Longtime readers will know that my all-time favorite story, in any genre, is Washington Irving’s “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.” Not only does it rate among the stories I have annotated and illustrated, but I’ve done deep dives into its history and even written my own Sleepy Hollow-inspired, fanfic ghost story. The lore behind this – which I’ve detailed in other posts and on our “About” page – is that in the 90s, when I was a wee mite, my daycare unadvisedly showed us the iconic, Bing Crosby-narrated, 1949 Disney cartoon (it’s Disney, after all, how could it be traumatizing?).
Ah yes...
Fortunately for me, I was less traumatized and more fascinated. Without having the words to describe it, I was inextricably drawn into the story’s humor, coziness, creepiness, worldbuilding, and its themes of close-knit community, the power of imagination, and the perils of selfishness, greed, and hubris. Later that year my mom read me the original story, and I was fully hooked by what has become a life-long passion of Irvingiana.
(One of my "Sleepy Hollow" illustrations
from our Irving anthology)
I have never ceased loving the 1949 cartoon and I watch it every year, but, naturally, I went on to find as many animated and live-action adaptations as possible. Many are forgettable, some fun, and some iconic. At four, I became obsessed with the grainy, made-for-TV Jeff Goldblum version (its very cheapness actually made it feel creepier and more authentic).
(Goldblum's Ichabod is besieged by poltergeists...)
(...and harassed by a creepily fake Galloping Hessian)
I was also unapologetically impressed with the loving fidelity of Hallmark’s oft-panned Brent Carver production (which – like another favorite movie of mine, “The Village” – suffered more from over-hyped horror marketing than bad filmmaking). Cheesy writing and cheap special effects aren't enough to ruin it for me. Carver plays Ichabod as a sycophantic con-man, barely surpressing his simmering entitlement and resentment. It also has one of the best Broms I've seen in Paul Lemelin's unfiltered-but-sincere blacksmith and a humanized, vulnerable Katrina in Rachelle Lefevre.
I relished the spooky, “Sleepy Hollow”-themed episodes of “Wishbone” and “Are You Afraid of the Dark?” both of which were mainstays of 90s-kid TV, but stand up to time when viewed as an adult because of their teams' high-quality writing, imaginative power, and respect for the intelligence of their young audience.
Later – when I finally mustered the courage to watch it – I found Tim Burton’s Gothic, Hammer-inspired homage to be surprisingly genuine and sweet in spite of its savagery. At its root it is a vulnerable story about a painfully lonely man's retreat into the defense mechanism of intellectualization, and how the battling forces of love and hate unexpectedly conspire to draw him out from isolating doubt into inspiring trust.
("Pardon miss, I am only a stranger."
"Then have a kiss on account!")
On the other hand, Kaley Cuoco and Nick Carter’s cringey 2004, teen slasher, “The Hollow,” put me off my tea as did the hammy entry in Shelley Duvall’s “Tall Tales and Legends” (starring a histrionic Ed Begley Jr.) and the un-stomachable CGI mis-birth, “The Night of the Headless Horseman.”
The best of all of these, however, in terms of literary fidelity, disquieting eeriness, and simple beauty is Rabbit Ears' gorgeously illustrated, painstakingly researched 26-minute 1988 cartoon.
I've never found another film which works harder to communicate the mood, setting, and themes of Irving’s original story. And -- for history buffs -- it's unquestionably the best chance you’ll ever have of time-traveling back to post-Revolutionary Tarrytown and squirming alongside Ichabod Crane at a hearthside rendition of the tale of the Galloping Hessian.
Sporting a 9.6 on IMDB, I know that I am not the only one to foster a warm opinion on its quality, but it is still little-known today. I aim to do my part to change that by dedicating this entire post to advancing the cause that Rabbit Ears’ unassuming version of “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” set the gold standard in terms of artistic beauty, fidelity to the text, and disquieting eeriness, and has not been outdone since.
THE BASICS
Beginning with “The Velveteen Rabbit” and “The Ugly Duckling” in 1985, Rabbit Ears Productions was an animation company that generated high-quality adaptations of classic children’s literature, folklore, and fairy tales in half-hour episodes. Each story was narrated by a suitable celebrity like Robin Williams, Meryl Streep, Michael Caine, Amy Grant, John Gielgud, Jeremy Irons, or Meg Ryan. The expressive illustrations from their tie-in books were then brought to life in the same limited but oddly hypnotic, “motion comics” style of animation which is still associated with “Reading Rainbow,” Vooks, and Weston Woods.
