BoJack Horseman

Warning: If you are put off by curse words, sexual references, or the portrayal of drug use (alcohol and otherwise) onscreen, this show is not for you. Please do not interpret this review as an endorsement that this show is for everyone. In fact, I endorse that you not watch it if this sort of comedy gives you pause. But if you’re willing to look past the crudeness in order to find the deep truths behind it (or if you’re just into that sort of comedy), read on.

Elevator pitch: A washed-up ‘90s sitcom star resurfaces after years of hiding out in his Hollywood mansion, promising to write a tell-all memoir detailing the “real story” behind his rise to fame and fall from grace. Worn down by years of self-pity and drug abuse, the former star must find the strength to return to normal life, confront the skeletons in his closet, and deal with first-world problems like basic microwave usage. Sounds pretty cookie-cutter, right?

What if I told you the protagonist of the show was an animated horse, and that animated horse is played by none other than Will Arnett? What if I told you that horse’s name was BoJack and that he lived in a world populated by anthropomorphic animals of all kinds? What if I told you BoJack would be joined by such interesting supporting characters as a human author played by Alison Brie, a feline talent agent played by Amy Sedaris, a dim-witted dog played by Paul F. Tompkins, and a free-loader named Todd played by Aaron Paul? Maybe not quite so typical.

BoJack Horseman has been around on Netflix for three years now, and in that time, it’s covered all of the ground you’d expect based on its premise. The first three seasons of the show comprise a ruthless takedown of the toxic world of Hollywood and the celebrities it unceasingly churns out. Through the experiences of BoJack and his friends (if you could call them that), the viewer experiences just how empty and soul-crushing stardom can be. The show is witty, self-aware, and insightful about the state of our world today, especially its obsession with celebrity. In a word, it’s great.

But three seasons of Hollywood analysis is more than enough, and the writers can only show BoJack relapse into his selfish, childish ways so many times before it becomes predictable. And it’s with that in mind that the staff took a completely different approach to season four. Sure, it’s got all of the cynicism, biting humor, and guest star cameos that viewers have come to expect, but it also has something more: This season has a psychological depth that the show has previously flirted with but never been brave enough to venture into fully.

The shift in focus is clear from the very first episode, which doesn’t feature BoJack at all. In fact, BoJack spends much of the season isolated from his friends and, more importantly, his Hollywood career. Instead, he spends his time connecting with his family, which gives the writers ample opportunity to explore BoJack’s psyche and how forces beyond his Hollywood life (already explored thoroughly in previous seasons) have influenced him.

There are a couple of episodes that really stand out as representations of just how deep the writers are willing to go into BoJack’s psychology, as well as the impact this exploration can have on the viewer. Episode 4.02, entitled “The Old Sugarman Place,” features a unique structure that alternates between BoJack’s experience staying at his grandparents’ cabin in 2017 and his mother’s formative moments there as a child. The parallels between BoJack and his mother are stark, and they open the door for the season’s extended but subtle conversation about generational trauma.

Episode 4.06 (which features a title not appropriate for repeating in this article) portrays a day in the life of BoJack from a first-person perspective. Whereas in the past, viewers have simply had to ascertain BoJack’s thoughts and emotions based on his actions, this episode goes so far as to pause the plot, zoom in on his inner monologue, and then return to show his external responses to what’s going on in his head. The result is not only a more sympathetic understanding of BoJack’s point-of-view, but more broadly a glimpse into the life of a person living with clinical anxiety, which I found groundbreaking and extremely valuable.

Of course, the show isn’t just about BoJack. In fact, this season dives deep on every main character. The episodes that center around Todd (4.03, “Hooray! Todd Episode!”) and Princess Caroline (4.09, “Ruthie”) are particularly impactful. The audience has spent over three seasons with these characters, and it’s refreshing to finally get a more nuanced look at their psychological and emotional experiences rather than just their antics.

