Tinky-Winky in Ecstasy

My sons, bless 'em, are watching Teletubbies, a wonderfully insane British invention for the little ones. (Aren't those Brits great? Anyone remember Bananas in Pajamas?)

Anyway, I'm watching with my boys, amused by the gender ambiguity and the utter carefree life they live, when a little event takes place. In fact, it takes place in every episode.

No matter where the tubbies are in Teletubby land, a little windmill outside their biodome starts spinning and making little mystical noises (doodloodloop-doodloodloop!) The four andrognynous beings drop whatever they're doing and head out on the hill, like muslims being called to prayer. They giggle and say their names and wait. Then one of them will have their little antenna glow, and the little TV screen on their belly lights up. "Ahhh," they all coo. One of them has been chosen. The others gather around to receive the prophetic message from their friend's midsection.

To me, the imagery is religious almost to the point of being cultic. The little tubbies seem brainwashed or perhaps lobotomized. They are happy-go-lucky. They are completely isolated from society and reality, living out in the boonies in a utopia of another's making. Who this "other" is we never find out, mysterious and inaccessible.

I suppose it's good he's not riding in on a train of Rolls Royces, but it's hard for me to watch it with my children's eyes who accept the little playact as the shallow entertainment it is. It's a quiet, unassuming diversion for the kiddies.

Or perhaps it's a sinister preparation for Airport Terminal Living...

I'll let you know how the boys turn out.