By Variety | Created at 2024-12-24 00:20:06 | Updated at 2024-12-26 21:01:46
2 days ago
It’s a difficult task to capture the love of reading. The affecting act happens between a book and the person captivated by the words on a page that draw them into uncharted places. However, the clever minds behind “Reading Rainbow” were able to contextualize what happens when adolescents open picture books and embark on exciting literary journeys. They figured out it could empower not only the reader, but also cause a ripple effect in communities through the knowledge, imagination and empathy imparted. From its premiere in 1983 until its finale in 2006, the show was a beacon for youngsters encouraged to explore beyond a book’s covers and learn about the world surrounding them.
Directors Bradford Thomason and Brett Whitcomb’s documentary “Butterfly in the Sky,” now available to rent and streaming on Netflix, captures how a few pioneering educators assembled to create such indelible children’s programming. Their tribute blends cozy, warmly-lit talking head interviews with footage (raw home movies and on-air segments) and behind-the-scenes photos, walking us through the story of the program, its creative high points and the uncontrollable factors that contributed to its unfortunate demise. Yet instead of reading like a storybook similar to those on the Emmy-winning series, this rise-and-fall eulogy leaves us with a profound sense of loss, courtesy of the bureaucratic monsters who callously dismissed the show’s societal benefits.
Thomason and Whitcomb’s straight-forward style, splicing past and present together, doesn’t deviate much from the path laid by previous documentaries focused on early childhood development shows like “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood” (“Won’t You Be My Neighbor”) and “Sesame Street” (“Street Gang: How We Got To Sesame Street”). Still, their workmanlike aesthetics allow for the anecdotes to pop, as told by the creatives at the forefront of this reading revolution. Series co-creator and executive producer Twila C. Liggett, PhD speaks to camera in an elementary school classroom, while married co-creators and supervising producers Cecily Truett Lancit and Larry Lancit are shown surrounded by plastic tubs of videotapes in their living room. The interview environments give the proceedings a tactile, human touch.
Rolling through 20-plus years of a beloved piece of pop culture history can be a daunting challenge, but Thomason and Whitcomb convey why the show was meaningful and monumental in the broader context of our ever-evolving civilization. Discussions on host and executive producer LeVar Burton’s casting leads to introspective ruminations on the vital need for Black male representation in the early ’80s. That effort toward inclusion also proved integral for the show’s kid book reviewers, who spoke to same-age audiences. Their TV sets could now mirror their own reflections and stoke their expanding interests.
The documentarian duo shine a spotlight on the series’ numerous contributions that changed the landscape of television, as they explain that there were no educational programs at the time geared toward ages eight to ten. Some of the most poignant parts of this feature dwell on the program teaching compassion and kindness to these still-malleable minds watching in times of national crisis, with non-patronizing episodes on homelessness, poverty, war and the devastating aftermath of the 9/11 attacks. Narrowing its scope slightly, it also shows ways in which being on the show enriched the lives of featured players, in “where are they now” style follow-ups.
It’s not all serious stuff either. By and large, this is a joyous testament to creativity. The adult employees were just as inspired to tap into their inner child’s imagination as the kids watching. There’s a treasure trove of humorous tales behind the show’s location shoots. Director Dean Parisot (“Galaxy Quest”) divulges perhaps the grossest one, which involved the sound guy losing his balance inside a bat cave and tumbling head-first into a pile of bat guano filled with worms. Burton’s commendable willingness to try anything on camera lends itself easily to jazzy montages showcasing his spectacular stunt-work, like log-sawing, scuba diving and, most dangerously, burying himself under a massive pile of kissy golden retriever puppies. Plus, they throw in a fun anecdote about Run-DMC’s appearance.
The filmmakers’ reverence for the series as an asset to teachers and the larger populace is on clear display, despite its concluding act not going in for as hard of a kill as it could. They all-too-lightly touch on the irony of the No Child Left Behind Act as the catalyst for the show’s cancellation. While it’s a blessing that the answer to whether or not we’re worse off now without the show isn’t spoon-fed to us by the filmmakers, the crushing disappointment that it’s no longer on the air, making a positive impact on today’s youth, is palpably sobering.
Those who suffer from the absence of this programming aren’t necessarily book authors, who experienced massive sales boosts when their titles were featured (in a proto-Oprah Effect), but rather new generations of children who are no longer given the extra enrichment essential to emotional growth. With reading proficiency and comprehension on the decline for years now in the U.S. (exacerbated by the pandemic), “Butterfly in the Sky” provides a much-needed pulpit from which to preach about the legacy of this iconic series.