All of that is not to say that this season doesn’t have its fair share of jokes and cultural criticism. Mr. Peanutbutter’s campaign to become governor of California is a hilarious satire of the contemporary political climate. Episode 4.05 (“Thoughts and Prayers”) temporarily returns the show’s focus back to its roots of making fun of Hollywood. And there are more self-degrading celebrity cameos in this season than any before it. This is still BoJack Horseman, after all.

But the focus on the characters’ inner experiences adds a layer of complexity and insight that the show just hasn’t featured before, and it only adds to its value. It also gives viewers a new reason to pay close attention to the overarching plot of the season. Though previous seasons have featured story arcs, they weren’t of particular importance in light of the show’s comedy and satirical nature. This year, the plot and the character development are tightly interwoven, giving the story an added sense of weight. This is a story worth watching more than once, and not just for the laughs.

All of this bodes well for the future of BoJack Horseman. Netflix has already ordered more episodes, and there’s no way the writers will be able to create a fifth season that’s as groundbreaking and emotionally impactful as this one, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Viewers have seen BoJack go through a lot, and after four seasons, he’s finally starting to show some serious growth. It will be interesting to see how that growth plays out next season when BoJack will seemingly return to Hollywood for another shot at stardom.

Being Sick

I’ve been under the weather for a little while, and it’s left me with time to reflect on what being sick really means. This is what I came up with.

Being sick means discomfort, the aches and pains that let you know something’s wrong. It means disruption of the routine that you cherish so dearly. It means disability that, though temporary and relatively mild, keeps you from doing what you want to do, maybe even what you need to do.

Being sick means frustration with the circumstances and how slowly they seem to change. It means deprivation of some of your favorite things: running outside, dancing to music, creating beautiful things. Worse, it means separation from those you care about the most.

Being sick means suffering, sometimes so intense that you can’t see any light at the end of the tunnel. It means pleading for the pain to end, for the fever to break, for the symptoms to go away. It means waiting, spending countless hours lying awake wondering how much longer you can possibly take this before you finally break once and for all.

Being sick means confusion: “Why is this happening to me?” “Am I feeling better or just numb to the pain?” “When is it safe to start acting normal again?” It means impatience, a desire to get back to life the second you start to feel even the slightest bit better. It means self-sabotage, pushing yourself too hard too quickly and inevitably making yourself feel worse than before.

Being sick means sorrow when the illness breaks your will and you begin to mourn the life you once had. It means appreciation for how good you felt when you were healthy, even though you never realized it at the time. It means sympathy for those who live with illness every day and don’t get the privilege of looking forward to health as you do.

Eventually, being sick means relief when the fever breaks, the pain subsides, and you finally begin to feel alive again. It means return to life as it was, maybe at a slightly faster pace to catch up on all that you missed. And it means remembering, committing to never again take your health for granted.

Though, to be honest, you probably will; that is, until you once again feel a tickle in your throat or a knot in your stomach. And then you’ll restart the process and experience again what it means being sick.

The Hate U Give

A story is a powerful thing. I’ve read the studies about racial discrimination and its tragic effects in the past, and they have formed me intellectually. Over the past several years, I’ve accumulated knowledge in an attempt to become informed about the unique struggles of black people in America today. But information can only go so far, and none of that information impacted me as deeply as the story of Starr in The Hate U Give.

The Hate U Give is a young adult novel, the first by author Angie Thomas. The title is based on a Tupac quote that, while insightful, is too explicit to repeat in this article. (Of course, no one is stopping you from looking it up yourself.) After witnessing the string of deaths of black men at the hands of law enforcement in recent history and the public discourse surrounding these incidents, Thomas was inspired to write a story about these kinds of tragedies from an African American perspective.

