In the Night Garden

Channel: CBeebies

Running Time:  30 minutes, somehow

Date: 2007- present

Not a metaphor for death.

Premise: God knows. We begin with a night sky, a different child each episode being lulled to sleep by his/her parent's finger circling their hand, and Derek Jacobi narrating the tale of a 'little boat, no bigger than your hand,/ Out on the ocean far away from land'. Then a cut to IgglePiggle in his small wooden boat, taking down his sail/blanket, and drifting off to sleep. The night sky's stars become flowers, which bloom, and reveal IgglePiggle meeting his friends in the Night Garden, which looks like a National Trust park viewed through the eyes of what people who haven't taken LSD imagine a trip consists of.

The Night Garden is a kind of enchanted forest, where IgglePiggle's friends all live. There is the hyperactive, dancing Upsy Daisy; the miniature Trumpton/Chigwell-esque Pontipines (8 children no less); the often-trouserless Tombliboo triplets; the pointless, slow, enormous beachbally Haa-Hoos; and my personal favourite: Makka-Pakka, a tubby little creature with a little bit of OCD for collecting stones and washing things. They ride on the Ninky-Nonk (a kind of train) and the Pinky-Ponk (a zeppelin), which are often involved in non-fatal crashes. At the episode's conclusion, all the protagonists go to sleep, except IgglePiggle, who we see asleep in his boat, in a satisfying frame narrative.

Whether IgglePiggle has died and is crossing Hades into the afterlife, reuniting with his friends from life; whether it is a surrealist orgy of sex and death;  or simply a nice bit of imagery for the under-3s, with no duplicitous meaning whatsoever, is unclear. Are we in the dream of the child or the dream of IgglePiggle? Is the cut from the child to Igglepiggle a suggestion that the silent blue biped, who squeaks, jingles his bell, and carries his red comfort blanket, is our spirit animal of childhood? Is there a little bit of IgglePiggle in all of us? (stop giggling at the back).

Whatever the answer, it's a smash: a proper classic piece of children's TV. Nice one CBeebies.  

Background:

If you think there are few little similarities with Teletubbies, that's because Andrew Davenport is the creator of both; In the Night Garden, the later project, was born in 2007. Upsy Daisy (Rebecca Hyland) has also been Laa-Laa since 2015, and Dipsy and IgglePiggle are both 'interpreted' by the same person, the wonderfully named Nick Chee Ping Kellington.

Davenport's long-time collaborator Anne Wood had this to say about their rationale behind the show : " We wanted to explore the difference between being asleep and being awake from a child's point of view: the difference between closing your eyes and pretending to be asleep and closing your eyes and sleeping".  Where the Haa-Hoos come into this is anyone's guess.

The Haahoos: Deflate, and do not resuscitate.

The show has gone from strength to strength; a live show, to be witnessed by Mr Blog, Mrs Blog and Toddle Blog in July, has toured the UK every year since 2010, and the merch makes, shall we say, 'great commerical sense', and gives you money back from your licence fee. And a lot of money for a lot of your licence fee: the BBC ploughed nearly £15m into the show's 100 episodes. One engineer told the Observer's Harriet Lane that they once spent 100 hours editing a sequence that lasted 16 seconds. Apparently one of the most difficult technical challenges is sending the Tombliboos' trousers all around the Garden. ('What did you do at work today, dear? What, still?')

As with the Teletubbies, Night Garden provokes some very polarised opinions, but mostly on the part of the parents. Children, mine included, just love it. Andrew Davenport has a lovely anecdote about how he loved to go to bed at his grandma's house, as he associated the normal bedtime routine at home with grouchiness, and tantrums, whereas his grandma's house represented peace, love and wonder. He aimed to replicate this in the Night Garden: "  It seemed the right thing to do, to make a calming programme that would capture the atmosphere that I remembered, that sense of peace and security, warmth, the moments of silliness that you share with whoever's reading you the story." Arise, Sir Davenport.

