My three-year-old goddaughter was here the other day so, since my house is kid-proof but not necessarily kid-fun (I need a box of toys for visiting moppets or something) we broke out the Fraggle Rock DVDs. She liked the singing and the dancing and Red’s flappy pigtails, but her mother and I, having not seen the show since we were kids ourselves, were kind of weirdly fascinated and horrified. The Henson workshop must have been powered by the finest hallucinogens known to man or beast, because holy hell, this stuff was weird.
Yet, fun. I always loved the Fraggle pseudo-Yule-Christmas-Thing, where all the Fraggles have to ring their bells or the Great Bell won’t ring and their rock will go cold and spring won’t come. But Gobo, known in my house as the Fraggle Most Like My Baby Brother, decides he has to go see the Great Bell for himself, accompanied by the strangeoid priest-like dude, and he can’t find the bell: