Babble Reviews TV

Patti Nichols

Now, this is a show I can get behind. Pinky's a little girl who lives in the Big Big City with her family, and tells fabulous stories to her little brother which involve using wit and imagination to get out of scrapes. Each episode conforms to a basic formula wherein Pinky has Big Ideas, mines her Story Box for creative juice, and the audience is treated to a nice meaty fifty-cent vocabulary word, which features frequently enough throughout that it often sticks with the young viewer.

Despite her name, Pinky is vocal about her distaste for the color pink and annoyed by the assumption that little girls should love it, which in this age of princessdom is pretty refreshing. When she has wrapped up her fable, the show concludes with a few audience-participation games compelling enough that my kids actually look forward to them and join right in. The silliness factor is high with this show; one of Pinky's adventures concerns everyone's shoes turning to meat, and she has to run around in her salami sandals solving the dilemma. But for young kids, that kind of zaniness passes for high art. In lieu of the late, lamented (by me, at least) Ellen's Acres, Pinky is a pretty worthy role model for ingenuity. ? Patti Nichols

If I were ever to write a doctoral dissertation on how a kids TV show can master that thin line between cute and so heinously sweet that you want to choke, Clifford would be Exhibit A. How does the Big Red Dog do it? Clifford is sweet but he doesn't try so damn hard, like that wretched purple dinosaur. He and his friends — Cleo the purple girly-girl poodle and T-Bone, a tough pooch with a heart of gold — learn the requisite lessons about sharing and telling the truth, but they don't get all snotty about it. I also like Clifford because it's one of the rare shows that my kid can watch without me, allowing me a half hour for laundry and Soduku. I interrogated my three-and-half-year-old daughter about her love for the show: "Mom," she said, like I was an idiot, "Clifford is just nice. And he's silly." Good 'nuf for me. — Jennifer V. Hughes

My kids are addicted to Bravo's TV line-up and it's all my fault. It began so innocently, something to watch on a Sunday afternoon. But I knew that eleven-year-old Nathaniel and seven-year-old Serena were hooked when they began seriously discussing, in their free time, the relative merits of the contestants on Top Chef. Serena, being a girl, favored the female contestants and the hottest male. Nathaniel, in addition to being all over the drama that was often engineered between warring chefs, was actually interested in the cooking techniques and often critiqued their choices ("Chocolate? With chicken livers?"). Their addiction soon progressed, and please don't ask me how this happened, to the assigning of names to the various colors of Mike 'n Ike's candies, names that corresponded to their Top Chef chosen. For instance, Marcel? He's yellow. Elia is pink (of course), while Sam, an obvious favorite, is red. Ilan is green and Cliff, who got thrown off the show for unbecoming conduct, is orange. Kind of eerie when overheard, even when you know the context: "I'll give you two Marcels if you give me that Elia." I don't know if my kids will bond quite so strongly with the contestants on the new season, but here's hoping.— Karen Murphy

Jakers! — named after an Irish expression for joy and delight — is the show that I can't wait for my daughter to like. It's aimed at kids aged four to seven, so at three-and-a-half she's a bit too young to get all the nuances, but it's one of the best things on the tube. In the show's unconventional plot device, two modern kids (uh, well, pigs) go to their old Grandpa for advice and stories. As Grandpa reminisces, we see the stories from his youth unfold. He's Piggley Winks and his chums are Ferny the cow and Dannon the duck. All of them have cute Irish accents and are always listening to the radio. Many animated kid's shows now have that interlude with live actors and most of them, frankly, suck. On Jakers!, it's one of the best parts. Real kids watch mimes perform, see Native American dancers, listen to stories told in song. Then, at the end, there's a segment where real grandparents tell stories to their grandkids. It's freakin' adorable. Of course, there's also Mel Brooks (who does the voice of Wiley the sheep). And last but not least, it's brought a bit of the brogue to my daughter already. The other day she told me this story: "Mommy! A monster was chasing me and I said, 'Yikes! Jakers!'"— Jennifer V. Hughes

