So I've been noodling lately on the distinction between my
favorite episodes of Futurama, and the
greatest episodes of Futurama. Said distinction might be a bit idiosyncratic and pedantic, but hear me out: my favorite episodes are the ones I enjoy the most, the laugh-out-louds and the tearjerkers--the ones I can (and do) rewatch 10, 20, 30 times; the greatest episodes are those that feel genre-bending or rule-breaking--the ones with undeniable and moderately objective artistic merit. My favorite episodes of Futurama are those that I love the most when compared to all other episodes of Futurama; the
greatest episodes of Futurama are the ones I admire the most when I consider the whole of TV, past and present, live-action and animated.
To be sure,
there's a fair bit of overlap between my favorites and the greatest. But I've been thinking lately about Futurama's legacy, relative to television as a whole and animated series in particular, and at the end of the day I don't know that I could call it the most innovative or creatively-ambitious cartoon of the last 30 or so years when taken in its entirety. Like, the way people talk about a show like BoJack Horeseman (which I've never seen, but it's on my to-watch list) or even Rick and Morty (ditto)--or, hell, even The Simpsons of yesteryear--is not the way people usually talk about Futurama.
And yet a lot of the commendable things I hear people cite about those newer shows are definitely present in Futurama--albeit, in isolation. Basically, I believe there are a handful of episodes of the show that do something important, exciting, and precedent-setting. Here's a brief rundown of said episodes (in my estimation, at least), along with my rationale for each:
1. The Luck of the Fryrish: I'm biased here, because I lost a brother with whom I had an at-times contentious relationship, but this episode does a
beautiful job of demonstrating the complexities of sibling dynamcs. And that ending, with Yancy naming his son after "my little brother, who I miss every day" is just...shit, man. It is understated and real and so deftly, succinctly encapsulates how tragic Fry's freezing actually
was--in the moment, for his family, and after the fact for him. There are just so many complex emotional through-lines at play here, and the show manages them all brilliantly.
2. Insane in the Mainframe: The set-up itself--that is, the series of contrivances that lead to Fry being committed to a robot insane asylum--is pretty wacky and falls apart under even rudimentary scrutiny; however, once he gets there, this episode's exploration of his nervous breakdown/PTSD is just so, so dark and so, so good. There is genuine pathos here, a sincere effort to understand the trauma our protagonist has undergone, that I think is only matched by (we'll get there) "The Sting."
3. Time Keeps on Slippin': This episode contains what I would argue is the single bleakest ending in the show's history--and it doesn't sugarcoat it in any way. When the show goes dark, it goes
dark, and this episode is pitch black.
4. Roswell that Ends Well: On the level of animation (from character acting, to coloring, to CGI and special effects), this is the single most gorgeous episode of the show, period. I've ranted
elsewhere on how modern-day animation feels lifeless to me, but that is so thoroughly
not the case here. Just in terms of visuals, this episode is something that all other animated entertainments ought to aspire to--it is movie-level perfect.
5. Godfellas: Philosophically, this is probably the deepest (and, sure, most didactic) episode of the series. It also takes some risks by isolating Bender from the rest of the crew, but in this case that sparseness is a virtue. This episode puts its full trust in the strength of the script, and that faith is not misplaced.
6. Leela's Homeworld: I could say the same thing for the next episode on my list, but there is something delightful about the way this show baked some mysteries/myth arcs right into its earliest episodes, then paid them off so handsomely later on. This episode also gives us Leela at her darkest hour--threatening to kill her parents, not realizing they're her parents--and that's some ballsy shit, man. It's also so deeply felt and beautifully humanist; you sympathize so completely with Morris and Munda's dilemma, and that ending montage is a goddamn triumph.
7. The Why of Fry: I don't know why DXC felt compelled to burden us with "Free Will Hunting" a decade later, because this episode is already the perfect treatise on free will. Fry's growth, from disaffected and selfish loser in 1999 to a person who actually has something worth sacrificing his life for in the year 3000, is profound and moving and all-around wonderful. When the show actually devotes itself to exploring the ways in which its characters develop, grow, and change, it knocks it out of the park--even better than a lot of live-action, character-based dramas.
8. The Sting: Everything I have to say about this episode and its greatness, I've already said
here. This is the best thing the show ever did, hands down.
9. The Devil's Hands are Idle Playthings: This one's a bit of a cheat, because it owes some of its success to the groundwork laid by an earlier episode ("Parasites Lost"), but it is such a lovely version of that
Flowers for Algernon plot, where our hero achieves great success through means largely unearned, then has it all taken away and must reckon with the aftermath. Plus, the quality of the music in this episode--and the fact that the third act is, essentially, an opera--is fucking mind-blowing. It is also a master class in how to write a series finale, with that mix of ambiguity and the tying up of loose ends.
10. The Late Philip J. Fry: Another episode that is deeply philosophical, with the added bonus of giving us a really dark portrait of Leela's life without Fry. How People Deal With Loss is a consistent theme throughout the series, as is Reconciling Oneself to Missed Opportunities, but this is the only episode that really explores how that dynamic plays out in (largely unconsummated) romantic relationships, and it does so brilliantly.
And that's it. As you can see, there's a general theme here: the darker the episode, the greater the episode. But really, "darkness" is code for "emotional complexity," "philosophical profundity," and/or "unexpected realism." It's sort of problematic to conflate "darkness" with "artistic merit," but I do think there's something to be said for episodes that transcend the expectations (or even the established boundaries) of their genre--be it animation, sci fi, or both. And these ten episodes, to my mind, do just that.
Of course , I'm totally willing to concede some of these points and admit I'm full of shit. I'd be curious to know if anyone has any thoughts on the legitimacy (or not) of the favorite-versus-greatest distinction.