Opera buffa

So let's say - just as a f'rinstance, you understand - let's say you've got a 2-year-old living with you, and let's say she enjoys a good warm cup of milk in the morning as she reclines in her black thinking chair and watches her morning video. And let's say, moreover, that's she has exhausted, over the course of a year of attentive daily spectatorship, a full parcel of Curious George shorts, vintage Sesame Street episodes, Angelina Ballerina melodramas, Max and Ruby cartoons, and 22-minute Blues Clues mysteries. And let's say, furthermore, that you wouldn't mind if the tyke was exposed to some clever music in the process.

Well, friend, allow me to introduce you to the Wonder Pets. A recent product of the fine folks at Nick, Jr., the three Wonder Pets wandered into my life via a recent issue of The New Yorker, in which a staff writer extolled their colorful series of daring adventures. And, two discs later, I'm on board: as if the sight of a deeply intrigued Cleo angled forward, as stiff as a ramrod, toward the t.v. wasn't enough, the series' intelligently irreverent use of melody has earned my respect.

The premise is, as with most successful shows, both simple and accommodating: it's easy to get, and yet it can lead to any number of minor variations. Three schoolroom pets - a turtle, a guinea pig and a duckling - regularly receive calls of distress from endangered animals around the world, and before you know it they're on their way, in a magical flying boat assembled from classroom objects, to aid those in need of help. A baby crocodile who needs his teeth cleaned by a plover? No problem; the Wonder Pets can help. A French poodle stranded near the top of the Eiffel Tower? Fear not. And, as the trio works to offer aid, they inevitably construct something useful out of toys. It's MacGyver, in a sense, for the toddler set.

The animation is initially jarring - it employs what is called photopuppetry, which can result in a hyper-real effect - but at times it's truly stunning, as in an episode set in Japan, where much of the action takes place against a landscape painted in sumi ink. Throughout, though, the visuals are supplemented with a range of musical effects that both complement the action and refer, in manners both obvious and subtle, to more adult traditions.

My favorite musical detail, I think, occurs near the outset of the each episode. As the classroom phone rings, each animal notices it, until Linny the guinea pig sings, in his childish voice, "The phone - the phone is ringing." When I hear it, I inevitably find myself thinking of opera libretti that involve a similar repetition and amplification: as in, say, Don Giovanni, when an assembled chorus damns the antihero:

Traditore, traditore!

Tutto, tutto gia si sa.

Trema, trema o scellerato!

The phone, the phone is ringing!

But maybe I'm stretching things (remember, I usually watch my Wonder Pets at 6:51 a.m., before a cup of coffee). There's little doubt, though, that the anthemic music that accompanies the Pets' rides in their boat is meant to evoke Wagner's Flight of the Valkyries. It's not identical, but it's equally dramatic, uplifting, and aerial: Wagner, filtered through Coppola, and given to an entirely new generation.

Finally, there's the theme song. "Wonder Pets, Wonder Pets," the animals sing, "we're on our way, To help our friends and save the day." No, it's not Byron, but set against another winking melody - usually something that resembles the swells of a John Williams soundtrack - it's fun, and winning. And memorable: at least, to Cleo. Speak the first four words of it, and she'll gladly finish the couplet for you.

Morning's a gentle, easy time, in the world of parenting: days typically break softly, and we have our routine. Still, it's good to know that, should trouble arise, the Wonder Pets have our back - and in a creative, engaging way.