The increasing demand for cable television content means the rise of more and more specialized networks to fill that vast, ever-expanding bandwidth. Interested in watching only programming that caters to your interest in professional horseracing, lawn-and-garden maintenance, or the specific sensibilities of Oprah Winfrey? There are now entire channels devoted to nothing but—all self-contained ecosystems existing far beyond the perimeter of mainstream TV, all populated by foreign civilizations of personalities harboring their own unique languages, value systems, and ideas of what constitutes entertainment. Most of these go completely undiscovered, happened upon only by an accidental slip of the remote and quickly fled after an exclamation of, “What the hell am I watching?” TV Outland cuts a machete-swath through the TV thickets, and explores the strange indigenous tribes living just out of sight on your cable package.
The channel: Established as a “safe zone” for parents fed up with all the immoral, innuendo-laden programming of other so-called “children’s networks,” Smile Of A Child TV launched in 2005 as an offshoot of the Trinity Broadcasting Network. As we covered when we looked at TBN’s teen-oriented arm, JCTV, the powerful Christian media company was co-founded in 1973 by Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker, along with their former youth pastors Paul and Jan Crouch, with the latter taking control once the Bakkers vacated to PTL and eternal infamy. And much like JCTV, Smile Of A Child is a family affair, with TBN’s fuchsia-haired doyenne Jan putting her personal, pastel-colored smear on everything down to the network’s butterfly logo, the wings of which are formed by the initials of her maiden name.
Like all TBN channels, Smile Of A Child runs 24 hours of programming in 57 U.S. cities—and thanks to satellite, reaches “over 100 million souls” worldwide. It’s also completely viewer-supported, although Smile Of A Child takes this a little further than its siblings: In addition to soliciting donations ($10 gets you a singing “Jesus Loves Me” Bunny!), Smile Of A Child also asks viewers who have “been blessed by the programs that air here every day” to help come up with more of those programs, either by sending in their original work or simply alerting them to available shows that they could pick up, preferably for free or on the cheap, to fill those 24 hours of blessing.
Target audience: Though Smile Of A Child is explicitly for little Christians, that desperation for programs leads to a varied spectrum of subject matter—from innocuously secular education and basic decision-making lesson plans to shows where puppets sing about crucifixion—that’s intended for any parents who want to keep their brood entertained “without the objectionable content that so many ‘kids’ shows and movies seem to get away with now days,” as one mission statement puts it. Still, there’s no question whom it’s preaching to, and what: In lieu of commercials are exhortations to come and visit the TBN Holy Land Experience Theme Park or join Billy Graham’s Dare To Be A Daniel ministry program, plus interstitials scored by the children’s hymn “Jesus Loves Me” or featuring kids asking each other “Bible Fun” jokes. (Because you definitely want one: “When a camel was born without a hump on the Ark, what did Noah name it?” “Humphrey!”) Parents who don’t like objectionable content but also aren’t crazy about evangelism for preschoolers should definitely keep clicking.
What’s on: That said, other than a few notable exceptions, most of its shows are less concerned with teaching the Bible than basic education principles, such as the alphabet, counting, vocabulary, pattern recognition, not getting hit by a car, etc. Superficially, it’s not unlike the children’s programming you’ll find elsewhere—and in fact, nearly all of it did originate somewhere else, often many years ago. Canada, like most of the channels we’ve covered here, is Smile Of A Child’s chief supplier, aided by the U.K., Australia, and even Japan, which exports decades-old anime like The Flying House and Superbook (both of which mash-up robots, time travel, and ancient Bible stories in a way only the Japanese can make logical).
Its archiving stretches all the way back to 1963’s animated The Funny Company, combing the decades to cull programs glimpsed across the far-flung corners of local public television—everything from the relatively more well-known Gerbert, Auto B. Good, and The Huggabug Club to the obscure, fascinating curios like Arkansas’ Kids Like You, a sort of children’s Hee Haw best remembered for its one creepy puppet that looked like Jim Nabors. Ditto Found Footage Fest featured player The Filling Station, in which a mustachioed gas station attendant offers to “fill you up with God’s word.”
Some of these revitalized shows have even been retrofitted with Christian messages to make them belong. Such as Dooley And Pals, the story of an alien who crash-lands in an American backyard and learns all about humanity, an education that now includes obviously inserted “Fun Bible Facts” segments (segments that, strangely, never address where space aliens factor into God’s plan). Or The Reppies, a mid-’90s Canadian series about humanoid reptiles who storm the rock ’n’ roll charts, their Creationism-defying existence and dalliance with the devil’s music covered up on Smile Of A Child with awkwardly redubbed lyrics about God.
The network’s rapacious need to fill 24 hours a day (for children who may have a crisis of faith in the wee hours) plus its open-door submission policy means its crowded schedule is nearly always changing, with shows dying off so that others may fruitfully multiply. But all several dozen of them have a place waiting for it in Smile Of A Child show heaven, where they sit at the right hand of shows like Babushka’s Christmas and Away In A Monster Manger while they await the day of their inevitable resurrection.
The viewing week: As educators have long known, the best way to get a child to pay attention to any lesson—be it staying away from drugs or accepting Jesus as your personal savior—is through a puppet, and puppets are easily the most common vessel for God’s word on Smile Of A Child. Some of the better-produced shows take the form of, to put it kindly, homage to Jim Henson’s world—such as Pahappahooey Island, which explicitly describes itself as a “Muppet-style” show, and actually lives up to the comparison with relatively sophisticated puppetry and frequent pop-culture references (everything from Braveheart to The Godfather to The Empire Strikes Back).
Pahappahooey concerns the adventures of a young girl stranded among a society of ethnically diverse animals (a Cajun frog, an Italian alligator, a German beaver) who’s tasked with sharing the word of “the Creator” and “the Book,” much to the scorn of an evil snake. And by rarely explicitly using the words “God” or “the Bible,” Pahappahooey almost creates its own mythology—sort of like a kiddie Lost, with a lot less whining. It’s so subtle, your kids may not always be aware they’re learning about Christianity.
More common, however, are shows like Arnie’s Shack, in which a grizzled old farmer in the Australian outback hectors kids about God’s grace. Presumably a grandfatherly presence on the Melbourne stations where he originates—but still giving off definite, “I’ve got human hides tanning in my shed” vibes—Arnie is the patriarch to an extended family of other energetic puppets who all love to go on adventures in the great outdoors. And of course, most of these involve standing around having lengthy discourses about death and the origin of sin—just like you and your friends!
Creating all sorts of theological paradoxes, several Smile Of A Child shows imagine a world where humans and puppets peacefully coexist. Even more strangely, most of these puppets are also talking animals, historically the instruments of Satan’s trickery. Perhaps his lies explain why, for example, Mustard Pancakes singer-songwriter Courtney Campbell spends so much of her time cut off from her fellow humans, choosing instead to give all her love to her many cats and dogs, thus filling her spiritual emptiness the same way she fills her stomach with unnatural, mustard-based pastries? (All joking aside, the show’s kind of sweet.)
Speaking of unnatural, Mary Rice Hopkins: Puppets With A Heart finds the country singer consorting with fuzzy creatures of indeterminate species whose biological make-up includes removable hearts. In between jaunty tunes about friendship, believing in yourself, and serving God, Hopkins will pause to rip out one of these companions’ hearts and show it to them, then tear it open to see what symbolic objects are inside—for example, insects, because they’re “bugged” by something. It’s a gentle message about learning to look inside yourself and let go of the things that are holding you back from loving, relayed with just a dash of Mortal Kombat.
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