When Dan Povenmire and Jeff Marsh originally pitched the idea for Phineas and Ferb, it went poorly. People didn't get it. Executives, creatives, even the people they tried to bring onto the creative team all told them that the show would never work.
What they wanted to create was impossible. And thus, the time between the moment Phineas was first drawn and the moment of the first episodes airing was 16 years. Phineas and Ferb was always going to fail.
At least, that was the prevailing narrative. Over 100 episodes, four specials, and multiple Emmys later, and somehow, it's still easy to see why this was such a shot in the dark. Phineas and Ferb is a total deconstruction of modern animated shows.
And it works spectacularly well. But what was so different about this? I always come so close to busting Phineas and Ferb, but it ends up the same way every single time.
I look and see, there's a massive thing Phineas and Ferb built right in front of me. But every time you look, you always say-- When it came time to find a creative director for the show, the first hurdle hit. Their choice of staff member on SpongeBob thought Phineas and Ferb were too, as he put it, Christlike.
He said it was impossible to make a show about characters that don't ever lose or do anything wrong. Essentially, without regrets, there's no conflict, and, thus no show. And logic would dictate that's probably true.
See, Phineas and Ferb operates on what's called a floating timeline, meaning, in the show, time never really passes. The characters don't age, well, for the most part. Obviously, the show takes place over the course of one summer.
But time here is meaningless except for the flashforward episode. So most shows would use that timeline to create a single episode conflict. Take SpongeBob.
Every episode SpongeBob, Patrick, Squidward have a problem, a new problem, a problem they need to overcome in a new way. That problem creates anger or sadness, frustration, and sometimes regret before finally reaching the moment of catharsis. This is exciting.
There are stakes, no matter how absurd they are. Phineas and Ferb tosses that logic out of a treehouse window. There is rarely, if ever, meaningful conflict.
Sure, they face opposition, but there's never emotional stakes. And they're never emotionally invested. Turns out, that's the key.
Phineas and Ferb can't be caught. We know this. And they don't care if they are caught, so neither do we.
No one will be hurt. They believe this. So do we.
The things they create, they build, their inventions cannot appear magical and they're never treated as such. So we also believe in their plausibility just as much as they do. And the ending will always be happy because, as they tell us, every day is a new day.
See, bad shows try and fail to create tension, to create emotion. Phineas and Ferb uses their own main characters to tell us explicitly instead not to worry, to just be happy. And it's refreshing, refreshing even in the sea of shows that do tension and emotional excitement well.
But this is only possible if you can create stakes elsewhere. Behold, the Abominable-- [GIBBERISH] the "Abominonom" the "Abominable-anator. " See I can only say if I speak slowly.
Rocky and Bullwinkle was a big inspiration for Phineas and Ferb thanks to its interconnected narratives. The second hurdle Phineas and Ferb had to overcome to get made was that nearly everyone they brought it to thought there was too much going on for its audience to understand. Again, Phineas and Ferb episodes follow a single ubiquitous structure, a set of rules.
Phineas and Ferb decide how to spend their day and get to work making it happen. Candace catches them, and begins the process of attempting to have them caught by their mother. And Perry sneaks off to foil Doofenshmirtz's evil plans.
Remember that lack of conflict facing its title characters? Well, each piece of the episode's three narrative structure serves an individual purpose. Phineas and Ferb are meant to provide the mindless fun and excitement of the absurd and creative.
Candace's storyline exists to create timed tension, the villain the boys don't know or care that they're facing. And Perry's storyline provides the action, excitement, and slapstick comedy that Povenmire felt the show needed. They all followed the same rules though.
Phineas and Ferb can't be caught. The next day is a fresh start. And there's no true emotional stakes.
And the unmitigated adherence to these rules is what grounds what could be an overly complex story structure. We know that this has to lead to this. And this has to lead to this.
Mom, Dad, the boys have a restaurant in the yard, and they're not letting me in. You've got to put a stop to it. Come on.