Entertainment:

You can probably tell by now that I'm a big fan. I could explore the finer technical, narrative and symbolic nuances, but I'm sure they'd be lost on you. The show is a success largely because of its mixture of comfort and chaos: you always know there will be a Ninky-Nonk and/or a Pinky-Ponk, you know there will always be a still animation plenary, you know every character will introduce themselves with a song and dance that never changes. But when the Ninky-Nonk has had enough of horizontal travel, it will drive up the trunks of the trees, and twist around the branches - essentially, exactly how I just-about-remember brumming my toy cars up the sides of the sofa and on the underside of my desk. When the Tombliboos feel the need, their trousers just fly off, in scenes which are clearly a subtle homage to the anarchy of the Carry On films. When the Ball (just a random ball) gets tired, Upsy Daisy will put it to sleep in her bed. A bed which is on wheels, by the way - it's a bit like Herbie, but easier to sleep in than a Beetle.

Carry On Tomblibooing

There is something soothing about the repetitive patterns - the tropical birds (the Tittifers - yes, I know...) who serve as musical interludes to the action, and signal the beginning of the wind-down;  the bedtime routines of each character; IgglePiggle's inability to get to bed on time each evening; the zoom out from the garden, where the lights merge seamlessly into the constellations of the night sky over IgglePiggle's boat; and the beautiful, beautiful music, which makes it a slight shame there isn't a repeat for parents at around 9:45, just in time for our upstairsy time. Ultimately I am more entertained by my boy watching this than I am by the show, but that's as it should be.

Ratings:

Sex: Surprisingly high. The Tombliboos are obviously trouserless for large sections of the show; Upsy Daisy and IgglePiggle clearly have some chemistry, and are keen to exchange lip-kisses regularly. IgglePiggle sometimes ends up in Upsy Daisy's bed, no less, but in defence of her reputation, she is never in there at the same time, and she is never less than vexed when she finds out. Also, the Pontipines and Wottinger parents have had 16 kids between them. There's something in that Pinky-Ponk juice. 8/10

IgglePiggle takes a special interest in Upsy Daisy's bed. Again.

Music: The opening and closing themes are perfectly judged - none of the bombastic pomp of Teletubbies, broadway inspired 'Furchester Hotel' or ostentatious disco of Go-Jetters, but well-judged for the bedtime hour. The characters' personal songs are idiosyncratic enough to not get hugely irritating, and the gazebo dance (in many, but not all, episodes) is a nice lesson in crescendo, in the way Michael Jackson's 'Don't Stop Til You Get Enough' and Daft Punk's 'Da Funk' are. My current favourite is the Tombliboo teeth-brushing song, which has some excellent drum and piano work, which Scott Joplin fans will appreciate. The fact that the Tombliboos don't actually have teeth is irrelevant.  9/10

Plausibility: This is either the most realistic interpretation of a dream, or childhood imagination, that could exist, or a fantasy land where children are encouraged to believe in personified beach balls and stone-hugging troglodytes. The Ninky-Nonk and Pinky-Ponk are inconsistently sized, Social Services never seem to get involved when the Pontipine children keep going missing, and the idea that Makka-Pakka is comfortable sleeping on that rock is frankly ludicrous. However, there are no wild claims of verisimilitude from the programme makers, and it should be viewed through this prism. The fact that you would quite like the world to be more like the Night Garden is enough reason to invest as much belief in its existence as you can.  1/10 or 10/10, delete according to preference/ amount of soul you possess.

Don't tell the Daily Mail.