The one redeeming thing about Jay Jay the Jet Plane, which chronicles the adventures of a pudgy computer-animated airline fleet, is the music. Halfway through each ten-minute episode, the planes take to the sky and sing a rather sweet song that emphasizes the theme of the day. The remainder of Jay Jay's running time is filled with clunky animation (the plane's facial expressions change less than a Botox patient's), dopey "lessons" from Brenda Blue, the airport's human flight controller ("Think about it," she says, after making a startling revelation that colors are everywhere), and the grating speech impediment of Herky, a clingy helicopter who provides an object lesson for kids in how not to take social cues. My son and I will occasionally get sucked in by the theme song — but once the music stops, his interest flags, and I'm reaching for the remote. — Matt Wood

I was tempted to say that Disney shouldn't mess with a classic, but My Friends Tigger & Pooh does right by the original A.A. Milne stories. In this incarnation, Tigger and Pooh team up with a new six-year-old girl named Darby to form the "Super Sleuths" and solve mysteries throughout the Hundred Acre Wood. The classic supporting characters — Piglet, Eeyore, Rabbit and Roo — are all there and just as delightful as ever. The show looks gorgeous, with the kind of slick CG animation that one would expect from Disney, and it features recurring songs that had my son singing along after the second episode. The only problem is that it leans a little too heavily on the Dora-esque, "Hey kids, help us solve this problem!" trope. Then again, there are only so many plot devices preschoolers can process. And you have a cold, cold heart if you don't enjoy watching Pooh talk to his tummy. — Matt Wood

Narrated by the main character's grandmother and scored by sickeningly sweet flute riffs, this PBS Kids creation lays on the schmaltz with a steamroller. Caillou, a four-year-old Charlie Brown look-alike, explores his neighborhood, plays with friends and learns the requisite lessons about sharing and patience, often ending in heart-to-heart conversations with his parents, like this:

Dad: Caillou, I heard you made [your sister] Rosie cry today. I know you don't always want to play with Rosie, but she is your sister, so you should be kind to her.

Caillou: Okay, Daddy.

After that, they share some cookies and laugh at each other's milk mustaches. Even my two-year-old rolled his eyes at that one. Nevertheless, something about it turns him into a zombie, and our friends report the same effect on their kids. I suppose if they're going to be mesmerized by a cartoon, it might as well go down with a spoonful of sugar. — Matt Wood

If you tend to avoid animated fairy-tale retellings for fear of bombardment by cookie-cutter blondes with oversized, um, marketing teams, but would love your child to be exposed to the classic folktales of Western culture and beyond, HBO's Happily Ever After might be for you. The animated series refashions the most timeless tales, funking them up and playing fast and loose with the original settings. "The Emperor's New Clothes," for instance, is moved to China, "Robinita Hood" is a female bandit and "Snow White" is retold as a Native American legend. Each new variation drives home the message that fairy tale themes are universal, and it's a delight to see the same old stories given a kick into the modern world. The show is narrated by Robert Guillaume (aw, Benson!) and executive-produced by his wife, Donna. And the voiceovers? I'll just say this: Denzel Washington is Humpty Dumpty. Mm-hmm. - Patti Nichols

The Doodlebops are Disney's answer to The Wiggles, competing for the title of Kids Musical Group Most Likely to Plant Songs in Your Head for Days at a Time. Deedee, Moe and Rooney Doodle are members of a pop band who live in a clubhouse reminiscent of Peewee's Playhouse, complete with trap doors and a talking moose head. The Doodlebops are played by live actors dressed up in wigs and makeup, with fuzzy plush fingers that don't seem to impede their musical abilities. Episodes have a standard format: the band starts in the clubhouse, introduces the theme of the day, gets a visit from their rhyming manager, Jazzmin, then Bus Driver Bob takes them to a concert in the Mystery Machine. (This part has the catchiest song; I always picture Bob smoking pot with the roadies during the show.) It's all a little bit trippy, but the music isn't bad, and it gets my son to do his best pirouetting, fist-pumping dance moves. — Matt Wood

