As a Netflix girl, I watched countless original shows and movies, but time and time again, I always find myself returning to one particular episode of the critically acclaimed series BoJack Horseman. If you’ve seen the show, you know that calling its main character, BoJack, relatable is questionable to say the least. But hear me out; if you take the time to analyze the Season 3 episode “Fish Out of Water,” you might find an uncomfortable sense of familiarity with it.
What makes this show so interesting is that BoJack doesn’t fit the traditional role of a protagonist. Sure, the show follows his dysfunctional life as a washed-up sitcom actor struggling with substance abuse, but viewers are constantly let down by his poor decisions. That is what makes it so captivating; you want to root for him, but you can’t. He fails the people around him and the audience, and that is the epitome of BoJack.
In “Fish Out of Water,” BoJack travels to an underwater film festival to promote Secretariat, his first big project in years, hoping it will revive his career. He dreads attending because Kelsey Jannings, the film’s original director, is there. BoJack indirectly got her fired during filming, despite her advocating for him to star in the movie even with his poor reputation and difficult behavior on set. Worse, he never found the courage to defend her to the studio or reach out after the incident. Betraying people who care about him and running away to save himself is a recurring pattern in BoJack’s life.
The catch that surprises both BoJack and the audience is that, once underwater, he appears unable to speak. He must wear a scuba helmet to breathe. That feeling of disorientation, leaving him trapped in an unfamiliar space is something we have all felt at some point in our lives. How we handle uncomfortable moments reveals a lot about who we are, and BoJack is no exception.
We only get a few minutes of dialogue before BoJack goes underwater, forcing us to rely on visuals and action. This sharply contrasts with the rest of the show, which thrives on fast-paced banter and emotional dialogue. Without a script to lean on, we see BoJack’s isolation and miscommunication through his behavior, which highlights a theme that can be applied to navigating relationships in life: actions speak louder than words. The things we do often reveal more than what we say. The silence is the point, and it resonates with anyone who struggles to express their feelings.
In the underwater city, BoJack struggles to get by. Sea creatures surround him, speaking languages he cannot understand. His helmet prevents him from having a drink to ease his anxiety, and he tries to avoid Kelsey, who is staying at the same hotel. Eventually, he grows bored and wanders over to the film stands being set up. There, he spots Kelsey promoting an indie movie that appears perceivably unpopular with the crowd. He panics, knowing his actions contributed to her struggling career. It’s his chance to set aside his anxiety and apologize in person, but BoJack falters. Unable to communicate verbally, he retreats to writing her a letter. Even on paper, he struggles to take accountability and express genuine remorse, drafting several versions before settling on a mediocre apology. When he sees Kelsey leaving the hotel lobby, he chases after her. In the ensuing chaos, a crowd of fish carries him onto a random bus. After a series of unexpected events, including helping a seahorse give birth, BoJack ends up stranded far from the festival with little time to return. His avoidance has left him trapped.
During his hectic trek back, BoJack realizes one of the newborn seahorses has clung to him. Reluctantly, he decides to help the baby get home. It’s an unexpectedly selfless act, and we never fully understand why he does it. Perhaps he is trying to compensate for the guilt he feels about Kelsey. The episode does not frame this moment as a redemption arc; instead, it offers a glimpse of BoJack’s potential to do something good. After BoJack successfully reunites the baby with its family, the father offers him money as a thank-you. BoJack refuses and leaves without recognition, looking just as dejected as before. This emptiness resonates with those who are always the ones checking in and showing up for others, only to have their efforts go unnoticed. Quiet acts of care can leave us feeling unseen, especially when no one recognizes the efforts behind them. That is part of why doing the right thing can feel exhausting. It may sound selfish, but it’s human.
This lesson feels especially relevant for a generation whose communication is filtered through phone screens. People can feel pressured to express care through constant reassurance in their relationships, making quieter forms of affection seem insufficient. But they shouldn’t be. The anxious texts we send to smooth over arguments or express love to the people we care about matter, but showing up is what gives those words meaning. BoJack may not receive the satisfaction he wants, but in a world without words, what we can do reveals who you are.
Still, this out-of-character act may affect BoJack more than he realizes. During the taxi ride back to the festival, he drafts a deeper, more sincere apology to Kelsey. He arrives extremely late, but makes it in time for the after-party, where other characters praise his movie and lift his spirits. Then he spots Kelsey leaving alone, suitcase in hand. He abandons the party to chase after her with his new letter. When he finally catches her sitting in a taxi, Kelsey tells the driver to stop. BoJack silently hands her the note: “Kelsey, in this terrifying world, all we have are the connections that we make. I’m sorry I got you fired. I’m sorry I never called you after.” It is the moment we’ve been waiting for; BoJack finally communicates his feelings and takes responsibility for his actions. Kelsey looks down at the paper, gives him a blank stare and hands it back to him before telling the driver to leave. In a heart-breaking twist, BoJack looks down at the letter and realizes that the water smeared the ink, making it illegible. The ruined note becomes a metaphor for the cost of delayed vulnerability. If BoJack had confronted his feelings earlier, he might have had a chance at closure. Communication can fail even when we finally gather the courage to say the right thing, and the longer we wait, the more emotional barriers we allow to grow. Say it while you can, or your message will too wash away, and not hold any meaning.
Then the episode delivers its final blow. An annoyed human passerby approaches BoJack on the street and presses a button on his helmet to tell him to move. BoJack presses the same button and realizes he could have spoken all along. He spent the entire episode anxiously trying to reach Kelsey, only to choose the most fragile form of communication because he believed he had no other option. The twist speaks to anyone who avoids difficult conversations, knowing that writing down our feelings can feel safer than saying it to someone’s face. It also raises an uncomfortable question: even if BoJack had known he could speak, would he have? Actions can be a powerful form of care, but they work best alongside the willingness to say something difficult. For anyone who struggles to express their feelings, the episode offers a harsh truth. The walls we believe stand between us and others may, in part, be ones we built ourselves.