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T A B L E__T A L K

Are men's magazine's now mirroring women's? Discuss the appearance of diet and sex tips in male glossies in the Media area of Table Talk

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R E C E N T L Y

Radio omm
By David Futrelle
All Deepak, all the time: Positive Thinking Radio is here!
(04/08/98)

Bertelsmann's online blitzkrieg
By Geoff Shandler
The real reason the German giant bought Random is Web marketing -- and that's bad news for independent bookstores
(04/07/98)

"From Jesus to Christ"
By Jenn Shreve
A new Frontline series explores the historical reality of Jesus and his times
(04/06/98)

He knows what you've been reading
By Laura Miller
Novelist Nicholson Baker and booksellers attack Kenneth Starr as a "stalker"
(04/03/98)

Tubbythumping
By Joyce Millman
Let the Teletubbies bashing begin
(04/03/98)

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BROWSE THE
MEDIA CIRCUS
ARCHIVES

barney alert_________
___________W A R N I N G : THIS MOVIE IS DANGEROUS.

BY ANDREW LEONARD
For the first two-thirds of "Barney's Great Adventure," I amused myself by concocting an over-intellectualized critique detailing the threat Barney poses to civilized society. It was an act of desperation. Sitting in an audience packed with entranced 4-year-olds, I couldn't deny that Barney, the movie, is an effective entertainment product for the preschool generation. With great sets, lavish production numbers and even a cameo by Cirque du Soleil, there's no doubt in this parent's mind that had my own 3-year-old been present, she would have given the film at least two thumbs up.

Still, I knew in my heart something was amiss. And at first, I assumed my own massive lack of interest in the purple dinosaur hinted at the answer. Barney offers nothing remotely interesting for the adult mind -- not a single sop of irony or genuine wit. Unlike, say, "Sesame Street," or even Disney's new offering, "Bear in the Big Blue House," Barney seems purposefully devoid of sophistication. As a consequence, a Barney video product is not fun for the whole family. Barney is a baby sitter, a diversionary tool for parents desperate to occupy their children's attention while they're off doing something else, preferably out of earshot.

This Barney-induced rift between parents and their children, I realized, as I watched Barney sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and lead a rousing rendition of "If You're Happy and You Know It Clap Your Hands," symbolizes the disappearance of any pop cultural common ground between generations. Barney is splitting us asunder, undermining the very structure of the family unit.

It seemed like a good enough critical hook to me, and I was well on my way to working out the entire thesis before the 75-minute film finished. Then came the climactic scene of the movie, and in a fit of disgust, I threw away my notes. There was no longer any need for a carefully constructed critique. "Barney's Great Adventure" is no symbol, or even symptom -- it is the disease. Barney, the movie, is pure evil -- a smart missile delivery system for a brand new toy, skillfully designed to slip right beneath protective parental radar. Parents beware. This movie will cost you money.

Normally I don't believe in giving away crucial plot points, but in this case I'm confident I'm performing a public service. I'm also secure in the knowledge that few 3-year-olds know how to read. Any parents desirous of protecting the mystery that is Barney, the movie, should cease reading now.

The central gimmick of "Barney's Great Adventure" is a search-and-rescue mission for a magic egg from outer space. This is the cause of much lighthearted madness and hi-jinks, as Barney's young human acolytes race though a series of high-production-value sets that are unlike anything heretofore seen in the Barney universe. Think Indiana Jones meets Pee-wee Herman, and then subtract all the jokes.

After much ado, including the transformation of the alienated 9-year-old Cody into a devout Barney drone (to me the most tragic sequence in the film, although its import appeared to be lost on the target audience), the egg is rescued.

It begins to wobble. You can feel the tension in the theater. It's a moment of great drama. Mesmerized children hang on every crack and shudder of the multicolored ovoid. Even I paid attention. Then out pops "Twinken," a disturbingly cute, furry little alien beastie that looks exactly like what one might imagine an Ewok from "Star Wars" would look like if it had been designed according to the dictates of a kindergarten focus group.

The 12-inch Twinken "plush" retails for only $14.99. And that's just the first of a series of Twinken spin-offs. No doubt Twinken will soon have its own PBS special. Hurry, while supplies last! If your child sees this movie, he or she will require a near instantaneous Twinken fix. Withdrawal won't be pretty.

Sure, "Barney's Great Adventure" isn't the first movie designed to push product. No parent could possibly forget the marketing mastery of Disney's "Toy Story," for example. But "Toy Story" delivered genuine entertainment value for both adults and children. "Toy Story" could be experienced as a family event -- and thus give parents a chance to ward off, or at least channel, the commodity-obsessive behavior the film was bound to incite. At the very least, it was about as upfront and honest in its intentions as a Disney movie can be.

"Barney's Great Adventure" gives parents no chance -- it's the most dishonest discharge of pop cultural dreck in memory. It's a stealth bomber, a fifth column operation proceeding under the cloak of Barney darkness. Those parents who successfully avoid taking their children to the theater are most at risk. Sooner or later, their child will be exposed to the imminent video release. Since no parent will ever willingly watch the entire video, they'll never know what hit 'em. They'll have no clue as to how their children suddenly became brainwashed, transformed into Twinken-crazed maniacs.

To call Barney, as the movie's production notes do, "quality educational video entertainment" is worse than disingenuous. It's an insult to parents anywhere and a crime against preschool nature. It must be stopped.
SALON | April 9, 1998