National Post (National Edition)
CANADA’S CAILLOU PROBLEM
HOPPER: WHY THE WIDELY REVILED CANADIAN CHILDREN’S PROGRAM SHOULD SHAME US ALL.
HE IS THE VERY DEFINITION OF A BAD INFLUENCE.
For a country that obsesses about its international reputation, Canada is strangely tolerant of an institution that garners us new foreign enemies every day.
I’m talking, of course, about Caillou, quite possibly the world’s most universally reviled children’s program.
Produced in Canada and inspired by a Quebec children’s book series, Caillou attracts a stunning level of animosity for a series about the relatively uncontroversial daily life of a fouryear-old boy.
There are “I hate Caillou” Facebook pages. Dozens of parenting blogs have documented the phenomenon of parental loathing for the show. And a simple Google search for “caillou hate” turns up more than 400,000 results.
The reviews are similarly dismal. On IMDB, the series has a pitiful 4.3 stars out of 10. On TV.com, it also scores an F with a 4.8/10 rating.
Change.org, meanwhile, features no fewer than three petitions begging for the show to be pulled off the air.
The crux of most Caillou complaints is that the title character has an almost supernatural ability to reach through the television and turn the show’s young viewers into shrill monsters.
“Children who watch this program tend to copy Caillou’s behaviour: whining, demanding, throwing (themselves) on the floor kicking and screaming,” writes a Michigan mother on the petition “Remove ‘Caillou’ from the air.”
The reason for this is simple: Caillou is a shameless whiner.
Virtually every episode of the show focuses on Caillou whining his way through a mundane task without reprimand or consequence. For lengthy segments, in fact, whining can constitute Caillou’s only interaction with the surrounding world.
When Caillou causes his friend Leo to break his toe and be taken away to the doctor, Caillou’s response is to mope around the house, annoyed that he has to play alone.
“Caillou was disappointed that he wasn’t going to be able to play with Leo,” says a sympathetic narrator.
Caillou goes into a room that’s dark? “It’s dark in here, daddy.” He touches some snow with his ungloved hands? “My hands are cold.” He hears that his grandpa had celebrated his birthday the week before? “I didn’t go to his birthday party.” A friend wins a ribbon in a contest? “I wish I could win a ribbon.”
The show’s scripts are also littered with whiny standards like “mommyyy” and “heeyyyyyy.” These phrases are like catnip to young human minds, which is why parents report that after only a few minutes of Caillou exposure, they are often permanently lodged in their children’s lexicon.
“He is the very definition of a bad influence,” reads one of the kinder IMDB reviews of the show.
Caillou’s commitment to brattiness is so total, in fact, that it’s included in the theme song.
“Growing up is not so tough, except when I’ve had enough,” Caillou sings over a clip of himself having a tantrum.
Most infuriating is that Caillou receives no pushback for his behaviour. Every adult in the show, from Caillou’s parents to his neighbours to his grandparents, exist as one-dimensional foils to his narcissistic musings.
When he covers the kitchen floor in mud and rocks, his father not only fails to reprimand him, but offers to take him to the library while Caillou’s mother cleans it up.
When he loses a toy car, Caillou’s parents (who do not seem to be employed or have hobbies), immediately drop everything to search the surrounding community.
Caillou even dispenses with basic niceties like “please” and “thank you.”
This has understandably led to theories that this is an accurate portrayal of Canadian parenting and that Canada is raising a generation of psychopaths. Or that Caillou’s parents are so blasted on Canadian weed that they are unable to summon the presence of mind necessary to properly discipline their child.
Take the episode Leo’s Hamster, in which Caillou is tasked with caring for the pet hamster of a friend.
Almost immediately, Caillou disobeys instructions to leave the hamster in its cage and sets it free, precipitating an urgent search to find the animal before it is ripped apart by the family cat.
To recap: Caillou was knowingly reckless with a hamster, very nearly precipitating the scenario of having to return a mound of bloodied flesh to his friend.
And yet, what are his parents’ reaction when — after upending the house to find the pet — Caillou finally uses a carrot to coax the terrified, exhausted hamster out from under the refrigerator? “Good job, Caillou,” they say. If show producers were to recast Caillou as an unstable hostage-taker who points a weapon at everyone he talks to, almost none of the show’s dialogue would look out of place.
“You’re trying to create a generation of entitled whiny-ass humans running around losing their s--- because they want to go to the zoo NOW but they CAN’T because daddy has to work,” writes blogger Janelle Hanchett in a 2013 post entitled Caillou’s Plan to Ruin America.
The natural question is, if everybody hates Caillou so much, why is it everywhere?
Since its launch in 1997, Caillou has produced more than 200 episodes, a larger output than such cultural touchstones as Matlock, 24, The Mary Tyler Moore Show and Star Trek: The Next Generation.
On YouTube, full episodes of Caillou routinely crack one million views.
The show can also be found around the world: Australians, New Zealanders, Germans, Britons, Israelis, Brazilians and more than a dozen others can find the show either on local stations or on Netflix.
One reason may be that the show is cheap. Caillou features bargain-basement animation, a bare-bones soundtrack and a cast of as few as five voice actors.
If you’re a TV producer desperately trying to fill time on a 24 hour children’s network, the vast low-budget Caillou archive is one of your best friends.
And, of course, children love the show.
Unlike most children’s programming, Caillou makes almost no attempt to educate its young audience. There are no veiled math problems, spelling lessons or morality tales; it’s just calm, non-threatening, bright-coloured people navigating everyday tasks.
It’s escapist TV: A toddler version of Sex and the City or Mad Men. After all, what child wouldn’t want to indulge in a universe where their every whim is catered to by a community of scared, jobless adults?
And therein lies Caillou’s sinister appeal to parents: This madein-Canada cartoon is a Faustian bargain with which to distract their children for a few minutes.
“This fairly simple cartoon captivates my child’s attention for a longer period of time than anything else,” wrote one Caillou supporter in a 2013 blog post. “She plops in front of the television and allows me to get work done around the house, on the computer and GASP, she even allows me to get in a quick nap at times.”
So Caillou is a drug, essentially: A child-silencing narcotic. And like all harmful drugs, it plunges the user into a netherworld of selfish, tweaked-out behaviour that is destructive to themselves and those around them.
“While it may ACCURATELY depict how a four-year-old would act, remember that fouryear-olds do not behave properly,” reads one prescient IMDB review from 2006. “Much like all kids (except yours), they are selfish, defiant, disobedient, and often disrespectful unless taught otherwise.”