My husband mocks me relentlessly for this, but I'm pretty obsessed with this PBS show. The plot involves three kids — Matt, Inez and Jackie — jumping into "Cyberspace" to rescue it from arch-villain The Hacker, using math skills. Cyberspace, much like outerspace, is filled with other worlds, such as the Dracula-inspired Castleblanca. It's also home to characters like Master Pi, a Zen master who teaches the math behind doubling numbers, and a Steve Irwin doppelganger who just might have snatched the cyber-croc Choocroca from EcoHaven (the kids use algebra to nail the culprit). Christopher Lloyd as The Hacker is deliciously over-the-top, a preening, pocket-protector wearing baddie. Jackie has the best catch phrase of any animated kid I know: when faced with a difficult problem she snaps: "Make room. I gotta pace." Other points in its favor: the episodes have titles like "Return to Sensible Flats," Inez wears cool Daniel Liebskind eyeglasses and my three-year-old daughter laughs hysterically at everything squawked by the wise-cracking robo-bird Digit (voiced by Gilbert Godfried). But the real reason I love it is that I can actually figure out the math problems. Most of the time. — Jennifer V. Hughes

Thomas and Friends features the adventures of a gang of sentient model trains with creepy frozen facial expressions who live on the Island of Sodor. The Sodor Railway is ruled with an iron fist by a nattily-dressed plutocrat named Sir Topham Hatt, who extols the virtues of hard work, subservience and conformity. The trains have human drivers, who apparently do nothing, because almost every episode ends in a violent collision or derailment, prompting my two-year-old to reliably shout, "oh no!" Episodes are usually packaged as three six-minute segments. My son and I have seen roughly ten thousand of them by now, but we can still sit through most, especially the earlier episodes narrated by George Carlin and Alec Baldwin. Beware if your kid gets hooked, though: the TV show serves as a front for a huge merchandising juggernaut of Thomas toys, videos and clothes. - Matt Wood

Absent parents, funky music, a snack at the end of the day: The Backyardigans has all the elements of preschool TV gold. In this Nick Jr. show, five pals in leafy suburbia share a backyard and use their imaginations, plus a few key costume changes, to go on crazy adventures in the wild West or ancient Egypt. The characters — Pablo the penguin in his little bow tie, Tasha the hippo in her funky red Mary Janes — are goofy and cute. So I almost feel guilty saying I just don't like it. I find the animation a bit cold and sterile and the kids are a tad too sassy. Sure, the music is addictive and I love the range from reggae to rockabilly. But I'm not crazy about the dance numbers (which are actually choreographed and performed by real people, then transformed into animation by the magic of CGI). I mean, watching Uniqua and her friends doing "the running man" in unison? It just doesn't feel right. — Jennifer V. Hughes

Plumbing, carpentry, road work: you name it, Bob the Builder can do it. He's a contractor extraordinaire who does a surprising amount of work in a town that seems like it only has a dozen residents. The typical episode involves Bob — along with his strictly-platonic business partner Wendy and their crew of anthropomorphized construction equipment — scoring a new job from someone in town, usually Mr. Bentley, the building inspector, Farmer Pickles, or Mr. Sabatini, who runs the local pizza parlor and has the corniest Italian accent this side of Super Mario Brothers. It's usually a rush job, but Bob and his crew always overcome supply shortages, accidents, or the comic meddling of Spud, the flamboyant talking scarecrow, to get the job done. The stop-motion animation is a little jerky, but my son loves it. Considering his endless fascination with anything on wheels, it was a natural fit, but throw in some tools and "Ooh, talking dump trucks!" and Bob gets the job done in our house. — Matt Wood

There is something so mesmerizing about this Nick Jr. offering, starting with the "photo-puppetry animation," which is weird in a good way. The plot is cute but not cloying: three classroom pets — Ming Ming the duck, Turtle Tuck and Linny the Guinea pig — rescue animals in danger by answering a tin-can phone. "What's gonna work?" they shout. "Teamwork!" And get this — almost the entire show is sung as an opera. I mean, it's just so kooky, it's perfect. Tuck wears water socks (ha!), while Ming Ming dons an aviator's hat for adventures and quips, "This is se-wious!" at moments of danger. All the pets wear capes (capes = funny!). And kids learn cool animal facts; for example, while saving a baby owl, the pets explain that fireflies flash to talk to each other. The first time my 3-year-old daughter saw the show, she was dashing around with friends when she caught a glimpse of the pets on a mission to help a penguin trapped on an iceberg. She literally stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open. The Wonder Pets just have that kind of effect. — Jennifer V. Hughes

