Contemporary cartoons have a much wider audience then in previous generations and a large part of this demographic expansion is due to the increasing sophistication of the animated world. Sure, there are still plenty of kids’ cartoons left, but many animated shows appeal to an older crowd by tackling adult situations and problems through the cartoon medium. Similarly, a growing number of children’s shows, such as ‘Adventure Time’, address more serious themes like parental abandonment, unrequited love, and the existential angst associated with becoming a teenager, while presenting this material in a way that a young audience can understand and enjoy. Shows like ‘The Simpsons,’ now into its unprecedented thirtieth season, have gone even further, transcending the label of “children’s entertainment” to attain (and retain) coveted evening prime time broadcasting slots for its dual appeal to children at a basic level and adults for a more nuanced, adult-orientated entertainment.
Absurdism has always bubbled beneath the surface of comedy television, especially when it comes to adult animation. Since the early 2000s, one only had to look towards Cartoon Network’s programming block Adult Swim to find programs ranging from the satirical claymation ‘Robot Chicken’ to the graphic acid trip ‘Aqua Teen Hunger Force’, or even the endless non-sequiturs of ‘Family Guy’. You would surely damn yourself, however, if you tried to dig through the endless stream of surreal events to find some thematic heart. Perhaps you could make a case for ‘Family Guy’ being a critique of suburban America, but even this seems a stretch. The show barely holds a sense of continuity, which the other two completely lack, and character development is for all intents and purposes non-existent. As for the once-acerbic ‘Simpsons,’ it has struggled to maintain the balance between its two viewing solitudes (arguably losing its edge many years ago).
To put it bluntly, there’s very little to care about.
That was true, at least, until Adult Swim approached Dan Harmon, the troubled creator of ‘Community’, to produce a “hit, prime-time” series. Unsure about the network’s style and animation overall, Harmon sought to work with his talented friend Justin Roiland, who had sunk into an emotional rut following burn-out from constant career disappointment. The end result was the cynical ‘Rick and Morty’, which follows the dealings of Rick Sanchez, a narcissistic super genius/alcoholic mad scientist, and his less than average grandson Morty. They frequently travel to alternate realities, other planets, and once, into the body of a homeless man (episode: Anatomy Park). The show debuted in December 2013 to acclaim from critics, who praised the show’s surreal and satirical humor, which often lampoons film and television, as refreshingly unique.
The series has completed its highly anticipated third season recently, much to the delight of fans left starving from the morsels of storyline hinted at during the final episodes of the previous episode run. It’s incredibly common for a series to end a season on a cliffhanger, but the stories behind ‘Rick and Morty’ are no simple formula (1.5 years is a LOOOONNNGGG time to wait). Certainly, its run began with a simple setup, establishing itself as a fresh example of surreal comedy. Yet its superficially simple premise functioned as a bait-and-hook tactic, bringing the viewer into the universe in preparation for delivery of its thematic core. If there was any question, that locus traces the cycle of depression.
For many individuals, Rick Sanchez is an exaggerated example of what life with depression is like. We protect ourselves behind a wall of self-mythologization, but at the drop of a hat, crippling insecurity can burn our best defenses and leave us again susceptible to the hopelessness and abandonment we worked so hard to drive out. In an instant, you can go from feeling on top of the world, to sliding down an iced-over rock face, and no character better inhabits this trend than the chronically pained Rick.
Perhaps the true beauty of series is that it rarely plays this thematic as a trump card; it often remains an elusive shadow, flitting subtly between passing moments of over-the-top humor. Indeed the topic is hardly even broached until the finale of season 1, “Ricksy Business.” After reaching the end of his patience with Rick’s alcoholism and drug addiction, Morty finds himself questioning the source of his grandfather’s arrogance to Bird Person, his elder’s closest friend and confidant:
BIRD PERSON: Morty, do you know what “Wubba Lubba Dub Dub” means?
MORTY: Oh, that’s just Rick’s stupid nonsense catchphrase.
BIRD PERSON: It’s not nonsense at all. In my people’s tongue, it means, “I am in great pain. Please help me.”
MORTY: Well, I got news for ya -- he’s saying it ironically.
BIRD PERSON: No, Morty. Your grandfather is indeed in very deep pain. That is why he must numb himself.
