During this year of turmoil and uncertainty and isolation, it’s no wonder that the classic television show M*A*S*H has remained a safe haven. It’s probably been circulating on my watch list for over two years now, since I discovered it on Hulu. It is a habit that I’ve never been able to shake, and I’m glad of it.

I grew up with reruns of M*A*S*H, as I’m sure most of you did, playing endlessly on the local Fox channel. I might have been in middle school when I first started paying it any attention. I’m sure it is responsible for teaching me the joys of writing dialogue. Over the years, I’ve grown to appreciate the writing, the acting, and the ways the show evolved from a silly military-lampooning comedy to a human story of suffering and hope.

It’s only natural that it would be a vital part of my strategy for coping with 2020. The scenario of an endless war is emotionally on par with a pandemic. The absurdities, the ways we stay sane (by going insane), the things we complain about, the insurmountable challenges, the isolation.

Recently I came back to the three Christmas episodes of M*A*S*H. As the Korean War in lasted less than three years (1950-1953), it makes sense to have only three official Christmases over the eleven years of the show. (Two others are set on Boxing Day and New Year’s.) In fact, the timeline (or lack thereof) being so loose gives the show a sort of purgatorial air. It works spectacularly well.

The three episodes are business as usual but at Christmas. The characters are away from home, without familiar creature comforts or traditions. People are still suffering and dying. It is far from the perfect Christmases of our memories. Sound familiar?

“Dear Dad”

Season 1: Episode 12, “Dear Dad” written by Larry Gelbart, directed by Gene Reynolds. Aired in 1972.

Summary: Hawkeye illustrates M*A*S*H at Christmas time in a letter to his father. Radar mails home a Jeep. Klinger and Major Burns fight in Post-Op. Col. Blake makes a speech about an awkward subject. Hawkeye and Trapper ruin yet another of Burns’ and Margaret Houlihan’s dates. And Hawkeye flies to the front to perform surgery dressed as Santa Claus.

This is the most lighthearted of the three episodes, a slice of life about the absurd goings-on in the middle of a war. It’s more slice of life than solid storyline. There’s also the nice touch of Father Mulcahy hanging thermometers and surgical clamps from the tree in the mess tent and stringing popcorn in Post-Op. Festive background music adds a playful tone to the proceedings. Nothing is quite so bleak here: whether it be Henry’s lecture, Hawkeye forcibly kissing Margaret (who somehow seems to like it, sexism in 1972 😒), and Radar purposefully carrying off Jeep parts in the background.

The war is never far from anyone’s minds. The pressure causes Klinger to snap when Major Burns orders him to take off his mother’s bandanna (“You’re out of uniform”), and he attacks him in Post-Op. Mulcahy covers for him and stops him from coming at Burns with a grenade. “We’re all tired,” he says. Several times in that scene, people duck out of the way, but Mulcahy keeps calm. At the time, William Christopher (Mulcahy) and Jamie Farr (Klinger) were not series regulars, so it says a lot about the confidence of the showrunners in these actors.

The episode comes to an end as Hawkeye, dressed up as Santa, is called away to perform emergency surgery in the battlefield, and drops from the helicopter still dressed in the red suit and fake beard, and crawls under fire to the foxhole. Unfortunately, I could not find a good Youtube clip of it. He writes to his dad, “Frankly, the last thing I figured when I went to med school was flying into battle dressed as Kris Kringle. But then those kids down there are in the last place they figured.”

“Dear Sis”

Season 7: Episode 15, “Dear Sis,” written and directed by Alan Alda. Aired in 1978.

Summary: Father Mulcahy writes to his sister about the Christmas truce and his overwhelming feeling of uselessness. Meanwhile everyone else is dealing with their frustration and low spirits in various ways. Mulcahy reaches a breaking point when he reflexively punches an unruly lieutenant. Hawkeye organizes the camp to honor Mulcahy with a song “Dona Nobis Pacem.”

This Christmas is hitting everyone differently this time around, technically their “second” in Korea. This is also the first for BJ Hunnicutt and Charles Winchester. No one is exactly happy. Klinger broods about his ex-wife, Margaret about her estranged husband. BJ is pining for his family. Winchester is longing (or rather whingeing) for Boston.

Father Mulcahy jumps on any opportunity he can to be useful: trying to calm a patient in the OR, trying to bless Radar’s cow over the phone, trying to help the others with their problems. He’s easily unnoticed and unappreciated, so when an unruly lieutenant demands to see a doctor during triage, shoves Margaret and takes a swing at Mulcahy, the priest punches back in self-defense. When Mulcahy tries to apologize, the lieutenant (a jerk who deserved that punch, by the way) refuses to hear him out. Hawkeye finds Mulcahy weeping. He is sure he’s failed at being Christ’s representative.

Hawkeye says, “The place makes us all nuts. Why should you be any different? We don’t sleep. We don’t eat. And every day a truck comes in and lays a bunch of bleeding bodies on the ground. Okay, so you hit someone. We have to stand here and watch so much misery, it’s a wonder we don’t all join hands and walk into a chopper blade.”