Based on Maurice Sendak's drawings for the classic stories by Else Homelund Minarik, Little Bear stands in marked contrast to most children's cartoons. No fast-paced storylines and bright modern graphics here — the characters are charmingly drawn, the score soft and melodic, and the plots gently paced. Little Bear and his friends never break the fourth wall to invite your kid to sing or clap along; they simply carry out a narrative without the audience-participation conceit that is almost omnipresent in children's television. And frankly, it's a nice, peaceful change from overstimulation. Far from being boring for the lack of bells and whistles, the show's characters are well-developed and the storylines are captivating, built around family relationships, deep friendships and the wild imagination of Little Bear himself. It's always puzzled me that Little Bear runs around naked while his parents dress in full Victorian garb, but the kids are too enthralled by his adventures with his close-knit gang of animal pals and his human friend Emily to notice or care. After a busy day of bouncing off walls, the words "Can we watch Little Bear?" are music to my ears. — Patti Nichols

Dissing a show as earnest as PBS's Dragon Tales seems a little harsh. But worse than Blue's Clues and almost as bad as Barney, Dragon Tales is so relentlessly upbeat that it literally makes my skin crawl. Max and Emmy are 2 oh-so-sweet siblings who venture into Dragon Land, where they learn painfully obvious lessons about kindness and taking turns and bravery. Ord the dragon is the big dopey ninny, afraid of everything. (Although he's my daughter's favorite, because he's "a nice dragon and he can fly and he's blue.") Cassie the dragon is such a POSITIVE FEMALE ROLE MODEL, it makes me wish they had made her a trashy dope. Two-headed dragons Zak and Wheezie are supposed to be funny, but their catch phrase — "looove it!" — is not. Everyone cooperates and loves each other. Rainbows! Sunshine! Ice cream! Unicorns! Fairies! Yay!

Yuck.

I know kids' TV is supposed to be for kids, but c'mon. During one episode, Max complained that he didn't want to take the toy. "I wanted to share," he whined. Yeah, right. If my 3-year-old ever said that, I'd fall over dead. — Jennifer V. Hughes

This offering from the Disney/Baby Einstein Children's Entertainment Industrial Complex is the epitome of the "edutainment" foisted on parents and children today. A little multi-culti band of brainiac kids flies around in their rocket ship, solving problems by means of . . . culture. (Their knowledge of the solar system, their ability to pirouette, that sort of thing.) Each episode features a "guest composer" in the form of six or eight bars of classical music, played over and over to guarantee that, later in the day, you will catch yourself whistling it and wonder why on earth you have Aaron Copland stuck in your head. The "guest artist" likewise manifests him or herself as famous paintings, which are rather cleverly blended into the show's otherwise run-of-the-mill animation.

Naturally, the show encourages interaction; the characters urge viewers to clap, hum, or follow their motions in order to successfully complete whatever mission they're on, and my children happily comply ("Mama? You're supposed to be waving your arms so the rocket can get out of the quicksand."). For all its posturing, the show is essentially The Backyardigans with more pretension. But the kids seem to like it okay, and while I wouldn't want to be trapped for eight hours in a minivan with it, I can't complain about the back-to-back episodes the Disney Channel runs on Saturday mornings — even though I'm wasting valuable coffee-drinking time clapping my hands to help return a missing ring to Saturn. Little Einsteins won't make kids smarter, but it probably won't make them any dumber, either. And just yesterday in the car, one of the girls came up with, "Jupiter's the biggest planet!" out of the blue. She didn't get it from me. — Patti Nichols

There's a lot to love about PBS's Curious George, starting with the urban setting (George lives in a doorman building, natch). There is an oddly soothing narration by William H. Macy. There are lessons, but you don't feel bashed by an educational hammer. Still, I can't shake my lingering anxiety. George does a lot of desperate "ooh-ooh-ah"-ing, screwing up his cute little face with worry as he tries to communicate. Once, George tried to count every star in the sky. He fell asleep. He lost track. My heart pounded as I watched him whining and grunting, trying in vain. Another time, George tried to take home an ice cream cake before it melted. He ended up destroying, like, six cakes in various cataclysmic ways, and at one point I was screaming in my head, "Oh God! No, George! Don't wash the cake! Nooo ..." Of course, my daughter is fascinated by George, impervious to his peril as every self-respecting 3-year-old should be. Maybe I just see George as the symbol of my own little primate and all the dangers that await her in life. — Jennifer V. Hughes

