For what it’s worth, I’ve come to the conclusion that America’s historical record vis-à-vis the depiction of children in movies gets a dismaying, Hollywood-sign-size “F.”

The uninvolving, horribly scripted Spy Kids (2001) is a dreadful mess that aims to bring to life youth’s heroic fantasies yet ends up feeling cheap in the maudlin, simplistic sentiments it conveys. The manipulative, groan-inducing Mrs. Doubtfire (1993) presents an idiotic perspective on divorce and its impact on parents’ progeny, as well as a screenplay full of holes that shockingly didn’t affect its box office results. Even the much-vaunted Boyhood (2014) has a disingenuous sensibility that manifests itself in the forms of bland, tedious dialogue and a reverence for its subject matter that results in affectation, despite the supposed “reality” of the picture itself. (Directed by Richard Linklater, the flick showcases the life of one specific tyke over an actual filmmaking period of 12 years.)

I realize I’m one of the few folks who hated Boyhood. Yet there’s no denying that my home country, the U.S. of A., has a poor report card in relation to the conveyance of tots on celluloid, notwithstanding myriad past and present attempts to paint naturalistic portraits of the small fry who make up our future.

Bobby Driscoll in Treasure Island (1950). Christopher Olsen in The Man Who Knew Too Much (1956). Natalie Wood in The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947). Oh, and let’s not forget Margaret O’Brien in Meet Me in St. Louis (1944). All fine films, for sure, but saddled with lousy child-actor performances that mar the narratives considerably. Much of the problem, it seems to me, is in the training of such thespians and how they’re whittled to perform. “Real” motivations and expressions are exaggerated. Language sounds flat and credibility-destroying. These are all filmmaking problems—and also, as heartless as this may sound, the faults of the actors themselves. They don’t speak the speech right. Words trip, though not on the tongue.

More specifically: The state of the union is fraught with obnoxious juvenile hamnation.

There’s another problem, however, in how kids are shown on the silver screen, and it has nothing to do with their abilities or direction. Instead, it’s inherent in the treatment of their reactions to everyday and non-everyday occurrences. The scares and imaginative scenarios of Treasure Island. The traumas of The Man Who Knew Too Much. And the mysteries of both the supernatural and solo parenting in The Ghost and Mrs. Muir. They all, in this regard, come off as fake. There’s no believable inner fear or wonder. Rather, we receive a manufactured viewpoint condensing children’s emotions into compact Tinseltown packages that supposedly everyone can relate to. You don’t often see young ones exhibit depression in response to situations they can’t control. Maybe that’s beside the point in fantastical movies such as the examples referenced in this paragraph. But perhaps that would have made these pictures even better and mitigated the cringes induced by their pint-sized stars onscreen. I’m of the opinion that further attention to the psychology of children and their true behaviors would have augmented these flicks greatly. Plus, while that’s a perspective built on hindsight, it would be something to add to as our cinematic expressions of youthful activity progress. We need it, truth be told, in this era more than ever.

Which is where Won’t You Be My Neighbor? (2018) and Kindergarten Cop (1990) step in. Recently I saw them both: the former on one day, the latter the morning afterward. These films couldn’t be more different. Won’t You Be My Neighbor? is a documentary on American children’s-TV icon Fred Rogers, the star, writer and producer of the public television program Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood (1968-2001), which I grew up watching as a little brat in the 1970s. Kindergarten Cop is a low-concept Arnold Schwarzenegger vehicle about a policeman investigating a crime while posing as a teacher of the eponymous school.

Oh, yeah: Kindergarten Cop stinks. It stinks real bad. To use a term uttered by at least one of the students in this offering, it’s poopy. Or the Technicolor equivalent thereof.

Still, it took my entire celluloid memory and a viewing of the Mister Rogers doc to generate that opinion, as there are moments in the former California Governator’s picture that offer a certain kind of charm—including the most famous scene in which the ex-Mr. Universe complains of a headache and responds to a boy who suggests the worst that “it’s not a tumor!” Apparently, there is “comedy” in kids’ overreactions, even to something as serious and unfunny as cancer. We can credit Kindergarten Cop director Ivan Reitman and his screenwriters, Murray Salem, Herschel Weingrod and Timothy Harris, with that.

This bit of unsophisticated humor, believe it or not, is not the biggest problem I have with the picture.

