I’ve just finished Won’t You Be My Neighbor?, and my keyboard is a bit wet from the occasional tear.
And yet, I am happy.
Like many uninformed people, I fell prey to the rumor that Fred Rogers was at one point in his life a highly-decorated sniper. I believed that his tacky sweaters were a way to cover up his tattoos. I also believed that this guy was probably a sick fuck with a basement full of captive children, and a rather diverse collection of child pornography. Because nobody is this nice. Nobody.
To me, these lies were far easier to believe than the truth. Surely, this old man wasn’t the calm, gentle soul he appeared to be. I also found the stories of his alleged wrongdoing and potential PTSD to be a more entertaining version of reality, and so, why would I bother fact-checking these vicious rumors? In this way, Won’t You Be My Neighbor made me feel like a real asshole.
The truth is, while I did grow up with Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, I was too young when Fred Rogers was something of a public figure to take note. For much of what I would consider the peak of his prominence, I wasn’t even born yet. For that reason, I feel like this documentary will have the most profound affect on younger audiences; ones who weren’t around when Rogers spoke to congress on behalf of Public Broadcasting, or released a public service announcement regarding 9/11. I was 11 years old in 2001, and in post-9/11 America, television was not a priority of mine for a very long time after that particular shock.
This documentary isn’t really a “deep dive” into the life of Fred Rogers, but rather a look at the impact Rogers had on those around him, including us. Sure, there’s plenty of interesting facts about his childhood, vocational background, etc., but that’s not really the point. Rogers was something completely alien to our world.
He was a genuinely kind person.
It seems so strange to think that the skeletons in his closet were mostly of a non-controversial nature. His parents were strict, he was often sick as a child, and he struggled with depression. That’s all so garden-variety these days, to the point of almost being laughable out of context.
In the hands of less capable people, Won’t You Be My Neighbor? would be an interesting look at the life of Fred Rogers, but not a whole lot more. Instead, this is a documentary that really, truly challenges its audience to evaluate their own behavior toward others, and their acceptance of themselves.
For me, the most shocking aspect of this experience was just how timely Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood was. This man was tackling topics that children’s entertainment still shies away from, such as dealing with death, understanding war and assassination, and most importantly, understanding one’s own feelings. When was the last time you saw an episode of Dora the Explorer (or whatever lame children’s programs are currently popular) that allowed you to confront your own mortality and the atrocities around you, and to process the emotions that come along with those complex issues? Hell, when was the last time adult-oriented entertainment accomplished the same thing for you?
One of the most impressive aspects of this documentary is the lack of unwarranted emotional manipulation. The emotional response evoked is authentic, and mostly unprompted (with one exception toward the very end, where the audience is asked to think about someone in their life that inspired them.) Even with that exception, it all feels so relevant to everything Rogers stood for, and his message of acceptance, emotional honesty, and the value of self-love are still issues that aren’t talked about often enough when we think of child development.
There are a number of profoundly touching moments in this documentary, but recounting them all would just be a disservice to the experience. There’s a reason this has exploded in popularity in 2018. Won’t You Be My Neighbor? is the documentary we need right now. It’s an elegant and gentle reminder to be kind to one another, and to never take for granted both the value and the profound complexity of childhood.
10/10