As Book Two of Santa Claus: The Movie opens, Christmas Day dawns cold over New York and all the world. And back at North Pole HQ, Santa snoozes peacefully, more satisfied with his journey this year than he'd been previously. But as we will soon perceive, it is perhaps a satisfaction he will most certainly regret.
We see a boy wheeling a wooden bicycle out of the front yard of his house, and along the sidewalk. For the moment, he seems to be enjoying himself as he takes his little ride across the pavement. The operative words, folks, are for the moment. Already the front wheel wobbles unobtrusively as a poorly tightened screw which has been holding the bike to its frame begin to work itself loose. Seconds later, the bolt separates. The bike crashes to the sidewalk. It's a scene repeated in every house across the planet: all those wonderful toys, developed using that infernal Patch-o-Matic Supertoy Constructor, were in truth frauds, ready to fall apart in the hands of those who use them!
Weeks later, back at NPH, Dooley sits in his study, reading peacefully ....in a truly rare quiet moment. Suddenly, without warning, a clatter and crash sends the old elf leaping up from his chair! An entire plethora of broken toys hurtle down Dooley's fireplace! Santa's Senior Second-in-Command can't believe his eyes. He must get word to the Boss!
"Returns are coming back from everywhere!"
"Returns? We've never had returns!" Santa gasps in dismay. But the evidence is there before their eyes. And Dooley knows whom he must send for. There is, as you've probably guessed, only one explanation for all this: Patch has been put in charge of the toymaking.
Patch now reluctantly enters; Anya sees that the elf is doing his best to pretend that there's nothing wrong. But the haunted gleam in his eyes tells another story. He's just caused potential damage to Santa Claus's very reputation. There is no way he can change or even attempt to deny that. "Hi there," he says feebly, knowing he's about to confront Santa in a way even he cannot truly comprehend.
Santa and Patch say nothing for a beat, then.....
"Being tied to a desk suits some elves," Patch muses, "but other of us are more free spirits."
"I'm sure you had no idea, I know that," Santa says. "Patch, how can I say this?"
But Patch, fearing the words he knows he is doomed to hear, decides to beat Santa to the punch, in a sense. As he speaks now, he unties his bright red Assistant's apron, and begins taking it off. "I just feel that red really isn't my color, y'know?" says he.
Moments later, Patch watches from a distance as Santa presents the Assistant's apron to Puffy, who takes it from Santa's somewhat trembling hands. Then, upon returning to the stables, the impulsive Patch lets his feelings out full force.
"He'll never have an assistant as good as me! Let's face it, he just doesn't like me!" All of the reindeer stare at their beloved keeper with an impressive degree of sorrow in their eyes. None of them, however, feel that sorrow more strongly than Donner, who had first been taken under Patch's wing, so to speak. Fittingly, it is the vertigo-laden deer to whom Patch turns to say his very last goodbye. "Oh, boys, I'm gonna miss you, you know that, don't you?" He embraces Donner tenderly, and a single tear trickles down Donner's furry cheek.
Now, we see Patch wielding a single bundle on a stick slung against his shoulder. He has stepped out into the snow, and he looks ahead in resolution. He doesn't want to look back, but look back he does. The magical aurora underneath which North Pole Headquarters flourishes is slowly beginning to disappear. And Patch knows, achingly, that from this point forward, he is on his own.
Now, we find ourselves gazing at the familiar sight of the Capitol. It is now just shortly after the New Year. As we look in on the inside of the Rayburn Building, a Senate Subcommittee Hearing is in progress. The topic: the controversy over the safety of toys and the companies who manufacture them. The investigation's leading figure is now about to begin his testimony.
"Now, sir," growls the Chairman of this Subcommittee (Jerry Harte), "I'm asking you if this item is manufactured by your organisation, the BZ Toy Manufacturing Corporation."
The slickly dressed gentleman wearing the standard business suit (John Lithgow) whispers something to the man next to him, presumably his attorney, before responding. ".....Uh, yes, Senator, it appears to be one of our own Betty Beauties."
