The Beautiful Bleakness of Bojack Horseman
BoJack Horseman is supposed to be asinine. The very concept of it is ludicrously creative. It’s almost like the show’s writers decided to get high and say, “Hey, how awesome would it be if we take animals and make them live depressing boring lives, the way we do?” The show defies logic, plays around with animal puns, has strippers who are whales and a lot of substance abuse. On the surface, it is a show about slapstick, sex and scandal. But dig a little deeper, get past the first few episodes and we find ourselves neck deep in a show that is not only about slapstick, sex and scandal, but also is a poignant commentary that addresses the complexities of human emotion, the hypocrisy of society and the ruthless side of showbiz. Perfect binge material, if you’re in the mood for an emotional rollercoaster that will not only make you ponder over the pointlessness of life but will also give you the strength and hope to walk on.
The brilliance in BoJack begins with the opening credits itself. A simple synth background with a touch of something that suspiciously sounds like a saxophone, the opening credits has a haunting, yet addictive undertone to it. The theme is complemented beautifully in the accompanying visuals. Despite living a lifestyle that the average person would dream of, Bojack’s glassy stare and complete lack of interest signify that he is empty inside, despite having it all. More character development in a 54-second sequence than 5 seasons of your average sitcom, and is the only opening sequence I haven’t skipped throughout my history of binge-watching Netflix shows on a stolen account, from The Punisher to Brooklyn 99.
Back in the 90’s, BoJack Horseman was in a famous TV show. After the show ended, the world moved on but BoJack, being the washed out celebrity who loves to live in the past, didn’t. The first season is mostly about Bojack trying to start afresh by publishing his memoirs written by his ghostwriter Diane Nguyen, an introverted human with issues of her own. What happens in the first season sets up what happens in the second season, and as with all TV shows, the cycle continues. Despite going through the same self-destructive cycle as each season progresses, you see an overall development in Bojack’s character each season. There is a progression of sorts, and you see him fight a different demon each season. Just when you think he’s going to do it, the past demons return with reinforcements.
But BoJack isn’t the only one with issues. Diane is another complex character and is someone extremely similar to Bojack. She has her own issues, from coming to terms that her life may always be lived in the sidelines, to dealing with being in a relationship with a character who is a polar opposite. Princess Carolyn, BoJack’s agent works in a firm that barely appreciates her, and copes in the most innovative of ways, from dating someone that is most definitely three 10-year-olds stacked upon each other to imagining her granddaughter talk about how successful she was. Even Todd, who is the Alan Harper to Bojack’s Charlie, isn’t there to fill up space. He has his own hopes, dreams and fears, and his own misadventures that are mostly unconnected to the other characters. He builds his own amusement park, writes an inane rock musical and even saves a chicken from being slaughtered for meat by chickens (Yes, you read that right). But the shows brightest ray of sunshine, Mr Peanut Butter, a Labrador retriever who is your typical average Joe. He’s warm, optimistic and always cheerful, somehow magnifying BoJack’s pessimism using contrast. You know what they say, you only truly appreciate black if it’s held against white. The difference in mentality is shown perfectly in season 2, where a bankrupt Mr Peanut Butter goes from working in a shoe store to hosting a TV show with an attitude that is nauseatingly optimistic, while BoJack is still moping around, despite being the lead in his dream movie.
You usually have more opportunities to be creative when you write an animated show set in your own world, and Raphael Bob-Waksberg takes full advantage of this, painting our depraved society with different shades of black comedy. It addresses issues from the glorification of our troops to the abortion debate. ‘Thoughts and Prayers’ will always go down as a personal favourite, where producers constantly repeat the empty phrase as they rue the negative publicity the shooting incidents give their movie, where the protagonist goes on a shooting spree. Fish Out Of Water sees the dark comedy reliant on dialogues go out of its comfort zone, giving us a silent episode that is both moving and hilarious at the same time. We also have episodes addressing the #MeToo movement and the abortion debate that place a mirror in front of the thriving, ugly machine that is show business.
However, BoJack’s best episodes are the ones that address mental health. I’ve never seen a show represent depression and anxiety better than Piece of Shit, where we are a witness to BoJack’s struggles as he fights with an abusive inner voice that makes him feel worthless. The dementia episode demonstrates how much an abusive childhood would go on to affect you, and how abuse is a vicious cycle. Every penultimate episode is the darkest takes you on a disturbing trip, setting you up for a bittersweet finale.
Bojack took me to a couple of places I had hoped I’d never revisit, but the ending was worth it. It taught me that wallowing over the past is not going to do me any favours, and gave me a little hope moving forward. (This worked for me and I’m really not sure how well it would work for you, for each person has their own way of coping.) I personally felt Season 4 was an ideal ending, as it evoked more hope for BoJack than any of the other finales.
In short, Bojack is bleak, bittersweet and beautiful. If you are looking for some well written and conceptualized comedy with its dark moments, I’d suggest you look no further.