Let’s go back to Mister Rogers for a sec. Back in the day, when I was viewing it, his show was sandwiched between Sesame Street (1969-present) and The Electric Company (1971-1977), both fast-paced, rollicking programs that mixed educational elements with short animated segments, musical interludes and, in the case of Sesame Street, those ingenious Jim Henson creations known as the Muppets. Laughter abounded. Important lessons were imparted, on reading, writing, interacting, and sharing. And I watched this small-screen block of joy on a regular basis, living vicariously through the characters on my TV set. These were extraordinary days, of delight and understanding and jokes and fun. Sesame Street and The Electric Company furnished instruction at the speed of light. They shaped my being in its current form.

Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, on the other hand, was something else.

It was slow. It was quiet. It started with its star entering his television home and changing into a dull, monochromatic sweater. He removed his shoes. He sang simple songs. He asked us to be his neighbor.

Then there was the Neighborhood of Make Believe, where we were taken to by a toy trolley that dropped us off at a land of plain-looking hand puppets, modest castles and unconvincing trees. The characters didn’t move their mouths like the Muppets did. Their expressions generally stayed the same all the time, even when conversing with the adults in this imaginary, superficially-ill-conceived world.

Yet like the bunraku art form of Japan where puppets are made to move and convey emotions so credibly by onstage, black-clad operators, whom you begin to ignore because of their exceptional skill, the characters of the Neighborhood of Make Believe spoke to us as children without condescension, talked about issues truthfully, about fears and hurts and rage and desire. They had different voices, provided by Fred himself. They made a lot of young viewers, including this writer, believe in the Neighborhood of Make Believe.

Rogers would have visitors, including the policeman Mr. Clemmons (played by François Scarborough Clemmons) and the postman Mr. McFeely (David Newell). There sometimes would be musical guests or demonstrations of instruments or everyday activities. Fred would talk about death, about life, about being happy, being special. Then, at the end of the show, our host would change back into his old shoes and take off his sweater, slip into the jacket he came in with and leave. We would see him next time.

It was trendy at the time to poke fun at this program. The writers of Mad Magazine loved to do so. So did Saturday Night Live (1975-present), most famously in the “Mister Robinson’s Neighborhood” sketch featuring Eddie Murphy that lampooned the supposed pristineness of it all and its applicability to the reality of city living … particularly with regard to the experiences of mistreated minorities struggling to exist in horrible conditions. Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood wasn’t hip. It wasn’t edgy. You generally didn’t admit that you watched it. It was like admitting you preferred Mozart to rock and roll.

Thankfully, we don’t necessarily put away our childish things when we become adults.

At least I haven’t. Because in watching Won’t You Be My Neighbor? and Kindergarten Cop just hours apart, I realized the issues surrounding the veracity of children’s portrayals on camera are as pervasive today as they were nearly 30 years ago, when the latter picture debuted, and more than 20 years prior to that, when Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood launched to the curiosity and delight of kids around my country.

I don’t think Won’t You Be My Neighbor? is perfect as a documentary. It glosses over both Rogers’ and Clemmons’ musical training, which I would’ve liked to see the origins of. Some of the purportedly puerile programming it appears to criticize in cinematic clips, including You Can’t Do That on Television (1979-1990), were worthy, geared to older audiences, and gave their viewers value in other areas, such as light comedy and silly banter. Furthermore, much of the picture takes an uncritical tone that borders on adulation, though Rogers’ story—from his seminary education and ordination as a Presbyterian minister to his defense of public television before then-Rhode Island Sen. John O. Pastore during the Nixon administration—supports his status as an exceptional person worthy of great respect. Yet there are controversial moments recounted in the film, including a sequence relating to Rogers’ mandate to the African-American Clemmons about the latter performer’s homosexuality and the host’s requirement that it not be revealed publically owing to the potential controversy for the show that could result. This decision, which has an unpleasant, catch-22 vibe to it (either you be brave and risk the program’s cancellation by being open about one of his stars’ orientation or you have him hide it so that children can continue to benefit from the series), may be construed as either pragmatic or distressing, but the tale ultimately results in triumph, as Rogers later in his career accepts Clemmons for who he is and becomes, as Clemmons says, a kind of “surrogate father.”

So the movie isn’t a puff piece. Rogers is a man like any other, and his childhood, during which he, as his wife Joanne notes and admits about her own youth, was not supposed to express anger, is touchingly expressed via animation reminiscent of his “Daniel Tiger” puppet … a strategy that humanizes him and provides evidence of his need to use television as a tool to disseminate the importance of kids recognizing the validity of their own emotions, as well as of their parents accepting that they’re just as significant as those of adults. Emotions relating to death. Being a “mistake.” Exhibiting sadness. Wanting to “stomp.”

