Aladdin

The 90s were the age of the animated Disney renaissance. The preceding decade or so had brought us mildly disappointing and unmemorable cartoon offerings like The Black Cauldron and The Great Mouse Detective, none of which held any sort of long-standing appeal. Following the release of 1989's The Little Mermaid, however, Disney animation began changing its tune. Literally, in fact. With catchy, catchy songs.

While it had seemed the Disney glow was fading under the growth of rival animation studios, by the late 80s they opted for a different route to success. While their animated films were still primarily marketed at children, they soon began weaving in more adult themes and nuances, seeking to appeal to a wider range of movie-goers. Sure, it doesn't quite seem so envelope-pushing when cartoon woodland creatures today are making all sorts of innuendo-laced jokes, but at the time films like Who Framed Roger Rabbit were pretty innovative in their quest to lure in adult viewers.

Riding high on the coattails of 1991's spectacularly well-received Beauty and the Beast, Disney Animation Studios released Aladdin in 1992. Based on a story from the 18th century Arabian nights, Aladdin was strong in the Disney tradition of completing reformulating the story that served as the basis of their plot. For a film to be properly Disney-ified, you see, it's necessary to strip down the original plot to a few major points and then whitewash over the rest of the film with well-placed jokes and musical numbers.



Some of these changes were definitely a positive step, especially for poor attention-spanned American audiences. If they'd stuck to the original story they'd be saddled with a Disney princess named Badroulbadour. I much prefer Jasmine, don't you? Even if she was a little slutty-looking in her harem pants and midriff-baring off-the shoulder bra thing she was prone to wear. I guess it's a step down in exposure from a sea-shell bra at the very least.

Aladdin featured a teenage main character, a sort of animated teen hearthrob for the under-12 set. Aladdin was probably not a role model by any definition of terms, as a street kid swiping loaves of bread at the market, though admittedly while acting cavalier and scantily clad. Although he's an orphan, Aladdin still seems to have the heart of gold credential necessary to get his resume for hero past the big guys at Disney. He's also a hell of a spontaneous singer while dodging the heavy hand of the law.



Meanwhile, the tyrannical Jafar and his squawky Gilbert Godfrey-voiced parrot companion Iago are seeking the "Diamond in the Rough" to unlock the treasure of the Cave of Wonders. Just as our pal Aladdin is getting cozy with princess-in-disguise Jasmine around the marketplace, he's captured by Jafar. Jasmine is strong-willed and pseudo-feminist in the way that's only possible while advocating for her rights while donning a skimpy outfit, and she demands for Aladdin's release. Jafar wants him for his own means to a genie-filled lamp end, tells her he's dead, and continues with his evil plan in typical Disney villain fashion.

Jafar (also in disguise) convinces Aladdin to go into the Cave of Wonders, but warns him that he must not touch anything else. This is a classic case of kid-in-a-candy-store as Aladdin and monkey sidekick Abu enter the jewel-encrusted, gold dripping, treasure chest overflowing cavern. With the help of a renegade magic carpet, Aladdin and Abu are saved and even manage to escape with the coveted lamp. From the lamp, of course, is our Genie, played by Robin Williams. Observe, some of his admittedly humorous but somewhat worrying insanity:



The genie wants nothing more than to be free, but for the moment he's at Aladdin beck and call. Aladdin wishes to be a prince and the genie turns him into Prince Ali fabulous he Ali Ababwa. Catchy, right? Abu gets the star treatment as well as his royal elephant, and off they go to the palace to get in line as a potential suitor for the illustrious Jasmine.

Jasmine's father, the Sultan, had been more or less under Jafar's spell and was this close to betrothing his one and only daughter to the tyrant when the Prince Ali parade came to town:



Jasmine, of course, refuses to be bought and sold. Like all girls do when they're in a huff, she retreats to go chill out with her tiger by the fountain. Though this is clearly the point where he should just tell her the truth and vie for her hand as a peasant, that would make an awfully short Disney movie. Plus, we've got more stuff to sing. Aladdin comes to Jasmine's window offering a magic carpet ride. Wink wink, nudge nudge. There was actually mild controversy surrounding this scene, as some people heard Aladdin whisper something about taking off her clothes. To say nothing of the "magic carpet" double entendre. Touche, conservative America.



They kiss, and just as things are working out and the lovebirds seem to be in the home stretch, Jafar smacks them with a pretty serious roadblock. Jasmine and the Sultan are hypnotized, Aladdin is thrown in the ocean, yada yada yada, Genie saves the day and we're back in the game.

Of course, it's not the home stretch yet. Aladdin had promised to use his final wish to set the genie free, but he starts getting greedy toward the end. Jafar's crazy bird sidekick kidnaps the lamp and once in Jafar's posession, the genie is forced to serve this crackpot tyrant. All sorts of crazy stuff goes down. Abu is a toy. Jasmine gets submerged in slowly ticking hourglass sand. The carpet is reduced to a ball of yarn.

