And One Last Word #2: The Best Piece of Writing in Television Animation History

A largely dismissed and underrated show not only sprung some enormous surprises in its third season, it also produced the single best written episode of animated television ever.



When the adult swim series Moral Orel first premiered, it was universally regarded as a joke. Literally. adult swim had premiered the Christmas season finale as its first episode, which tied up several plotlines introduced earlier in the season and, subsequently, baffled viewers. While adult swim commended themselves for pulling such a funny yuletide prank, the show was stuck with a sullied reputation that would prevent it from achieving the success it would eventually deserve. The first season would never match the surprisingly grim Christmas episode (due to its rigidly formulaic structure and halfhearted WASP satire shtick); the second season, however, saw a marked improvement in character development, story, and humor. It is the third (and final, thanks to unhappy adult swim executives) season that the show is ultimately remembered for, as this thirteen-episode story arch produced some of the darkest and most well-written material in all of animated television history.

Before we delve into the single best episode this series produced, I feel at least a brief summary of the show is necessary. Moral Orel revolves around the eponymous Orel Puppington, a naive, good-natured, and staunchly religious twelve-year-old boy. Due to the general incompetence of the adults around him, as well as his misinterpretation of religious doctrine, Orel's attempts to execute God's will often lead to tumult in his town of Moralton. After the chaos dissipates, his alcoholic father Clay takes Orel into his study and beats him in order to enforce his twisted interpretation of the Bible (as well as foist off his misogynistic, misanthropic beliefs as the word of God). This formula was shattered during the season two finale, which sees Clay take Orel on a hunting trip. On the trip, an angry and heavily intoxicated Clay shoots his own son in the leg and then passes out, leaving his son to suffer for almost an entire day. This incident not only robs the optimistic Orel of his innocence, it also forces him to realize his father doesn't deserve the respect he demands from his family. The shooting serves as a catalyst for the third season, which is itself a massive story-arch encompassing events both before and after the events of the finale.

Starting with the second season's finale, Moral Orel's writing saw a drastic increase in quality and emotional intensity. There had been a few gloomy and poignant moments in the seasons before (a good example is an episode where Orel adopts a dog that is quite literally the second coming of Jesus Christ and spreads so much joy that the jealous townspeople euthanize him), but the third season was unrelentingly dark. So much so, in fact, that adult swim executives chopped the season length from twenty episodes to thirteen and forbid the creation of a fourth season. This season explored not only the repercussions of Clay shooting Orel, but also the traumas experienced by previously one-dimensional characters and themes such as alcoholism, broken marriages, religious mania, loneliness, death, and cycles. The theme of cycles is an extremely important one in the show and the center of the season three episode "Sacrifice".

In the show's timeline, "Sacrifice" takes place the day after the events of the season two finale. It opens in church, where the Reverend Putty is delivering his Easter sermon. Despite having had a terrible week himself, he sees the disheartened and cast-clad Orel in his congregation, and decides to preach hope to his followers. It's a touching moment that is immediately followed by Clay banging on the door of the local bar; once the bartender, Dolly, arrives, Clay starts to drink and tell Dolly about what a burden his job as town mayor is. He caps off his rant with an exclamation of: "That's my life! Over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over..." and continues repeating himself until the Reverend, having just snapped at last night's one night stand, yells "it's over!" and enters the bar.

While this moment is relatively minor compared to the devastating monologue Clay will give in just a few minutes, it is a piece of brilliant writing. Clay's seemingly unending repetition of "and over" is like a verbal metaphor of the cycles in his life, of all the failures that keep circling back around to haunt him. One particular cycle in Clay's life is corporal punishment: after pretending to commit suicide to earn his mother's undivided affection, his mother died of shock and his father refused to acknowledge him. So, young Clay would misbehave until his father slapped him, which Clay grew up to believe was a means of showing his love. Not only does he blatantly neglect Orel, he also beats him and thinks he is expressing affection by hurting him. His whole life is just one big cycle that never breaks and that's what he's expressing here. Not to mention the segue from "and over" to Putty yelling "it's over", which is amazing on its own.

Clay then begins to needle the Reverend, who has declared he is giving up on women after his one night stand with local policeman Officer Papermouth's ex-wife. After hearing him call this move a "sacrifice", Clay begins to discount Jesus's sacrifices, claiming being the son of God was a privilege and that being crucified is nothing compared to the sacrifices he makes daily for his family, which leads to this exchange:

Reverend Putty: You're amazing. The beer goggles you have on right now are making crucifixion look like Marilyn Monroe.

Clay: I never drink beer.

Officer Papermouth, who has only just recently been left by his wife, enters the bar. He praises Putty's Easter sermon, then falls apart and admits to the two men that he believes his wife is already sleeping with someone else (in this case, Putty). Clay tries to reveal this secret to Papermouth, but his crude behavior and nasty comments regarding the woman in question only turns their tempers towards him (which Clay perceives as a good thing due to his unhealthy relationship with his father). There's some especially clever writing here as Putty verbally tangos around admitting the identity of the ex-wife's lover without discrediting his sexual abilities or physical appearance. The sheer chaos of this scene is brilliantly staged, circling from man to man as they each try to avoid getting trapped by the other's questions and accusations.

The last character to enter is Doctor Potterswheel, whose monogrammed handkerchief Clay found with his wife's belongings. While the audience knows nothing happened between his wife Bloberta and the doctor (although Bloberta desperately wanted something to happen), Clay doesn't and is prepared to eke a confession out of Potterswheel. He brings up the doctor's dead wife, who was addicted to painkillers shortly before she died (mirroring Bloberta's ever-increasing use of them as she mutilates herself in order to feel pleasure), and after Doctor Potterswheel tries to brush it off by saying his wife was comfortable when she passed, Clay delivers this rebuttal:

Clay: Numb, some call it. Now, me and Jesus, we like to feel the pain. Tell me, Doc: did some of those painkillers protect her against you?

