How Bojack Change My Perspective

“Disarm the audience with Comedy, then punch them in the gut with Drama when they least expect it.”

- Phoebe Waller-Bridge

A has been alcoholic talking horse with a slight drug problem. The show I only gave a chance because Wiz Khalifa said he liked it. The show that I came in with my expectations on the floor and had them blown through the roof. The show that changed my perspective on storytelling… Bojack Horseman.

Bojack Horseman, the character, is what happens when you achieve your dreams without a purpose. Eventually, everyone vaguely remembers your accomplishments, but you're no longer useful enough to be used in any new and meaningful way. So what happens? You fall into old habits that were never good for you in the first place. You develop new habits that are probably worse for you. When you get some free time, you try to reconnect with the people who used to love you and see if they'll lend a hand in your return. When that inevitably fails, you hope those people will be there and tell you everything you need to hear to make yourself feel better. In TV, they usually do, but in life, you often don't get the answer you were looking for.

Bojack Horseman, the series, is what happens when a show perfectly subverts your expectations. The expectation when you click on an animated comedy is that it's gonna be mindless and stupid; at least, that's what the industry seems to think it is. There's nothing wrong with the mindless and stupid; that's what I was looking for when I started Bojack. Not everything must be a deep dissection of the human psyche and philosophy. Or a character study about a has-been an alcoholic talking horse. 

But, if you're going to be mindless and stupid, you have to at least be exciting and funny, which, sorry to say, most animated shows released now aren't. Not to call anyone out (HOOPS) because there are a lot of hardworking people that work on these shows (Paradise PD), and until I make a show of my own, it's hard to really shit on them. Although the lack of season pick-ups should say all you need to know about these shows. 

Over the decades, South Park has reigned as King in terms of cultural influence. Ever since the boom of Rick and Morty in the mid-2010s, every network or streaming service seems to have attempted to make its own animated show that can penetrate the cultural zeitgeist. The critical difference between these two cultural juggernauts and the blink, and you'll miss it, is that animated comedy's South Park and Rick & Morty have something to say. Whether it be a crude interpretation of current events or the character study examining the emotional struggles of a mad scientist who wishes he could return to when he was just smart and not a genius. The shows that followed these seem to lock onto the children saying fuck to their teacher and the drunk grandpa who endangers his grandson on a nightly basis and thinks that that is the sauce that keeps the viewers coming back. But it's not. 

We've come back because we like what they have to say. We liked that any given week, the things we saw in the news could get mocked by Cartman. We appreciate that despite Rick being an objective piece of shit that, we got to learn why. We have actual characters with something to say about themselves or the world. And that's where Bojack Horseman comes in.

Bojack Horseman starts off like a typical animated show. It's funny, it has a fascinating, enjoyable universe to explore, and we get hints about what Bojack wants. That's enough to keep you hooked for a season, but it's the show's ability to continually surprise and engage you that makes you want to stay for the next. This is particularly evident in episode 8 of Season One, The Telescope, where the narrative takes a dramatic turn. 

Our "hero" didn't get what he wanted. He got what he deserved. Too many times, the hero is objectively a bag of shit to the people around them, and too many times, they are forgiven when they ask for it. Not here. Bojack needs Herb to forgive him, but he doesn't. He needs Diane to say he's a good person; she can't. He wants Todd to tell him he's not the reason he's an asshole, but Todd hits him with a matter-of-fact and tells him he is. The episode doesn't end at the status quo; it ends in the rubble of destruction Bojack caused and stays that way.

It's rare to find an animated comedy where the actions have real, lasting consequences. Bojack Horseman is a refreshing exception. The show's commitment to realism, where what happens at the end has a tangible effect on the next episode, is what kept me watching. Even if the consequences didn't always fall on Bojack, they affected someone in his orbit, and in many ways, that hurts more. Bojack often didn't pay for his crimes, but his crimes had consequences. Just ask Sarah Lynn.

Family Guy is what I grew up with. There was little diving into Peter's backstory; it didn't matter. In an Anthology series like that, there's not supposed to be a reason why the main character is the way he is other than it makes for funny television. Again, this is alright, as it clearly worked for Family Guy. But in Bojack, it's necessary. At the very least, it gives us, the audience, insight into why he's like this and allows for some of the show's most impactful moments. The 20-minute monologue at his mother's funeral, the car ride with his father, and the time when his parents were fighting, and Bojack leaned in so close to the TV that all he could hear was Secretariat's message to him. Bojack didn't have a perfect childhood; you could argue he didn't have a good one. But does that give him the right 30 years later to fuck up everyone else's? I don't know, but this show has made me think significantly more than HOOPS ever did.

So, what changed after watching Bojack? Frankly, my whole view on writing comedy. I knew there had to be a touch of drama in comedy, but I didn't think it could go this deep. I didn't know you could make an animated show that could make you laugh, but a couple of scenes later hurt to watch. Bojack Horseman isn't the first animated show or comedy in general to do this, but it's the first one that made it click for me. Now, I  understand why watching Morty bury his body while Look On Down from the Bridge plays hit me. Granted, I wasn't a writer then, so I wasn't thinking of the dos and don'ts of how to write a show, but seeing it with this new perspective made me appreciate it more. It opened possibilities for my animated show and the stories I could tell with my characters.

Bojack also showed me that my animated comedy doesn't have to have an episode format I need to follow. You watch Family Guy enough and can tell after the first bit what Peter's adventure will be about. Again, this isn't wrong for a serialized television series meant to be rerun for decades. But Bojack threw in episode formats I had yet to see in animation. Like the 20-minute monologue I mentioned earlier, Season 5, Episode 6, you watch the episode and wait for the next thing to happen, but it never does. It doesn't matter; you're engaged and have seen what Bojack went through with his mom, so you understand why he can't stop talking. Or Fish Out Of Water, Season 3 episode 4, where Bojack spends an entire episode underwater and can't speak to anyone. Hence, he only communicates with his movements. 

Every episode is written with intention, and everything is set up. In the writer's room, nothing happens by accident. There's a lot of finality in Bojack Horseman. Characters die, relationships are ruined, and, more often than not, no one gets what they want. The status quo doesn't stay the same forever; it can't. You probably wouldn't want it to anyway. 

Well, that's about all I have to say. Thank you, Raphael Bob-Waksberg (jeez, that's a mouthful- pause), and thank you, Bojack Horseman.