Of course, when Morty inquires about Wubba Lubba Dub Dub later on, Rick characteristically proclaims that his new catchphrase is, “I don’t give a f**k,” inhabiting his constant state of apathy and keeping his loved ones at a distance with verbal abuse. But “Ricksy Business” is ultimately just a tease, hinting towards the thematic line that isn’t fully brought into the light until Season Two. The season premiere, “A Rickle in Time,” picked up quite literally where the previous season’s finale left off. In the aftermath of the party cleanup in “Ricksy Business,” Morty and Summer accidently split their reality into separate timelines that continue to fragment as their multiple selves fail to align in space. When one of the multiple Morties places the whole in danger of becoming stuck in nonexistence, Rick sacrifices his live for his grandson. Of course, when Rick gets a last chance at salvation he takes it immediately, but his heroic suicidal action in the premiere establishes the season’s heftier emotional weight.
The season’s third episode, “Auto Erotic Assimilation,” finally takes Rick’s characterization to dizzying heights as it finally digs into his past before returning to the Smith family’s life. By total chance, Rick is reunited with a girlfriend from his past, a hive-mind being called Unity, which leads him into a massive binge of the drugs and sex of his youth. However, Unity soon comes to the realization that Rick is a negative influence on her, and leaves him a goodbye note without warning. Dejected, Rick returns home to meekly accept Beth and Jerry’s (Morty’s parents) verbal disapproval. As the family sits in surprise at his lack of defense, Rick trudges into the garage, where he immediately attempts to kill himself by firing a laser through his brain. He fails only because he passes out on his desk just before the weapon fires, where he lies unconscious.
Lest one think this a red herring given the literally infinite number of trans-dimensional multiverses in the universe that Rick’s gesture is melodramatic and hollow (given that he could return from literally any one of those) he downs a strange orange liquid. What's so special about that drink? Well... the creators have explained that this liquid will enable Rick to fall in sync with every one of the other universes and dimensions. By ingesting this, and then offing himself, he’d be dead in all other realities with NO possibility of survival or rescue. This makes Ricks' suicide attempt infinitely worse than if it was only this Rick in our prime universe that perishes in solitary isolation.
Despite being one of the most chameleon-like of characters, Rick is very much unlike other animated or cinematic hero in that he does not magically recover and is miraculously whole (sound in mind and character) for the next episode. Next week, when the opening sequence stops rolling, he still isn't fine. In fact, his angst carries over from one plotline to the next, weaving a tapestry of weary sadness which seems to indicate that eventually, inevitably, when the series does indeed end (and it must), this may be grim foreshadowing of what is to come.
Adding to all this Rick-centred angst is a unique spin on breaking the fourth wall: at the end of some episodes, Rick says something similar to "See you next week everyone!" while staring straight towards the audience. When Rick does so and breaks the 4th wall, it means he knows we're watching him on the other side of the screen. His reality has gods (the creators), a constituency he must please (US, the audience) and consequences if he does not do so (the show will be cancelled). A Nietzschean paradox.
As the protagonist, he cannot die. Furthermore as a character his fate is not in his hands.
Rick is additionally depressed because he knows this fact, that he can't leave or do anything to stop the show, but only to continue it. He knows that if the series gets cancelled, the consequences would be unbearable. As the lead, he would be (besides the showrunners), responsible, as we, the audience, would deem him no longer sufficiently entertaining to invest time in his shenanigans. This, in turn, levies an acute sense of suffocation and relentless pressure onto Rick, because he is so desperately trying to keep the show going so he doesn't need to face these conditions.
However, though Rick’s emotional state is most openly explored, it is important to note the other four characters have been demonstrated to be just as emotionally broken as he is: Morty struggles against the paradoxical nature of his moral compass and the universe’s inherent evil; Summer is confronted with the revelation that her parents failed to abort her; Beth develops alcoholic tendencies from a buried lack of fulfillment, and Jerry flagrantly displays a massive inferiority complex.
A common theme of the show is the impact of humanity, and in particular Rick and Morty, on our own world and on the planets they travel to either via spaceship or teleportation. Often, Rick’s nihilistic apathy or Morty’s well-intentioned but often disastrous interventionism will lead to catastrophic consequences such as the destruction of Earth or of a galactic civilization. One of the values that the show’s creators seem determined to reinforce is the idea that our actions, regardless of intent, have real-life consequences that can negatively impact those we love and care about, and that life is fairly unpredictable and control over our lives is a fantasy.