Luckily Jafar isn't all that bright, and Genie tricks him into wishing himself in Genie servitude with a handy lamp encasement. Aladdin comes clean, wishes the genie to be set free, and Jasmine is allowed to marry Aladdin. We all live happily ever after. All together now: aww.

Recounting that just now, I realize it's a pretty complex plotline. The movie was more than just kid's entertainment, it was an actual movie that happened to be animated. It had action, adventure, danger, and plenty of singing and dancing. What more can you ask for?*



*Except for Steve from Full House to be the voice of Aladdin. Oh yeah, because you got that too! Schwing!

Wild and Crazy Kids

Sometimes you're watching a show and you can almost imagine what the network producers were thinking when they conceived of the inane idea. In the case of Wild and Crazy kids, I'm willing to venture that they were thinking, "What would be the easiest program to produce with universal appeal to children that costs us next to nothing?" The idea was marginally brilliant. A game show-esque format with a messiness factor guaranteed to lure in young viewers while concurrently forgoing any sort of prize or reward for the victors. It was more or less a case of take-everything-in-the-Nickelodeon-back-room-and-office-fridge-leftovers, arrange them haphazardly in a field, release a slew of cheaply t-shirted children, and let the games begin.

Wild and Crazy Kids seems like one of those one-in-the-morning ideas, the sort of which were particularly common to Nickelodeon during the 1990s. They simply planned some inconsequential events that were simultaneously sloppy and required little to no innate skill, handed out some t-shirts, and then completely snub the winners by offering no tangible goods in the means of congratulations. In days of consolatory Carmen Sandiego Gumshoe prize packs and all-expenses paid trips to Universal Studios, this was in somewhat bad form.They could have at least sent the winners packing with a Gak pack.

I always had a thing for Donny. Didn't you? Seriously. Look at him.

Luckily, the show was not particularly self-referential or self-examing. It never once alluded to the fact that hordes of children were covered in chocolate pudding and shaving cream with no foreseeable purpose or aim. It was, simply put, a chance for kids to be both Wild and Crazy. Oh, and they also got a free t-shirt, though inevitably they left the show with their trademark shirts covered in slime or pie.

Nickelodeon in the 90s was huge on slime and pie. There's no real discernible evidence as to why these were the prevailing super sloppy weapons of choice, but we just accepted that any misstep would lead to someone being doused in green slime or cream pied in the face. It was just sort of a given. Miss the baton pass in a relay? Slime and pie. Strike out at Dizzy Bat Home Run Derby? Slime and pie. Wipe out slip n' sliding? Well, you get the idea.

Each half-hour show featured three games of relatively equal insanity and inanity. The games usually went a little something like this:




As you can see, the production values on these shows were somewhat less than cinematic. The show looked more like a home movie of kids doing relay races at a school picnic than an actual show airing on a reputable children's network. As I said, it obviously wasn't costing them the big bucks, unless we're seriously underestimating the cost of spaghetti and tarps here.

Wild and Crazy Kids had three young hosts, with Omar Gooding and Donnie Jeffcoat emceeing both seasons and Annette Chavez and Jessica Gaynes each putting in one season. The hosts usually put on some sort of skit or teaser at the beginning of each show, which I once found hilarious but now believe to be potentially a bit grating. They also provided the commentary, taking very seriously elements like instant replays and play-by-plays. This sounds much more serious until you realize they were instantly replaying ketchup and mustard jousting.

The show was not without its gimmicks. They indulged in the occasional cheap cross-over inter-show challenge, such as in this episode with Marc Summers of Double Dare fame. Since the shows had a lot of shared underlying themes (read: slime and pie), it was not quite a stretch to envision the union of their Physical Challenge courses.



They also had a prime opportunity to hawk their very own Nickelodeon products, such as the oft-coveted Moon Shoes. After all, what's a cheaply produced aimless game show without a product placement thrown in now and again?



These guys were also sort of partial to making people spin around on a bat for dizzying impact. For some reason, all of these wild and/or crazy stunts seemed at least somewhat more humorous when the element of nausea and vertigo were in the picture. I doubt I'd make it through this segment without a Dramamine or one of those sea-band bracelets*.

Wild and Crazy Kids played it to the point. There was no moral of the story nor was there any remote educational value. The kids did not come away better people** by popping shaving cream-filled balloons while wearing moon-shoes. It was pure, guilty fun that never made any subtle attempt to market itself as anything other than just that. It may not have been the most affective shows of its time, but it's certainly a contender for one of the messiest***.




*I do not official endorse these products, but they do keep me from vomiting while deep-sea fishing or on glass bottom boats. I imagine a similar effect would have been had as a Wild and Crazy kid **To my knowledge. If you participated as a contestant, feel free to contradict this allegation ***Did I mention the slime and pie?

