‘Bluey’ Is the Most Conservative Show on TV

The hit series proves it’s still possible to make an old-fashioned, family friendly program.

By Louise Perry

A scene from ‘Bluey.’ Photo: Associated Press

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The Australian animated series “Bluey” was the most streamed show in the U.S. for the second year in a row, one of only two children’s TV shows to make it into the top 10. Australian slang words like “dunny” and “brekky” have made their way into the vocabularies of American children, and the most passionate young fans have acquired an Australian lilt to their accents.

The joke among the parents I know is that “Bluey” is really a TV show for adults, because the parents often want to watch it, too. In this sense, “Bluey” recalls the sitcoms of an earlier era, like “I Love Lucy” or “The Cosby Show,” which were intended to be viewed by the entire family, all gathered around the boxy television set.

In the age of streaming services, TV shows rarely make the effort to appeal to every age group at once. The assumption is that family members will have their own personal devices and their own niche preferences for entertainment. This is one explanation for the presence of so many explicit sex scenes in film and TV during the past 20 years: There is now little risk that a teenager will find himself cringing when a raunchy scene comes on screen and his mother or sister are in the room.

In its all-ages sitcom format, “Bluey” is old-fashioned. It is also old-fashioned in its politics.

Here is a show about a married, middle-class, heterosexual couple with two children living in the suburbs. The characters are anthropomorphic dogs that act and live like humans. They spend a lot of time with their extended families and their local friends, who are also overwhelmingly married heterosexual couples with children. At a time when one in four U.S. children live without a father at home, the dad of “Bluey” is a constant and loving presence in his children’s lives. The parents both work, but their family is what gives them meaning.

In most contemporary depictions of suburban family life, darkness lurks beneath the surface (think of the shows “Breaking Bad,” “Mad Men” or even “The Simpsons”). Not so in “Bluey.” The characters’ lives are small “c” conservative, and they are happy.

Contemporary children’s fiction often propagandizes on progressive issues, particularly when a franchise is somewhat protected from the feedback of the market. The children’s programming on the Public Broadcasting Service, as well as on the state-subsidized British Broadcasting Corporation and Australian Broadcasting Corporation, is notably more politically progressive than capitalist mega-franchises like Nickelodeon’s “Paw Patrol.”

“Bluey” is an outlier here. Although the show began life on Australia’s ABC, it is notably bereft of any progressive messaging. The show has nothing to say about race, sexuality or gender identity. More abstract progressive ideas about the value of personal expression or authenticity are also absent. Occasionally, these ideas are even mocked. “I’m pretty sure that by the end of the movie, everyone will like that the monkey was different,” sighs the dad on a trip to see a kids’ film at the cinema. Digs at the poor quality of most contemporary children’s fiction are a running joke in “Bluey,” a wink to the long-suffering parents watching at home.

Instead, the political ideas that crop up in “Bluey” are gently conservative ones—on the importance of unwritten codes of courtesy (“Turtle Boy”), cultivating innate talents (“Cricket”), familial loyalty (“Butterflies”), making sacrifices for your spouse (“Fancy Restaurant”) and hard work (“Bike”).

In the episode “Army,” a boy who might have, in other circumstances, been a candidate for an attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder diagnosis derives meaning and discipline from pretending to be a soldier. In “Government,” the show pokes fun at the idea that the state might have ultimate authority on questions of parenting. “Easter” and “Flat Pack” feature Christian symbolism. The political messages of “Bluey” are subtle, never obtrusive. This is right-wing art of the most winsome kind.

Plus, the show is good. It never speaks down to children. In fact, it treats their cultural enrichment with the utmost seriousness. “I didn’t want the usual kids’ TV scoring,” says Joe Brumm, the show’s creator. With the help of composer Joff Bush, Mr. Brumm has incorporated classical music by Holst, Bach, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky and others into the “Bluey” soundscape. “We’re trying to elevate the episode in that way—bring it from just a family watching TV or something, to this grand, beautiful thing,” Mr. Bush says.

These efforts at elevation give the show a profundity that is unique among children’s TV.

In one of my favorite episodes, “Onesies,” an aunt comes to visit. We learn that mother and sister haven’t seen each other in several years, but we don’t know why. For young viewers, the episode is about the fun of make-believe games. For grown-ups, the episode is about the pain of infertility, as we learn in a barely articulated moment of sadness that the aunt has been reluctant to spend time with her nieces because she longs to have children of her own. I must have seen this episode half a dozen times, yet it still manages to bring tears to my eyes. How many TV shows can achieve such emotional intensity in the space of a seven-minute episode?

“Bluey” has succeeded in commercial terms. It’s boosted the local economy of Brisbane, the city in which the show is both set and produced. It has also succeeded in artistic terms, offering a proof of concept: It is still possible to make old-fashioned, family-friendly, conservative TV. In fact, it seems that audiences are desperate for it.

Ms. Perry is a Free Expression columnist at WSJ Opinion.