The first time we watch Ellen's Acres, I have to explain to my four-year-old when the story is taking place within Ellen's imagination and when it's "real," because she appears confused by the quick back-and-forth. I briefly have a complaint with the show's format (two segments per episode, each with full credits before and afterward) because it seems to suck up valuable entertainment time, but then my kid expresses delight at getting to watch two shows ! It becomes a bonus feature immediately. On day two, she explains the show's conceit to her two-year-old sister (the confusion was short-lived) and when it's over, they run off to act out what they've watched (this has only happened before with Wonder Pets). On day three, they sing the theme song word for word. I think they like it. And so do I. — Patti Nichols

The nominees for creepiest kids show are in, and the winner is a frenetic little program called LazyTown. Here's the premise: a pink-wigged girl named Stephanie has moved to a town where people prefer to stay inert, but Stephanie likes to move and groove. Incessantly. While singing showtunes. Stephanie is bummed out by the local kids (played by weird plastic puppets whose mouths don't move), who would rather do things like play video games, eat candy or count money instead of actually moving. There's also a superhero in town named Sportacus, who looks like a cross between an aerobics instructor and a Nazi, and a local villain named Robbie Rotten, who lurks around in a striped spandex jumpsuit. Lazytown will get your kid moving, all right — far, far from the TV set. — Barbara Rushkoff

If your little one can't seem to keep his shoes on, you may want to introduce him to Franny's Feet . This wonderfully clever PBS show is about five-and-a-half-year-old Franny, a little girl who likes to try on footwear in her Grandpa's shoe repair shop and then wonders, "Where will my feet take me today...?" Different shoes equal different types of adventures, which take little Franny around the world, doing what kids on PBS shows do: helping people, solving problems and exploring new cultures. After each episode, there is an interactive segment in which Franny speaks directly to the viewer, asking for help with "challenges" based on the show's lessons. Franny's Feet is a great way for kids to virtually walk a mile in someone else's shoes. — Barbara Rushkoff

For fans of Dora the Explorer's cute eight-year-old cousin, Diego, there's good news: his show, which started in September 2005 on Nick, Jr. and ended in September 2006 on CBS, is back on Nick, Jr., as of last month, with twenty new episodes. Like Dora, Diego is a high-energy kid who happens to have an animal buddy hanging around all the time (Diego's pal is the cuddly Baby Jaguar). Also like Dora, Diego is bilingual — and coincidentally, also in the business of rescuing animals. Go, Diego Go! is incredibly informative, with genuine research on each animal to back up every episode (thanks to a science education consultant from the Smithsonian National Zoological Park). Click the Camera, voiced by Rosie Perez, leads Diego to animals in danger. Each show ends with Diego and his sister Alicia discussing the finer points of the animal they saved that week, which might be anything from a humpback whale to a Pygmy marmoset. Clearly, there's still room for a show that teaches kids Spanish and respect for animals, and provides work for Rosie Perez. — Barbara Rushkoff

This show has been a favorite of my daughter's from — well, if I told you, you'd be saying, "you let your daughter watch TV at what age?" Let's just say that Miffy has been around our house a long time. Let's also say that, like the theme song tells us, Miffy is a cute little bunny. The look of this show is lovely: primary colors, slow movements, little sessions of counting and "who has more" sequences. Miffy is kind and gentle and plays with her friends, who are pigs and bears. Like most of kids' television, all the animals play together, but unlike in those other shows, this doesn't feel forced. Miffy is a sweet, unobjectionable show. And if you're still on the fence about letting your toddler watch TV, there is a line of Miffy books (by Frank Bruna) that will do nicely. — Barbara Rushkoff

The show during which I most want to scream kill me is Blue's Clues, which of course has been in re-runs for more than five years and is beloved the world over. Children are untroubled by the fact that the host, a heavily made-up Steve (and in later episodes, Joe), lives in an animated house with talking furniture, food with faces and, ironically, an non-talking dog named Blue. The goal of each day is to play a game called "Blue's Clues," in which the viewer becomes an active participant. Three clues are shown via blue pawprints on surfaces in the house. Steve (or Joe) writes them down in the handy-dandy notebook and that's where your child tries to solve the puzzle.

