Elmo. Mention his name to anyone with young children and they'll tell you that they see the red ball of fur in their nightmares. Their kids, however, can't get enough of Sesame Street's most popular character. Videos he stars in are among the highest-selling DVDs around, and every plush incarnation of him (the most current version being the intensely irritating Hokey-Pokey Elmo) becomes the most in-demand holiday present for that particular year.
Single aunts and uncles can't stand the little bastard. When they visit or baby-sit their friends' and relatives' children, all they do for the next three hours is sing along with the theme to "Elmo's World", listen to his high-pitched baby talk, and watch the kid stare transfixed at the bright colors and squeaky voices. It almost makes a Gen X'er wish that Sesame Street was finally put out to pasture and replaced with something less annoying, like another episode of Boobah.
It never used to be like this. Any person over the age of twenty-five can tell you that Sesame Street, before the ascent of Elmo, was a show that they loved and their parents could watch without having to tape open their eyelids, Clockwork Orange-style, to stay interested. Yes, there were bright colors, funny voices, and repetitive sing-a-longs. But Jim Henson and his cohorts in Muppetry included something that many children's shows at the time did not have: intelligence. They never talked down to the kids they were trying to reach.
When Kermit, Ernie and Bert, Grover, Cookie Monster, etc. performed in a skit, they used adult diction and adult words. The writers felt they could get through to the kids with humor and goodwill, and that the parents could explain whatever was said that the little ones couldn't understand. Of course, the parents were there to explain things because the multi-level humor kept the parents engaged instead of tuned-out.
The merchandise followed the same pattern. I remember listening to an album called "Bert & Ernie Sing-A-Long", which took place in B&E's bathroom, as Bert attempts to take a bath. Ernie pops in and sings, then invites everyone short of Snufflelupagus to cram into the bathroom for a sing-along. The comment I'll never forget came from Gordon, who walked into the bathroom and said, "Hey, the acoustics are great in here!" Even though I was taking Advanced Placement Coloring in my kindergarten class at the time, I still didn't know what the word "acoustics" meant. Luckily, my mom had enough faith that I could wrap my mind around the concept to tell me that the word meant "how good or bad music sounds in a room." I felt happy that I learned a new word, and satisfied that I was the only five-year-old in my school who knew what acoustics were. If that's not education, I don't know what is. And not one voice was talking to me as if I was a child.
It was with this anticipation that I sat down to watch Sesame Street Presents: The Street We Live On, a kick-off to the show's year-long 35th anniversary celebration. Not only did I want to see what the Street looked like at the very beginning (since I'm 32, I only got to see fleeting glimpses of those early episodes), I also wanted to relive some of the scenes and songs that made me happy as a kid. Muppet News Flashes, Ernie singing "Rubber Duckie", and Guy Smiley's silly game shows were among what I expected to see. However, all I got was Elmo, Elmo, and more Elmo. Elmo with his fishie. Elmo with Bill Irwin, one of the Mr. Noodles (the special was taped after the other Mr. Noodle, Michael Jeter, passed away). Elmo with the Count. Elmo with Super Grover. More baby talk, more squeaking. It was enough to make me throw the remote at the television.
It was if the characters that had built the Sesame Street franchise over the last thirty-five years were just there to serve as Elmo's supporting cast. I almost expected Big Bird to come into Elmo's little house, feed the fish, check the gas meter, and leave.
Granted, there were glimpses of the past, but only glimpses. An old Ernie sing-along about sleep gave me a laugh when Ernie's counting sheep picked up a surly Bert in his bed and carried him outside. Grover takes Elmo in a taxi to the past, where we see glimpses of the late Mr. Hooper, Luis and Maria's wedding, the birth of their daughter, and the adoption of Susan and Gordon's son. Some of the old films that counted to the number of the day, 10, and talked about the letter of the day, C, brought back memories. We got to hear an operatic Egyptian (but strangely Cookie Monster-free) rendition of "C is for Cookie." But those scenes paled in comparison the constant visions of the monster that Oscar the Grouch called "the little red menace."
It's understandable why the special was constructed this way. At eight o' clock on a Sunday night, the special was on early enough to be seen by the Street's target audience, which, according to the Sesame Workshop, is now aged two to four. Because of this, they structured the special like a normal episode. The kids expect to see Elmo, and they expect to see "Elmo's World". In an effort to show the kids of today what "Sesame Street" was like before their parents were born, they needed to use a character that would keep the their attention. Unfortunately for the show's adult fans, that just happens to be the only character on TV that makes Barney look sophisticated.
Let's hope that the good people at the Sesame Workshop decide to create a retrospective special that the parents can enjoy. In that special, they should show everything that made the show memorable without depending on using the newer characters, including Elmo, to keep continuity. If they're afraid of freaking the little ones out, they should only air the special after 9 P.M. (Imagine. A Sesame Street special that's unsuitable for Family Hour. I wonder if it can be blocked by the V-chip). This way, old farts can relive their childhoods and keep the insulin at the pharmacy where it belongs.
And it would allow the adults to sing about the virtues of rubber duckies, cookies, and trash without getting strange looks from the kids, which is always nice.
