Animation is often considered a childish genre. This cinematic medium, typically associated with Disney films and weekend cartoons, only started being appreciated for the range of its applications over the last few decades.
When most think of examples of animated media produced for teens and adults, they think of comedy shows like “South Park,” “Bob’s Burger’s” and “Family Guy.” While there is nothing wrong with these sorts of programs, and I will attentively watch any new episode of “South Park” that graces my screen, humor does not define animation’s possibilities. The plethora of similar comedic animated adult programs dilutes audiences’ understanding of the genre, leading them to lump in other projects that take a deeper, and significantly darker, tone.
Most plainly, teens and adults do not watch animated media made for adults because they do not think that it will take itself seriously or offer deeper messages. The best animated programs made for adults pair the expected comedy with an exploration of the human condition. Adult Swim’s “Moral Orel,” Netflix’s “Bojack Horseman” and the films of Oscar-winning director Adam Elliot make clear that animation can be employed to navigate the complexities of human emotion and relationships. Future creatives can learn from the careful balance the creators of these masterpieces achieved through this powerful artistic medium and be inspired to tackle similarly complex and emotional stories through an animated lens.
Moral Orel (2005)
If you want to witness the emotional power of animation, look no further than this puppet-centered series. Airing on Adult Swim, “Moral Orel” is a three-season stop-motion animated television series that follows Orel Puppington, a young protestant boy from Moralton, Statesota. His struggles are most profoundly shaped by his alcoholic father, whose misguided attempts at moral directions lead to catastrophe, his dissatisfied, cleanliness-obsessed mother and his pastor, Reverend Putty, whose interests lie more in manipulating the Bible’s words than following them.
The show begins with episodic accounts of Orel’s misadventures in his misplaced attempts to please God, but as the story progresses, the lens widens, focusing on the other inhabitants of the town and the different struggles they face, which all stem from their obsession with “doing the right thing.” What “Moral Orel” does best, and most profoundly in its final season, is weave together fragmented story pieces into a tapestry that reveals deep truths about how humanity misconstrues and frames religion to fit individual agendas. Through a small town setting, the show is able to navigate the relationship between religion and sexuality, marriage, friendship and mental health.
My overwhelming love for this show sparked my idea to write about this subject. No matter how much I rave about it, my friends dismiss it. They are unwilling to give it a try, and if they do, are unimpressed by the silly and absurd opening episode. Most significantly, they are put off by the presence of stop motion puppetry, refusing to consider the serious tone the show can take because of its silly visual style. Though it takes a few episodes to reach the deeper commentary the show has to offer, the wait is well worth it.
Bojack Horseman (2014)
More popular than the previously mentioned series, this six-season Netflix animated masterpiece follows alcoholic former-Hollywood actor Bojack Horseman as he navigates his relationships and sense of identity outside of fame. Like Orel’s story, Bojack’s episodic misadventures build into an overarching character study of a deeply flawed and hurt horse.
The aforementioned Hollywood setting is fantastically populated with humanoid animal characters, an effect rendered only not unsettling through the animated format. Through the beautiful watercolor-esque, bold colors, the animators present creative, mind-bending sequences related to memory and addiction that would not be similarly possible in another format.
Like Moral Orel, this series powerfully explores generational trauma, specifically through abuse and addiction within the family structure and their lasting impact on an individual’s psyche. Bojack’s reflections on his relationship with his distant parents throughout the series reveal the core of his constant search for attention and control over those around him. His relationships with his manager, ghost-writer and best friend all uncover different aspects of Bojack’s flawed personality and the patterns that he perpetuates because of his troubled childhood.
More so than “Moral Orel,” this show is desperately funny. While I find myself more sad and reflective while watching the previous TV program, I am always sure that when I turn on “Bojack Horseman,” I am in for a hearty laugh, even if a tear or two is shed minutes later. The show balances comedy and emotion, with some of the funniest moments followed by the most meaningful conversations and monologues.
I always consider Bojack Horseman and Moral Orel twin TV series because, despite their opposing styles, settings and creators, both shows take a medium associated with light-heartedness and comedy and balance it with a deep navigation of the complexities of family dynamics, addiction, trauma and mental health.
Again, many may be quick to judge the show by its cover, as it follows a talking horse and features his ex-girlfriend, Princess Carolyn, a purple cat. But the animated format allows the show to present characters’ internal dialogue, dream-like sequences and flashbacks more effectively, while challenging plot conventions. “Bojack Horseman” holds profound lessons that are compelling and unexpected because it is a genre-defying, explorative piece of adult animation.
“Mary and Max” (2009) and “Memoir of a Snail” (2024)
Taking a slight turn into the field of animated film, Adam Elliot further reveals how the medium can be employed to spark powerful commentary about the nature of adolescence and whether or not family is chosen. His two feature-length projects can be studied side by side to understand how he uses stop motion to tell emotional stories because of the format, not despite it.
“Mary and Max” follows the pen pal relationship between a young Australian girl and a lonely autistic man living in New York City. Despite their joint loneliness and differences from those around them, the two find friendship through shared compassion and similar interests. The film follows their friendship over the years as it shifts and develops, ultimately acknowledging the importance of friendship to having good mental health.
More emotional still, “Memoir of a Snail,” follows twins, separated in childhood, who find their way back to each other over decades. Despite its genre, or perhaps because of it, this film presents a heartbreaking commentary on religious homophobia. Without spoiling too much, the whole film is a formula for racking sobs.
These films achieve their message not only through their incredible scripts and gripping imagery. Elliot employs a similar grayscale color scheme for each film, heightening the somber feelings of each environment. The films each hold valuable lessons about relationships presented through sweet and endearing characters. Their adorable design makes their trials all the more heart-wrenching.
My overarching point, although you should watch each one of my suggestions, is not that these pieces of media are good despite being animated, but because of it. Each one is able to achieve something different but equally heart-wrenching related to themes of family dynamics, relationships, prejudice and the importance of imagery in storytelling. Animated media should be appreciated more widely for its excellence in presenting resonant, powerful truths that speak to the experiences of adult audiences because of its ability to present mind-bending sequences and subvert audiences’ expectations.