I love the reversal here. The priest, whose job it is to give comfort and spiritual guidance, receives the gift of grace from the usually cynical and irreverent Hawkeye. It is one of Hawkeye’s better moments. Enormous credit goes to Alan Alda, writer and director of the episode, who recognized this about the character he embodied for so long, and to William Christopher who never failed to show Father Mulcahy as a human being with his own hopes and blind spots.

Hawkeye’s tribute to Father Mulcahy is one of the most beautiful scenes of the entire series, a moment of quiet hope. Nothing is the way it should be. Christmas is a wreck. Everyone is longing for home. But for this moment, they’re taking care of each other, holding each other up. (The above video shorts out a few times in the middle of the song, but it’s the only clip I could find.)

This is what Christmas in a bad year looks like: doing the best the we can.

“Death Takes a Holiday”

Season 9: Episode 5, “Death Takes a Holiday.” Story by : Thad Mumford, Dan Wilcox, Burt Metcalfe, Teleplay by : Mike Farrell, John Rappaport and Dennis Koenig; Directed by: Mike Farrell. Aired in 1980.

Summary: Another Christmas truce is on and spirits are high. When they learn their Christmas dinner has been stolen by marauders, the 4077th pitches in all of their care package goodies from home to throw a party for local foster children. Charles gifts several packages of special chocolate to the foster children as an act of anonymous charity. As the party commences, Hawkeye, Margaret and BJ work on a gravely wounded soldier, and Charles learns that his magnanimous gift was sold on the black market.

This episode opens in a jolly spirit: medical puns set to Christmas tunes and the arrival of holiday care packages. The mood holds even after news of the marauders when the gang decides to share their goodies from home with the local orphans. Focusing on the children gives them perspective and joy and a redirection from their own inconvenience.

In fact, Charles seems to have learned from his depression of the previous Christmas episode. He can’t be in Boston, so why not carry out a family tradition? It’s a great idea (even though it’s not clear whether the Korean children actually know anything about Christmas, much less actually Christians), and all the better for it being a secret from the orphans and from the camp.

This episode has long been engraved in my memory thanks to all the cracks about the tiny tin of smoked oysters Charles donates to the buffet. “Have you ever eaten the eraser off a pencil?” “Sorry, no more smoked oysters. I just smoked the last one.” “The rich get richer, and the poor get oysters.” Resentment over this Scrooge-like behavior spreads fast. It is the cover Charles uses when he drops off those special packages (Wallingford and Chadwick chocolates) to the caretaker of the foster home, Mr. Choi. It’s an anonymous gesture and Mr. Choi promises not to tell the children where the candy came from.

The kids arrive for the party, and so does a Jeep with a mortally wounded man. BJ, Hawkeye and Margaret work to save him as the party carries on, but it’s clear he is brain dead. BJ is nonetheless determined to keep the man alive so that “his kids won’t have to think of Christmas as the day their daddy died.” Meanwhile, Charles catches Sgt. Rizzo with one of the candy bars Charles had given to the foster children; Rizzo got it from the black market, the children didn’t get it.

Below is a swatch of two scenes: Col. Potter, dressed as Santa, discovering BJ, Margaret, and Hawkeye, and Charles confronting Mr. Choi. This is a lovely piece of direction from Mike Farrell (BJ). As Charles talks to Choi, Klinger is framed in the background between them. They go outside and as Mr. Choi explains that he sold the candy to pay for a month’s worth of meals for the children, Klinger can be seen listening from inside the mess tent. Charles is chastened and goes to be alone. The camera follows Choi inside, pans through the party to find Col. Potter on his way inside as Santa Claus.

This episode highlights some dashed expectations. Charles’ family tradition and BJ, Hawkeye and Margaret wanting to keep a soldier alive. They don’t quite get they want. Charles earns the respect (if momentary) from Klinger who brings him a “mixed grill” of leftovers. The soldier dies before midnight, but Hawkeye decides to change the time of death. They are rewarded the last of the fudge as the others sing “Silent Night.”

It is a bittersweet episode. Most of the story takes place away from the party, music and singing going on without them all. They are not part of the Christmas cheer. They don’t draw any lofty conclusions or philosophies. They’re just tired people doing their best, even if their best doesn’t produce miracles or clear consciences.

I’ve written this post in while a pandemic rages, the first Christmas in my life where I’ve not been with my family, with two cats (yes, two) tearing around the apartment. I relate so much to these episodes of M*A*S*H right now, because I get it. I feel it. I’ve been overwhelmed and off-kilter for so long. Christmas was smaller and quieter and weirder, and I couldn’t fix it.

As “Dear Sis” draws to a close, Father Mulcahy writes, “It doesn’t matter whether you feel useful or not. When you’re moving from one disaster to another, the trick, I guess, is to just keep moving.” I think about this a lot. He’s right. We have to keep moving, however we can. Next Christmas will be better and brighter.

If you’re interested in watching (or re-re-watching) M*A*S*H and don’t have access to local syndication, the show is streaming on Hulu, and the entire series can be downloaded from YouTube.

Thanks, as always for reading. Have a peaceful, safe holiday season! Dona nobis pacem.

🎀