Poster for "Won't You Be My Neighbor," a documentary about the career of Mister Rogers, directed by Morgan Neville.
Credit Focus Features
Won’t You Be My Neighbor?, a biodoc about Fred Rogers and his television series, Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, does many things.
Firstly, it breaks the heart. “Bittersweet,” the Malco ticket agent nodded. “A lot of people leave crying, just like you.”
Yes, that’s how it ends — with the capacity audience sitting stunned through the credits and leaving teary-eyed but bonded. Random people momentarily shared a neighborhood that emphasized kindness.
It breaks the heart because it seems that as a nation we’ve left Mister Rogers’ welcoming inclusion; the show graced America’s airways for over three decades (1968-2001). We now promote border walls; we pursue individualized activities with heads down and thumbs working. These endeavors arguably leave us isolated and suspicious, unskilled at communicating, and nonaccepting of differences.
But Fred Rogers, a lean, 143-pound Pennsylvanian, saw life differently. He believed in giving children good television. He used his creative talents of storytelling, funny voices, puppetry, and piano playing to delight others. He starred in what became an award winning PBS (Public Broadcasting System) television show. He enjoyed being himself.
Secondly, the biodoc continuously welcomes viewers, as did the original educational programs. Mister Rogers says, “I’m so glad you’re here. Won’t you please be my neighbor? I like you just the way you are.” Each sentence is enunciated clearly, the voice both musical and modulated, and the invitation winningly sincere. Mister Rogers tirelessly repeats himself.
The documentary begins in black and white with Rogers at a piano saying one of his main jobs is to help children through some difficult changes in life. He compares it to changing keys in a composition; some key progressions prove challenging, as do some life circumstances. The biodoc mentions possible situations in a child’s life like divorce, getting lost, and death.
The movie emphasizes that navigating life’s transitions is easier “if you have somebody to help you.” Mister Rogers and his television show became that help for many children — but also for some adults. When a man near the popcorn counter saw me crying, we talked about the show. He hadn’t seen the 30-minute programs as a child but caught them as a young adult and said, “They took.” They changed his life.
The movie quickly shifts to color. The beloved routine begins. Mister Rogers comes through a door into a living room, goes to a closet, takes off his coat, hangs it up, chooses a colored sweater, switches to sneakers, and often feeds the aquarium fish. Meanwhile, there’s small talk.
The series started at WQED in Pittsburgh. It developed gradually. Mister Rogers sang a simple welcoming song asking those in living rooms across to the nation to please be his neighbor. Directed by Morgan Neville, the biodoc features the music of Jonathan Kirkscey, a cellist with the Memphis Symphony Orchestra.
The routine was predictable, wholesome, conversational, calming. Children need those things. Actually, all people need them. Mister Rogers honored children by recognizing their strong emotions. He grinned respectfully when they talked. In return, millions loved him.
The sameness seemed dull to some (like adults) but soothing to children. The programs displayed quietness, laughter, singing, make believe, and a trolley ride. They encouraged silence. A turtle crossed the screen at its own speed. Although the programs rolled at a slower pace, there was no wasted space.
The neighborhood took time to listen, ponder, ask good questions, and talk about things that mattered. One boy shared his toy’s mishap with Mister Rogers: “My dog’s ears came off in the wash.” That’s a big deal! Mister Rogers addressed what may have been an underlying fear of the children listening: losing limbs. He assured them that their arms, legs, and noses would not be torn off.
A reason Rogers joined television was to give children something better than the violence of animated cartoons and pie-in-the-face comedy routines. In exchange, he delivered quality. He had puppets like Daniel Tiger, known for his wise questions and cocked-head observations; he introduced a friendly neighborhood policeman, Officer Clemmons, played by François Clemmons, now a famous opera star; he had Yo-Yo Ma, the acclaimed cellist, drop by and play.
Mister Rogers deftly addressed contemporary social issues without naming them, for example, blacks and whites swimming in the same pool. Mister Rogers diffused that riveting issue via a ho-hum skit. It was a hot day. Mister Rogers rolled up his pants and put his bare feet into a child’s wading pool. Officer Clemmons arrived. Mister Rogers invited him to cool his feet. The policeman lacked a towel. Mister Rogers offered to share his, which was over his shoulder. The policeman took off his shoes. The camera lingered quite a while on four feet: two brown and two white.
Rogers, a lanky man with neatly parted black hair, came from a privileged background. Born in the pre-television era, Rogers recognized the new medium as a potentially wonderful influence. He took an assignment nobody wanted, children’s TV, and made it shine. An ordained Presbyterian minister, he preached wearing a sweater instead of a collar. Rogers expressed adulthood differently from many, for he embraced kindness, practiced goodness, and willingly shared.
His sets were simple, inexpensive. His much-loved hand puppets looked a bit worn; their costumes didn’t match. His use of a trolley signaled the show’s imaginary intervals. Over and over Mister Rogers said something like this: “Love is the root of everything — all learning, all parenting, all relationships.”
He wrote the songs and scripts and acted. Like any super creative person, he had self-doubts. Known for hard work, he met deadlines. He faced public criticism that his work “was not serious.”
Rogers remembered his own childhood. He was often sick and consequently bedridden and isolated. Imagination became his staple. He read and played imaginary games. Just before adolescence, he was known as Fat Fred. He never forgot being teased and bullied. As an adult he swam a mile daily and weighed in afterward at 143. Those numbers were meaningful about his life; they correspond to the letters in the words I(1) love(4) you(3).
A nonviolent human being, he practiced active listening and valued others’ opinions. He sought friendships and kept friends for decades. He was the same off stage as on set.
A career milestone was appearing before a Senate panel that was debating funding for PBS. When it was Rogers’ turn to speak, he spoke slowly, clearly. He told a story and shared a song he had written that was inspired by something a child asked, “What do you do with the mad that you feel, when you feel so mad you could bite?’
Those are good questions both then and now. Rogers believed children have mentionable and manageable feelings. His song stresses a child’s ability to stop before doing something wrong and to plan to do something else instead. The song swayed and entranced the senators; PBS got its funding.
Before seeing the biodoc, I read one review. It called Won’t You Be My Neighbor “essential viewing.” I go for an upgrade. I call this movie “essential buying.” Why? Because we as a nation need to be reminded of Alexis de Tocqueville’s famous assessment: “America is great because she is good. If America ceases to be good, America will cease to be great.”
Consequently and lastly, perhaps the best thing about this biodoc of Mister Rogers and his good neighborhood is it reminds us of the enduring power of goodness.
Watch the trailer: