I'm of the opinion that Rugrats is a seriously underappreciated cartoon. It may seem odd to propose that a show that was once so phenomenally popular could be "underappreciated" but nevertheless I find that people tend to overlook just how brilliantly strange, twisted and edgy this series was in its heyday. It went on for rather too long and added one or two highly divisive characters in its latter stages, so it could be that its reputation was tarnished beyond all repair, but anyone who recalls Rugrats as being little more than an extended diaper gag-fest would do well to revisit the earlier seasons and see just how sharply scripted and, above all, darkly weird a number of those episodes were. Although fundamentally a kids' cartoon, Rugrats was able to weave in a ton of adult appeal, including some really esoteric gags which I suspect would be as lost on half the adults the audience as the children (one episode has Tommy getting separated from Grandpa Lou and winding up in the care of a couple of eccentric cat hoarders at a house called Grey Gardens), and the central conceit is one that children and adults should find equally beguiling - namely, just how daunting and bizarre a place the world can be when seen through the right pair of eyes. Rugrats had that sense of childhood innocence and wonder down pat, but more impressive still is how vividly it encapsulates that sense of irrational childhood fear, deftly drawing you into the mentality of a toddler and having you appreciate why the most mundane of everyday occurrences would seem utterly terrifying from their perspective. If you grew up with the series then odds are there's at least one Rugrats episode which gave you sleepless nights - in my case, it would be "What The Big People Do". At some point, I fully intend to cover that episode and just how beautifully, nightmarishly fucked up the whole thing is. For now though, let's continue our tour of children's lessons in mortality by looking at "I Remember Melville", the first of two death-orientated episodes yielded throughout the series' run. For so edgy a cartoon was Rugrats that it gave us not just one, but two episodes which dealt very explicitly with the subject of loss, albeit from somewhat different angles. "I Remember Melville" deals very much with raw grief and with navigating through the pain of loss, while the second episode, "Mother's Day", is more concerned with coming to terms with an absent relationship and reaffirming connections with someone already long passed. In both cases, the bereaved character is Chuckie, which ties in with him being the most emotionally sensitive of the rugrats.
"I Remember Melville" has a similar premise to the Alvin & The Chipmunks episode "Cookie Chomper", in that it also uses the sudden death of a beloved pet as the basis for outlining the different stages of grieving, with the final assurance that, no matter the pain that loss entails, there is hope at the end of the tunnel. I'd say that the depiction of grief here is quite a bit starker than that of "Cookie Chomper", however, and that the final lesson is reached and delivered through slightly less spelled-out and thus all the more satisfying means. Both episodes are excellent in how they approach the subject of death, bereavement and, finally, renewal, although I give Rugrats extra points for adhering more to the principle of "show, don't tell" in its representation of the journey through the grieving process. The ill-fated pet in this particular instance is a pill woodlouse named Melville, whom Chuckie adopts and whom the babies mistakenly identify throughout as a "bug" (woodlice are actually a type of crustacean, although in fairness I wouldn't expect a two-year-old to comprehend the difference). It's probably fair to say that a pill woodlouse isn't going to garner the same degree of instant emotional attachment from most viewers as a conventionally adorable pet like Cookie the kitten (I say "most" because personally, being a big crustacean enthusiast, I can't help but immediately feel warmth toward the little isopod); nevertheless, the episode does a wonderful job of making us feel the strength of Chuckie's attachment to him and, through this, genuinely come to care about his fate. To the rest of the world, Melville may seem small and insignificant, and he doesn't exactly show much in the way of personality in what little screen time he has - and yet, by the end of the episode, we've been through such an arduous emotional journey with Chuckie that the gravitas surrounding the loss of Melville feels entirely genuine. We really do believe that his closest, most personal friend is being laid to rest.
The episode opens with Chuckie explaining to his fellow rugrats why Melville is the perfect pet and why he feels as strong a bond with him as Tommy does with Spike - Melville doesn't tease Chuckie or pass judgement on him, he's easy to talk to, and as an added bonus he doesn't have claws or teeth, which makes him less intimidating to Chuckie than other animals (it's also mentioned here that Chuckie's father has a fur allergy - I don't recall if they brought that up later on in the series when the Finsters adopted a poodle). The obviously one-sided nature of Chuckie's devotions is played up in a somewhat comical fashion - despite Chuckie's assertion that Melville always listens to him, we know that Melville doesn't actually give a toss about his musings on eating fancy soap - but anyone who's ever given their heart to an animal companion will absolutely understand how he feels, and there's something immensely touching about just how much love and appreciation Chuckie has for this tiny being. Which makes what happens next a little hard to bear.