Along with, perhaps most critically, being tolerant of others who are different, whether such variances relate to race, religion, culture or ability. To Rogers, kids were all special in their own way and had the right to declare that through nonviolent but often emotive behavior. They require control of their environments and frequently feel frustrated when they don’t. It’s the job of grownups to help clarify the vicissitudes of life. It’s the duty of those with authority to explain, to elaborate, to help through proper guidance.

That’s the main reason why I find Kindergarten Cop so awful. It fails to do as much and, as part of this failure, resorts to pat, simplistic tactics to instruct and provide a sufficient, rational morality. Take the scene in which the mother (Cathy Moriarty) of one of the kids tells Schwarzenegger’s lawman Kimble, “disguised” as a kindergarten teacher, that she’s worried because he’s playing with dolls. Kimble tells her basically that it’s all right because this same kid has been seen looking up his female classmates’ skirts, but he’ll keep an eye on the fella.

I don’t think Rogers would perceive that as a valid solution, and he might even suggest, as I am doing right now, that this kind of message is irresponsible. Boys can and should play with dolls if they want to. Who said they should all fight toy soldiers against each other in an effort to project their masculinity? Maybe playing with dolls is OK for a young guy to do. The old Marlo Thomas and Friends album Free to Be… You and Me had a song about that and deemed it perfectly cool. So do I. Kindergarten Cop, on the other hand, seems to insinuate that this kind of behavior is effeminate and wrong. In that regard, it condemns a whole population that doesn’t conform to manufactured standards of maleness.

My belief is that Rogers would tell this child that playing with dolls is natural and healthy and totally copacetic. That the boy wouldn’t have to adhere to preconceived notions of boyhood—that’s is fine to be who he is.

I sure wish this kind of ideology could be promulgated more often.

Another wretched sequence in Kindergarten Cop involves the subject of divorce, which Kimble refers to in front of his class while citing the fact that he has a son, though he doesn’t have a relationship with him. One of the students wonders about the nature of whose fault this is, in a question that appears to reflect the inquiries many children of divorced parents ask themselves and their mothers and fathers. Kimble starts to explain … and stops, softly telling the kid to get back to his seat.

W.T.F.?

Again: This is borderline-irresponsible filmmaking. I realize Kimble is a character, and maybe he’s not the greatest master of elucidation, yet to bring this bit of inadequacy up insinuates that it’s no biggie if you can’t explain divorce to a youngster—and when kids worry that they’ve been “bad” because their folks separate, a salve is hard and perhaps not necessary to apply … at least not immediately.

What do you think Rogers would say to that? I’ll bet you a dozen turrets from King Friday XIII’s castle that he’d think telling the kid that he isn’t to blame while explaining the nuances of adult relationships in a way that he or she could understand would be the tack he’d take. Doing otherwise miscommunicates an important point. It propagates misinformation, and even in a lowbrow comedy such as Kindergarten Cop, such content can be terribly problematic owing to the perceived influence of its super-marketable star, whose character is broadcasting this balderdash, and the mainstream distribution of the flick. It’s everywhere, despite not being a famous or even a good movie. It’s recognizable. I watched it on demand. People remember it. “It’s not a tumor!” has become a jokey, pop-culture catch phrase that has entrenched itself in the camp lexicon. This is Schwarzenegger’s albatross, and also, perhaps, his most telling work.

All right: The U.S. isn’t devoid of high-quality pictures about the younger set. My Bodyguard (1980) supplies a touching, truthful depiction of bullying and how kids react to it. Rebel Without a Cause (1955) furnishes an early look at teenage angst, despite the not-so-teenlike ages of some of the actors in the picture, including James Dean and Corey Allen. E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982) explores the world of friendship with those who are different, yet who maintain links that transcend appearances. The 5,000 Fingers of Dr. T. (1953) tackles the helplessness surrounding the inability to refuse adults’ orders … in this case, playing the piano. And To Kill a Mockingbird (1962) has some poignant moments, though overall, the performance of the actress playing juvenile protagonist Scout, Mary Badham, at times devolves into the hackneyed techniques of the American child acting school oft-demonstrated by proponents’ labored, artificial efforts to maintain a natural plausibility.

