Grief, religion and animation in ‘Long Story Short’ 

Note: This review contains spoilers for “Long Story Short.”

Last week, the “BoJack Horseman” algorithm began targeting me once more. Ever since I first watched the show, my social media pages have been intermittently flooded with “BoJack” content, from the show’s funniest running jokes to its most depressing moments. It’s like my phone knows when I’m thinking about the show and, as always, missing it. But last week, I wasn’t just brought back into the “BoJack Horseman” internet fandom. A new, purply-blue world of characters jumped onto my screen, introducing the show’s creator Raphael Bob-Waksberg’s newest project, “Long Story Short.”

“Long Story Short” is an animated comedy-drama about the ins and outs of a colorful, nuanced family, the Schwoopers (Schwartz and Coopers). The show’s structure is constantly jumping through time, showing moments from 1996 and 2022 within the same episode. The show wants you to feel like you are leafing through the family’s photo album, as Bob-Waksberg explains in an interview with Variety. It feels like going down a rabbit hole of memories and, like the show itself, once you start, you can’t look away.

One of the first things you may notice about “Long Story Short” is its unique style of animation. Working with Lisa Hanawalt, the production designer for “BoJack” and creator of “Tuca & Bertie,” Bob-Waksberg’s approach here honors the lost art of hand-drawn animation by incorporating that authentic touch that only an artist can bring to the screen. Much like the show’s characters, the outlines in the show’s art are imperfect. Every line is hand-drawn, which not only accepts but even encourages little mistakes from the illustrators. The animation brings more creativity to the show’s style by giving it the scrapbook feel of a family photo album. 

“Long Story Short” follows the story of Naomi (Lisa Edelstein, “House”) and Elliott (Paul Reiser, “Mad About You”), who are the epitome of a chaotic Jewish household. Their three children, Avi (Ben Feldman, “Superstore”), Shira (Abbi Jacobson, “Disenchantment”) and Yoshi (Max Greenfield, “New Girl”) reflect three extremely different combinations of their parents and three very different journeys, despite being raised under the same roof. Avi, the eldest, is sensitive and witty, with insecurities that unwillingly drive him to exhibit the same insensitivity he resents in his parents. Shira, a classic middle child, is fiery and stubborn, which, of course, is a defense mechanism for all her vulnerable and intense emotions. Diagnosed with ADHD at a young age, Yoshi has childish tendencies but a kind and genuine spirit. In fact, many fans were quick to compare his character to that of Todd (Aaron Paul, “Invincible”) from “BoJack,” yet another connection within the Raphael Bob-Waksberg universe.

And while these three siblings are vastly different, they all undergo the classic cycle of rejecting their familial influences until these habits and patterns reemerge as traumas in their adult lives. Yet even the word “traumas” is questioned in the show. As the children sift through their memories, they must decide which of them can be blamed on their upbringing and which are the result of their own mistakes and character flaws. Facing struggles like pregnancy, developing sexuality, inner religious turmoil and finding a life’s purpose, each episode focuses primarily on one character, whether that be a member of the immediate family or a close relative such as Shira’s wife, Kendra (Nicole Byer, “Tuca & Bertie”). Through these snippets of a larger story, the audience discovers what the show is ultimately about: grief.

About halfway through the season, the show reveals that the events depicted all occur before and after one pivotal moment: Naomi’s death. It places every scene shown and every scene yet to be revealed in a new context. It is no coincidence that death operates in the same fashion, forcing loved ones to perceive all their past memories and future moments in the context of great tragedies. It even puts into context the blues and purples that craft the color palette of the show, foreshadowing the grief that clouds the characters’ memories.

Shows tend to place such devastating twists toward the end of a season in order to maximize suspense, emotion and longing for the next season. This makes Bob-Waksberg’s decision to place this revelation in the middle of the show feel purposeful: Naomi’s death isn’t supposed to be a great climax that makes jaws drop at the last second. Rather, it is a pit in the viewer’s stomach that pulls at their heartstrings and leads to an incredibly unique viewing experience. Following this reveal, the subsequent episodes don’t necessarily revolve around Naomi’s death, yet we see now how grief always follows these characters. In fact, amid all the time jumps, not once does the show depict the exact moment when Naomi died. Instead, it focuses on the emotional journeys of Avi, Shira and Yoshi, processing the complicated, messy and at times difficult relationship they had with their mother. 

Mother-child relationships are perhaps some of the most complicated relationships we can experience in a lifetime. “Long Story Short” brings to life in Naomi a very particular kind of matriarchal figure — one who cares too little and too much about everything around her. Naomi is an incredibly complex character who finds fault with nearly everything and accepts no situation as satisfactory. 

In an episode that looks back on Naomi’s own childhood, the audience sees how she learned to create conflict in order to bring attention to herself. The whole show is like a puzzle, and once this piece is revealed, every one of her scenes suddenly makes sense. We learn here that she craves the one thing she will never get in a large family: everyone’s attention. This degrades her relationships with all three children, as she makes it impossible to have a normal conversation free of condescending comments. Of course, underneath this facade of stubbornness is extreme insecurity. Frankly, she doesn’t know how to change, and unfortunately she doesn’t live long enough to figure it out.

Alongside more typical familial dynamics, religious turmoil forms the foundation of the Schwooper family’s life. Bob-Waksberg’s unique representation of religion sets a new precedent not only for depictions of Judaism but for all kinds of religious representation in media. The show doesn’t depend on an Orthodox Jewish family for its dissection of religion. In fact, faith barely even plays a role in the Schwooper family’s Judaism. Despite this, Jewish culture leaks into every scene the five of them share: in their home, vocabulary, cooking and tradition. From Naomi yelling chutzpah (the audacity) to Shira attempting a Knish recipe, Judaism is such a strong part of this family’s identity, even without a direct emphasis on God. The show highlights an incredibly realistic middle ground of Judaism often found in American families. Instead of focusing on rules, guilt and prayer, which are not a part of every Jewish experience, it directs its attention to the cultural influences of religion, which can be found in so many places other than a Shul. 

While exploring this representation of religion as culture, Bob-Waksberg goes on to explore the internal conflicts of religion and the journeys each character must go on to discover their own relationship with faith. He explores a diverse range of topics from repressed antisemitism among Jews to African American Judaism and Reform to Orthodox transitions. These subjects are explored through the Schwooper family, their significant others and, eventually, the new additions to their family. The audience sees how a religious journey often begins with instilled ideals but can also lead to a personal journey that forces each character to redefine religion as it fits into their own lives. Sometimes, this means distancing themselves from ideals they no longer align with, and sometimes, it means seeking out greater means of faith to give themselves purpose. After all, in times of grief, purpose can be the ladder that offers us direction, a way out.

“Long Story Short” is beautifully devastating in an incredibly gentle and familiar way. The tender moments in the show are not given to us through brash moments but instead in small brushes of transparency, wherein we are able to see each character for who they are beneath the skin. Behind each purple face of the Schwoopers is a perfectly complex, nuanced and messy human going through the struggles of life right alongside us. While it is of course difficult not to compare this show to “BoJack,” I would encourage viewers to try and watch it on its own terms to experience the full effect of the story — because the best part of “Long Story Short” is that there has never been anything like it before. 

Daily Arts Writer Abigail Weinberg can be reached at weinab@umich.edu.

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