Conspiracy theories on television have a long history, particularly when they focus upon someone of lesser sociocultural power trying to prove malfeasance by elites or other authorities. Incorporating aliens into that milieu is hardly unusual; doing so in a darkly humorous children’s animated series, however, is far less common. This, then, brings me to the subject of this blog, Invader ZIM (Nickelodeon 2001-2006).[1] For those unfamiliar with the series, it follows an inept, insect-like alien, Zim (Richard Horvitz) who has been sent to Earth by his two leaders, the Almighty Tallest (Wally Wingert and Kevin McDonald), in the hopes that he would be killed. Because Zim is very small– another reason he is considered inadequate by his leaders and by wider Irken society– he masquerades (badly) as a primary school student in a dystopian iteration of the American school system.[2] His class includes Dib (Andy Berman), an intelligent conspiracist who is the only person who recognises Zim as an alien. Because he also believes in a wide variety of other mythical creatures and pseudoscience, however, his concerns are generally dismissed despite Zim’s very obvious (and very incompetent) attempts at conquest.[3]
All of this provides context for a particular episode upon which I shall focus. Though an atypical episode to be sure, series three’s ‘Zim Eats Waffles’ illustrates many of the experimental aspects of the wider show. The entirety of the episode is shot unusually; the episode titles are exaggerated, rather than simply appearing on the screen, and the camera descends rapidly from space, through the atmosphere and into Zim’s front yard. This is despite there being no aspect of space travel in the episode. Instead, the camera follows Zim’s robotic, absurdist assistant GIR (Rikki Simons) disguised (badly) as a green, bipedal dog, as he carries a grocery bag into the house. Dib, wearing some sort of cloaking device, is visible in distorted flashes as he moves throughout the yard. GIR spots him, confronts him, and then amiably agrees to set up a hidden camera in the house when Dib asks nicely.[4]
Thus the plot of the episode is simple; Dib watches the hidden camera in Zim’s kitchen. While Dib waits for his disk drives to be repaired so he can record what the camera shows him, GIR continually serves waffles which Zim reluctantly eats. Zim does occasionally reference his upcoming ‘evil plan,’ has a child as a test subject with a visible ‘happiness probe’ in his brain and Zim is then twice attacked by an escaped ‘demon squid’ (who later acquires a small cyborg army).[5] Dib, meanwhile, watches all of this through his computer screen. When the action scenes occur he attempts to video-call for help, first from a network of conspiracists (the ‘Swollen Eyeball’) and later the FBI,[6] but neither group believe him as the camera only shows the eating of waffles when anyone other than Dib and the audience can see. The episode ends with the squid having escaped but not before Zim reprogrammed the cyborgs to destroy Dib’s equipment. Unfortunately, Zim also forgot what his next evil plan was, leaving us all none the wiser.
The postmodernist aspects of this episode are clear; Dib watches Zim on a screen as we watch him watching or watch from his point of view (POV), often panning between the two types of shots. At one point, Dib even shakes the screen that we are watching (i.e., the ‘camera’ showing us him) in frustration. Yet the episode also illustrates aspects of media consumption while doing so. In a previous blog I discussed the idea of a first-person POV travel documentary. Building on Lebow (2012), Eugeni (2012) and Hart (2019) I argued that the first person POV is an experiential, immersive text which emphasises the subjectivities of the production team(s). As unlikely as it may sound, ‘Zim Eats Waffles’ is a prime example of this. Dib’s own subjective understanding of events, based upon his own wider context– all of which the audience shares– informs how he interprets what he sees. Zim eating waffles, though not malevolent in and of itself, is an aberration. But, to those characters viewing only that aspect of the diegetic text, it seems perfectly normal and makes Dib’s claims of Zim being a threat appear outlandish. Though the hidden camera can be read as voyeuristic, what occurs is closer to that of a webcam creating a digital version of slow TV. Irving (2017) argues that, despite being non-narrative, viewers of slow TV can still narrativise what they see. Thus, both Dib and those he attempts to warn can also be read as doing the same, developing radically different narratives out of watching the same text.
This idea, obviously, is not new to those of us in media studies. But this series, for all its darkness and often biting satire, was on a network geared towards children. The age of the viewers is open to question, but given that both Zim and Dib are shown struggling against their respective prevailing sociocultural norms (Zim with being small and Dib with being both scientifically adept and being disbelieved), the series bears some similarities to Stein’s (2008) ‘Teen TV’ which has an ‘emphasis on limitations rather than options; Teen TV’s ongoing focus [is] on defining oneself in the face of external restrictions or expectations…’ (225). Both characters engage in an ongoing attempt to prove themselves, defining themselves against the limits imposed externally upon them. Because the series is a satire, neither character succeeds– Zim is genuinely incompetent, though so are the rest of his people; Dib is generally proved correct but, again, is never believed– yet they provide a struggle that many of those in the audience can understand through analogy with their own personal, educational and, eventually, professional lives. Rather than waffling about, Zim, Dib and the series’ production team help give the viewers the tools they need to recognise that differing perspectives based upon differing media consumption, paratextual consumption, sociocultural background and interpretations are part of that struggle against limitations. Acquiring more and deeper information, often through that struggle, is thus the key to growing up aware of whatever aspects of dystopia are going on around us and how the above differences in consumption and exposure influence our and others’ perspectives. Even if we are the only ones who believe it.
Dr Melissa Beattie is a recovering Classicist who was awarded a PhD in Theatre, Film and TV Studies from Aberystwyth University where she studied Torchwoodand national identity through fan/audience research as well as textual analysis. She has published and presented several papers relating to transnational television, audience research and/or national identity. She is currently an independent scholar. Her book – Fictitious Countries in Media will be published by Lexington/Bloomsbury in 2026. She has previously worked at universities in the US, Korea, Pakistan, Armenia, Ethiopia, Cambodia and Morocco. She can be contacted at tritogeneia@aol.com.
Footnotes
[1] In the titles, the character’s name is in all capital letters; whether or not the name is in all capitals elsewhere varies.
[2] Despite having green skin, Zim’s disguise solely consists of a wig to hide his antennae and contact lenses to conceal his red eyes.
[3] Dib’s younger sister Gaz (Melissa Fahn) is aware that Zim is an alien but also recognises that he is too bad at invading to be a threat.
[4] This is very typical behaviour for GIR.
[5] GIR, when ordered into ‘defensive mode,’ offers the squid ice cream. Naturally, the squid accepts– it is ice cream, after all– and happily licks the two proffered cones whilst continuing to attack Zim.
[6] The FBI agent Dib contacts states that he is going to send someone around to beat him for wasting the agent’s time. Plus ça change…
Works Cited
Eugeni R (2012) First person shot. New forms of subjectivity between cinema and intermedia networks. Anàlisi Monogràfic 19-31.
Hart A C (2019) The searching camera: First-person shooters, found-footage horror films, and the documentary tradition. Journal of Cinema and Media Studies 58(4): 73-91.
Irving D (2017) Eighteen hours of salmon: On the narrativity of slow TV. Frontiers of Narrative Studies 3(2): 238-255.
Lebow A (2012) Introduction. In Lebow A (ed.), The Cinema of Me: The Self and Subjectivity in First Person Documentary. London: Wallflower, pp. 1-10.
Stein L E (2008) Pushing at the margins: Teenage angst in teen TV and audience response. In Ross S M and Stein L E (eds). Teen Television: Essays on Programming and Fandom. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, pp. 224-243.
