There is precious little justification for this show being on the air other than that Polly Draper has sufficient power--and/or that Nickelodeon is sufficiently one-horse--that merely wanting her cute sons to have their own "television show" was enough to "make it so," to quote Captain Picard. I tried watching an episode of NBB as part of my ongoing experiment to determine why Nick and Disney aren't shut down by the federal government. What, pray tell, do these kids do other than mugg for the camera; change T-shirts every four seconds; and try to act forty years older than they are? There is nothing entertaining, intriguing, or endearing about the program. Even the name, frankly, is enough to catch in the throat of a religious rightist, and I'm surprised it hasn't yet. (Then again, the "Cory in the House" episode where two adult men were found hiding in the same bed seems to have sneaked past the religious right, so who am I to say "boo"?) You know, Nat reminds me of that fellow on "Fried Dynamite"--is that the name of Cartoon Network's brief live diversions--who possesses that grating voice and, once again, tries at the tender age of twelve to convince his teenybopper (or, more likely, six-year-old) viewers that he is "hot," "cool," "sexy," and such--as if they could begin to grasp those concepts.
Did I forget to mention that the young gentleman have zero musical talent? Nat's "songs" typically contain two or three lines of vacuous text and a chordal progression that a Sumerian would consider unacceptably primitive, while any six-year-old tattooing with a pencil on the breakfast table can outpace Alex's "drumming." Good grief!
I tried this one more time, just to give it a fair shake. Would you believe (are you securely strapped down?) that Nat and Alex were discussing ... dog poop. They wanted a puppy, but their dad wouldn't allow it, so they were stuck with an Internet e-puppy, which doesn't poop. This led to a detailed discussion of whether poop is disgusting; whether they would willingly clean up after their dog; and whether they should borrow their friend's Boston terrier, E.T. (I wouldn't lend those kids a Q-tip!) My Lord, how fr*ggingly disgustingly awful. This is, to be certain beyond the shadow of a doubting Thomas, the most alarmingly revolting drek ever to rear its face on a television set. O.K., so Nat is cute. Mazel tov: the fiends and the NAMBLA crowd can watch the show and revel at the gorgeous preteen.
All that's needed is a laugh track, and I'll take a 9mm Glock and blow my own head off.
Did I forget to mention that the young gentleman have zero musical talent? Nat's "songs" typically contain two or three lines of vacuous text and a chordal progression that a Sumerian would consider unacceptably primitive, while any six-year-old tattooing with a pencil on the breakfast table can outpace Alex's "drumming." Good grief!
I tried this one more time, just to give it a fair shake. Would you believe (are you securely strapped down?) that Nat and Alex were discussing ... dog poop. They wanted a puppy, but their dad wouldn't allow it, so they were stuck with an Internet e-puppy, which doesn't poop. This led to a detailed discussion of whether poop is disgusting; whether they would willingly clean up after their dog; and whether they should borrow their friend's Boston terrier, E.T. (I wouldn't lend those kids a Q-tip!) My Lord, how fr*ggingly disgustingly awful. This is, to be certain beyond the shadow of a doubting Thomas, the most alarmingly revolting drek ever to rear its face on a television set. O.K., so Nat is cute. Mazel tov: the fiends and the NAMBLA crowd can watch the show and revel at the gorgeous preteen.
All that's needed is a laugh track, and I'll take a 9mm Glock and blow my own head off.