At that point an aide is instructed to step up to the table where a sweet-faced doll and a stuffed panda have been placed. Now the aide sets an already-lit cigarette next to the doll. Within seconds, the doll's obviously flammable dress smokes and bursts into flames! The assembled audience gasps in horror.
"Well, what do you say to that, sir?" growls the Chairman.
"Well, Senator, I.....(heh-heh!....)....always did say that smoking could be hazardous to one's health," B.Z. comments matter-of-factly. Alas, the humor of the situation is lost all too soon.
"This is not a laughing matter, sir! This is a tragedy waiting to happen!" rants the Chairman angrily. "You, sir, are a disgrace to your profession!"
"Senator, with all due respect ---"
"And I believe THIS toy was advertised as being 'suitable for 3-year-olds'?!" The aide returns to the display table, and yanks off the head of the stuffed panda. He then turns the body upside down. The stuffing then comes out --- along with sawdust, lint, shards of broken glass and extra-sharp nails!
B.Z. wipes his brow. The sweat is dripping off this guy like ice water! "Senator," he stutters, "I'm more astonished than you are to see this --- and I can assure you that, if these items are not isolated examples, I can guarantee you that this will never happen again."
"Well, you better do more than that, sir," fumes the Chairman. "You better recall every single B.Z. Toy on the market --- or I'll personally see to it that your license to manufacture and distribute in the United States is revoked!" B.Z.'s face is a jar of putty, for obviously this man does not know the basics of being an excellent toy manufacturer, let alone a proper Chief Executive Officer.
Later, as B.Z. dodges a plethora of journalists (which we barely see), the ferocious windbag of a mogul rejoins his head of Research & Development, Dr. Eric Towzer (Jeffrey Kramer), for some .... well, guidance. It's not very good guidance, unfortunately. "The retail outlets are pulling our toys off the shelves so fast you'd think they were disease carriers," Towzer comments. "An article in the Post says that anyone who gives their child a B.Z. Toy should have his head examined. We've gotta meet a payroll by the end of the month for 2000 factory workers --- and our cash flow is flowing the wrong way --- right down the toilet!"
"You sure know how to cheer a guy up, Towzer," grumbles B.Z.
"What'll we do, B.Z.?"
But as B.Z. ponders the answer to that burning question......
"Patch --- gone?" bellows Santa. Back at the Pole, he, Anya and Dooley, along with Boog, Honka and Vout, are contemplating the ramafications of this earth-shattering development. Never before has an elf dared to willingly leave the North Pole; that would clearly open up doors which might prove potentially dangerous! "Where will he go? What will he do?" Santa wonders yet again. "The world is no place for an elf!"
"The world's a nice enough place, isn't it?" reasons Boog. Like his fellow Vendequm, he's had no knowledge of how the 20th Century works (keep in mind that they have spent virtually their entire lives here at the Top of the World).
"They send such nice letters from there," adds Vout. "It must be!" But is it really?
As we return to the New York scene, we follow Patch as he materializes before the unsuspecting eyes of a drunk guy (John Cassady). They stand together, gazing at a toy store's window. A display extolling the virtues of B.Z. Toys is being dismantled. Patch, unfortunately, knows this not. "They must be very popular," he muses. "Look how fast they're going..." Determined to investigate these "B.Z. Toys for Happy Girls and Boys," according to the display's main motif, the elf vanishes in the blink of an eye. The drunk, thinking he's seen some sort of ghost, just shrugs his shoulders.
In his slickly-designed office at his Corporate Headquarters, a frustrated B.Z. angrily ponders the next move his company will very likely make. He seems to be momentarily alone, but..... "Keeping banker's hours, eh? I thought you'd never get here!" chuckles a voice. It is, of course, Patch.
B.Z. tries to summon Ms. Abruzzi, his secretary, but Patch calmly reassures the unbelieving human that if anyone enters, the elf will merely vanish. After that silly introduction, our young hero begins his pitch: "You make toys, right?"