Each episode was a collaboration between a unique narrator, illustrator, director, and composer, and they varied in mood, tone, and style depending on the subject matter. These programs were universally praised by critics, earning two Grammys, 18 Grammy nominations, 21 Parents’ Choice Awards, and The Humanitas Prize, among others.
During their heyday in the late 80s and early 90s, these adaptations of classic legends and tales like “Pecos Bill,” “King Midas,” “How the Rhinoceros Got His Skin,” “Rumpelstiltskin,” “Anansi,” and “The Steadfast Tin Soldier” were a ubiquitous source of entertainment in classrooms, Sunday schools, daycares, and libraries.
The “Legend of Sleepy Hollow” episode – narrated by Glenn Close with art from Robert Van Nutt and a score by Tim Story – came three years into their run and was directed by C. W. Rogers.
ROBERT VAN NUTT’S LUSCIOUS, VISUAL ART
Ultimately, the genius behind the general vision of this work is the man who wrote the screenplay and painted the illustrations – Robert Van Nutt. His succulent brushwork is appreciated in my household in other capacities as well: he illustrated several children’s books written by his wife, Julia (including “A Cobtown Christmas” and “Pumpkins from the Sky?”), and a beautifully broody story about Charlotte Bronte.
He also did the illustrations for several more Rabbit Ears storybooks/cartoons, each of which is lovingly executed in a completely unique style particular to the source material: “The Emperor’s New Clothes” (17th century Dutch and French Rococo masters); “The Ugly Duckling” (50s animal art); “The Firebird” (Russian folk art); “The Savior is Born” (Medieval stained glass windows); and “The Emperor and the Nightingale” (illustrated Chinese parchments).
The unique art in “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” is lovingly modeled after the folk art and colonial-era portraiture of northeastern America: simple, unpretentious, and vivid, echoing the folksy style of Grant Wood and Charles Wysocki. And yet, these cozy illustrations are also deceptively sinister: dominated by the struggle between light and dark: they ruminate on sunlight and shadows, candlelight and gloom, daybreak and twilight.
This emphasis on the subtle tones of ambient light is apt indeed in what is, after all a story about the hazy, liminal middle-ground between the imagination and reality.
(I'm not talented enough at Photoshop to remove these watermarks that another uploader affixed to some of the following images, so please imagine them away, haha)
The warm colors used in the daytime sequences call to mind early American tableaux of rural wealth and abundance, reminding one of Thanksgiving just as much as Halloween. Toasty tones of gold, green, brown, orange, amber, and crimson dominate -- all against the crystalline backdrop of electric-blue skies. Meanwhile, the nighttime sequences are devoured by a cadaverous palette of pale blue, livid purple, bruise-brown, and midnight black.
There inspiration of New England portraiture is obvious in his vivid, detailed depiction of people, as are Pennsylvania Dutch needlepoint and landscapes, with their simple brushwork and straight-on perspectives. His especially stylized flashback of the Headless Horseman's backstory – done in gloaming colors of “haint blue” and navy – suggests both the traditions of colonial needlepoint and gravestone art (complete with skeletal angels).
He proves particularly adept – at the story’s climax – at accurately depicting twilight and lantern-light (especially the scene at Wiley’s Swamp which reminds us how dusk can feel weirdly bright and impenetrably dark at the same time). Van Nutt skillfully blends light and dark into a crepuscular feast for the eyes, taking care to leave his Horseman enigmatic as a coal-black silhouette, while his goonish pumpkin-head glows like a red brimstone on the pommel of his saddle.
FAITHFULNESS TO WASHINGTON IRVING’S
SOURCE MATERIAL
Like most literary works adapted to screen, “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” has been treated with varying degrees of fidelity. Due to the understandable temptation to elaborate on its Gothic elements, most adaptations have veered away – for better or worse – from suggestive eeriness and into aggressive gruesomeness (e.g., Tim Burton, “The Hollow,” the Fox TV series).
Others have made dramatic changes to the characterization or the core motives of the characters, usually changing Ichabod from a superstitious, gluttonous, social climber with grotesque features into a rational, romantic cosmopolitan with chiseled good looks (Tim Burton, Jeff Goldblum, the Fox series). Another tradition is vilifying (and then killing off or humiliating) Brom Bones as a bone-headed bully -- a blend of the modern tropes of jock, hillbilly, and good ol' boy -- rather than depicting him as the brusque-but-protective champion of Sleepy Hollow who loves Katrina sincerely, in spite of her wealth.
Some have been surprisingly attuned to Irving’s original plot and mood (e.g., Hallmark, Wishbone, Will Rogers), but even these – for better or worse, again – have taken drastic liberties with the story.
