Media as Medicine: Bojack Horseman
As the title may suggest, this post is going to look a little different from what I have written in the past. I've long been interested in film and TV as a sort of "prescription."
"I'm so sorry about your breakup. Have you ever seen Blue Valentine though?"
"Really missing the 90's? Give Clueless a try."
"That sucks that you're experiencing existential dread. Have you watched Bojack Horseman on Netflix?"
That last one might sound a bit dramatic, so naturally, that's exactly the one I'll be focusing on in this post.
A good TV show, movie, or even song is often exactly what you need to get through a tough time, or to simply remind you of a better one. These prescribed pieces of media can offer you new perspectives, or in the incredible case of Bojack, affirm everything you've been feeling and then some. I could see how one might be hesitant to let an animated series about talking animals coexisting with humans tell them what it is that they are feeling, but Bojack has been everything for me over the past few weeks.
More and more animated sitcoms have emerged over the last decade with their unique blend of comedy and philosophy, but no show does it better than Bojack, which just released its fifth season today. While hilarious, the show can also be a huge bummer at times. But again, the lessons it reveals through this emotional balance are well worth holding back some tears.
The show's cast of characters are all relatively sad people, particularly the titular Bojack Horseman. Much of their sadness stems from a constant search for meaning, for that one moment or that one experience that will absolutely change everything. And it makes sense that Bojack and his friends would think this way; they all live in Hollywoo (yes, I know there's no D) where celebrities and the media continuously push narratives suggesting these sorts of big changes are always on the horizon. Big moments make for great storytelling, but they don't make for very good reflections of our everyday lives. I find myself often searching, just like Bojack, for that one moment that will provide "meaning." My search is likely fueled by the thousands of movies and TV shows I have consumed over my lifetime. The truth, however, is that life does not follow a clean arc the way scripted media does. Life rarely has a narrative at all. Instead, it is simply full of moments. Sure, some moments are better than others, but they are still just moments.
The show most brilliantly illustrates this idea in its Season 3 opener, "Start Spreading the News." Bojack is chasing his lifelong dream of winning an Oscar for his recent performance as Secretariat, but he begins to wonder if his media tour is worth his time, or if winning an Oscar will make him happy after all. His publicist, Ana Spanakopita, explains to Bojack that winning an Oscar will not change his life or guarantee him happiness, but it will provide him with a single night of happiness. In other words, it will be a moment for Bojack, and nothing more. But that's OK.
We tend to put a lot of pressure upon our every experience, our every opportunity, our every relationship to mean so much. The truth, however, is that "meaning" is hard to come by. Even those moments that feel invaluable and unforgettable are still just moments. We can inject them with all the meaning that we want, but our lives and the people in it will not always see things the same way.
Most shows also promise us closure, but Bojack does no such thing, nor does life. When moments end or their magic fades, there may be no explanation as to why. It is significant, maybe even essential, that we recognize the fleeting nature of these highs. Bojack struggles to do so, and is tortured by his own sadness as a result.
If I sound a little pessimistic myself, it's not just because I've been spending a lot of time in Hollywoo.
I've found myself in a bit of a funk as of late, which I suppose makes Bojack a self-prescribed show in this first iteration of "Media as Medicine." While not necessarily curing, the show has made me more aware of how I view the world around me.
In everything I do, I try to maintain a sense of calm.
"It's not a big deal," I often remind myself as well as others if I sense their oncoming stress. By and large, I believe my own advice. But there are always those moments, my Oscar chases if you will, that I can't help but emphasize. When they occur, they feel like key plot points, climaxes in the narrative of life. Alas, their magic can burst rather easily, soberly reminding me of life's lack of story structure. And in this reminder, I no longer see myself in Bojack Horseman, but rather his counterpart Mr. Peanutbutter.
Mr. Peanutbutter believes himself to be the opposite of Bojack in every way, consistently presenting a confident, go-getter persona. This persona proves itself to be a gossamer over a layer of insecurities. When he first meets his future wife Diane, Mr. Peanutbutter scoffs at the notion of caring what others may think of you. When Diane expresses gratitude towards this sentiment, Mr. Peanutbutter thanks Diane for her validation. The scene is obviously comedic, but it also underscores just how similar Mr. Peanutbutter and Bojack really are, even if they cope with their struggles in opposite ways. We all likely wrestle with our thoughts in ways that sit between these two approaches, but I'd argue Mr. Peanutbutter's more closely resembles a sort of performance, as I've discussed in a previous post.
It can be all the more frustrating, then, that Mr. Peanutbutter finds love and success everywhere he goes. Until a divorce at the end of season four, he was married to Diane, a woman Bojack has loved throughout the show's run. He green-lights each absurd idea that comes his way and manages to profit off of it no matter what. As Mr. Peanutbutter thrives in his fabricated optimism, and Bojack wallows in his self-imposed misery, we are reminded who gets to succeed. Although many movies may suggest otherwise, when we conceal our emotions and pretend to be something we are not, we often benefit. But when we attempt vulnerability and speak our mind, we expose ourselves to the kind of pain that burdens Bojack in each and every episode. Bojack has his own set of problems, and he makes a lot of awful mistakes throughout the show, but he is mostly in touch with his feelings, a dangerous proposition in a world that rather you ignore or, at the very least, temper them.
Someone like Bojack craves, even chases, closure, rarely getting it. Someone like Mr. Peanutbutter pretends not to care, and often receives it as a result. A healthy approach, one I ought to adopt, would maintain Bojack's vulnerability, while remembering Mr. Peanutbutter's blissful approach to life's moments. For Mr. Peanutbutter, moments are simultaneously everything and nothing. They are fun and they are exciting and they feel really good, but there will always be another one. And instead of dreaming of the chance to relive these moments, to make them last longer and make them mean something great, maybe we should simply be grateful that we lived them.
What I find most difficult each time I write these posts is truly following my own advice. There often remains a disconnect between my findings and the ways in which I live my everyday life. And I find a special bit of irony in my eagerness to inject so much meaning into a show that, while deserving, may ask that I offer it no such meaning at all. It is just a show, right?
But media, whether we like it or not, remains incredibly powerful. I find myself channeling my experiences, of both the uplifting and the disappointing variety, via my engagement with the films and TV shows I watch. In a way, the analysis I unfold is not truly of a certain work, but instead of my own life, simply made clearer through a dissection of something else. Media's special capability to illuminate and reflect speaks to its status as a concurrent mirror and escape. Perhaps this two-sided nature is exactly what makes media the perfect medicine.
Bojack Horseman is slowly dragging me out of a funk, but maybe a different piece of media would work for you. If you enjoyed this new format, send me some of your own stories so I can play doctor and write you a prescription. I'd love to do some more of these and maybe even turn them into a column of their own. Thanks for reading!
P.S. I notice myself using a collective "we" in much of my writing. I believe this usage is due, in part, to my desire to reveal certain truths through my blog posts. I sometimes wonder, however, just how representative my experiences and my interpretations truly are of the overall human experience. Dearest reader, if you are out there, share with me some of your own experiences as they relate to what I discuss above. I like to think I'm right, but I should know if I'm full of shit and need to get off my high horse (see what I did there?) Thanks again!
Until next time,
-Cory Reid