Yu-Gi-Oh!, Pokemon, even Beyblades are all brands born in my childhood that have somehow endured the test of time. These franchises, like a cockroach looking to make a buck, will never die, as long as people my age are fueled by nostalgia and the need to go back to a “simpler time.” An era before having to pay bills, apartment hunting and calling your mother every once in awhile so that she doesn’t call the police and file a missing person’s report. For every Power Rangers that gets a massive movie deal, there’s another forgotten property that nobody remembers, like Galidor.
As a kid, I was addicted to Legos. I still vividly remember getting my first set when I was six, a giant pirate ship, with a band of scallywag minifigures, skull and crossbones flags and a plastic crocodile or two. I was never able to put properly together, choosing to create a spaceship out of the dozens of blocks, because it’s a much better form of imaginary transportation. After that, I made my parents buy me every Lego I could find, with Bionicle becoming the centerpiece of my addiction.
Alongside the dozens of card, virtual pet, action figure, Bionicle stood out. There was a world I had to build, one where I could combine my toys without fear of break or wear and tear. In 2001, Bionicles were my everything. I had every Toa and Mata Nui, read every comic that came free with my monthly Lego magazine and even had a Bionicle-themed birthday party. Somewhere out in the internet, there’s a video of nine-year-old Steve filmed on a Lego Movie Maker webcam, singing “We’re In The Money ” through a green plastic brick. I choose to look back on this time fondly, instead of as cringey (as I should have).
In 2002, Lego wanted to continue the Bionicle craze but felt they needed to try something new. A television show, a full line of swappable action figures and video games were created for a new property called Galidor , which featured Nicholas Bluetooth (a name that has not aged well) traveling through the Outer Dimension with a gang of crazy aliens who can swap body parts. The show and toy line, which had toys with interchangeable limbs, was cancelled after a year, The set was such a massive failure, it nearly brought Lego to bankruptcy.
At the time, I thought Galidor was the coolest thing ever. On Saturday mornings, I’d turn on Fox Kids and watch the misadventures of Bluetooth turning his arms into airplanes, battling alongside short ice people and fighting for the good of the universe. I didn’t care that it was just a shill to try and get me to buy more dumb toys, my adolescent mind was so desperate to be anywhere outside of a Long Island suburb that I’d fall into any fantasy setting.
Years passed and I forgot the show ever existed. I’d be drunk at parties, trying to explain to people how there used to be this Lego television show with a toy that could talk with your television. I couldn’t remember the name and Googling “lego talking robot” doesn’t give the results you’d want. Every time Galidor would enter my mind, I’d brush it off as a silly childhood fantasy I’ve convinced myself exists.
While watching A Lego Brickumentary on Hulu, they mentioned Galidor in passing as one of Lego’s biggest fuck-ups. My brain jumped into overdrive, neurons connecting that haven’t seen each other in years. Galidor exists, and it’s just as terrible and awesome as I remembered. You can watch most of the first two seasons on YouTube if you’re looking to be confused and bewildered at the same time.
