There are a lot of things I don’t get about the Scooby-Doo franchise.
I don’t get why Velma, confident and affable in the first series, has since been made a cynical, deadpan nerd with self-esteem issues.
I don’t get why Scooby and Shaggy have been rendered peripheral characters in so many of their own shows, irrelevant to the plot at best and an active hindrance to the gang at worst.
I don’t get why Scooby-Doo is a franchise at all; the formula may be entertaining, but there are only so many times I’m prepared to sit through it, even with the occasional real monster and design update.
But most of all, I don’t get the ongoing disdain aimed at one pint-sized nephew named Scrappy Dappy Doo.
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