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Can a cartoon give a hard time to David Cronenberg? I don't know about that, but I will certainly never buy chestnut jam again. Money poorly spent.
No, this isn't about a cartoon with weapons made of human flesh, or VHS tapes that enter the stomach only to be vomited out by the eyes. Cronenberg came to mind only for his half-film, Map of the Stars, or Map to the Stars, or Maps to the Star (I don't look it up on Google because the wireless mouse is far away and I don’t remember what I have to press after alt to open a new tab), with his half-critique on Hollywood and his half-baked poorly written story, and the half-melancholy and all those halfway things that when they end you think "m
BoJack Horseman is set in a zooanthropological Hollywood, where humans and animani (not "hands with buttholes," but a neologism born from the fusion between "animals" and "humans") coexist, and it's a story like many in the Hollywood star system: a horse-man actor (BoJack, indeed) protagonist of a sitcom that in the early nineties was a hit in America, begins his artistic decline after the series ends.
Despite the immense trust I've been placing in Netflix productions for some time now, this time I stumbled upon this series simply by browsing the biographies of the Breaking Bad actors, discovering that Aaron Paul (Jessie or Jesse) lent his voice to Todd, BoJack's freeloader roommate. The result is that finally there’s no need to cynically satirize the "American family" to create a series, and there's no need for Cronenberg to understand how much Hollywood is crap, and that a horse that heavily drugs himself and vomits cotton candy can provide great satisfaction.
I'm going to start the second season hoping my right nostril will clear. But as soon as it clears, then the left one clogs up. What a life.
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