Education: My favourite thing about Seinfeld is not the writing team's mantra: 'No hugging, no learning'. My favourite thing about Seinfeld is obviously Elaine. But that mantra is a close second; it's why it has aged so much better than Friends. In the Night Garden does have hugging - IgglePiggle and Upsy Daisy can't help themselves - but the almost deliberate attempt to avoid a moral 'lesson' is comforting in this world of 'Bing' and the sanctimonious Octonauts. The closest we get to moral judgement is Jacobi's 'Isn't that a pip?!' exclamatory question, when things have just gone a little bit crazy. It means nothing, and that is particularly welcome at the end of a long day with a toddler. 2/10

Overall:  You can sense where I'm heading with this. In the Night Garden is in the league of children's TV royalty alongside Thomas the Tank Engine, the Clangers, Bagpuss, Dangermouse, Teletubbies, Blue Peter, and Sooty; I'm sorry to those I've left out who are obvious additions to that hall of fame. The sad thing is that it might not even be remembered by those who appreciate it the most: for the under 3s, they will perhaps grow out of it before their long-term memory is developed, but they owe more to it than they ever realise. As a parent, I can only stand back and applaud something that brings such uncomplicated joy to my Little.  9.5/10

Postman Pat SDS

Channel: CBeebies

Running Time: 15 minutes

Date: 2008- present

The original Postman Pat and Jess, back in the 1980s when you were a child, and nothing bad ever happened.

 Premise: Postman Pat has somehow been promoted, which would be outrageous, but when this spin-off first aired in 2008, Barack Obama was about to become president, and there was the sense that generally people got the jobs they were qualified for. Two years later, David Cameron became Prime Minister, and Postman Pat's rapid succession perhaps serves as a foreshadowing of the horrors of promoting incompetent ham-faced charlatans beyond their ability level.

Each episode, Pat is seemingly allowed to abandon his daily rounds, and scoot off to the nearby town of Pancaster to collect a 'Special Delivery', at the beck and call of the enigmatic 'Ben', possibly named after Ben Fogle, whom he resembles. Despite strict privacy laws, Ben and Pat are apparently allowed to open, examine, and sometimes play with the items that Pat is supposed to deliver.

Ben: Keeps breaking privacy laws.

Because children are supposedly too immature to appreciate the finer points of professional, efficient postal delivery, Pat is allowed to spend an entire day delivering one item, in one of his five  vehicles: aeroplane, helicopter, motorbike/sidecar, 4x4 jeep, and his regular van. He's really taking the 'Green' out of 'Greendale'. This is why they had to hike the price of stamps a couple of years ago.

Chuck in your regular supporting cast, who are really pushing the accents past 'unlikely' to 'really quite offensively poor', and some children who speak exclusively nasally, and you have Postman Pat SDS. 

Background: You all loved Postman Pat when you were children. Some of you, such as my friend Nick, had the soundtrack on vinyl, which was then added to the collection alongside Armand Van Helden and Paul Van Dyk in the late 90s, alongside a heavy dose of millennial irony. But in the same way that Hollywood is now only sequels and superheroes, someone at the BBC decided that the old episodes weren't enough for the new generation of pre-schoolers, who famously demand more 'pizzazz' from their postal distribution-based stop-motion animation. To avoid looking out of touch in a world where most of your post comes from Amazon, packaged by zero-hours minimum wage slaves, and is delivered in the middle of the day when everyone is at work, this spin-off was commissioned.

Postman Pat updated for the 21st century: on course to be history's most appalling century.

You're all wracking your brains trying to remember the episode where Postman Pat was mistaken for a member of the Japanese organised crime group the Yakuza, aren't you? Well, in 1994 Postman Pat was given an extra finger to bring him up to 5 digits, in a bid to avoid scaring Japanese children. The members of the Yakuza apparently cut off one finger in order to show their dedication and trustworthiness, and it was genuinely believed that Japanese children would mistake Postman Pat for a gangster. Just re-read that sentence again, and let it sink in. Bob the Builder went through the same process in the year 2000. We have lived through a digital revolution in more ways than one.