"Are you from the Federal Trade Commission?"
"No," replies the elf. "I'm from the North Pole."
"Look, junior, I've got enough on my mind without having to deal with an escaped lunatic!" bellows B.Z.
"How do you know I've escaped?"
"What are you?"
"I'm an elf." Patch goes on. "I gather you're a great toy-giver. Well, I'm a great toy-maker. We ought to get together."
"Why would I do that?" asks B.Z.
"Well, you know the old saying: Heaven helps those who help their elf," comments Patch.
"But why me?"
"I wanna help you."
"WHY?"
"So Santa Claus will appreciate me," Patch explains, somewhat sadly.
"I was right!" grunts B.Z. "You are a lunatic."
"Don't you believe in Santa Claus?"
"Why should I? He never brought me anything."
"That's because you probably were a naughty boy," Patch reasons.
"Yes," B.Z. muses with a brief, subdued chuckle. "I guess I was no angel. What did you have in mind, elf?"
"Just let me use your toy factory," Patch explains, "to make something special. Now, first things first, you stop making all your regular toys ---" B.Z. gulps at the strangeness of Patch's suggestion. "Well, I'm sure they're all fine and dandy, dandy and fine, but we won't be needing them anymore," the elf continues. Wellllll...... this might go a long, long way towards cleaning up B.Z.'s otherwise non-respectable public image, the mogul thinks to himself. "So how do we go about telling people about my 'something special'?"
"Advertise," B.Z. says simply.
"How do we do that?"
"In my line, television works best," the mogul replies.
"Oh, you mean those little picture-box thingies? Can we get on those?"
Oh, can they ever! Before long, Patch has B.Z.'s imagination fired up to the point where he, the elf, is proposing a worldwide live broadcast to push this 'something special'. "But that would cost a fortune!" B.Z. bellows.
"'If you give extra kisses, you get bigger hugs.' That's what Santa's wife always used to tell me," Patch explains.
"You really are an elf, aren't you?"
"Well, anyway," Patch concludes his pitch, "that's all the 'advertising' you'll ever need."
"It better be! How many workers does this..... er, product require?" asks B.Z.
"Just me," responds the elf.
"No payroll?"
"Well, my needs are small: A bowl of stew, heavy on the dill, a cold place to sleep...." Somehow, to B.Z., this all sounds promising. "How much will all this cost?" he finally asks.
"Cost who?"
"Well, the people.... the people who will buy the toy."
"Oh, nothing. We're gonna give it away for free."
At that point, B.Z.'s hackles start turning red. This in turn, oddly enough, turns Patch on --- so to speak. "How do you turn your face so red so fast?" wonders the elf.
"For free?!?" bellows the human.
"Well, that's how we do it at the North Pole."
"Well, that's not how we do it here, in a free enterprise system where ----" Suddenly, B.Z. stops himself in midphrase. He seems to have gotten a brainstorm. "On the other hand," he muses, "this would go a long way towards cleaning up my public image.... hmmmm..... not a bad investment --- all that good PR ---" Finally, B.Z. turns to Patch again, declaring himself intrigued by the elf's proposal. "This product of yours," he finally asks. "What exactly.....is it?"
"Well, it's something that's easy to make.....," Patch explains. "It's cheap.... it's fairly tasteful..... you can turn them out by the thousands.... and...."
"Yes?"
"It's got a secret ingredient!" As he says this, Patch produces from the palm of his hand several precious grains of the reindeer fodder ingredient, twinkling like silver stars!
It is now the next morning, as B.Z. and Towzer walk through a large, totally empty garage --- the one area on the B.Z. Headquarters property not tightly locked up. Towzer is wielding a briefcase containing some sort of mysterious element; B.Z. is beside himself with an unprecednted degree of happiness. "Look around you," chortles he, "no strikes, no smelly workers, no payroll --- it's practically paradise!"