It’s hard, however, to find a great stateside film that’s as honest about children’s emotional psyches as some of the greats from overseas. Stuff like François Truffaut’s The 400 Blows (1959) or Small Change (1976), which both offer perspectives on abuse and neglect mirrored conversely in a specious Kindergarten Cop subplot that gets everything wrong, from the fashions in which boys and girls who experience such trauma act out (Small Change, for example, features an unforgettable scene in which one such youth keeps putting his foot in front of incoming cars and pulling it back again in a self-destructive test) to the resolutions or sometimes, sadly, lack thereof that affect the victims’ entire existences. (Case in point: In Kindergarten Cop, the principal, played by Linda Hunt, appears to know about the violence aimed at one of the students yet doesn’t seem to do anything about it until Kimble punches the perpetrator.) Then there’s Vittorio De Sica’s Bicycle Thieves (1948), which deals with poverty and anxiety relating to a father’s sole mode of transportation. Also, I must bring up Satyajit Ray’s Pather Panchali (1955), which concerns the lives of impoverished kids in India, who have moments of joy, as well as fantastic secrets, notwithstanding their tough realities. Even Terry Gilliam’s Time Bandits (1981)—a U.K.-produced fantasy exploring a boy’s temporal travels with a band of men with dwarfism whose stature, both personal and physical, reflects the child’s need for recognition not provided to him by his bigger and less-accepting parents—offers a suitable and highly entertaining outlook on juvenile imagination.

Hey, America? We need more of this type of stuff.

It may seem frivolous to condemn a crummy, 28-year-old Schwarzenegger vehicle in light of ideologies espoused even longer ago by a man seeking more appropriate television geared to children, but the fact is, even though many directors in my own country have attempted to showcase naturalistic representations of kids onscreen, few actually have succeeded in doing so. Outside of America, though, it seems such ventures are, in general, much more successful. That may not have to do with the teachings of Fred Rogers. But it may stem from a believability fostered by experience, such as in the case of Truffaut’s semi-autobiographical efforts, or a more comprehensive understanding of the motivations and tribulations of youth. Not that we in the U.S. of A. haven’t had such similar occurrences or insights foisted on or imparted to us. For some reason, however, we haven’t been as good at leveraging those lessons when it comes to the silver screen, and I think that needs to improve very soon. Especially when one considers that Kimble’s solution to quell the rowdiness of his junior charges in part entails militaristic marching, enforced exercises and repetitious, strained recitations of Abraham Lincoln’s “Gettysburg Address” that connote at best a superficial understanding of the text and its importance. Is this the kind of “teachable moment” that Hollywood thinks our descendants require—a vacuous, conformist mode of learning that values memorization more than comprehension, discipline more than creativity? It’s not just Kindergarten Cop that pushes such an agenda. Any shortcut-taking flick aimed at American youth does this as well. The idea is to look at kids as little grownups, like they did in centuries past. They absorb, therefore they imitate. It’s cute. It sells bigly. It’s a time-tested tradition.

It’s not, however, a smart one.

I miss Mister Rogers. We’re in an era now where his type of belief system may be harder and harder to find. I wonder how he’d explain the idea of “fake news” to kids today. What he’d think of Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and other social media, and how he’d translate the interactions via those sources to the engagements of life outside the computer. The Neighborhood of Make Believe isn’t so Make Believe anymore, and life frequently is unfair. Could Rogers explain why in this day and age? I can’t. Perhaps even he might find it difficult as well.

Byron wrote “I want a hero” in Don Juan, and I can’t disagree in this time of suffering and destitution. We may have had one already in Fred Rogers, but he can’t be the only one. Others have to assume his place in front of and behind the camera to provide appropriate content, particularly in relation to the world of children. If we rely on junk such as Kindergarten Cop to supply our ethical standards, we’ve started on a course to intolerance and stagnation. Yet if we go the opposite way, we will make strides in attaining patience, pride and acceptance in who we are … and who our kids will turn out to be.

Mr. Rogers would, I’m sure, have traveled that route. And while it might be laden with frustration, anxiety and fear along the way, the endpoint is worth it. We’ll comprehend a lot more about our planet’s future if we strive to comprehend our children more, too.

There’s no doubt that we can further this process through the medium of the cinema. In doing so, I’m certain that we’ll finally understand what it means to be a kid … as well as, by the closing credits, discover how each one of us may truly be a real neighbor.