However, if you want to see “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” as Irving wrote it, there is one clear exemplar.
Robert Van Nutt’s screenplay and artwork combine to craft an experience that relishes rather than shies away from its source material. It does, perhaps, turn the dial up a bit on the spookiness, but without adding any excessive schlock, gore, or horror. It is creepy – just like Irving’s original – on its own merits.
More to the point, Van Nutt delights in preserving the small details of the tale, especially ones that are genuinely intriguing but are often forgotten if you haven’t recently read it.
(The tragic tale of the ghostly Woman in White)
Few if any other versions take the time to remember:
the spellcasting Indian chieftain,
the skin-crawling ghost story of the Woman in White,
the Horseman’s Hessian backstory,
the creepy-sounding-but-historical settings of Raven Rock and Wiley’s Swamp,
the nerve-racking loss of Gunpowder's saddle,
Ichabod’s flirtatious habit of loitering in the graveyard to pick grapes with the ladies,
his close relationship with the old Dutch wives,
and his frightful walks home on winter nights.
There are a few detractions from canon:
Brom, Ichabod, and Katrina’s characters are fleshed out a bit by giving them original dialogue (though this is all consistent with Irving’s descriptions of their behavior).
Hans Van Ripper is (understandably) conflated with Brouwer and the farmer who visits New York.
The story of Major Andre is omitted (though Andre’s Tree is implied to be the one groaning just before Raven Rock, which takes its place in the story as a perilous landmark).
Katrina’s dismissal is not described or even implied.
However, none of these overtake the gains made by Van Nutt’s dedication to preserving the minute details in the text – details which, as we will see next, are also expressed in the painstaking care he invested in researching and executing the cartoon’s visual art.
FAITHFULNESS TO POST-REVOLUTIONARY
MATERIAL HISTORY
The history of the Long Eighteenth Century (ca. 1680s – 1820s) is a side passion of mine, and I’ve always loved this era of dynamic change, dramatic wars, and doomed optimism that includes so many fascinating figures: pirates and philosophers, revolutionaries and dignitaries, romantics and polymaths, Tories and Whigs.
So often adaptations of “Sleepy Hollow” become embarrassingly lazy about researching the material culture of the era Irving depicted (the post-Revolutionary period, circa 1790 – 1810): architecture, props, and costumes are usually vaaaaguely Georgian, though sometimes they come from the Regency Period, sometimes the Oregon Trail, and sometimes the Amish.
Meanwhile, the Headless Horseman is usually depicted either as a leather-clad, Nazi dominatrix (Tim Burton), a bobbing mannequin in a non-descript black suit (Jeff Goldblum), or some kind of garish, Spanish cavalier in a silk doublet and ruff (Hallmark).
Perhaps you could accuse Robert Van Nutt of many things (I can’t imagine what!) but slacking on his research is definitely not one of them.
The loving, lavish detail he has gone into far exceeds expectations: he researched what the gentry wore, what ladies wore, what children wore, what working-class men and their wives wore, what Hessian soldiers wore, what farm-hands wore, and what country coquettes, spoiled Dutch urchins, and town drunks wore. And always, he was stuck to the time period of the 1790s and the setting of Dutch New York without cutting corners or inventing fashions.
He went on to research what they ate and how it was presented, how they farmed, what barns looked like (not red with gambrel roofs, by the way), what houses looked like (he specifically used the local Van Cortlandt Manor as the model the most convincing Van Tassel Manor I’ve ever seen), how people danced, how they fiddled, how they rode horses, how they dressed to ride horses, how they cooked apples, how they were married, how they taught school, how they drank, how they ate, and how they smoked.
(Van Nutt got the Van Cortlandt Manor down to a tee, even copying their famous "Pumpkin Blaze" tradition by lining
the porch with jack-o-lanterns)
His attention to detail in Katrina’s clothes, jewelry, and hair (which Irving vexingly describes as a mixture of old-fashioned and modern styles) is particularly spot on. He also nails Brom as an athletic, rural sportsman (he even gets the fox-tail cap right), and does historical justice to Ichabod’s unmistakably New Englander high collar, double-breasted waistcoat, and beaver hat.
Van Nutt is still one of the only animators I know to depict the Headless Horseman in an authentic Hessian uniform (even the ghost’s colorless silhouette belies the wider sleeve-cuff of early Revolutionary War regimentals), and the way he faithfully depicts the 17th century Old Dutch Church, the colonial-style tombstones of the Old Burying Ground, and the original, white-washed bridge is picture perfect.