In contrast to Cookie Chomper III, Melville meets his tragic demise fairly early on in the story. He doesn't get much of a narrative arc in his living state - we see just enough footage to establish that Chuckie is totally enamored with the isopod, shortly after which Chuckie leaves Melville in the care of Tommy, Phil and Lil while he heads off to the outskirts of the yard to scout for more potential tidbits for Melville. By this stage, Chuckie is now so devoted to meeting Melville's every need that he's assumed the mindset of a perpetually-fussing parent, dragging a suitcase full of Melville's stuff behind him and warning the prospective woodlouse-sitters that Melville gets cranky if he doesn't have his nap. With Chuckie gone, Lil immediately proposes that they eat Melville, although a horrified Tommy is quick to put a stop to that (it would be a bad idea anyway - I've heard it said that woodlice taste like urine, although I'm not sure if I want to delve too deeply into the culinary habits of whoever verified that particular fact). Instead, Tommy proposes that they teach Melville some new tricks in order to surprise Chuckie when he gets back, only to look down into the shoe box and see that the woodlouse has gone ominously belly-up.
Unlike Cookie Chomper III, no cause of death is ever established for Melville - his time had simply come, it would seem. Lil cottons on quickly that Melville is now an ex-woodlouse, although Tommy, much like Paz The Penguin, is initially confused by the whole notion. Lil explains that, "Dead is when you're asleep for a long time..." "...like forever," adds Phil. Although Phil and Lil both appear to understand the permanence of death, their supposed solemnity is immediately undercut by the flippancy with which they detach from the situation and propose going back to making mud pies. Phil and Lil have rather a callous attitude toward Melville (already evidenced by Lil's casual proposal that they consume him) although this does pay off toward the end of the episode. Tommy alone recognises that Chuckie is going to be deeply distressed when he returns, and that the other babies can't just stand by and let that happen. The three of them go in search of a replacement pet and happen upon a snail, although Phil is pessimistic about it passing for a Melville substitute. "It's not really a bug, it's a snail," he muses. Ahh, the irony. "A bug's a bug", Lil insists, while Tommy places the snail in the shoe box and discreetly shifts Melville's body onto a nearby plastic shovel. Note that, while Alvin & The Chipmunks was careful to keep Cookie's death and mangled body off-screen, here there's an awful lot of focus upon Melville's corpse, including several close-up shots of him lying motionless on his back. You might think that a belly-up woodlouse makes for a less distressing sight than a dead kitten, but there is one particular shot in which we catch a glimpse of Melville's cold, lifeless eyes, and it's enormously grim.
Sure enough, when Chuckie returns he doesn't take the news too well and wants nothing to do with the slimy imposter in Melville's shoe box. It's here that the different stages of grief first kick in, although Chuckie experiences them in a less structured manner than the three chipmunks, with Denial and Anger occurring at pretty much the same time. Chuckie indignantly tosses the the snail (I hope that it landed softly, or else two minibeasts perished instead of just one) and demands that they return Melville. There follows an extremely heart-rending sequence in which Chuckie attempts to bring Melville back to life by reanimating his corpse himself, moving him around and having him "perform" various circus tricks. Tommy attempts to illustrate the difference between life and death to Chuckie by showing him a live earthworm and asking him to notice how it, unlike Melville, is capable of movement, but Chuckie continues to hear none of it. He can only maintain the illusion for so long, however, and after having to prop Melville up one time too many, breaks down and tearfully admits that his beloved friend is dead. Compared to the more understated reactions we saw from Alvin, Simon and Theodore to Cookie Chomper's passing, Chuckie's sudden, unrestrained outpouring of grief feels raw, searing and painfully authentic, not least his harrowing declaration that he'll, "never be happy again!" Unlike Alvin, Simon and Theodore, Chuckie also isn't fortunate enough to have a learned parental figure like Dave Seville on hand to talk him through the grieving process, his companions being every bit as inexperienced in this field as he is. Phil and Lil have a surface understanding of what death is, but are unable contemplate it too deeply. Tommy is a notch more sensitive toward Chuckie's emotions, but naively assumes that the problem can be solved by having him banish all thoughts of Melville entirely. Although Chuckie's friends do, in their way, prompt him along toward the right realisation, ultimately Chuckie has to figure all of this out for himself.