The book follows Starr, a 16-year-old girl growing up in a poverty-stricken urban neighborhood. As you might expect based on the setting, Starr has had more than her fair share of struggle. A father in prison during the formative years of her life. A childhood best friend killed in a drive-by. And more. But she also experiences a certain amount of privilege, attending an upper-scale private school instead of the neighborhood public school. This duality of experience causes a great deal of cognitive dissonance for Starr, a conflict that comes up a lot in the book.

All of this come to a head one night when she unwittingly becomes the witness of a police shooting. And not just any police shooting, but the killing of her friend at the hand of a white police officer. This is the inciting incident of the story, and the book details the impact of this tragedy on Starr’s development as well as her experience serving as the sole witness to the incident and trying to get justice for her friend.

Though police brutality is the central issue that plays out throughout the book, The Hate U Give touches on so many other aspects of the black experience as well, including safety concerns in poor neighborhoods, the reasons why crime rates are higher among the African American population than others, and the conflict one feels between self-improvement and investing in one's community. The most enlightening issue for me was Starr’s experience of code-switching, feeling compelled to act one way in her black neighborhood and another way at her predominantly white school.

But Starr isn’t just reduced to a stereotype for the sake of some agenda. She’s a dynamic, full-fledged character who learns, grows, and changes throughout the book. Like any other teenager, she deals with school and relationship issues. And fair warning, the book does include some aspects of Starr’s life that some may find objectionable, including a good deal of cursing and some sexual references. All of these details, though, leave the reader with the impression that Starr is a real person whom they can relate to, which is a necessary prerequisite for understanding her experience.

Because the book is basically an introduction to race issues geared towards a young adult audience, it can fall into the trap of over-exposition at times. One chapter in particular, in which Starr and her father discuss his past as a drug dealer and his search for redemption, comes to mind. But these instances are rare, and the story is plenty compelling on its own. To be honest, if a little exposition is what it takes to get readers to empathize with racial minorities, it’s certainly worth it.

The Hate U Give doesn’t present these issues as simple and straightforward, either. Even Starr, the protagonist of the story, has to learn to be less prejudiced as the story progresses, especially when it comes to slut-shaming. And at the risk of sharing spoilers, I’ll say that the story doesn’t have a “happily ever after” ending. This isn’t a one-size-fits-all guide to solving racism.

Instead, it’s an expression of the black experience from a young woman’s perspective that offers readers who’ve never been subjected to such experiences a starting point for empathy. The Hate U Give is a powerful story about the issues and struggles faced by African Americans today, and it has the potential to invite a whole new group of readers to become allies of racial minorities. Reading this book impacted me deeply, and I hope that others will open themselves up to being impacted by it as well. Empathy and understanding are the first steps towards reconciliation, and this could be a powerful tool in starting that process for many.

Bruce Almighty and God’s Governance

In my young adult Sunday School class at church, we’re doing a series on portrayals of God in culture and how they compare to the God of the Christian faith. This blog post is an adaptation of some of the discussion points from the third lesson.

One important thing to know about me is that I’m not easily offended. Jokes that poke fun at the Christian faith don’t bother me. In fact, I kind of like them, as long as they’re funny. On its surface, the 2003 comedy Bruce Almighty seems like an extended joke with Christianity as the punchline. But as we dig deeper into the story’s plot and meaning, we see that it’s really grappling with some difficult issues that each of us will confront at some point in our lives: Why does God let bad things happen to me and to other good people? Why does it feel like God doesn’t care? Could I do a better job at running the world than God does?

These are the very questions we find the protagonist asking at the beginning of the film. Bruce (played by Jim Carrey) has hit a rough patch in his life that comes to a head when he’s passed over for a big promotion at work and subsequently fired for his negative (over)reaction. In his frustration, Bruce lashes out at God, claiming that instead of him, God is the one who should get fired since he’s doing a pretty cruddy job at running the world.

And whether we like to admit it or not, we’ve all been there. When bad things happen to us, it’s natural to question God. We ask why he allows these things to happen. We wonder whether or not he really cares about us. We lose patience because we know how we want the world to be, and God seems to have a different agenda. Bruce’s sentiment is relatable, if not universal.