While this message is one that’s easy for all ages to understand, ‘Rick and Morty’ has a tendency to also try to speak to problems that affect an older audience. A constant theme of this show is the sadness and sense of purposelessness that many people experience as they get older and realize that the exciting fables they were told as children, including religious ones, are just not true. Rick is obviously aware of this and apparently accepts it, as depicted through his frequently reckless behavior, binge drinking and basic disregard for the consequences of his actions. Furthermore he not only understands that life is pointless and meaningless, but also the horrifying truth that the universe simply does not care whether we exist or not.
Take the episode 'Rick Potion #9' where Rick creates a love potion for Morty to use on his crush at the school dance, but it goes terribly wrong and ends up turning everyone on the planet into mutated monsters a la a David Cronenberg film (the effect is actually dubbed “being Cronenberged”). Unable to reverse the effects, Rick and Morty just up and leave that reality behind because it was too screwed up to fix and step into a new one where versions of themselves had conveniently just blown up. This storyline dovetails with another where Morty’s older sister finds out that her conception was entirely accidental and dealing with the angst this produces. To this Morty reveals the subterfuge in him and Rick having buried the newly dead versions of themselves and then being unknowingly assimilated into their family, whose members are completely unaware of what happened or the fact that the Rick and Morty they now know are actually from a parallel universe. Morty concludes by telling his sister, “Nobody exists on purpose, nobody belongs anywhere, everybody’s gonna die. Come watch TV.”
While this may seem especially dark, it’s intended to be comforting to those, like Morty’s sister, who are hung up on the apparent meaningless nature of existence. For many people the idea that we weren’t created for a special reason or purpose can be soul-crushing and utterly debilitating, but to Rick and Morty this is just the way life is and always was. To them, there is no reason to get depressed by a lack of existential meaning when life is full of wonder and the unknown, things that may not give a person an answer to why we exist but can provide a purpose for that existence. This sense of purpose can be found in a variety of things, from exploring the unknown to perfecting a skill or hobby. Essentially, what Roiland and Harmon are trying to say is that what we find enjoyment doing, combined with the interesting things that result from the random nature of life, is far more important than philosophical and unanswerable questions about meaning.
So where then does this leave the show in relation to its viewers? What is it that makes 'Rick and Morty' such an influential show for so many people? Certainly, Roiland and Harmon have woven five substantial unique characters such that the majority of fans will find themselves identifying with certain characters over others. While a viewer's life with depression, struggling against a clear sense of self-loathing and tendency for misanthropy, has led them to strongly identify with Rick’s inner turmoil above all others, they've probably found that their friends and fellow fans all had their own reasons for identifying among the other four principal characters. Perhaps then, what has made Rick and Morty so popular is its ability to place us within its universe. In allowing us to find ourselves within the characters, the series presents us an opportunity to seriously view our emotional states from an outside perspective, and simultaneously shows us how to laugh when absurdity and misfortune arise. It’s one of the first series (whether considered as animation, comedy, or both) to truly present, plead an empathetic case with its audience, and it will likely remain one of the few.
Thus, 'Rick and Morty' stands exceptional as a humorous show with serious subject matter.
That’s not to say that the series is all gloom and doom. In fact, ‘Rick and Morty’ is silly beyond belief, with nonsensical catchphrases, hilarious character names, and a general tone of absurdity that keeps the pace lively and allows the dramatic moments to shine when they do appear. But the show attempts to be true to life in that not everything is fun and games, and bad things do happen on occasion. What’s totally endearing about it is that in between the aliens and the quantum teleportation devices are emotionally distressing human problems being addressed without the crutches of religion or wishful thinking. It’s a bit strange that a cartoon would lead the way in addressing some of the biggest philosophical problems of the postmodern age, but ‘Rick and Morty’ does it exceptionally well, and at least you laugh in between the tears.
Which, for many people, is what the definition of life, is.
Epilogue:
Somewhere, there's an universe where he doesn't pass out. The next morning, there's no Rick any more, and they just find the empty garage with weird, unidentifiable black dust everywhere. They'll probably think that he left. Except for Morty, who might just know enough to realize what actually happened. Not that it matters, really. That's that, as they say.
And then life goes on. Morty goes to school. He goes to school, he grows up. He gets a job, maybe. Maybe not. He lives his life. But sometimes, he looks up at the sky. To space and the stars. He wonders. But there's nothing to wonder about, any more. Life just goes on. Nothing to do but live life. No adventures, no nothing. It all fades in time.
Wubba lubba dub dub.
