation, directed by Harold Ramis and written by John Hughes, who based the screenplay on his short story “Vacation ’58.” The film stands as the best cultural document to exploit the humor of the American family vacation, that mainstream celebration reasserting the right to own the landscape and be miserable in the process–and all at great expense. There is no cultural behavior that is so consistently marked with promise year after year and also, in equal proportions, disappointment–unless we talk about marriage itself, but I dare not suggest that.
Few movies tapped into the zeitgeist more effectively than Vacation. This is not only evidenced by its success in the marketplace, immediately in that big first summer (most online sources assert a box office of $61,000,000 and a budget somewhere around $15 million) ; then also with the continuing payoff from the sequels it encouraged and the high-rotation syndication it has earned for the last thirty years. There are few film or television families with greater reach into American culture than the Griswolds.
The film is especially poignant to American fathers who, no matter what other factors come into play, enter upon this challenge as if they are performing a noble duty to God and Country. (I hasten to add that women–mothers–have their own nightmares of the family vacation, primarily built around having to recreate the domestic space in any and all spaces occupied by the family–talk about exhaustion!–but Vacation is driven in all ways by Clark, the failed provider.) When a father begins a family vacation, the task is taken on out of a feeling of obligation first and foremost, not a desire for relaxation. As Clark Griswold (Chevy Chase) puts it; the family is on a “quest for fun,” a perpetual search just as elusive as any effort to find the Holy Grail.
It is the delving into the pathetic psyche of the mainstream American father who chooses year after year to endure the ritual that makes Vacation such a compelling example of American humor. Every father is Clark Griswold, a bumbling simpleton with a good heart but very little understanding of his limitations.
Chevy Chase, in his dream role, deserves an Oscar in his creation of Clark Griswold simply for making him worthy of our sympathy. He is both ridiculous and believable. He is a first-rate idiot, bless his heart. But he keeps trying because he understands what all American family vacation providers understand: he cannot stop. Stopping is failure. Deep down he must always believe that the obeisance of such a powerful ritual will be repaid. Marty Moose owes us.
As I write this, I am on vacation, and I am exhausted. I can’t wait to get home so that I can get some rest. I am going to float the idea of leaving a day early. But in the meantime, today is for sea kayaks. The four of us will explore like Lewis and Clark. The sea looks a bit angry today, but what could go wrong? Good family fun, with a hint of danger, or at least….hassle.
“Tip-Toe Thru the Tulips with Me” was not written as a comedy song necessarily, but it has been used for comedic effect through the decades. Al Dubin (“I Only Have Eyes For You,” “September in the Rain”) and Joe Burke (“Rambling Rose,” “Moon Over Miami”) composed “Tulips” for the 1929 musical comedy, Gold Diggers of Broadway, staring Nick Lucas, “The Crooning Troubadour.”
Gold Diggers of Broadway – only the third Warner Bros. release to be filmed in color – was a box office smash and made a star of Lucas, as well as the song. No complete print exists of the musical comedy, which synched polished, vivid Technicolor dance sequences with popular Jazz Age songs. Like the carefree era of the 1920s it captures, the film is lost forever. But “Tip-Toe Thru the Tulips” remains.
Lucas’ falsetto crooning, while charming and old-fashioned, was not intended as parody. The Italian-American singer (born Dominic Nicholas Anthony Lucanese) was a serious musician and an influential early jazz guitar player.
In 1930, the year after its first publication, “Tip-Toe Thru the Tulips” was featured in the cartoon short, Sinkin’ in the Bathtub, the first Warner Bros. Loony Tunes cartoon. The characters of Bosko and his sweetheart Honey have been criticized for employing black face humor as well as for being derivative of Mickey Mouse and Minnie Mouse. At the end of the cartoon Bosko utters for the first time the now immortal line, “That’s all folks.”
Since then, “Tulips” has been used for laughs in countless cartoons and film.
The song was sung in the bar of a ship in the 1945 film adaptation of Graham Green’s The Confidential Agent.
It appeared in another Looney Tunes short in 1961 – A Scent of the Matterhorn – featuring the not-so-veiled ethnically French skunk character Pepé Le Pew.
Beatle George sings a parody – “Tiptoe Thru the Meanies” – in the Yellow Submarine cartoon from 1968.
And, of course, “Tulips” is most famously remembered as performed by Tiny Tim, the falsetto-singing, ukulele strumming, frequent Carson guest and unlikely star of the late 1960s. There is an element of parody to Tiny Tim’s entire persona. Whether his rendition of “Tulips” is in earnest or is meant for a laugh remains unclear, although his admiration for old songs and singers, like Lucas, was certainly genuine. Tiny Tim died after performing “Tulips” on stage at a ukulele festival. He cut the song short before collapsing in his wife’s arms.
Tiny Tim requested that Nick Lucas sing his signature song on the Tonight Show for Tiny Tim’s televised wedding in 1969. 40 million viewers tuning in to Carson that night saw the original Crooning Troubadour effortlessly strumming his guitar, his voice a bit lower, performing a song many of them perhaps only knew from the eccentric groom’s odd homage.
At 70, Lucas was vibrant and charismatic. After transitioning from his first song, “Looking at the World Through Rose Colored Glasses,” into “Tulips,” he deadpanned: “What did you expect, Tiny Tim?”
“Tulips” comes from the “Moon and June” Tin Pan Alley school of simple, unserious fare. It is not a great song – at least not when compared with the many masterpieces of the Great American Songbook era in which it was written – Cole Porter’s “What is This Thing Called Love?,” The Gershwin brothers’ “I’ve Got a Crush On You” and “Embraceable You,” and Fats Waller’s “Ain’t Misbehavin’” were all written within a year of “Tulips.”
But it certainly has made its mark – “Tulips’” simple charm has permeated the culture, appearing as ironic or whimsical atmosphere from Harry Potter to the Walking Dead, from Insidious to the Facts of Life, and even as performed by animatronic animals at Chuck E Cheese.
It may not be Gershwin or Porter or Berlin, but in its lasting appeal, “Tip-Toe Thru the Tulips with Me” is a Great American Song.