In the season 6 finale of Bob’s Burgers, Bob Belcher gets superglued to a toilet moments before reporters arrive to spotlight his restaurant in a national food magazine—the type of big break that has eluded the Belchers in 106 prior episodes. After one look, the reviewers snicker and tell Bob that he’s been bumped because a man stuck to the loo isn’t exactly inspiring. They were wrong. That toilet-bound man, his wife, Linda, and their children, Gene, Tina, and Louise, are the most strangely inspiring animated characters on network television.
Bob’s Burgers zags away from the satire of The Simpsons, South Park, and Family Guy—three predecessors that championed “edgy animation.” They refused to be reverent towards what was traditionally valued. They didn’t care about offending mainstream sensibilities. Bob’s Burgers, whose seventh season premieres on Fox tonight at 7:30 p.m., is the opposite—it doesn’t have a Bart or a Brian, characters designed to scrawl graffiti on the established order. It’s not critical or jaded. It doesn’t unleash broadsides on social norms. Rather, the Belchers evoke warm fuzzies to counteract the bleak state of current affairs. They navigate the timeless hopes and troubles of ordinary American families, and do so earnestly and honestly, even when plots veer into the absurd. This show centers upon the nuanced, loving relationships in this corny family and their dogged pursuit of their respective dreams. It grows from roots of sincerity, optimism and familial love—the antidote to modern cynicism.
Bob sits at the Emmy-awarded show’s crux. He’s a goofy, gruff man who can’t get his business to flourish, but can make exceptional burgers. Just like when Michael Scott crushed sales calls, Bob’s prowess is satisfying whenever it surfaces. But across the street, there’s the eponymous, far-more-successful restaurant of Bob’s nemesis, Jimmy Pesto. Like Olive Garden, but trashier, Pesto’s serves customers slapdash grub, but remains popular because of gimmicks, big portions and cheap prices. Outside of self-promotion, Pesto is talentless and his existence nags Bob with the worry that it is pointless to pour so much into his burgers.
This central battle of the show matches most conflicts in Bob’s Burgers. When pursuing their goals, the Belchers match up against finaglers, meanies, and opportunists, who succeed thanks to slimy savvy. But even when the Belchers near success, it must come on their terms.
In season four’s “Beefsquatch,” Bob and Gene (in a burger suit and a sasquatch mask) land a cooking segment on a morning show. But rather than highlight Bob’s burgers, the hosts and audience just want to see Bob and Gene bicker, wrestle and prank each other. These fights get high ratings, but the fame tears the family apart. And so, rather than let success compromise them, Linda, Bob’s free-spirit counterweight, whips out her breasts live on television, prompting the FCC to shut the show down. The Belchers could have been local TV stars. But it would have been cheap and insincere. And so it wasn’t right.
Among the children, Louise and Gene catalyze many adventures, but the heart of the show is Tina. Because of the clumsy consequences of her pure intentions, Tina moves through adolescence messily, but with vigor. She only cares about boys, horses, and doing the right thing. But she’s so open that she often risks mockery—whether for her “erotic friend fiction,” her imaginary horse, Jericho, or her utter aversion to rule-breaking.
When she steals margarita mix or crashes the family car, she drops into her distinct monotone groan—her go-to response for being on the wrong side of any law. Similar to Milhouse or Butters, she’s a rule-following, goody-two-shoes, but unlike them, she’s not played as the butt of jokes. Instead, her nerdy morals are valued and protected. Whenever trouble arises, Linda and Bob close ranks, offering unconditional support. And Gene and Louise rally against their sister’s tormentors. In these moments of strife, the Belchers become their best selves as they buoy the most delicate member of their clan.
We tend to dismiss earnest people like this as naive. But if you stick around (or watch Bob’s Burgers for, like, seven episodes), it becomes obvious that these people do what they do because they really just can’t help themselves. They have to put it all out there. That sort of bare devotion is appealing. In the most clichéd sense of the word, it is inspiring to know that people exist who know what they want and are going after it regardless of what ensues. Beyond being compelling characters, part of the appeal of Bob’s Burgers is that their self-belief osmoses to the audience.
When The Simpsons, South Park, and Family Guy took over, American culture needed an injection of sarcasm and cynicism. The opposite is true now—we need sincerity.
In the formative years of young Americans, our president lied to us about a war that has killed over 100,000 civilians, our financial executives plunged our economy into historic ruin, and the Catholic Church protected pedophiles. These pillars of society that purported to generously protect our best interests proved to filled with villains who pursued selfish goals at the expense of the less powerful. Now, two-thirds of Americans would have trouble coming up with one thousand dollars. One-third have nothing saved for retirement. College attendees owe a cumulative $1.5 trillion in student loans. Donald Trump, a de facto white supremacist, represents half the electorate. And our criminal justice system oppresses black and brown people as standard operating procedure.
So we don’t need extra infusions of irony and cynicism from our television. They’re inherent to our worldview. It’s the default setting. Instead, I want hope. And Bob’s Burgers provides it in a loving, kooky family that tries hard to achieve their dreams and fails often, yet still believes their situation will improve, regardless of the endless signs to the contrary.
The Belchers own a business in an industry with a 90 percent failure rate. But in an uncertain time, there’s something soothing about people who do what they love with who they love, and aren’t discouraged by the bad luck that befalls them. The Belchers make it work. And that’s a beautiful heart for a show. The world is set up in a way that is weird and wrong and stacked against the little guy, but Bob’s Burgers asserts that we should keep going anyway. Not because someday the work will be worth it, but because it already is.
