Author: Isabel Anderson

In the last two decades, the relatively young genre of adult animation has steadily gained prominence, bringing shows like Big Mouth, South Park, Archer, Rick and Morty and Family Guy into the public sphere. Because of their animated nature, these shows are able to go above and beyond the restraints of regular television–often veering into the vulgar and absurd, with plenty of references to sex, drugs, and alcohol. Yet, the shows also manage to cover important subjects, addressing everything from depression and anxiety to space invasions and public diarrhea. In a genre where the sky’s the limit, this trend begs the question; why stay constrained to “normal” TV conventions? 

Created in 2011, Bob’s Burgers features a working-class family of 5 that struggles to keep their restaurant afloat in a sleepy beachside town. Though they occasionally break into colorful songs that involve animation impossible in the real world, ( i.e.”Bad Stuff Happens in the Bathroom” ) there is nothing sexy or outer-worldly about this gang. The animation style is minimalist and stays relatively similar across gender lines. (See: no crazily drawn/gendered/sexualized body parts!) They are simply a weird little family living their lives together in their apartment, getting in and out of zany scrapes each week. And yet, there is something special about the show, which is now entering its eleventh season– impressive longevity that can’t be explained by shock value. 

So why does the show have so much staying power? A dominant reading of the Belcher family unit could find it satisfying under the lens of heteronormativity, and see it as a prioritization of the white, nuclear family. But plenty of animated shows feature families. I argue that this family is different in one special way: they love each other unconditionally, and this love serves as the engine of the show.

Many animated series play into dominant clichés: the alcoholic dad, the overworked mom, the vain teenage girl, and the horny boy. Oftentimes animated shows will use these tropes, and stereotypes about other characters, as the punchlines and show engine under the guise of social commentary. Indeed, at first glance, the Belchers may seem to fall into these identities. Bob is a long-suffering, grumpy husband putting up with his crazy wife and kids. Linda is his shrill, nutty, and naggy wife. Tina is a painfully awkward teen, Louise is a troublemaking spitfire and Gene is a chubby, fart-loving weirdo. The show could use these identities to poke fun at them, and it does, but hardly ever in a way that makes them (or anyone else) the butt of the joke like some adult animation tends to do. 

For example, in Season 6, Episode 2, dorky Tina tries her hand at public graffiti in an attempt to seem less bland. When she gets in over her head, her brother and sister don’t hesitate to help her try to correct her mistake, and their help is neither boring nor rooted in selfishness, but funny and chaotic. In another episode, the whole family goes on an elaborate hunt for a new nightlight for the secretly-soft-at-heart Louise after they accidentally destroy it. 

In this way, Bob’s Burgers subverts dominant ideology by presenting a healthy family that refutes traditional gender and societal norms. Bob is very often irrational (which is not often perceived as a male trait) and though he grumbles, he loves his kids unconditionally. While Linda is over the top, she is good with numbers and is Bob’s equal in the maintenance of their business. The kids are allowed to be awkward on screen, which I argue creates a space for little weirdos everywhere. The Belcher’s are quirky, not cruel, and if they do fight, viewers can rest easy knowing that the characters will always have each other’s backs. 

In the end, Bob’s Burgers is just like a great burger; a simple premise that consistently delivers a delightful and comforting treat.