(The real 1697 Old Dutch Church, Sleepy Hollow, NY)
In terms of accuracy, there are only a few minor missteps: the blue, white-laced uniform depicted is of a grenadier colonel instead of the green, red-trimmed jacket of a Jaeger trooper (a.k.a., chasseur or mounted ranger). Additionally, Ichabod is shown riding north-to-south instead of vice versa, with the bridge crossing in front of the church (as it does today) instead of several hundred feet to its rear as it did in 1790.
(How the Headless Horseman, a Jaeger trooper,
would have been dressed -- in life at least)
And finally, Raven Rock is a real place but-- alas -- it doesn't look like an actual raven, although this massive, monolithic glacial deposit does have an authentic history of ghosts (like the historical apparition of the Woman in White), cryptids, terrifying sensations, and UAPs.
(Raven Rock in the Rockefellar State Park 4 miles northeast of the Old Dutch Church; Ichabod would have come north through
Wiley's Swamp (modern Patriot's Park) and would
have avoided this purportedly haunted site)
The only obvious, outright anachronism is that jack-o-lanterns weren’t used in America until the 1840s or so, and then only by Irish Catholics, certainly not the Calvinist Dutch. But Van Nutt’s delightfully unique, vintage pumpkins – especially the Horseman’s with its unhinged eyes and long-toothed sneer – are beautifully vintage.
I mention these few items to be thorough, but they are ultimately very small matters.
By watching this simple cartoon, you will get the closest feeling of what it would have been like to tarry in post-war Sleepy Hollow. I have never found another book or movie that even comes close to this level of quality research and faithful reproduction.
TIM STORY’S HAUNTING, ATMOSHPERIC
SYNTH SOUNDTRACK
Though I’ve never met him, ambient musician and sound artist Tim Story is a frequent guest in my home: his music regularly appears on compilations from my favorite ambient music label, Windham Hill Records (including my top instrumental Christmas album, "Winter Solstice: Silver Anniversary"). Indeed, Windham Hill -- with their squadrons of impressionistic synth, piano, chamber music, and acoustic guitar musicians -- handled all the Rabbit Ears soundtracks up until 1990, and Story was among their top talents.
Using the cold simplicity of 80s synth sensibilities, Story conjures complex emotions through a disquieting, Rothko-esque tension between void and feeling. As critic Linda Kohanov observes:
“His intimate style thrives on cavernous spaces… Story sets the contours of his pieces with broad synthesized brushstrokes in hazy, enigmatic veils of color… [H]e… injects a profound sense of ambiguity into his compositions, suggesting emotions for which there are no words.”
It is no surprise, then, that the alternatively bright and broody electronic soundtrack for “Sleepy Hollow” is dominated by his hallmark ambiguity and moodiness.
Although it is at times playful, cheery, and comic, the most haunting tracks steam with mystery and dread. Although the tie-in recording was nominated for a Grammy, it has never – so far as I’m aware – been released in individual tracks, so I’ll give the themes my own ad hoc titles for simplicity.
The “Opening Credits” theme (00:25) begins the film with a sense of foreboding and wonder: two long-sustaining piano notes in the bass range drone ominously under a plaintive melody high up in the soprano range, which descends mistily until the bass notes call back to it, and the melody repeats itself. There is a sense that it describes two forces inextricably drawn together in a disquieting destiny – perchance the ambitious but insecure schoolmaster and his patiently waiting, shadowy adversary. I absolutely love this brief, simple tune.
Later we meet the main characters, musically:
“Sleepy Hollow” (2:00; 7:15; 21:08) introduces the mysterious setting of the story – a character in its own right – with soft, playful chimes that plink out a drowsy, mystical lullaby as Close introduces the dreamy valley and its purported enchantment by an Indian shaman, and is repeated when Ichabod first visits the Van Tassel farm and when his disappearance is cautiously investigated by the townsfolk.
“Ichabod” (3:10) is a cautiously optimistic tune played warmly on a harpsichord, wiggling back and forth like a man trying to politely but determinedly nudge his way through a crowd. It strikes me as fascinating that Story chose a nervously hopeful-sounding theme instead of a more conventional bumbling, comic tune: he treats Ichabod’s aspirations with kindness.
“Brom Bones” (9:09) is a triumphant fanfare proudly played on unapologetic, unyielding hunting horns amidst bellicose flurries of the kettle-drums.