"Still, giving this toy away for free---," Towzer protests. An ingratiating toad by nature, Towzer is nonetheless B.Z.'s closest link to what sadly passes for a voice of reason. And this time, Towzer's reason has to do with the fact that, as Towzer himself sees it, simply giving this toy away --- and for free, no less! --- is the equivalent of committing financial suicide.
"That, Dr. Towzer, is why I am a Captain of Industry, whereas you are an insignificant schlepper," the toy mogul responds disdainfully. "Sure, we start with giving it away free the first Christmas. But on the next one, we'll say, 'So you want it again, huh? Bigger? Better? Well, this time it's gonna cost ya.'" All the while, B.Z. chuckles, cracking the knuckles of his fists (which to him is the most pleasant sound in the world).
"How much?" asks Towzer, finally understanding B.Z.'s methodology.
"$100? $200?" B.Z.'s eyes glitter with further glee.
"Where would they get that kind of money?"
"What difference does it make where they get it, as long as it comes rolling in?" Now the two men have reached the far door, where the sounds of pounding, hammering and clanging emerge from the mysterious room on the other side. "What's he building in there?" Towzer wonders.
"I'm not sure," B.Z. explains. "He says it's the 'delivery system.'" He, of course, is Patch --- and, having insisted upon the strictest secrecy, even from B.Z. himself, he isn't about to let anyone find out what this delivery system of his can do --- not just yet, anyway. But he has requested something in the way of samples; and accordingly, B.Z. has decided to fulfill that need.
Quickly, Patch responds to the knocks on that secret door. "Yes?"
"We've brought the prototypes for, uh.... it," says B.Z. Towzer then opens the briefcase. There are four lollipops contained in the valise, each rendereed in perfect glass: a round one, a long thin one, a huge all-day sucker, and a very small one. Their respective colors and flavors vary. Patch briefly considers for a moment before choosing the small one.
"What color?" asks Towzer.
"Well, what color do you like?"
"I like puce," replies Towzer. "You would," grunts B.Z.
"What's puce?"
"It's like fuchsia, but with a shade less lavender, and a bit more pink," Towzer explains. "Sometimes I wonder about you, Towzer," responds the humorless B.Z.
"Fine, puce then --- so long as it tastes good," says Patch, who then shuts the door in the Mortals' faces. Towzer is somewhat embarrassed, but proud nevertheless of his role in Patch's plans: "If this works out," he comments wryly, "we might come out with a liquid version: puce juice." B.Z. is clearly not amused. Where is this guy's funny bone?
We return to Santa's house, as we find our Knight of Christmas sitting pensively by his fireplace, whittling at a block of wood. Anya enters the scene from her personal kitchen, drying her hands on her own apron. "Oh my! An elf-portrait," she says, her eyes wondering in amazement. "Y'know, you haven't made one of those since ---"
As her voice trails off, the realization strikes her: indeed, Claus has not made any kind of toy with his own two hands since the very first day they came here to the Top of the World. "It's for Joe," he explains as he continues to carve. He hasn't lost his touch in the intervening aeons; rather, his artistry seems more remarkable than before. "He's never had a present his whole life, and he's too proud to even ask for one. In fact, he makes me think about what our son might've been like, Anya."
Yes, this truly is a very special toy, for one very special child. It's the image of a wooden elf. Taking it tenderly from her husband, Anya examines it more closely. "Why, it's Patch!" she exclaims suddenly.
Claus' face reddens a little. "No, it can't be .... it might just resemble...." In the end, as usual, Claus gives in to what his heart is saying deep inside. "My good ol' Patch," he murmurs. "I just hope he's all right."
A few days later, we find Patch, with Towzer, and a few somewhat scantily-clad female "elves" --- the, er, Patchettes, let's call them, for lack of a better term. The historic Patch commercial, wherein the elf will star, is about to go live before the four corners of the world. "I don't really know about this," a reluctant Patch is complaining. "It isn't what the North Pole looks like at all."