But what happens to Bruce next is certainly unique. Instead of being met with silence, he starts receiving messages on his pager prompting him to come to a certain address. After a while, he gives in, and when he arrives at his destination, he comes face-to-face with God himself (played brilliantly by Morgan Freeman). God tells Bruce that since he thinks he can do a better job at running the world than God can, he’s going to be granted the full power of divinity. Bruce walks away believing that he’s just conversed with a crazy person, but he soon finds what the mysterious man told him to be true: Bruce is suddenly all-powerful.

As you’d expect from a Jim Carrey movie, this premise sets off a series of hijinks that make viewers laugh, cringe, and sometimes blush. But as Bruce gets more familiar with his power and the responsibility that it entails, he learns a few important lessons about God’s governance of the world, lessons that we would do well to learn ourselves.

Our frustration with God often comes from our own lack of openness to him. In the scene where he lashes out at God, Bruce starts by asking for some kind of sign. He immediately drives past traffic signs that say, “Stop,” and “Caution,” before wrecking his car and having a total meltdown. He was so blinded by his anger that he couldn’t see the signs of God’s warning and presence right in front of him. God was giving Bruce exactly what he was asking for, but he refused to acknowledge it.

And if we’re being honest, we’re guilty of this as well. We get frustrated when God doesn’t respond to us the way that we want him to, and that blinds us to the many ways that God is, in fact, reaching out to us. We serve a God who is always present with us, a God who wants to do life with us. But we can’t see it if we’re too preoccupied with our anger at him. In order to hear from God, we must first make ourselves open to him on his terms. And when we do, we find that he’s been right beside us the entire time.

If we ran the world, it would be a catastrophe. Bruce is initially excited by his newfound powers because he thinks that he can use them to set everything right. Of course, by “everything,” I mean everything in his life that he finds unsatisfactory. He uses his powers to excel in his career and his love life. Eventually, he is forced to grapple with the question of how to use his power for the good of others when he has to answer their prayers. But Bruce fails fantastically on all accounts, ruining his relationship with his girlfriend and plummeting the city into chaos by replying, “Yes,” to everyone’s requests, resulting in so many lottery winners that everyone gets a measly sum of a few dollars.

Before we rush to judge Bruce for the destructive ways in which he uses his divine power, let’s ask ourselves: Would we do any differently? We often imagine how much better the world would be if we were in charge, but in those hypothetical scenarios, who benefits the most? It’s us. And the sad truth is that we aren’t even capable of properly leveraging the small amount of influence we have for the benefit of others. What makes us think that we’d do a better job if we were given even more responsibility? No, when we really consider the implications of having unlimited power, we quickly realize that we are woefully insufficient for the challenge. Which leads us to one simple conclusion.

God knows what he’s doing. There is only one person fit for the job of ruling the universe, and he’s already got it. As the creator and sustainer of everything that exists, God knows what is best, not only for the world and history as a whole, but also for each of us individually. In light of our own inadequacy and God’s position as the sole person qualified for governing the world, what more are we to do than put our trust in him, believing that he cares for us and that he knows what is best?

That’s the conclusion that Bruce comes to, at least. After causing catastrophe in his life and the lives of those around him, he finally admits that he isn’t fit to be in charge. He pleads with God to take his powers back, committing his fate to God’s hands. Then and only then is Bruce able to repair the damage that he has done and find contentment in the wonderful life that God has blessed him with. Sure, he may not have a flashy job or a perfect life. But he has enough to get by, and he has faith that God is out there watching over him.

Scripture tells us that God has an ultimate purpose for the world and that, in the end, that purpose will become reality. We may not understand everything that happens in our lives. In fact, we may not understand any of it. But we can trust that God is in control and that he is working history on both the grand, meta scale and the individual, personal level to his ultimate purpose, and we can trust that it is good.