The resonant, piano motif “Katrina” (8:09; 24:17) is deeply haunting in spite of its honey-golden, major sound – beautiful but mysterious and evasive. It is dominated by three notes (as if sounding out the syllables “Ka-tri-na” in a longing sigh) played in delicately elusive chords that suggest a mirage or a vision: something longed for yet unobtainable (indeed, it is the final theme played before the credits, while Ichabod’s ghost is shown eternally fleeing the Headless Horseman).
Other, cheerier tunes capably provide Irving’s characteristic sense of humor and goodwill:
The triumphant, horn-driven, chivalric march as Ichabod sallies forth to the party (11:58; 16:51)
The fiery fiddler’s rosin-crackling, foot-stomping jig (14:12),
A comic translation of “Brom Bones” into a reedy taunt during a montage of his pranks (11:15).
And then there are the darkest parts of the tale – where Story uses the eerie, inhuman nature of synth music to full effect:
“Ghost Stories” (5:30) begins with wintry, minor chords from a spectral calliope, before it interweaves ghostly, choral wails with an ominous bass drone.
“The Woman in White” theme uses the same combination of wistful calliope over a gloomy, synth drone (15:10; 23:39). The pipe melody is bright but solemn like a hopeful funeral dirge, drifting up and around like blown snow before dissipating in an icy peal of prayerful organ music. It repeats when Ichabod’s own tragic ghost story is shared by his former friends, the old Dutch wives.
“Raven Rock / Wiley’s Swamp” (17:17) repeats the combination of spooky calliope and solemn drone a third time. Here the anxious high notes sound like sharp, nervous breaths or the ominous sighs of the night wind in the trees high overhead.
Finally, “The Headless Horseman” (19:05) burns with buzzing electricity -- like blood pounding in your ears -- accented with an skin-crawling insect-like, metallic rattle at moments when the terror surges. As they race for the bridge, kettle drums thunder out a grim cadence of pounding of hooves and heartbeats.
GLENN CLOSE’S HUSHED, GRAMMY-NOMINATED STORYTELLING
Finally, there is no question that Glenn Close pulls all of this artistry together into a cohesive package with her moody, intimate narration. She delivers it in hushed tones as if you are sitting together in a dark backyard around a smoldering fire pit, oddly nervous of being overheard.
She shifts into different voices with sometimes humorous, sometimes jarring ease. The one that sticks with me is the old lady who tells the story of the Headless Horseman in a squeaky, toothless wheeze -- particularly when she delivers the line, “but they never found his head." You can tell that she is smiling, as if in childish amusement at the misplaced member.
Throughout most of the story, Close keeps up this quiet, whispery attitude, mulling over each detail with motherly patience. But when she gets to the chase scene, she opens up the emotional throttle: speaking with Shakespearean power from her diaphragm, she mainlines desperation into her performance, which all accelerate up to the point where she surprisingly screams the words “Ichabod tried to dodge, but too late – it hit him with a tremendous CRASH!”
At this point, all four artists – director C. W. Rogers included – conspire to jolt the senses when (after the flickering pumpkin consumes and dissolves into the screen) we are shown six seconds of the strobing silhouette of a panicked, riderless horse galloping at full tilt, harkening back to the beginning where we were startled by this same image – which arrived with a startling thunderclap in response to Close’s first, whispered words: “Do you believe in ghosts?”
Masterful all around. And particularly high marks to Close for her disciplined, emotive approach -- one which reserved her famous fire and fury for the moment when the building, sustained pressure of dramatic tension must give way to hopeless terror.
It was a performance that earned the tie-in record of her narration a Grammy nomination in 1989 for Best Recording for Children. She narrowly lost to Robin Williams -- for his Rabbit Ears narration of "Pecos Bill."
A FINAL WORD
My family and I watch this every year. I first encountered it as a VHS at my local library when I was five, and I watched and rewatched it until the VHS wore out a year or two later, and was removed from circulation. We weren’t reunited again for fifteen years until I was in college and decided to look it up and buy the DVD version. Since then I’ve shown it to probably 2,500 or so undergraduates in my English classes where I typically used it for my mid-term projects.
I’ve left higher education since then, but my mission continues, and I’d love you to give it a chance, especially if you enjoy the classic source material, old-fashioned Hallowe’en, American history, folk art, or 80s synth music – or if you simply like beautifully told stories that linger in your imagination.
As Glenn Close asks us in her first, whispered words, “Do you believe in ghosts?” Regardless of how you define the term “ghosts” – and it is not simple to do – I wonder what your answer would be and why.
As for me, I hold that in some way, each of us is certainly haunted, and this particular short film has certainly haunted me ever over the past three decades and then some. I hope that it will haunt your home some Hallowe’en.
You can currently stream it on the Roku channel or Amazon...
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