For most of the history of television, the barrier to syndication—and to profitability—has been 100 episodes. The shows that have made it to that mark are an unusual group. Many were big hits. Some found small cult audiences. Still others just hung on as best they could and never posted numbers quite low enough to be canceled. In 100 Episodes, we examine the shows that made it to that number, considering both how they advanced and reflected the medium and what contributed to their popularity. This entry covers the PBS Kids series ZOOM, which celebrated its 25th anniversary this month.
Before “Zoom” became ubiquitous for video meetings, the word conjured up memories of the live-action PBS Kids series with a catchy theme song, its own language, and an explanation as to why so many Millennials have a Boston zip code memorized (0-2-1-3-4!).
ZOOM was pretty much a variety show with an educational twist: think Bill Nye The Science Guy, Barefoot Contessa, Dear Abby, Saturday Night Live, the Olympics, and an open-mic night at a local coffee shop all rolled into one 30-minute episode. Only seven pre-teen cast members–or Zoomers, as they were called–could have the energy to keep up with the pace.
The original ZOOM premiered on WGBH in 1972 and ran for six years, winning the 1973 Emmy Award for Outstanding Achievement in Children’s Programming – Entertainment/Fictional. The reboot premiered 25 years ago this month—January 4, 1999, to be precise—bringing in a whole new generation of fans.
PBS has seamlessly combined educational and entertaining children’s content for decades—you know, like they did with Arthur, Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood, and Sesame Street? So what made this show different? It was for kids and by kids.
“Every recipe, joke, play, and topic of conversation came from the viewers who watched,” says Kaleigh Cronin, a Zoomer from seasons three and four of the 1999 reboot. “We were peers of everyone watching, so they saw themselves in us. Our opening and [segment introductions] were memorized, but otherwise we were free to interact as regular kids. I don’t think that exists today. I loved that our show was so real and honest.”
Unlike other 1990s unscripted children’s television shows like Nickelodeon’s Double Dare or Legend Of The Hidden Temple, ZOOM wasn’t competition-driven. Each of its 204 episodes was built by viewer-submitted ideas: sciences experiments for ZOOMsci, recipes for CafeZOOM, crafts for ZOOMdo, skits for ZOOMPlayhouse, games for ZOOMGame, heartfelt topics and questions for ZOOMChat, and curious challenges for ZOOMZinger.
Like sugar helping the medicine go down, ZOOM expertly balanced learning with laughter, so even the sillier segments fostered intellectual stimulation. The show’s signature segments were playful brain-teasers: Fannee Doolee and Ubbi Dubbi.
Fannee Doolee was a word game in which viewers had to figure out a fictional character’s likes and dislikes: “Fannee Doolee likes green, but doesn’t like colors. Why do you think that is?” (If you know, you know.)
Ubbi Dubbi, meanwhile, was the secret language that the Zoomers spoke where “ub” is placed in front of the vowel sound in each syllable. The language became so popular, it was referenced in The Big Bang Theory—or rather, Thube Bubig Bubang Thubeoruby. Apparently even Wendy Williams is fluent.
With all of the content presented only by the Zoomers on a simple set of brightly colored geometric shapes and carpets (and zero adults in sight), ZOOM authentically focused on topics that were important to kids from their own perspective. It didn’t condescend or belittle the situations, but treated them with sincerity and thoughtfulness.
The Fresh Nostalgia (@thefreshnostalgia), a content creator focused on 1990s and early 2000s nostalgia, grew up loving the show for this very reason. “I was extremely shy as a child, but seeing a show like ZOOM, in which kids got to be themselves, encouraged me to break out of my shell. One of my favorite segments was ZOOMChat, because the cast would discuss everyday issues that kids could relate to, such as feeling excluded, bullying, and peer pressure. The show really made kids feel like they had a voice, and that their ideas had value.”
That was exactly the intent of ZOOM’s creator, WGBH producer Christopher Sarson, when he came up with the idea in the 1970s. As a dad to two elementary school-aged children, he witnessed their burdens first-hand, and was eager to find a solution.
“If the emphasis is on learning rather than teaching, you achieve a lot,” Sarson told The New Yorker in a 2020 interview. “...They’ll be more sure of themselves and enjoy life more. So, it was this feeling of getting kids in a position where they could be thinking for themselves.”
In addition to showcasing the perspectives of kids from across the country through the show’s material, each season featured seven Zoomers, who came with their own points of view and lived experiences. Some Zoomers, like Cronin, would return for multiple seasons, while others only stayed for one. Throughout all seven seasons, one constant remained the same: the diversity, inclusion, and representation.