Entertainment: It has an unmistakable feel of the 'focus group' about it. You can visualise some suit at the BBC, presumably the person who also ruined Thomas the Tank Engine, walking round a meeting room asking the writers to make Pat 'more relevant'. Hence the rural idyll of Greendale has to share the Pat Map with the much more cosmopolitan 'Pancaster' , where presumably the aforementioned 'Ben' has a 'luxury flat', goes to wine bars, and buys his frappucinos from Cafe Nero. The set up - Pat is supposed to deliver post, makes a bollix of it - is much the same as in the original Postman Pat episodes from the 1980s, but with a bit more of a nod towards technology. For instance, we get a Loch Ness Monster Locator, delivered to Scotland in the middle of the day, by plane, to Mrs Goggins, who clearly cannot afford the delivery costs on her salary.

Celebrity culture has also hit, with popstar 'Brad Lee' making an appearance in season three: a bad boy with all the danger of a plasticine Jonas Brother; perhaps as a nod to the success of Downton Abbey we also see a cameo from the Duchess of Pencaster. Although I haven't seen it yet, there is an episode featuring a character called 'Sean McGuiness'. I get the feeling I know where he's going to be from. It is quite easy to picture the voice cast all putting up their hands to tell teacher what accent they can do - or, by the sounds of some of them, which ones they'll have a go at.

I can't remember the children of Greendale having so much airtime in the 1980s episodes, which might be a trick of the memory, but perhaps one based in my hatred of these whinging little gits. They all speak through their nose, and they appear to have got their pathetic inability to respond to setbacks from Bing the Bunny.

No-one ever watched Postman Pat for the children. No one watched it wishing Pat had a 4x4. No one wanted to see D-grade celebrities in Greendale.

It was supposed to be all about the post.

Ratings:

Sex: Not a sniff. Despite the opportunities for a postal delivery worker to witness things he really shouldn't (see the Speed 3 episode of Father Ted), 'Confessions of a Stop-Motion Postal Operative' it ain't. This is very much safe for work. And your pre-school child. 1/10

Music: They have retained the spirit of the original theme song, with a couple of nods to the 21st century with some slightly slicker synthesisers, and a disconcerting replacement of the 'letters' from 'letters to your door' with 'parcels', which always puts me off my stride. Some stupid nonsense pop songs about inclusion and fun have replaced classic declarative statement songs like 'Jess is His Cat'. Like almost everything from your childhood, apart from Margaret Thatcher, it was better in the 1980s. 4/10

Plausibility: Depends on your outlook. If you believe that the public sector is a bloated, inefficient, uncompetitive, stagnant waste of space, then you will be gullible enough to believe that the amount of tax pounds (always sounds worse than dollars, and they're nearly worth as much now) required to keep Pat's fleet of unnecessary vehicles running is a realistic portrayal of public sector waste. You never engage with public services anyway because you are too rich to care. Your name might be Alan Duncan, Jacob Rees-Mogg, Peter Bone or Philip Davies, and you can do one.

The price of 1st class stamps increased 100% from 2006 to 2016. Guess why.

However, if you actually work in or have dealt with the public sector in any way, then you will see Pat's luxury is the product of lazy writing, and the commercial department rubbing their thighs at the chance to release some new toys. However, the increased effort to make Greendale a bit more racially diverse is welcome, and probably annoys those aforementioned Tory arses, so that rescues some marks. 5/10

Education: Not a huge amount on offer, which is annoying, given its classic status in children's TV. Even the school scenes are short on content, largely to do with the fact that everything they need for their lessons is only being delivered that day by Pat. A bit of a return to silent writing and reading would be a refreshing step in Greendale Comprehensive (though it's probably Greendale Academy: A Performing Arts College by now). Doesn't teach you much about life, or the post. 2/10

Overall: There is an episode of The Simpsons where they attempt to revive Itchy and Scratchy through focus groups and network executives, and come up with Poochie the Dog, which fails, for those exact reasons. Ivor Wood, the original creator, died in 2004, and I like to think he would have said 'bugger off' to anyone who said they could improve Pat. Either that, or he's a dead-eyed capitalist who specifically requested in his will that this particular cow be cashed, without checking the quality of the milk first. 5/10