Pete Best

Kiddie show shenanigans

Even children’s fare was affected by the British Invasion. From far left: The Flintstones and the Rubbles donned prehistoric Beatle wigs; Jack Wild won pop-star-level fame on “H.R. Pufnstuf”; the stylish British import “Thunderbirds.”

“The Flintstones” © Hanna-Barbera Productions; “H.R. Pufnstuf” © Sid & Marty Krofft Productions; “Thunderbirds” © Associated Television

“THE BEATLES” CARTOON SERIES, DOPEY AS IT was, had one profound and lasting effect on Saturday morning television. After “The Beatles,” many characters on the Saturday roster formed singing groups — electric guitars and all — and/or original pop tunes were heard during their slapstick montages.

Such shows included “The Archie Show,” “The Banana Splits Adventure Hour,” “Scooby-Doo, Where Are You!,” “Josie and the Pussycats,” “Lancelot Link: Secret Chimp” and “The Jackson 5ive.” (The Archies’ “Sugar Sugar” was the #1 song of 1969!)

Hanna-Barbera’s “The Flintstones” (1960-66) — a comedy set in the caveman days with more than a passing resemblance to “The Honeymooners” — often commented on current events. The Beatles did not escape the notice of the “modern Stone Age family.”

In a 1965 episode, the “Flintstones” ensemble of Fred, Wilma, Barney and Betty don Beatle wigs, gather around a microphone and, as Fred strums along on guitar, sing “Bug music.” The lyrics: “I said, Yeah, yeah, yeah! He said, Yeah, yeah, yeah! She said, Yeah, yeah, yeah!” The foursome is joined by the Gruesomes, a neighboring family of monsters, who sing the same song while likewise wearing — I hate to ruin the surprise — Beatle wigs.

THE WEIRD AND WONDERFUL THING ABOUT THE “supermarionation” shows created by British puppeteers Gerry and Sylvia Anderson and imported to American TV (“Fireball XL5,” “Supercar,” “Stingray,” etc.) is how superbly crafted and “acted” the stories are. Before long, you get caught up in the action and drama — and forget that you’re watching puppets.

During the height of the British Invasion period came the Andersons’ “Thunderbirds” (1965-66), which follows the exploits of the Tracy family. They live on a lush private island in an ultrachic abode with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a shimmering ocean vista. There’s a pool with a high diving board and an inviting patio. The spread is a marvel of modern architecture, a veritable vacation home for jet-setters. So ... what’s the catch?

The Tracys can never relax. They’re a family, yes, but they’re also a highly skilled, well-funded, top-secret agency known as International Rescue. When disaster strikes anywhere in the world, this family must answer the call. The house itself transforms into their vehicle for dispatch. Chairs sink into the floor, swiftly delivering occupants into emergency vehicles. A wall poster flips around to deposit agents into a chute for rapid deployment. Beneath the home is a vast, multi-level, underground depot with monolithic emergency vehicles, including planes, rockets, and an aquacar. A rocket ship blasts off from beneath the swimming pool. The pool slides aside, chlorinated water included, to make room.

The Tracys’ father, Jeff — a fit, silver-haired former astronaut — stays home and monitors the missions of his five adult sons. Scott, John, Virgil, Gordon and Alan each have a specialty. (I don’t want to cast aspersions on Jeff’s late wife, but his sons look like they all have different fathers.) There hangs a portrait of each son; when one of the boys reports from the field, the eyes light up on his corresponding portrait, which turns into a video screen.

“Thunderbirds” is, at heart, a parody of the James Bond films, and an exceedingly clever one. Composer Barry Gray’s movieready score is worthy of 007. Even as a child, you sensed that this was not American television. That this was British to the core.

Then there was Lancashire boy Jack Wild who, following his Oscar-nominated turn as the Artful Dodger in “Oliver Twist,” was exported to star in “H.R. Pufnstuf” (1969-70). With his magazineready looks, Wild emerged as not just a guy who interacts with a talking flute on Saturday mornings, but a bona fide teen idol. Wild wouldn’t be the last Brit to star on American TV during the period.