The rise on popularity of TV shows over time can almost always be explained by analyzing the relationship between the viewer and the cast of characters. There are plenty of examples of well-written TV shows that became so popular because their audience could easily get their own feelings tied to the fictional world. This kind of work rely on common situations, moral dilemmas and feel-good resolutions in order to achieve this connection. Most of the time, as a viewer of these shows, you would feel relieved that you’re not in the character’s shoes. Occasionally, you may feel empathetic towards the subject in question, maybe even tying what they are going through to a situation you’ve found yourself in, in real life. If you’ve been following the show for too long, the characters might have grown on you, becoming a sort of distant friend who you are rooting for while the end of their journey gets closer and closer.
But that classic formula can be taken to the extreme, as demonstrated by the show Bojack Horseman. Following the journey of the out-of-style star from the 90s, one can experience a wide range of complex emotions, often supported by a seemingly bizarre, yet intriguing storyline. The dark passages of the story might get you tempted to look away in distress, only to get reeled back in by the absurdity and wittiness of the perfectly timed visual gags and quick wordplay.
As much as Bojack Horseman was, and still is, praised in its entirety, there are a few key episodes delivered directly from the depths of the genius of Raphael Bob-Waksberg and his writer’s room, which go beyond the word memorable, even having the potential to change the way you see things forever. Don’t believe me? Here’s my story.
On a personal note
I grew up in a loving family who gave me everything I needed and more. However, like many, that didn’t stop me from battling with teenage depression, caused by early relationships and exploring my own feelings at a critical point in life. Around this time I grew fond of Bojack, as watching it didn’t make me feel good, but rather seen and understood. It was not about how deep it is (Bojack was going through a lot more than me), but how the show was able to so eloquently talk about things I couldn’t even begin to explain to my parents about my own mind.
In this period, I’ve also had an awful relationship with my mother. She had a strong character, often yelling at me and my brother, and couldn’t crack a smile for the life of her. She worked almost sixteen hours a day for us, too. But my teenage mind couldn’t comprehend why was she so unnecessarily mean. It reached a point where the situation became pretty bad and I thought the worst: “I hate my mother”.
Even knowing about this, and being the adult of the situation, my mom often tried to connect with me, which led to her inviting me over to her workplace for a full day in several occasions. She worked in an almost empty office full of computers which I could use to my liking and she would get me Mc Donalds, so I always said yes.
One of these trips coincided with the fifth season of Bojack being released. So I grabbed an office chair, picked a computer and started binge-watching the entire season while eating the meal my mom got me, unaware that my mind was about to change.
As time passed, I got to episode six: “Free Churro”.
A perfect episode
The episode opens with a heart-wrenching flashback sequence of Bojack being mistreated by his father, who unleashes a torrent of misogyny (pretty typical of the era it takes place) upon him, blaming Bojack and his mother for his unhappiness. Right from the get-go we get a shower of empathy towards Bojack, setting us up for what’s about to follow: a deep, twenty minutes non-stop monologue from the horse himself.
As the opening song ends, Bojack is shown wearing a black tux while giving a eulogy, in what we soon find out it’s his mother’s funeral. Earlier in the series, her character was built around the idea of her being a monster who constantly abused her son, portraying her as the villain and main explanation of Bojack’s struggles. But in the previous season to this chapter, the character is shown from a much more fragile point of view while battling with dementia. Suddenly, we learn she passed as we see and hear Bojack deliver his monologue with conflicting tones, themes and speech patterns.
The raw emotion, the multiple storylines and the amazing delivery from the talented Will Arnett turn this piece of dialogue into one of the greatest ever produced and, for me, the greatest in the field of animation. There are only so many words to describe how powerful it is to hear Bojack desperately trying to make sense of the last three words her mother said to him before passing away, while recalling an awkward situation with the Jack in the Box employee, while reminiscing of the good times in the 90’s as a TV show star, while reflecting on the hope he had remaining in a “grand gesture” from his parents, both now deceased, that could redeem them from a lifetime of errors.
I distinctly remember each part of experiencing viewing this episode for the first time. I spent at least half of the runtime expecting Bojack’s monologue to be some sort of introduction, waiting for a cut to another location. I even remember feeling annoyed that they made it so long. There was something really awkward in watching this horse character rambling about his terrible relationship with his mother, like being locked in a conversation you didn’t want to have, or you were not prepared to. When I realized the entire episode would be like that, I just sat and listened. Every line was a punch to the gut. I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen. Every time Bojack would get angry, a bad memory about my mom would pop into my head. But when Bojack spoke about the good old times, I would recall the most heartwarming moments with her. This trance continued until nearing the end of the episode, when Bojack delivers the line that almost certainly changed my life.
My mother is dead, and everything is worse now.
I could almost feel my brain rewiring the exact moment I heard this quote said out loud. As the episode ends, I dismissed Netflix’s attempt to shove one more episode in, letting the credits wash over me instead. After everything was over, I broke eye contact with the screen for the first time in twenty six minutes, turning to look at my mother. She was working. She was working hard. My eyes were all watery and I looked at her in a way I hadn’t in many years. Every bad thought I’ve had turned into dust, being immediately replaced with one sentiment that echoed in my head for that entire week: “I do not hate her. I do not hate her at all”.
Of course, this change in mentality didn’t happen overnight, aside from the initial shock and mixed feelings. Real maturity was to be achieved many years later, if anything. But I’ll never forget the seed that was planted on that day. The spark that reignited a dying fire.
You can do it too!
The reason why I feel this story is so important is not that it happened to me. I imagine almost everyone must have a moment like this wandering in the depths of their conscience. It’s about how good writing has the potential to change lives. Not like we needed more much proof of that. But here’s the deal: good writing can come from anyone with a story. And like Janis Ian wrote in her song “Stars”, marvelously interpreted by Nina Simone:
We always have a story.
Can you guess what show featured this beautiful song? It’s about a horse.
I hope you write your story and change lives.