Super Mario Brothers

*Let me just offer this as a legitimate and all-excusing disclaimer: I am not, nor do I claim to be knowledgeable about video games in any way. Please don't take my word for it on any technical points by any means. I don't know the names of the versions and all of the release dates. Please accept my humble offering of Mario love. Thank you.

I like that we all just accept it as fact that a stubby little Italian guy with a face-consuming mustache battles obstacles and adversarial Koopas to rescue Princess Peach (nee Toadstool). Even as I'm typing it, a small part of me is still thinking, well, of course, it makes perfect sense. Mushrooms give you power and flowers give you fireballs and if you shimmy down a tube, you enter the mysterious minus world where the coins make that satisfying "ding" with each collection. Duh. Everyone knows that.

Mario and all of his spin-offs have become such a ubiquitous part of our culture that we're all willing to go along with that plot line and say, yeah, why not? That's just the way it is. Have you ever tried describing a video game to someone who had never played a video game? You'll find that this intricate gamer world that you navigate without question is probably the most bizarre thing they have ever heard. It's the delightful escapism of video games: they're not the real world, nor do they pretend to be grounded in it. In this world, anything goes, and you always get to play the hero. Where do I sign up?

I admit I was not much of a Nintendo aficionado growing up. Not for lack of want, but more for lack of brothers. My parents never saw fit to buy my sister and I our own video game system, though we were allowed to play Mario and Tetris on my mom's Gameboy. Before you pooh-pooh my shaky gamer credentials, let it be noted that my mom used to bring me to work and in order to escape the tedium I'd sneak of to play their giant arcade game of Super Mario Bros. Don't ask me why they had this in a nursing home. I don't know. It makes no sense, so the only explanation was that it existed solely for me to delight in the incredibly addictive world of Mario. I appreciate the gesture, but did you have to put it next to that weird aviary thing? The chirping is sort of distracting.

This was the version I played, though admittedly with less skill. I still love that music. It's so satisfying when you get to that flag. Such joyful beeping. Ah, the memories.

I have also spent the last 30 minutes playing Super Mario Bros online here. Under the guise of doing research, I found myself cursing aloud over missed coin opportunities, unintentional mushroom collisions, and failure to catch a falling star. It just isn't the kind of game you can play halfway. It's all or nothing, and in most cases, it was all.

In the 80s and 90s, video games had a far different look and feel than video games of today. The violence was more lighthearted, our aims more simplistic, and our graphics admittedly more pixelated. That's not to say the games weren't complicated. The Mario games alone were a world unto themselves. On the other hand, our hero was a stocky Italian-American plumber sporting flamboyant red overalls. I guess we'll just have to take Nintendo's word for it that he's fully qualified for such a hefty task.

Mario and his younger brother Luigi were residents of the Mushroom Kingdom. As the name implies, their homeland was indeed a monarchy, home of our beloved Princess Peach (or Toadstool, depending on which version you're looking at). I have to admit, I am such a girl. I always loved the Princess best. I always liked Super Mario Bros 2 because you had the option of playing as her, and she was a pretty awesome hoverer. In other versions, I was nowhere near adept enough at Nintendo gameplay to actually ever make a legitimate rescue (or, let's admit, even come close) but I did totally reach the Princess in Mario Teaches Typing. I kicked ass at that game.*

I like the way they claim this version (Super Mario World) is "more realistic". Do explain.

For some reason, when their beloved Princess is in peril the kingdom turns not to some sort of qualified combatant but rather to our little mustachioed plumber in overalls. You literally get to root for the little guy. Mario is tiny. Bite size. Pocket size. Fun size. You get the picture.

Mario was originally known as "jumpman", which is not particularly surprising when you observe his vertical bounce prowess. As a player, jumping became our major means of defending ourself and obtaining valuable powers and weaponry. Our journey is treacherous; weird creatures throwing crap at us, knocking us off of things, and generally standing in the way of our honest and decent quest. When those crazy turtle-bird dealies** started ricocheting back and forth and threatening to knock me off my little brick walkway, I was pretty much toast.

This is probably the coolest thing I've ever seen. I'm aware that this confirms my status as a huge nerd, but that does not in any way stop me from coveting this cake

We braved underwater levels, underground levels, sky levels, warp land, and all sorts of other exotic video game worlds to rescue our fair princess. For those of us caught time after time with a disappointingly premature death (read: me playing the flash version online right now), the game was endlessly frustrating. The sheer joy at beating a level was the ultimate triumph, while the crushing disappointment of being killed yet again by that same stupid fall was the ultimate defeat.

While most kids fought their way through and persevered, showing their hard-working earnestness and goodness of spirit, I was not among them. I was more the type to say, screw it. I'm going to play Duck Hunt. I get a gun in that game.***






*Yes, I recognize that a typing game is notably dorkier than a video game and achievements are thus far less admirable. Thank you for pointing that out.
**I'm aware that there's got to be some real name for these things
***Can you believe it? A gun!