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“We operate on the conviction that (our audience) is
composed of young children of potentially good taste, and that this
taste should be developed.” –
Bob Keeshan (Captain Kangaroo)
That’s a great and hopeful quote. It makes you wonder
about the convictions of the children’s entertainment barons of
today, aside from the usual felonies and misdemeanors of course.
After years of observing popular culture as a father and
a columnist, I believe film critic Michael Medved came close to the
truth in his book “Hollywood Hates America” but didn’t go far
enough. The full reality is that the entertainment industry hates
children, or cares so little it’s hard to tell the difference.
It’s not a matter of style, though I doubt much
youth-oriented fare would meet Keeshan’s definition of good taste.
I’m not defending the “Turn that noise off!” school of criticism,
having heard enough of it in my youth. For instance I suspect most
parents could suffer rap if there were no more to it than the
numbing staccato drone. Heck, most can even tolerate the occasional
heavy metal sound blizzard, though the phrase “head banging”
probably originated when some poor parent tried to beat the
resulting buzz out of his or her tortured skull.
The real problem is the message, not the medium. Trash
targeted to teens is not new, but the industry continues to aim
younger and younger. Britney Spears went from a pert 11-year-old
Mouseketeer to camp, then tramp, and finally, a total moral
meltdown. People who wouldn’t recognize her music if it made their
ears bleed know of her televised French kiss with Madonna and boozy
55-hour marriage, which would be bad enough if she had an adult
audience.
Unfortunately her fans are still largely pre-teen and
young teenage girls, whose parents apparently haven’t noticed
Spears’ five-year striptease. Her fans have, and match her inch for
inch in baring their midriffs and just about everything else.
Last year’s “Dr. Seuss’ The Cat in the Hat” movie, a hit
with the 10 and under crowd, carried a PG rating earned by such
artistic touches as a turn by Internet porn icon Paris Hilton, a
centerfold sight gag, and dialog that included witticisms like ‘You
dirty ho!’”
Dr. Seuss was almost as big a part of my childhood as
Captain Kangaroo but I must have slept through that particular
bedtime story. Or maybe the Whos became hos sometime after I
graduated to “The Hardy Boys.”
There is a reason Abercrombie & Fitch thought it could
get away with marketing thong underwear to 7-year-olds. Aside from
the general decline in standards, it wasn’t long ago that the
average 7-year-old had no idea what kind of underwear other people
wore. They do now, courtesy of legions of Spears dress-alikes and
uplifting radio hits like “The Thong Song.”
We have reached the point that childhood has little
value unless it rings a cash register. You can only get so rich
selling toys and sing-along records; the big money is in turning
children into what’s come to pass as adults. Then you can peddle
them high dollar entertainment, concert tickets, pricey fashions,
and anything else that might serve as a substitute for fulfillment.
I read a lot of obituaries after Bob Keeshan passed away
January 22. His was a full life, immersed in children’s
entertainment and education until nearly the end. Of all the
accomplishments and accolades, however, there was nothing that led
me to believe he was a particularly wealthy man, at least not in a
material sense.
His goals were higher, and we can only hope for more
like him.
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