And that this has to lead to this. And because of that, in 11 minutes of each episode, we're able to enjoy three separate stories, none of which shift, hone, or lose the show's focus, which is whatever this happens to be that day. We, the audience, develop a familiarity with these rules in this narrative structure.
And because it's consistent, we can enjoy it without thinking about it. But if this all works so well, the question becomes, why aren't all shows creating this uniform formula and running with it for 110 plus episodes? Well, it's this.
Whoo, I hope they do not have a male dancer popping out of it. They asked, but they couldn't afford me. There are hundreds of examples of moments like these throughout the show's run.
Actually, if you really pay attention, most of the humor in Phineas and Ferb is aimed at adults, written for and by adults. One of the principles the writers wanted to follow was ensuring a show where no one is an idiot and no one is a jerk to another person. So essentially, take the success of nearly every animated show ever created, and do the exact opposite.
No this, or this, or well, any of this. It was a problem, not only for getting the show picked up by a network, but even getting the episodes approved by Disney. People believe the writing was too elevated at times for kids.
And these characters needed to fit into better molds and more specific archetypes. Sure, there were other shows that had broken these molds and created these characters outside of these boxes. But it can only really work if you have some of the most talented writers in animation.
And believe me, they did. That elevated writing, that adult humor, it was on purpose. Jeff Marsh would always tell interviewers that he always believed that kids were smarter than TV networks gave them credit for.
But they also didn't care if they weren't. Disney, early on, would try to get the writers to dumb down or remove the more adult jokes or elevated humor. At one point, they got a note that said, OK, this joke is funny, but will the kids get it?
And Marsh's response was, I don't care. As long as the joke doesn't make you change the channel, there's another one for the kids in 5 seconds. He'd often say the show was actually playing to the adults in the room.
By giving the kids the eye candy of the inventions and plans themselves, the action and slapstick of Perry and Doofenshmirtz, they were able to use the dialogue as a tool to create a smarter show in an adult, almost sneaky, unnoticeable way. It didn't announce its intentions like a Pinky and the Brain. It didn't give you the idiot and the savant like Squidward and Patrick.
And it didn't give you the animosity of a villain like Aku. It worked in subtlety, in total opposition of the way Disney's cartoons had operated previously. And somehow, throughout all of this, it managed to fit in one of these in every episode.
And they did serve a function. (SINGING) Bow chicka bow wow, that's what my baby says, now, now, now-- Every episode has an original song written and composed for that episode. Now, I'll give you a second.
Name another animated show that managed that, that even tried to attempt that feat. Those songs are not only mostly great, and they do go a long way to making the episodes substantially more memorable, but they also reinforce the show's laissez faire attitude towards traditional storytelling. That lack of serious emotional conflict, the lack of concern for tension, the lack of archetypes, the complete disregard for what's expected of an animated show driven home once an episode in the most look-at-me, in-your-face way imaginable Phineas and Ferb is indeed everything that its creators were told wasn't going to work, everything that was rejected, everything that seemed impossible.
But its creators, its writers, never-- even in failure-- abandoned their vision. They never compromised, even when that compromise could have meant success. And I think what's kind of beautiful is that the show itself reflects that belief in the impossible.
Yes, they can build a roller coaster in their backyard. And yes, to them, that's normal. Yes, a platypus is a pet and also a spy.
And yes, you can have fun with nothing more than your friends and a summer day. And none of these characters will bat an eye at any of these sentences. Phineas and Ferb manages to be wonderful 100 plus times over.
And under its incessant happiness, there is a show that literally conforms to its own rules, unwaveringly. And maybe it's a lesson. Believe in your ideas.
Believe in your characters. And stick to the principles you create for them. And maybe, just maybe, you might have the next Endless Summer on your hands.
Mom, Phineas and Ferb are making a title sequence. That is a wrap on today's episode of Nerdstalgic. If you guys enjoyed this video, press the like button down below.
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