Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (A TV Reflection)

Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts is a story about the end of the world, which makes it shockingly well suited for the present moment. Much of the landscape of the show, from the burrows in which the post-apocalypse humans hide, to the massive and lethal scorpions that render sections of the world uninhabitable, feel cribbed directly from the Fallout or other fantasies of annihilation. The plot - a story of humans at odds against enlightened animals - is straight from The Planet of the Apes. But Kipo’s world feels so different. From the bright colors of the world, a stark contrast to the muted browns and yellows of Fallout, to the music, to the wonderment that surrounds Mega Mutes, the world of Kipo is filled with boundless optimism. So much of that flows from Kipo herself. Her bright-eyed enthusiasm and boundless faith in others drives the show and transforms the world around her. I just wish it didn’t.

I should be clear - I love Kipo very dearly. At the time I’m writing this, I finished the show a week ago and I already miss her and the Brunch Bunch very much. I love everything that Kipo represents. Kipo has an unshakeable ability to see the good in other people and in the world. That’s hardly a deep observation; people in the show comment on it, to the extent that it’s almost a joke in “Hidden Treasures” - “Who would throw a party in the middle of a war?” “Kipo.” But it’s a part of everything that Kipo does. Kipo has a terrifying first day and night on the surface. Her burrow is destroyed, she loses her dad and all of the people she’s ever met, she’s attacked by a bird and she almost walks into Death Ivy. The only other human she’s met is a child, a wild girl who is barely tolerating her. It is, put lightly, a very bad day for Kipo. And yet Kipo is still overwhelmed at the beauty of the stars.

Kipo lifts people up. She makes people want to be better than they are. The Timbercats as a people and Yumyan in particular are the clearest example of the effect that she has. She confronts Yumyan after the loss of the Scratching Tree, and convinces him to return to lead his people. She convinces the Timbercats not to eat her or her friends, or to sell them out to Scarlemagne. She affects the Timbercats so deeply that her friendship is sufficient recommendation for them to take in Troy, Dahlia, and Ascher. Moreover, she convinces them to work things out with the Umlaut Snäkes, and eventually to offer up their home as a safe haven to all people. Kipo has the same effect on everyone that she meets, from the other mute groups of the surface to her friends. When Wolf first meets Kipo, she is a determined loner. Wolf is more than willing to betray or abandon anyone in order to keep herself safe. At the end of the show, Wolf reaches out to Scarlemagne - very recently her enemy - to work with him on a mission. Kipo changes people from cowardly to brave, from xenophobic to welcoming. Given the opportunity, I would rather be or be around someone like Kipo than anyone else.

The problem is that the enemy in Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts isn’t any of the fantastic animals in her world. The enemy is the very real specter of racial prejudice, both by mutes against humans and humans against mutes. To be clear, the show isn’t directly mapped onto anti-Blackness in the United States. It’s much harder to draw clear lines between oppressor and oppressed in the show, when both mutes and humans take on those roles in different contexts. The two primary villains of the show, Scarlemagne and Dr. Emilia, represent opposite sides of the mute-human war. They are united by their common use of racial animosity to spur on their supporters - something that at the present moment feels uncomfortably real.

Although the show isn’t specifically about anti-Black discrimination, it is also not subtle on drawing on the vocabulary of racism in America. “Ratland,” which is nominally about showing a “safe zone” for humans on the surface, also takes pains to show what discrimination looks like on the surface. On the way to Ratland, Benson walks Kipo past anti-human graffiti. The kindest of it is a mustache drawn onto the father; the least, two children ominously “x”-ed out. The words “Human Scum” have been written above the whole thing. It shows the surface isn’t a welcoming or even safe place for Kipo - and it remind viewers of every story of white power graffiti scrawled across every city in America. We see similar discrimination in “The Ballad of Brunchington Beach.” The rules of Cappuccino’s restaurant are a call-out to the “Whites Only” cafes and lunch-counters. They’re a reminder of the explicit segregation of our own not-so-distant past. There’s a more subtle, and much harsher, example of discrimination in the episode, though - the “Mutes Only” rule is so unimportant as to be invisible to Dave. Dave’s best friend is a human. Dave and Benson are arguably the first members of the Human-Mute Ultimate Friendship Alliance. And yet his memories of a rule that specifically excludes humans is “it’s probably like ‘wash your hands’ or something.” It’s easy to pretend that we’re beyond the overt segregation of the 1950’s and 60’s. Dave’s attitude is a reminder that it’s easy for people with privilege to overlook how spaces become deliberately or incidentally exclusionary.

The humans, as led by Dr. Emilia, are guilty of discrimination of their own. Specifically, Dr. Emilia and her followers are guilty of dehumanizing the mutes. They refuse to believe that the mutes are as worthy of existence as people and don’t see a problem with taking away their intelligence on their quest to purge the surface. It is very explicitly a plan for genocide that is a reminder of the horror of white-power groups - from the KKK to Nazis - in our own past. It’s a similarity that’s played up by Dr. Emilia’s robes, which - except for their color - resemble the cloaks and hoods of the KKK. But as with discrimination by mutes against humans, discrimination is smaller and more extensive than just identifying Dr. Emilia’s followers with small radical groups. It’s notable that Dr. Emilia’s followers are scientists and doctors, and that their plan begins with medical experiments done on Hugo. It’s uncomfortably similar to the medical experiments performed by Nazi scientists in concentration camps and, closer to home, to Tuskegee Syphilis Study, among other medical experiments performed on Black Americans. Many humans, in fairness, don’t have Dr. Emilia’s passionate hatred for mutes. But they are overwhelmingly guilty of helping her exterminate them.

The horrors of the apocalypse in Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts are frightening because they are so familiar. The specter of racism and discriminiation is especially visible to all of us now. But there is no Kipo here for us. More importantly, as much as I love Kipo, I don’t believe that she is the right hero for the present moment. I don’t believe that we can wait for a single hero. We have deified leaders like Dr. King and Mahatma Gandhi. Kipo is in the same pattern. But we cannot wait for a single leader to take responsibility for a movement. We cannot demand or expect restrained action in the pursuit of justice. We certainly cannot, as Kipo does, work on the principle that people are inherently good, and that they will do the right thing if shown the true way. Kipo is the best of us. She is all of our greatest hopes. But there is no place for her in the present moment.

I hope I’m wrong. I hope in twenty years I can look back at this post and laugh at my own pessimism. But maybe the optimism of Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts is the message. Ultimately, it’s a show for kids, not those of us frantically refreshing FiveThirtyEight. HMUFA isn’t formed by Kipo’s best efforts. It’s formed because their kids don’t hate each other. Scarlemagne doesn’t change because of Kipo’s faith in him, or her efforts to socialize him. He’s changed by playing with the children of the people he tried to enslave. I’m willing to hope that the next generation can make a better world than we can. I’m just not sure if I believe it.