"Look, B.Z. knows what he's doing," Towzer tries to reassure his new co-boss. "He knows how to grab the people."
"But this isn't real."
"The public doesn't want reality," Towzer snaps a bit nervously. "They want the dream!" And moments later, the dream, such as it is, comes spectacularly true! With the Patchettes vocalizing in the background, our elfish hero reads from the strange camera-like thing placed before him .... that which we in the business call a teleprompter.
"From the old North Pole/Where the Elves make toys/Here's a Christmas treat/For you girls and boys! Oh, my name's Patch,/And, as you can tell,/I'm an Elf myself,/So let's give a yell!"
Needless to say, Patch's recitation airs on every last television network on Earth --- and the Planet's children, Joe and Cornelia among them, are clearly mesmerized! And yet, Santa's two young Mortal friends are a little bit shocked and saddened by what they're seeing. Patch, meanwhile, just presses on:
"Well, the patchwork present comes from me./You'll find it under the Christmas tree;/And best of all, you will agree,/Is that it's absolutely FREE!"
Back in Corny's townhouse, we continue to watch with the young girl as her stepuncle's toy commercial featuring this rather strange fellow reaches its climax. Her thoughts are soon interrupted by the voice of Miss Tucker. "Your stepuncle has stopped by for a minute. Go on in and wish him a Merry Christmas."
We follow Corny as she reluctantly steps into her unc's library. "Merry Christmas, Uncle," she mutters politely.
B.Z. --- her stepuncle --- swivels around in his chair, and grins triumphantly. "It certainly should be," he cackles, as he immerses himself in the thrill of having just pulled off the biggest promotional gimmick of his -- or anybody's -- lifetime!
Even those at North Pole Headquarters --- the ones with the true closest ties to Patch --- observe the situation from a tiny television monitor in Dooley's study. Santa and Anya, Dooley, Puffy, Boog, Honka and Vout all witness the scene .... with grim thoughts --- and, for Santa, at least, a somewhat heavy heart. "Well, at least he's all right," the Knight of Christmas murmurs when he finds the strength to speak again. He finds it somewhat hard to believe that he has truly driven Patch -- to this!
"What are you going to do?" asks Dooley finally.
"It's Christmas Eve, isn't it?" growls Santa. "I'm gonna do my job ---- the way I always do." And, saying no more, he storms out of the room.
Christmas Eve: Towzer, Grizzard and Ms. Abruzzi are standing before a mysterious dais, framed by patriotic red-white-and-blue tinsel, along with dozens of twinkling lights. Several additional technicians, brought into this unusually crafted "set" for just this evening, are working on ---- something. Now, all that remains is for B.Z. to make his entry. This he does, rubbing his hands in eager anticipation. The stage is now set for the unveiling of Patch's 'big surprise.'
"WHERE IS HE?" bellows the mogul, not interested in the 2 immense, closed doors at the building's far end, behind which is hidden.... the aforementioned something. "Up there, sir," replies Ms. Abruzzi --- but then the lights immediately blaze on all around the quartet of Mortals. And just at that moment, the tinsel curtain parts. The four can only breathe in the very wonder of what they are now witnessing.
Behold, then...... THE PATCHMOBILE!
Blindingly yellow in color, its bright-red radiator grille is topped by a chrome-plated figurine depicting his beloved Donner. Its hood literally resembles a jigsaw puzzle; its headlights, the drum heads of four toy soldiers standing on each front fender, ready to play; the pistons, toy mushroom caps; the tires, overinflated beach balls with red and green stripes. Two antennae protrude from the turrets of two crimson castles, tipped by giant pinwheels; several huge spinning tops balance over the motor; and the rear of the car is a large rumble seat, filled now with an enormous pile of patchwork-wrapped lollipops. Patch --- dressed in his familiar elf regalia, with a pair of pilot's goggles pushed up on his forehead --- himself sits behind the wheel of this, his new "delivery system," ready to take off into the night.
