Netflix Reboots Little House on the Prairie

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The Cary Harrison Files:

Welcome, to all of us still nursing emotional scabs from childhood TV, and the sucker who thought frontier life was about warm bread, moral clarity, and the occasional barn fire. As Netflix revives Little House on the Prairie to refurbish childhood trauma for a streaming audience… we’re gonna dig up a little grave on memory lane and pry open the rotting floorboards of that gilded cabin called Little house—where the sun always set over hardship.

First up: Alison Arngrim, better known as Nellie Oleson—the powdered sociopath with curls so tight they could cut glass and a tongue sharper than Pa’s axe. She didn’t just steal scenes—she stole childhood innocence. Vanity Fair anointed her America’s #1 TV B***h… a title she holds the way some hold Nobel Prizes or restraining orders. She’s turned her tormentor status into high art—with a memoir, a one-woman show (confessions of a Prairie b***h), and enough audience confessionals to make Freud throw in the towel.

We’re also joined by Dean Butler - the original Almanzo Wilder—Laura Ingalls' prairie prince, who galloped in at the tender age of 22 to woo a co-star who was, inconveniently, not yet allowed to vote. In a twist only 1970s television could love, their romance launched thousands of rewatches. Dean has endured, flourished even—becoming an actor, producer, and professional time capsule of wholesomeness. And now, he’s written Prairie Man, a memoir where he reflects on love, legacy, and more.

Together, both survived the prairie, the perms, and the network execs—and now, they’re here to stare down the beast known as... the reboot.

Alison Arngrim and Dean Butler, welcome to the show!

Alison Arngrim, Nellie Oleson was TV’s original Regina George from the movie “mean girls”—minus the burn book, plus a wig sewn by Satan. Was there ever a line you refused to say because it was too cruel… or too accurate?

Alison Arngrim, You’ve said fans attacked you in public for being Nellie. Do you ever miss the days when people couldn’t separate fiction from felony?

Alison Arngrim, Your one-woman show is called Confessions of a Prairie B***h. Was there ever a moment you thought about calling it Redemption Tour: Nellie Strikes Back?

Alison Arngrim, You once hung out with Christine Jorgensen—before “transgender” was even a term. What did that teach you about the identity, long before today’s denial of its mere existence?

Alison Arngrim, Who was more terrifying backstage: Michael Landon or an 11-year-old Melissa Gilbert with scene envy?

Alison Arngrim, Is there a scene or storyline from Little House that would absolutely be canceled today?

Dean Butler Was it more awkward kissing your co-star on camera… or reading about it again in her memoirs, years later?

Dean Butler You talk about bullying in your youth. Did becoming a teen heartthrob ever feel like poetic justice?

Dean Butler your book, Prairie Man reads like a love letter to a bygone era. Compared to today, it really was paradise.

Dean Butler Michael Landon gave you your big break. What would you say was his greatest lesson—and his worst habit?

Dean Butler Your work as a producer spans golf shows, documentaries, and now memoirs. Be honest: which has the most backstage drama?

In essence, broadcasts function as a combination of social commentary, community forum, and self-help broadcasts, aiming to provide solace, foster connection, and inspire constructive action in turbulent times.

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