A lively documentary about ‘Reading Rainbow’
It is a difficult task to capture the love of reading. The poignant act takes place between a book and the person who is fascinated by the words on a page that draws him to places unknown. However, the bright minds behind ‘Reading Rainbow’ were able to contextualize what happens when adolescents open picture books and embark on exciting literary journeys. They learned that it could not only empower the reader, but also create a ripple effect in communities through the knowledge, imagination and empathy they bring. From its premiere in 1983 to its finale in 2006, the show was a beacon for young people encouraged to look beyond the covers of a book and learn more about the world around them.
Directors Bradford Thomason and Brett Whitcomb’s documentary “Butterfly in the Sky,” now available to rent and stream on Netflix, captures how a pair of pioneering educators came together to create such indelible children’s programming. Their tribute combines cozy, warmly lit talking head interviews with footage (raw home videos and on-air segments) and behind-the-scenes photos, taking us through the program’s story, its creative highlights, and the uncontrollable factors that contributed to it to his unfortunate demise. But instead of reading like a storybook similar to that of the Emmy-winning series, this rise-and-fall eulogy leaves us with a deep sense of loss, courtesy of the bureaucratic monsters that undermine the show’s social benefits. heartlessly rejected.
Thomason and Whitcomb’s straightforward style, connecting past and present, doesn’t stray much from the path blazed by earlier documentaries focused on early childhood development programs, such as “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood” (“Won’t You Be My Neighbor’). and “Sesame Street” (“Street Gang: How We Got to Sesame Street”). Yet their artisanal aesthetic makes the anecdotes stand out, 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 in their living room surrounded by plastic bins with video tapes. The interview environments give the proceedings a tactile, human touch.
Sifting through more than two decades of a beloved piece of pop culture history can be a daunting challenge, but Thomason and Whitcomb demonstrate why the show was meaningful and monumental in the broader context of our ever-evolving civilization. Discussions surrounding the casting of host and executive producer LeVar Burton lead to introspective thoughts on the crucial need for black male representation in the early ’80s. That attempt at inclusion also proved integral to the show’s children’s book reviewers, who spoke to an audience of the same age. Their television sets could now reflect their own reflections and fuel their growing interests.
The documentary duo highlight the series’ numerous contributions that changed the television landscape, while explaining that at the time there were no educational programs aimed at ages eight to ten. Some of the most moving parts of this feature are about the program teaching compassion and kindness to these still-malleable minds watching in times of national crisis, with non-patronizing episodes about homelessness, poverty, war and the devastating aftermath of September 11 . to attack. Narrowing the scope somewhat, it also highlights ways in which participating in the show enriched the lives of featured players, in “where are they now” style follow-ups.
It’s not all serious stuff either. Overall, this is a joyful display of creativity. The adult staff were just as inspired to tap into the imagination of their inner child as the children watched. Behind the show’s location shoots lies a wealth of humorous stories. Director Dean Parisot (“Galaxy Quest”) reveals perhaps the grossest, with the sound guy losing his balance in a bat cave and tumbling headfirst into a pile of bat guano filled with worms. Burton’s commendable willingness to try anything on camera easily lends itself to jazzy montages showcasing his spectacular stunt work, such as sawing logs, diving and, most dangerously, burying himself under a huge pile of kissing 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 greater populace is clearly evident, despite the final act not killing it off as much as possible. They all too lightly discuss 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 without the show isn’t spoon-fed to us by the filmmakers, the crushing disappointment is that the show is no longer on the air and a positive impact on today’s youth is palpably sobering.
Those suffering from the absence of this programming are not necessarily book authors, who experienced huge sales increases when their titles were in the spotlight (in a proto-Oprah effect), but rather new generations of children who no longer get the extra enrichment that is essential to emotional growth. With reading skills and comprehension in the U.S. in decline for years (exacerbated by the pandemic), “Butterfly in the Sky” provides a much-needed pulpit from which to preach about the legacy of this iconic series.
