Move over Succession. Last month, another acclaimed family drama about a charismatic father’s towering influence over the lives of his kids became the most streamed acquired series on American television, leaving the Roy dynasty in the dust. I’m referring to Bluey, the Australian-made children’s cartoon about a family of dogs living in Brisbane.
Such is Bluey’s popularity that Americans watched 737mn minutes of the series over one week in April. But the numbers do not capture the show’s cultural dominance. Over the past few years, the Bluey discourse has permeated the lives of parents everywhere. News stories are written about its storylines being censored; psychologists explain how to read the show as a parenting manual; a dedicated podcast dissects each episode; anxious dads fret about how to live up to the example set by Bandit — a bluff, overworked and under-rested softie, who seems to have infinite time to play with his kids.
Fans of the gentle parenting movement praise its portrayal of a mum and dad who listen to their children and validate their feelings. Sceptics of such mollycoddling applaud the no-nonsense life lessons dealt out to six-year-old Bluey and her little sister, Bingo. Yet I suspect there is a simpler reason for the show’s success: parents love watching Bluey. If there is such a thing as prestige TV for preschoolers, then this is it.
Among the many small indignities of a day spent caring for a young child, the horror of kids’ television looms large. This is particularly true if, like me, you are an indolent parent who allows limitless screen time in exchange for a modicum of personal freedom. Each day, from 3pm until dinner time, my toddler sways in front of the screen, demanding show after show like a drunk at the jukebox.
The result is a punishing schedule of drivel. Leaving aside the smug platitudes of Peppa Pig or the hellish merchandising vortex that is Paw Patrol, so much of children’s television seems designed to numb the viewer into submission. (Could you not just switch off the TV and take your kids outside, you ask? Yes, of course. Or you could persuade them to watch Bluey.)
In this sea of dross, Bluey is a life raft — a reminder that there is intelligent life beyond the living room floor. Its story arcs display genuine creative ambition. Years pass by in one seven-minute episode, “Camping”. Another, “Bin Night”, is a series of vignettes spread over many months. “Takeaway” takes place on the street outside a Chinese restaurant while Bandit and the kids await their order of spring rolls. There are episodes with no dialogue at all (“Rain”) and Holstian dreamscapes set in outer space (“Sleepytime”). One of my favourites is “Markets”, a wry lesson on the principle of capital flows that follows the five dollar bill Bluey gets from the tooth fairy around a local fair. Visually, it is a more romantic relative of The Simpsons, with soft Queensland landscapes providing the backdrops to the goggle-eyed canines.
But perhaps the show’s greatest triumph is that it eschews the tired old format of a few minutes of bland moralising spiked with some knowing gags for the grown-ups. Instead, creator Joe Brumm has said his aim was to create a show that allowed for “genuine co-viewing, where two generations weren’t laughing at each other’s exclusion, but seeing how each generation sees each other . . . let’s get four-year-olds and 40-year-olds watching together.”
Bluey’s brilliance is that it refuses to segregate the adult world of mortgages and mealtimes from childish fantasies about pixies and magic vegetables. It depicts childhood, accurately, as an experience shared by parents and kids. In that regard, it is the first truly multigenerational kids TV show. I only hope my toddler will come to understand that soon.
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