Next to the car is a red-white-and-blue gas pump shaped like a robot, with a plastic dome for he head, and long, silver hose-arms. Inside the pump is Patch's remarkable 'secret ingredient,' which, mingled with high-tech fuel, created the juice needed to make this baby run.
Once the fuel gauge reads full, Patch activates the ignition, and the car springs to life like an animatronic toyshop window!
B.Z. and company are really liking what they see now; this is undoubtedly the greatest moment of the toy mogul's megalomaniacal life. "Knock 'em dead, kid --- KNOCK 'EM DEAD!" he bellows, as his three associates join him in cheering on their new hero. Finally, the engines rev up to full power, and Patch, virtually swimming in confidence now, stomps that pedal down on the floor. In a shower of sparks, the exhuast pipes flood with puce smoke. And the Patchmobile zooms forward, as the hangar doors open automatically, revealing the New York night sky in all its glory. Roaring forward up its lighted, specially constructed ramp, the Patchmobile crosses the distance --- and launches upward into the twinkling darkness! On it thunders into the night, in direct imitation of a certain other Christmas Eve flight --- which even now is already in progress!
As Patch revels in the awesome power of his first journey aboard his new Patchmobile, Santa and his team of reindeer continue their own Christmas Eve journey. Up to this point, the Patchmobile has spent intervals zooming past the sleigh at literally the speed of light... and the Knight of Christmas has, at least for the moment, batted an unexpected zero. But not in the eyes of at least one kid. That kid --- Joe, of course! --- is standing on the rooftop of a presumably abandoned building, determined to rendezvous with that magical conveyance he rode upon only a year before. Now, young Joe waves upwards, shouting "Santa!" For he can clearly sense that his dream is about to be fulfilled.
Barely hearing Joe's call, Santa just smiles. A little. "At least somebody down there likes me," he tells his faithful deer; and, in a perfect three-point landing, the team stops directly in front of the boy.
For a moment, there is silence between the legend and the boy. The year has been hard on them both. "Hello, Joe," Santa finally says.
"Hey, how's it goin'?"
"Not bad. Yourself?"
"I'm all right, I guess," admits Joe. "I was afraid you'd forget about me."
And suddenly, both their hearts too full of emotion, Santa and Joe tenderly embrace each other. How wonderful it is, Santa thinks, being able to give love to others the way I have all these years! Out loud, though, he comments, ruefully, "Well, at least I still have one good friend left."
"You kiddin'?" laughs Joe. "I'm your pal for life! Honest! By the way, there was this weird guy on television --- some patch-natch-scratch ---"
"Uh, I know all about that," says Santa. "That's all right."
"Then it's cool, then?" "Yeah," smiles the Knight of Christmas.
Joe now pauses to greet his three favorites among Santa's eight reindeer. "Hiya, Blitzen! Hey, Donner, how's it goin', man? Hey, Comet!" Of course, Blitzen, Donner and Comet are equally happy to see Joe as well. "Coming?" asks Santa, already ready for takeoff.
"Neat!" smiles Joe, not needing second bidding. He's waited all year for this moment. Hopping on board the sleigh, he begins to smile, but something soon dawns upon him. "What about Corny? I mean, uh.... that little girl," he admits again.
"You two seeing a lot of each other?"
"Actually, yes. Actually," says Joe. In fact, Cornelia had been feeding him, leaving out any additional leftovers, giving him some of her old clothes, etc. for virtually the entire past year.
"Well, of course, she's gonna get a present," Santa smiles once more. "She writes a nice letter. Asked for a toy piano!" Joe nods, even if he isn't exactly into classical music. "Well, c'mon!" Santa now prods the boy.
"Huh?"
"What about the, uh..... 'Yo!'?"
"Oh, yeah. Right!" says Joe. "YO!" he commands the deer --- and in moments, the team takes off, Santa happily cheering them on. Patch may have won things this round --- for now, anyway --- but one thing is for certain: for Joe and Santa Claus, Christmas Eve is back, and back to stay!