Sea
Monkeys existed to spite any British reader of American comics throughout
the 60s, 70s and 80s. Continually advertised within the pages of Marvel and
DC Comics publications, these seemingly magical creatures – portrayed in
the ads as humanoid creatures congregating in family groups within huge
palaces, ruled by a crown-wearing king and queen – weren’t widely
available in the UK until the 1990s. Then again, we didn’t know you could
buy them in bulk from fishing bait suppliers…
Nevertheless,
when we finally got our hands on these supposedly magical creatures our
disappointment was immediate. Sea Monkeys? Sea MONKEYS!?! No. These were
dehydrated brine shrimp, a crustacean capable of living for years in a state
of apparent suspended animation. Admittedly, it was very clever the way they
“magically” came back to life, but we had been expecting them to be at
the very least three feet tall, and sit around talking to us in a curious,
lilting tongue, or performing arcane rituals in our bath. Instead the
biggest any of our Sea Monkeys got was about a tenth of an inch, and the
most interesting thing they did was follow the beam of a torch up and down
their tank. On this basis, we’ve taken to street corners to sell out of
date prawn cocktails as “Space Gorillas”. But we digress…
Astonishingly, the space
year 2000 marks the 40th anniversary of the Sea Monkeys
phenomenon. In 1957 one Harold von Braunhut, a keen fisherman, stared into
his bucket of live bait and was struck with a brainwave. Remembering the
flea circuses of his youth, where other people saw a hardy crustacean
brought back to life by water, Harold saw a marketing opportunity. Harold
saw “Sea Monkeys”, and set about bringing his vision to a gullible
world.
By 1960 von Braunhut had
begun selling his “Instant Life” product through Honey Toy Industries
(now the inexplicably-named, New Age-sounding Transcience Corporation) for
49 cents. Available by mail order only, through advertisements in the back
of comic books, the adverts – which depicted the Sea Monkeys sitting on
thrones, swimming through hoops, and generally acting like little smiling,
sentient mer-people – captured the imaginations of America’s youth.
However, when the Sea Monkey package arrived in the post, along with the
Micro-View Ocean Zoo (the word “Micro” being a giveaway as to the
precise dimensions of the average Sea Monkey), and a small envelope of
dehydrated Sea Monkey eggs resembling a sachet of ground pepper, it was not
uncommon for a disappointed child to break down in tears, and begin
questioning the existence of Santa Claus, the Boogie Man, Jesus Christ, and
other fantasy characters sold to them by grown-ups.
By
the end of the 60s, Sea Monkeys had made their way into toy shops, and a
merchandising phenomenon was born. Such extras included Sea Monkey “Ocean
Zoos” of every size, a cardboard Sea Monkey circus (replete with audience
and ticket booth), and the ultimate Sea Monkey owner accessory – the
Deluxe Sea Monkey Speedway. This 1974 item was a racetrack that exploited
the brine shrimp’s instinct to swim against the current, and by using
angled spillways it was possible to pit your Sea Monkeys against each other
in “pulse-pounding races”. The Speedway was followed by the Sea Monkey
Ski Trail, Sea Monkey Cycle Race, and – most outlandishly of all – the
inexplicable Sea Monkey Fox Hunt. Christ knows how that one worked. Perhaps
you forced a real fox into the tank and encouraged the brine to “chase
it”. Then again, in the same way that the brine were “monkeys”, maybe
the “fox” was just a particle of plankton, or something.
More questionable still was the
“Incredible Sea Monkey Sea Bubble”. Intended to make Sea Monkeys more
appealing to girls, the Sea Bubble was a pendant in which a girl could store
a live Sea Monkey (that is to say “live” until it inevitably died from
the wearer’s dance floor gyrations). Its disco-era packaging dared you to:
“Have fun with it! Dance with it! Date with it! It's a real aquarium for
live pet Sea Monkeys! Put them in here and go, go, go!" Date with it?
No matter how big your Sea Monkeys got –
and it has to be said that they never got very big – the appeal would
quickly wane. There’s only so much staring at a small tank of flea-sized
sea creature you can take before you flush them down the toilet. Or, as
certain twisted children are known to have done, boil them alive, and mix
them into their parents’ coffee.
Unlike, say, Colonel Saunders, Harold von
Braunhut is apparently still alive and well. No doubt he’s busy preparing
his next assault on the gullible public, selling dog shit and house flies in
a box as “Astonishing Air Monsters”, or sacks of cockroaches as
“Atomic Power Dragons”, maybe . Harold von Braunhut, whoever the hell
you are, we salute you.