The following morning, Tommy, Phil & Lil recall that Chuckie was very upset yesterday and resolve to avoid saying anything that might remind him of Melville. To their surprise, Chuckie shows up in apparently good spirits, insisting that his grief over Melville was yesterday's news that he's ready to move on with his life. Obviously, Chuckie has merely slipped backwards a stage from Depression to Denial, but then, contrary to popular belief, the five stages of grief don't always follow smoothly in a straight line - often the road toward Acceptance is messy and chaotic. Tommy suggests that the babies celebrate Chuckie's ostensible restoration by raiding the refrigerator for some chocolate pudding. At this stage, I'm going to interrupt my commentary on Chuckie's grapplings with the grieving process to point out a really strange sight gag that occurs when Tommy opens the refrigerator to retrieve the tubs of pudding. Sharp-eyed viewers might notice a milk carton amid the Pickles' victuals advertising the disappearance of one David "La Brea Tar Pits" Allen. Evidently, there's a sly in-joke going on here. The La Brea Tar Pits should, of course, be familiar to anybody who's seen the film Miracle Mile, but who's David Allen? It seems a safe bet that this refers to David L. Allen, who worked as a design supervisor on a number of Rugrats episodes, although I'm still intrigued to learn what his connection was exactly to the La Brea Tar Pits.
Unfortunately, the taste of chocolate pudding is all that's needed to noisily shatter Chuckie's facade; he erupts into tears, recalling how he and Melville used to eat chocolate pudding together before the latter's tragic passing (all credit to Christine Cavanaugh, who does a splendid job in making Chuckie sound totally, gut-wrenchingly distraught in this scene). Tommy suggests that the babies find something else to do which won't remind Chuckie of Melville, but Chuckie refuses. He understands that inevitably he's going to feel sad whenever he thinks about Melville, but at the same time he realises that his own life needs to carry on and that he can't deny himself day-to-day pleasures like chocolate pudding just because he doesn't want to confront those emotions. Moreover, he feels a personal obligation, as Melville's only friend, to keep his memory alive - as he poignantly points out to Tommy, Phil and Lil, "if I don't remember him, who will?" This confuses Phil and Lil, who wonder how Chuckie can bear to burden himself with so much sadness. Chuckie admits that, even though he knows that Melville has already gone, he feels that he still needs to properly say his goodbyes. Thus, we see him finally move into the Searching stage, as the babies confront the issue head-on and attempt to bring a sense of closure to Melville's passing, by burying Melville in his shoe box in the Pickles' backyard and holding a miniature funeral service for him. Phil and Lil offer to say a few words, and speak mournfully about all the fond times they observed Chuckie and Melville sharing. It's here that we get our pay-off for their earlier flippancy, as Phil and Lil demonstrate that they have learned to genuinely care - only, to their surprise, Chuckie suddenly erupts with laughter in the middle of their speech, leading to a neat bit of role reversal in which Phil and Lil chide him for not showing Melville proper respect. Chuckie apologises, but says that he couldn't help but laugh on being reminded of all the happiness that Melville brought into his life. Here, Chuckie indicates that he's finally arrived at the Acceptance stage, stating that he feels reassured knowing that he can think of Melville and actually take joy and comfort in those memories. He thanks Phil and Lil for helping him to realise this and, suddenly, they too feel overwhelmed with emotion and burst into tears. The episode ends by panning upwards and showing one final, reassuring glimpse of the sun shining down upon the Pickles' neighbourhood, a reminder of the continuing cycle of life and of the promise of renewal brought by each new day.
Oh yes, and "I Remember Melville" is paired with a Rugrats story called "No More Cookies" in which Angelica asks the babies to help her kick her binge-eating addiction. It's an odd combination, not least because "No More Cookies" is something of a weird episode, period. Angelica fails to kick the habit, yells at the babies for allowing her to fail, and then the episode abruptly ends with nobody any the better or wiser. It's possible they were going for something entirely lightweight to counterbalance the heartbreak of the Melville story, only "No More Cookies" manages to be downright unsettling, both in the sheer grotesqueness of Angelica's eating habits and in the fact that nothing actually gets resolved in the end. The message seems to be that you can get through grief, but with addiction you're essentially doomed to keep on repeating the same cycle of self-destructive behaviours over and over. Ah well, as I stated earlier, Rugrats was nothing if not skin-crawlingly freaky, and all the more distinguished for it.
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