Hollywood is Systematically Destroying My Childhood

A dark day announces itself, as Ian Ravenscroft discovers his childhood being irreversibly toyed with, and its all to the benefit of CGI and shoddy comedians... 

I've always been jealous of the so-called 'golden' generations. The late sixties saw political, sexual and social upheaval played out to the soundtrack of exciting, revolutionary music; while the seventies took cinema by storm with Scorcese and Kubrik ripping up the rule books. And what have I got?

That's no fucking Art Attack, this goes against 

everything Neil Buchanan stood for!

Now I think I've found my claim to 'golden era' status. As I grew up in the late eighties and early nineties, it was children's entertainment that ruled the roost. Suddenly kids were being treated as intelligent creatures capable of understanding (or glossing over) much more complex themes and concepts.

If it wasn't a crack team of alien cats fighting a mummified sorcerer, or an entirely blue superhero with a mullet saving the planet with 'green' morality, it'd be an innovative gameshow or an interactive arts programme I'd be engrossed in.

" The ONE piece of my childhood that I KNEW they could never get to. Gone in a single sentence "

These shows sculpted my outlook on life. Fun House taught me that nothing was impossible. Art Attack taught me that life was what you made of it. The Wide Awake Club taught me to avoid strange men offering sweets: Each show was a building block of my personality, creativity and moral fibre. But now a disturbing trend has emerged...

One by one, those building blocks are being undermined by the all-consuming machinery of Hollywood. I can picture the studio bosses in their LA war room as the plans were being drawn up. "This generation knows too much. They have seen the TRUTH of what entertainment can be. We must strike before it is too late."

And strike they did, undermining every classic work of the era, replacing golden memories with shoddy acting and product placement in a CG-filled nightmare. Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles, mutilated. Transformers, trashed. Street Fighter, bloodied. Inspector Gadget...um...”Go! Go! Gadget shite!” And there's noting I can do, the path of destruction is already mapped out.

First Thundercats will appear as an all-CG monstrosity, then it's Fraggle Rock set in the 'real' world, no doubt with a McFly soundtrack and conveniently-timed toys. What else could be up their evil sleeves?

Dangermouse starring Brad Pitt with Angelina Jolie as Penfold, set in New York opposite a CG Baron Greenback? Or Count Duckula starring Brendan Fraser and Lindsay Lohan who travel deep into Transylvania for a romantic break, before Jack Black's eponymous Count spoils the party? The possibilities seem endless.

And then I heard the words I'd begun to fear would come. "No!" I started, but it was too late. The one bastion of my childhood that would never be sold down the river, the one incorruptible work that taught me so much and shaped the way I now look at the world. 

The ONE piece of my childhood that I KNEW they could never get to. Gone in a single sentence. "They're making Ghostbusters 3...and it could be all CG starring Ben Stiller."

Now there is nothing left for them to take. I've been reduced to a shell of a human being, bereft of personal memories and stripped of my very childhood. How can I reminisce about the glorious ‘golden age’ of children's entertainment now? How can I boast that I was there, toasting my hands by the warming glow of the television as the classics unfolded before my eyes? I can't. But then again, Bill Murray and Dan Akroyd are still alive. It might be good...

Ian Ravenscroft