H.R. Pufnstuf

I just wanted to say that you couldn't pull me away from this show when I was a kid.

I LOVED IT.

What child didn't want to be wisked away to a far away place where trees and creatures of all sorts talked with you.

To this day I still love to reminisce about the show with other friends that have seen the show as well.

And to those who said it didn't make sense................WHAT children's show DOES make sense??? They are a make believe fantasy world that kids dream about. A place for them to get away and just have some PLAIN ordinary fun.

Tiala

For any adult born after 1970, this series (and the movie that was made from it) will make little sense, if any. Wild, raucous colors, dancing, singing, and an island where everything - yes, EVERYTHING - is alive.

Little Jimmy, coaxed to Living Island by the evil machinations of Witchy-Poo (the heavy of the series) finds himself in possession of a magic, talking flute, and trapped on an island of talking hats and dragons and witches, all of which he can barely comprehend. To an adult of today, the show simply makes little sense...

Ah, but if you saw it as a child, as I did, the show makes perfect sense. First, it's *FUN*. That, indeed, was one of the main points of the show - having fun. Yet, each show attempted to impart (as is typical for children's programming) a moral message. In general, the most common message of the entire series was "Perseverance". Keep trying, because though you may fail, if you keep trying, you may succeed in the end. Other lessons imparted by the show include 'Don't steal', 'Don't Lie', and 'Don't be Mean (despite how much fun it may be, you end up hurting others, and that isn't nice).'

Adults today look at the show, searching for depth, perhaps hidden meanings. Well, there *AREN'T* any - what you see is what you get. Cling and Clang have no "Hidden Meanings" - they are simply Cling and Clang. The talking flute is just a talking flute, and Jimmy is just a boy who wants to go home.

Alas, the networks decided to cancel the show. In an era where even the most critically acclaimed shows often died due to a slip of a point or two in the Nielsens, H.R. Pufnstuf was not the smash hit the network demanded. Adults of the time simply shook their heads as their children laughed and clapped and sang along with the simple songs, for parents of the time understood the show about as well as they understood the dark side of the moon.

Yet, I understood it as a child, as did all my friends of that time. Yes, we sang along with the theme song (which I can still sing today, word for word - it was mercifully short), laughed at the antics of the Living Islanders, booed the evil Witchy-Poo, and deeply felt for Little Jimmy, who sometimes wept for his heartfelt desire to go home. As a child, however, I often found I was jealous, even angry with little Jimmy. Living Island was, in the end, a fantasy paradise (despite Witchy-Poo), and for each moment Jimmy sighed and wished he could go home, I sighed and wished I could be there, on Living Island, instead of in the world of 1969, with it's turmoil and strife that were far beyond the comprehension of a little boy.

Anyone who didn't grow up in the 70's who sees this show just sits there in stunned amazement. But, if you saw this show back in its heyday, you probably loved it.

The Kroft shows were a surreal breed. They were puppeteers, but the puppets in these shows were, generally, people in elaborate costumes. The colors were bright and psychedelic. The names were a mixture of puns and silly jokes. There were plenty of songs and hijinxs galore. The stories were silly and lame, but they had a spirit and warmth to them. Loyalty and honesty were always at the heart of the characters and good values always triumphed.

Jack Wild made a name for himself in Oliver and stared as Jimmy. He is marooned on the Living Island by Witchipoo, who covets his Magic Flute. Jimmy is rescued by the mayor of Living Island, H.R. Pufnstuf. Each week, Witchiepoo would concoct another wild scheme to steal Magic Flute; and, each week, her scheme would backfire, thanks to her inept henchmen and her own stupidity.

The one thing that cemented a love of this show, for me, was Billie Hayes as Witchiepoo. Billie was a great comedian and gave her all to Witchiepoo. I was easily scared as a kid, but she was never frightening. Witchiepoo was too much of a screw-up to pose a real threat. She had a charm that made you want to come back. Plus, she had a cool, souped-up broom! And, from all accounts, she was a heck of a nice lady.

I've heard the drug jokes about this and other shows (i.e. H.R. Pufnstuf Hand Rolled Pufnstuf) from the Krofts. Yeah, they're weird and look like the product of a demented or medicated mind, but the writers weren't that young and were pretty straight-laced. Maybe it was just something in the air back then.

This is a strange,scary,freaky demented show. All I can remember is a screaming, living flute, bizarro McDonaldland characters and "Withchy-Poo", by far the scariest villian ever on T.V. The thought of seeing this show again sends shivers up my spine. Therefore I have no choice but to give it a "10"

This show, and many other Krofft programs (i.e. Lidsville and Land of the Lost), scared the hell out of me. In 1979 HR was deep in syndication, but that didn't stop a 4 year old from finding it. You'd sit down and watch, allured by the surreality, the "stranger in a strange land" themes and the larger than life puppet-like characters. You'd expect a benign Sesame Street-like program full of soft freindly characters. But in the land of Krofft all things are slightly twisted, mysterious, surreal. Just look at the expressions they've sewn into the faces of the characters. Dark man, dark. You'd be a little tense for the first 15 minutes, but then Freddy the Flute would bite Witchiepoo on the finger or some hitherto inanimate object would turn around and talk and freak the hell out of you, push you right over the cliff into full throttle terror... I remember crying hysterically and trying explain to my grandmother the freaky stuff that just went down on TV. She probably thought I was crazy. This stuff permeated my dreams and nightmares for years. I deeply repressed all things Krofft and then around age 20 learned that this show actually existed. Boy was I relieved, I hadn't made it all up. Absolutely priceless program, I've got some on tape.

Remember the sleestak? Enik? Chaka? That's a whole nother source of Freudian terror.