After periods of speculation about release dates and what tone to expect from the progressively dark and bizarre animated series, the new season of Netflix’s BoJack Horseman is finally around the corner. Part of the show’s ability to resonate with viewers and critics alike is the delicate line it walks between lampooning (and occasionally exhibiting) stale sitcom tropes and exploring the raw, realistic internal lives of its complicated characters.
Somespoilers from BoJack Horseman's first three seasons continue below.
The titular character, BoJack Horseman, is a classically damaged antihero in the vein of Tony Soprano, Don Draper and Walter White, and while we follow his misadventures and mostly try to root for him, he’s also spectacularly toxic to every single person in his life. When the show first began, it was easy to write off Mr. Peanutbutter as a lighthearted, idiotic foil to BoJack’s brooding, intellectual cynic. But throughout the first three seasons of BoJack, Mr. Peanutbutter develops over time into the closest thing the show has to an actual hero.
The show establishes pretty early that BoJack isn’t the hero of this series despite being its central character, and that in this context, the very concept of “hero” is meant to be heavily criticized. Case in point: in the first season's second episode, BoJack goes on a long, televised rant about overseas soldiers not being heroes by default, and goes as far as suggesting the practice of glorifying them actually cheapens the work of real heroes. The show takes a clear stance that it’s not meant to be a celebration of traditional heroics. However, I’d argue that BoJack succeeds at a balancing act between embodying and criticizing television tropes through the zen, upbeat, and often heroic character of Mr. Peanutbutter.
A major difference between BoJack and Mr. Peanutbutter, which affirms the line between antihero and hero, is that BoJack wallows in his own misery, while Mr. Peanutbutter is almost constantly in a state of relentless forward progress. It’s established early on that he badly wants to be friends with BoJack, imitating him in ways the audience might read as sincere flattery, but that BoJack derisively insists are attempts to rip him off. In the few moments where Mr. Peanutbutter does demonstrate BoJack-like vindictiveness, like when he pushes Diane toward war-torn Cordovia after being frustrated at her handling of the Hank Hippopopolous scandals or when he uses his new game show to humiliate BoJack, he still manages to boost the careers of both Diane and BoJack in the process. He’s one of the few consistently positive figures in the show.
Unlike Mr. Peanutbutter, when BoJack spirals, taking his feelings of inadequacy or depression out on those around him. While BoJack compulsively tears down those close to him, Mr. Peanutbutter lifts them (often the same exact people) up. Mr. Peanutbutter confronts dilemmas head on, whereas BoJack almost always runs from his problems, lies, or sabotages those around him in order to protect himself. From the outside, BoJack’s life is great, and he’s achieving everything he ever wanted, but can’t help being his own worst enemy. In fact, it’s because of Mr. Peanutbutter’s compulsively supportive habits (and questionable intelligence) that BoJack is able to snag his dream role as Secretariat.
BoJack says of Mr. Peanutbutter, “He’s so stupid he doesn’t realize how miserable he should be… I envy that.” And though the yellow lab is often airheaded, getting common phrases wrong (“You say tomato tomato, I say tomato tomato”) and missing art and pop culture references with enthusiasm, he’s far from the imbecile BoJack makes him out to be.
In Season 3, we see this pattern of a seemingly absurd background throwaway joke (by way of the former star of Mr. Peanutbutter’s House) leading to day-saving revelations repeated on an even larger and more ridiculous scale. Throughout the season, Mr. Peanutbutter has been hoarding crates of spaghetti strainers at his house, for literally no reason. When a cargo ship filled with pasta wrecks off the coast of L.A., endangering the underwater Pacific Ocean City, Mr. Peanutbutter alone is able to save the day with the combined forces of his cab drivers and the crates of spaghetti strainers.
He goes a step further by actually saving BoJack’s life when he shows up at a party just in time to pull the drowning, inebriated horse from a Tesla he drove into the pool. That Mr. Peanutbutter is likely the last person BoJack would want to save him makes the moment all the more important for the show’s exploration of the relationship between the two going forward.
Mr. Peanutbutter’s Hollywoo hero status is cemented after the spaghetti incident, which leads to the possibility of a gubernatorial run. And while he may be a hero in a lot of ways, he’s certainly flawed in a way that's true to the show that is BoJack Horseman. His habit of saying “yes” to anything and everything (including the ridiculed auction gig at a benefit for John Edwards in 2007; looks like he’s got some rudimentary political experience, at least) may lead to trouble now that he’s headed for the complicated world of politics.
With Season 4 arriving on September 8, we’ll soon have lots more questions about the characters of BoJack and how they’ll cope with the various circ*mstances of their cliffhanger Season 3 ending. Will Mr. Peanutbutter still be a loving and carefree Zoe if he’s running for office? Will BoJack remain the selfish and destructive antihero he’s always been? As they used to say on my favorite show-within-a-show, “Let’s find out!”
Lauren is a freelance writer and artist who can be followed at@YasBruja.
