Shari and Lamb Chop

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As a Gen Xer, I grew up in the golden age of children’s TV programming. On Saturday mornings, we enjoyed a solid block of mindless cartoons, but during the week on PBS, Sesame Street, The Electric Company, and, of course, Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood taught us about letters, numbers, and being kind to others. Those series with their mix of live-action antics and playful puppetry blended entertainment with education and left a lasting impression on my generation. But long before Jim Henson’s Muppets taught children their ABCs or Fred Rogers assured them, “I like you just the way you are,” there was Shari Lewis.

The documentary Shari and Lamb Chop presents Lewis as both an underrated pioneer of children’s television and an unjustly forgotten all-round entertainer. Lisa D’Apolito—the director of a documentary of another pioneering female entertainer, SNL’s Gilda Radner—directs the film.

Lewis, born in 1933, grew up in a Jewish home in New York City surrounded by entertainers. Her father taught at a Jewish school, but he also performed stage magic and at one time held the honorary title of the city’s official magician. Her mother, who tried to instill an independent streak in her daughters, was a pianist who worked in public schools’ music programs. Lewis learned to play and dance, and by the time she was a teenager, her father had helped her put together her own magic routine. When he noticed her interest in puppetry, he found someone to teach her ventriloquism, a black vaudeville performer who gained fame in the predominantly white industry through undeniable talent. The young Lewis showed similar determination by breaking into an industry dominated by male performers.

When Lewis was just 20 years old, she and her puppets began appearing on children’s programs in New York. She talked directly into the camera as if the children at home were her friends, using intimate up-close camerawork so her face filled the frame. It was during these years that Lewis discovered Lamb Chop, a vaguely sheep-shaped sock puppet who came to define her act.

Lamb Chop became the ventriloquist’s somewhat sardonic alter-ego: The puppet felt free to say things the soft-spoken Shari couldn’t say. The shy Hush Puppy and more aggressive Charlie Horse added their own personalities to the show, and Lewis would often hold rapid-fire conversations with two puppets at a time, an incredibly difficult feat that she made look effortless.

But this documentary about a children’s television personality isn’t necessarily suitable for children. We learn that her first marriage to her high school sweetheart fell apart after he was implicated in the quiz show scandals of the late 1950s. Then in 1963, NBC canceled The Shari Lewis Show, and Lewis tried to reinvent herself as a Hollywood entertainer.

The multitalented Lewis, a beauty with elfin features, should have been a star, but despite landing a couple of minor roles, her acting career never gained traction. The entertainment industry, as well as the general public, struggled to see her as anything other than Lamb Chop’s caretaker.

As Lewis aged, so did her act. She and Lamb Chop started appearing in stage shows for adults. She even did a stint in Las Vegas in which Lamb Chop often appeared tipsy.

Her time in this wilderness ended in 1992 when PBS debuted Lamb Chop’s Play-Along, the show that taught millennials “The Song That Doesn’t End.” But Lewis’ return to children’s television would end in 1998 when she died of ­cancer at the age of 65.

Shari and Lamb Chop is an engaging glimpse into the life of one of television’s most gifted talents. The documentary contains archival footage of Lewis both in front of and behind the camera, and it includes figures like magician David Copperfield and ventriloquist Darci Lynne Farmer who discuss Lewis’ impact on entertainment.

Lewis demonstrated jaw-dropping talent with her tightly clenched mouth, but a melancholy hangs over her life. Work consumed her, leaving a spiritual vacuum. When her second husband became a devotee of the New Age, Lewis described herself as a “doer” rather than a “seeker.” She went looking for God in her puppets, thinking she’d found him when she found Lamb Chop, an inanimate object whose voice became more recognizable than her own.