Doctor Potterswheel makes the mistake of asking Clay to clarify, triggering Clay's monologue. This is the single best piece of dialogue ever spoken on the show and its weight and importance regarding the events that have come before it is so dizzying that I can't capitulate here unless I go through and summarize every solitary moment of the show. Clay's voice actor, Scott Adsit (who is more well known as the voice of the lovable, squishy, and irrefutably sober Baymax from Disney's Big Hero 6) delivers this monologue with such fiery rage and eventual despondency that it truly feels as if this man is alive and we are sharing the agony of his terrible (but, in some respects, self-mutilated) life:

Clay: You know. The pain. Of you. Day in, day out, being there. With that face. Not knowing what to say. Not caring anymore. Not even knowing that you'll probably only care about her when it's finally too late. Forgetting about all those desperate- those desperate years you spent alone, your barren years when no woman would even consider resting her tired head on your shaky little shoulder. Stinking of belly semen. Why even wipe? And when you finally get one of these [Points at Dolly and imitates a fanfare] coveted pieces of tail that have been built up as the grand trophy in your nothing life, you try desperately to keep it. Not to protect it! But to hoard it. To keep it away from the other wolves and jackals circling your territory! And you realize, all too soon, that you're not good enough! That maybe there was a jerk-off called Darwin after all. And that you never acknowledged his existence because you knew deep inside that you were really what you feared you were-- weak. And passive. And ultimately, broken by the ones who were made the fittest. And that through your weaknesses, you built up a poison that poisoned others around you. [About to cry] That you love. And the only true justice was to let those dominant jackals feed on you. Survive off you.

This piece of writing is simply devastating on so many levels. It evaluates the fundamental issue of marriage and married culture (that getting a husband or wife is your ultimate goal in life and that once you attain your "prize", you feel obligated to covet him or her), and reveals that life does not improve just because of marriage (although this is especially true for Clay and Bloberta's marriage, which was carried out after the two had known one another for roughly six hours). Clay also references Darwin, whose theories are regarded as fantasy by most WASPS; to Clay, however, his refusal to believe Darwin stems not from his misguided beliefs, but his fears that what Darwin says is true. He is a weak man, he has been hurt by people who are smarter and stronger than he is, and he doesn't care about the people he himself has wounded along the way.

From this confession, Clay then succinctly states how cycles are continued and why people like him end up so cruel. He is weak. Extremely weak. He was manipulated into marrying a woman who introduced him to alcohol and then gave him children he didn't want or care for, he was responsible for the death of his mother (Clay's Oedipal complex is too... well, complex to even get into here), and he physically and emotionally hurt the only person who ever saw good in him--Orel. Clay recognizes his weaknesses and understands that he was so ashamed of himself and what he's done that he allowed the toxins in his thoughts and those he ingested daily to emanate from him. He wanted others to feel his pain. His poison poisoned those around him: Bloberta, Orel, his lover Daniel, even the men at the bar. And he knows that he's not strong enough to remedy them, so he allows those stronger than him to feed off him because he's aware there's no point in defending himself anymore. He has become apathetic and passive, and all the needling and shenanigans are just tactics to maintain his facade of smug confidence when he knows he's still that confused little boy who just wants attention.

After Clay's monologue, he antagonizes everyone in the bar: he makes an extremely offensive comment to the unflappable Dolly that causes her to storm out of her own bar, he refers to Potterswheel as a wife-murderer, he taunts the dimwitted Papermouth. When Putty threatens to punch him, Clay stands before the three men with his mouth open and dares them to attack him. What appears to be an obnoxious bait and switch is actually Clay's repressed inner-child seeking to be acknowledged. If the men start attacking him, they'll be paying attention to him. Even negative attention is enough for Clay at this point.

The men quickly compose themselves and leave the bar without giving Clay the satisfaction. Clay calls them cowards and then falls to his knees in the empty bar, alone again, and says:

Clay: With all you people as role models, no wonder my son is... sensitive.

This entire episode functions like a one-act play. It sets up its characters in a claustrophobic environment, turns them against one another, and allows them to air their grievances. The caliber of drama and mood here is astounding, from the bar's dim, liquor-colored lights to the distinct absence of music or even background noise. But most remarkable, of course, is the writing. Moral Orel's writers know their way around a clever joke, as well as a good ol' fashioned rant (Clay has another remarkable monologue during that season two finale about how much he hates his life and how alcohol has managed to trap him in his miserable situation). "Sacrifice" goes beyond all of that with clever dialogue, unflinching character studies, and, of course, Clay's final rant. It's an example of what writers can do with characters: put this character in this situation with these people under these circumstances and this is what they'll say. There's no padding or tangents. It goes in, tells its story, and leaves.

But "Sacrifice" is so much more than that. To completely appreciate everything it does, you would have to have watched the show in its entirety (and then agonize over the missing seven episodes of the third season). However, it can still be appreciated with minimal knowledge of the character's backstory. That's how good the writing is. Television writing is rarely if ever lauded and the writing for a stop-motion animated adult swim about clap WASPS is bound to be overlooked, but this episode (and the show itself) is a diamond in the rough. If you ever find yourself wanting to watch something bursting with drama and character, I'd recommend giving this episode a try. It feels like a punch to the gut, but, hey--that's how you know it's working.