“ZOOM did a great job of casting a diverse group of kids that the audience would see themselves in in terms of race, body type, and personalities,” says Cronin. “Sometimes we’d get questions that were deep and dealt with our different cultures and opinions, but we were open and had so much respect for each other. We were like, ‘We’re different and we can learn about each other’s lives.’ It was so educational and eye-opening.”
Originally, Sarson was going to call the show “Zoom In, Zoom Out” because, “We’re gonna zoom in on the kids’ lives, and we’re going to zoom out on how that affects you in the world.”
The zooming in made ZOOM feel more trustworthy when it zoomed out. Its special, “ZOOM: America’s Kids Respond,” helped its viewers process September 11th from a kid’s perspective. Throughout the episode, the Zoomers gathered in a circle to discuss their own feelings, and to highlight kids who lived in New York City and were helping their communities and relief efforts.
“The flood of emails to the ZOOM website, from kids across the country, played a key role in the decision to create this weekend’s special,” said ZOOM Executive Producer Kate Taylor in a September 2001 press release. “We hope that it will help kids understand that they are not alone and that they can make a difference.”
Cronin remembers filming the episode, saying, “ZOOM was such a safe place for all of us that it felt like the best place to talk about it. We were all aware of how important the moment it was. We had questions, we had concerns, and we were able to talk honestly about what we were feeling as kids.”
The Zoomers made viewers feel seen in their ambassador-like presence for pre-teens in early 2000s America. Since ZOOM aired in the afternoon, for many kids it felt like hanging out with friends after school. In a way, ZOOM sort of gave a glimpse into the present-day fixation with social media influencers. Everyone had their favorite Zoomer introduction each season. (My favorite remains Lynese’s shoulder bounce in season one.) Writing to the show (either by email or “Z-mail” to “Box 350, Boston, Mass, 0-2-1-3-4!”) was akin to commenting on an Instagram post. Viewers got to know the Zoomers in a fairly intimate way, even if it was through a screen. I still can’t see a balloon without thinking of how Zoe (from season one and two) couldn’t play the games that required balloons since she was allergic to latex.
“It was important to the casting team that they hire ‘normal kids,’” says Cronin. “I definitely repped all the pre-teens with acne! It was rough to deal with as a 12 year-old on TV, but it’s so cool when people years later say to me, ‘I really identified with you,’ or ‘I looked up to you.’ That means a lot to me.”
Though, ZOOM airing before the height of social media and influencers may be a part of its charm. Within the lyrics of its opening theme song, there was an important line: “If you like what you see, turn off your TV and do it!” ZOOM wasn’t interested in its viewers just passively watching, nor would social media-driven activities have necessarily fit its framework. It encouraged interaction with the real world, with the activities directed towards hands-on, offline engagement, like making homemade peanut butter cups, learning to juggle, or figuring out how to most efficiently count all of the dots on a basketball.
“I think social media would have changed ZOOM,” says Cronin. “Maybe that’s even why it went off the air. By 2005, kids could say, ‘I can Google the answer to this,’ or they could connect with friends on [social media]. I think we hit the sweet spot right as the Internet was starting.”
Even without a heavy internet presence, love for ZOOM runs deep, and its impact echoes throughout pop culture—from Friends to Saturday Night Live to The Simpsons. And there’s no doubt every ZOOM fan gasped when Anna Kendrick sang “The Cup Song” in Pitch Perfect because they already knew it from ZOOM.
Social media is now the place where fans reminisce about the show through nostalgic TikToks and “Where Are They Now?” threads. Season one’s Pablo Velez, Jr., who is WGBH’s Director of Licensing and Business Development, has become ZOOM’s unofficial historian-documentarian. He has celebrated ZOOM anniversaries on Instagram, participated in a Reddit AMA, and hosted two ZOOM reunion live chats for WGBH’s 2020 digital series ZOOM into Action. The initiative mirrored the real show, with former Zoomers presenting activities that viewers could do at home during the COVID pandemic.
So, as ZOOM celebrates its 25th-anniversary milestone, it’s clear how lasting and influential its legacy is. The ideals, principles, and tools it equipped its viewers with as kids still resonate in adulthood. (Like, this writer always references the Peanut Butter Sandwich Challenge when over-communicating.)
Sarson’s vision of enthusiastically and earnestly empowering young people to learn from each other was not only a key to its success, but a timeless concept. In fact, there’s an appetite for a third ZOOM reboot, but with a twist. Like one fan commented, “Could we get an adult reboot with the ’90s kids now and they could teach us about taxes and relieving back pain and things?” PBS, you know what to do.