Okay, this one snuck up on me and has now been bothering me for a number of years. Television has become more “interactive” recently. I guess it’s probably in response to complaints about a more sedentary, passive viewing public, or the rising rate of obesity in children. I understand all that, but I get annoyed and defensive every time Dora or Diego or Handy Manny or whoever the hero is asks for the viewer’s help with the task at hand.
Those of you familiar with modern-day cartoons know what I’m talking about. It’s the moment when Dora looks into the camera with her big, vacant, shark-like eyes and says, “Will YOU help us find the snowy mountain?”
At first, I would nudge my son, saying, “Come on. Say yes. Tell Dora you’ll help her.” Even as a baby Diego would look at me quizzically, before complying and answering that he would help Dora, much to my, and my wife’s, giggling delight.
Eventually, however, the practice has worn on me. Maybe it is more educational, and everything, but I find myself thinking, “Come on, Dora, if you want to take your mangy monkey to the top of the snowy mountain so badly, just do it. Why do you need my help? I didn’t tell you to go to the snowy mountain, or anywhere else, for that matter."
Back in my day, it was all about Bugs Bunny. My brother and I watched him religiously, and as recently as last month, we recited one of his more famous interactions verbatim. I’ve got a few key BB scenes committed to memory, and I’m not sure I would if he’d been asking me for help all the time. Imagine it – Bugs Bunny looking at you, chomping on his carrot, and saying, “Say, uh, Doc. How’d you like to help me pull a fast one on Daffy?” That wasn’t Bugs’s style. Instead, we watched carefully to see what he would do to outwit his opponents – even when we’d seen the episode so many times, we could recite it by heart.
It doesn’t stop at children’s television, either. I used to be able to watch the news, for example, without being asked to text in my opinion in a real-time poll. Of course, the texting in of responses makes a profit for someone, though I’m not sure who. Now it’s out of control. Walter Cronkite never asked me to call in and tell him whether I agreed with what he was saying or not. He was the authority, damn it. Why would he want to know what I had to say about anything?
Okay, so I suppose if I “presume positive intent,” as is my tendency, I could accept the fact that maybe they’re trying to make television a more active, democratic experience by bringing the viewer into the program in these different ways. Maybe I’m just an endangered species about to go extinct – I’m a Couch Potatosaurus.
Still, though, I have to say it again: Bugs never asked me to figure out his problems for him, and yet he always saw his way out of them. He also happened to be hilarious in a way that Dora and her cousin just aren’t.
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