Toys for the Real Generation

There has been a lot of namby pamby stuff down through the millenia about the meaning of Christmas. "World peace," "a time for reflection," "a season of renewal"--number those wishy-washies among the slogans of many a starry-eyed December liberal.

The honest folk at Southland Corporation, though, have done their best to keep some measure of realism in Christmas 1981. Ronald Reagan, John Paul II, Anwar Sadat all were felled by gunmen this year; what, then, could be more topical, more true to life, than a board game called "Assassin"?

Priced at $16, and, what's more, "as advertised on TV!" Assassin is described by its clever creators as "deadly fun." Players sell "illegally obtained commodities" in an attempt to raise enough cash to hire "as many of the game's 30 assassins as it takes to eliminate the opposing players." Though a blurb on the cover describes the game as "non-political," it adds that perhaps it is not "suitable for children under 12." It is, Jordan Marsh personnel insist, among the season's hottest sellers.

Realism first entered the world of dolls when spitting up and wetting became optional features. One toymaker has carried it a bit farther this year, though, with a doll (ostensibly designed for children) that "talks" when you toss it around.

Actually, when you throw it against a wall or very high in the air, it begins to moan; after about 15 seconds, it manages a husky "I love you." The doll's name? "Dumpelina." Swear to God.

In the next bin over at Woolworth's, boasting enough mark-down tags to make it clear this is not the next Rubik's Cube, are a pile of half-sized plastic swivel chairs. On each there's a label, like the ones men wear at conventions that say "Hi! I'm Bob, General Consolidated (ret.)" Only these say "Hi! I'm a swivel chair." Truth in advertising and all that.

If only the makers of the "Dolls of All Nations" series had such high standards, Now when someone says "Dolls of All Nations," it would be fair to insist that they provide dolls of all nations. There are 190 some countries, and there probably isn't much of a domestic market for Upper Volta or Andorra dolls.

On the other hand, almost the only dolls included in this collection come from Europe and North America. Everyone in the Common Market, everyone in Scandinavia, almost the entire Eastern bloc--but not a single nation in Africa, or the Far East, or Latin or South America. There is a doll garbed in traditional Mexican costume--her skin is just as fair and her cheeks just as rosy as the Norwegian doll next to her on the shelf.

More ethnically diverse, Malibu Barbie comes with "moveable hips" and Oriental Barbie invites youngsters to visit the "exotic" (what else?) East with her. They seem a small sideline of the Barbie empire, though; it is still the Barbie expressing good old American values that take up more display space than any other single toy.

Kissing Barbie, Golden Dream Barbie (sporting her golden bodysuit) and dozens more. And then there is Ken.

"Sport and Shave Ken" is new this year; his package invites girls to "Shave him. He's athletic. He's all man." Shaving is accomplished by drawing on Ken's face with the "beard marker" and then removing the whiskers with water and a (safe for all ages) razor.

In case the little shavers lack imagination, Ken's makers have provided an approved scenario on the back of the box: "Ken has been playing tennis all day. He won every game. He can't wait to tell Barbie (registered trademark) on their date tonight. Oh-oh! Ken looks at his watch (included)...he's only got 15 minutes to get ready..." Not only can you shave him, you can brush his teeth and blow dry his hair.

Hand-held electronic toys--the darling of the industry for two straight Christmases--seem to be in decline this season. The batteries were gone on all the display models at Jordan Marsh, but most of the children wandering around didn't seem to mind.

After all, there was Lego's "Fabuland" to play with. The company that once brought children a challenging construction toy now markets sets "with special large components for fast and easy construction." And most of the pieces are too big to put in your mouth.

Less safe but more fun, the ever-popular Rapid Fire Saucer Launcher this year sports a new label--"When in use do not direct towards user's face or any other person's face."

Star Wars spawned a whole new breed of toy--the "action figure"--with its enormous success half a decade ago; though Raiders of the Lost Ark didn't produce much in the way of statuary, there are still plenty of little dolls from other movies littering the shelves. "I don't think we'll ever get rid of our Empire Strikes Back stuff," one despairing salewoman said as she clutched Lobot and Ugnaught.

Slightly older children (with slightly more money) can choose from the usual assortment of puzzles and brainteasers. Perhaps on the theory that people are just plain tired of landscapes and hockey players, thought, the move in puzzles this year seems to be toward the impossible. One line--which includes a puzzle of writhing earthworms--boasts identically shaped pieces. Another, the "Wet Paint" Puzzle, fits together to make a "shiny, wet-looking, irregularly shaped puddle of paint." Definitely for the man who already has everything else.

The same people who last year brought you "Strolling Bowling" (bowling balls that walk) this year push "Goofy Golf" (correct, golf balls that walk). And every store in the city has "Tippee Toes," a doll that pushes a stroller. Actually, you push the stroller and she clutches it and walks behind. Complete with inspirational poem:

Spunky Little Girl

She'd Rather Walk Than Ride

Push her stroller

And watch her perky stride

That's only $28, manufactures suggested list price.

For kids who want to ride and not push, there used to be any number of options, from the traditional kiddy-cart to the sporty Big Wheel. This year, though, the "Shoe-Skate Rider." seems all the rage. Now, this takes a little explaining. Imagine one of those running shoes/roller skates; now imagine it three times lifesize and made entirely out of cheap plastic. Now imagine buying it.

The omnipresent Garfield leads chic Filene's long parade of stuffed animals which also includes "Le Mutt," and a series of overweight critters known collectively as the "Potbellies." Fancy dolls range up to $185 at Jordan Marsh across the street, and many if not all of these top-of-the-line items are incapable of performing any bodily functions.

The smell of airplane glue hangs heavy in the aisle of Woolworth's model department. There is everything here, from a 1979 Chevy Blazer (what kind of kid assembles these?) to a replica of the Flying White House, the Boeing 747 also known as the Doomsday Plane where the president will go to sit and watch his country incinerate. It is, the box promises, an exact duplicate of the model that sits at Fort Edwards AFB.

Many musically inclined children are scared away by the forbidding sight of a piano, the makers of the Pianosaurus reckon. To counter this difficulty, they've created a small piano housed in the innards of a purple, very happy, dinosaur.

It's not the eight-page songbook that's the best thing about Pianosaurus. It's this: the shiny fossil is "every-smiling." Just in case you were worried he might one day turn moody.

When I was a kid, the small tape-recorder had just been perfected and there were dozens of toys that used the technology--dolls that cried or cows that mooed when you pulled their string.

Next to the pocket battlefields and miniature gridirons made possible by the microprocessor revolution, though, talking insides is old hat. There is one descendant of the line left, a Mork (of "and Mindy" fame) doll. For under $10 you can pull his string and he will say "Na-No, Na-No and seven other crazy things."

Merry Christmas