It's pretty painful watching the ever-so-slowly revealed clues. And watching Steve dance with the neighbor cat Periwinkle or hearing the salt and pepper shakers talk in a French accent about having a baby (Cinnamon, naturally) makes me want to throw the TV through a window. But as much as I want to, I can't hate it. From the show, my daughter has learned about playing well with others, why it's good to eat healthy food, and how to count. I've started to suspect that the more irritating a show is to adults, the better and more enjoyable it is for kids. By that reckoning, on a scale of 1-10, Blue's Clues is a 50. —Barbara Rushkoff

I know Franklin is only an animated turtle on the Noggin network, but man, what a wimp.

Let me clarify. He complains. All the time. In one episode, his friend Bear becomes bus monitor. (All of his friends have names like Snail, Beaver or Rabbit, while Franklin actually has a real name, something he should remember before he bleats yet again about not being special.) Anyway, Bear becomes bus monitor and tickets his friends for various infractions. Franklin then bellyaches that he'd never do anything like that. But the next week, when he's in charge, he gives his best bro Bear a summons for snacking on the bus. Franklin explains in his annoying, high-pitched voice that "he's only doing his jooooob." Um, Franklin, maybe you want your pal Bear to eat cookies, because one day, if he gets smart, you know what? One day he is going to eat you.

Sure, the theme song is catchy, but it's best to just enjoy the opening tune and then shut it off. Works for us. — Barbara Rushkoff

On those mornings when my daughter used to wake up at 5:45, I would thank the lord and his little dog Fred that Boohbah came on at six. Sure, it might be better to watch this trippy show for toddlers while wasted on wine coolers, but once you get over the very white screen (made only brighter by the fact that the sun hasn't come up yet), and the dayglo Boohbahs, the show is pretty awesome. What's not to love about little fluffy creatures that dance around, join hands and fly and make the occasional fart sound?

The show is divided into three main segments: dancing and movement, a show-and-tell portion told with storybook characters (Mr. Man, Mrs. Lady, Brother and Sister, etc.) and a "Look What I Can Do" portion where real kids do things like jump or clap or little jigs that your child can imitate. What's fabulous about the show is that each segment appeals to a different age group, yet all parts are equally interesting. Anne Wood, the creator of the TeleTubbies is behind this, so you know there is a method to the madness. Sure, that's not what you're really thinking about at dawn, but who cares? Your kid will love it and it will give you some time to grab that first cup of coffee. — Barbara Rushkoff

This Noggin show is a big hit at our house. The premise is simple: two puppet kids (Jack and Mary) and their dog Mel (who totally taught my kid to say "dog") play musical instruments in their clubhouse. In between scenes from the day's plot (a music genie drops by, they start a marching band, Mel thinks he's a cat), kids music videos are shown. Before you throw up in your mouth a little at the thought of wonky children's music, let me reassure you. This show, which has a refreshingly non-frenetic pace, is a great introduction to music with repeat phrases and encouragement to interact and dance along. Your child will clap hands, sing, and love every single silly note. Jack's puppet band rip off the Kinks, indie rock and jazz in extremely palatable ways. It's not the Ramones, but it's close. — Barbara Rushkoff

In this abysmally named PBS show, twins Sheira and Loli (rag-top puppets with alarmingly large heads, made by Jim Henson's Creature Shop) "manufacture fun" at their magical Dittydoodle Works studio. With the help of some human friends, they impart lessons in friendship via elaborate musical numbers. There's plenty of winking at you, the parent: In the episode "My Froggy the Prince," Doodles, a purple crayon, confides to the frog-prince that "Purple Rain" is his favorite song. — Kristin Gangwer

In this PBS show about cohabitating peacefully in a tree and looking out on the big world in wonder, a sloth and some of his less-than-attractive pals get into "situations" and then work them out as friends — friends who by nature should be eating each other, but friends nonetheless. The star of the show is a sloth on acid. His name is Snook and he always seems stoned. "Heeeyyyyy," he says, like the one guy at the bar who after ordering twenty beers conveniently remembers he forgot, like, his wallet. The characters are all really disturbing. I keep waiting for the monkey named Oko to devour the character called Burdette, who is a little too, how shall I put this, hideous. Madge, the librarian turtle, obviously has a skin condition. The anteater? Fugly. Or maybe it's the hi-def. Anyway, the show is hard to watch. And of course my daughter loves it. — Barbara Rushkoff