‘Rick and Morty’ creators: Real life, sci-fi high jinks not as separate as you might expect
LOS ANGELES—Justin Roiland has every minute of the new season of “Rick and Morty” accounted for, which makes it easy for the cartoon co-creator to pinpoint the moment that’s making him anxious.
It’s the last bit of the sixth episode in the third season. “We need to pop the hood on just the end,” Roiland explained inside the Burbank studio that houses the Adult Swim series. “The last three to two minutes.”
But Episode 6 wasn’t on the to-do list this July afternoon, as line producer Mike Mendel gently reminded him: “Five is our priority.”
In an instant, Roiland pivoted and turned his attention to the animated storyboard from the fifth episode, offering a flood of information about one small scene: This joke was cut; that joke came from when he thought he saw Jeff Goldblum at a Starbucks on Ventura (it wasn’t him); this is the first time main character Rick Sanchez (voiced by Roiland) has been willingly paired with Jerry Smith (Chris Parnell) on a space outing.
Yet even with the necessary, and happy, distraction of Episode 5, Roiland repeatedly returned to the perceived problem at the end of Episode 6 until co-creator Dan Harmon gleefully appeared with the solution: “It’s a classic ‘Star Trek’ episode with the malfunctioning transporter!”
Referencing classic TV series’ easy ability to change characters or twist the plot via broken down teleportation device was truly appropriate for this critically adored and unexpectedly successful sci-fi series. Relief washed across Roiland’s face as the two finalized character dialogue.
A few weeks later, the duo recalled this moment in front of more than 2,000 screaming fans at Comic-Con. “I think (that’s why) we’re a little late,” Roiland told the crowd, addressing fan unhappiness with the oneyear, nine-month, 26-day wait between Season 2 and Season 3 (which premiered at the end of July). “We care so much, and we panic and we freak out that it’s not good enough.”
“If one of us isn’t happy,” Harmon added, “neither of us has the ability to say ‘too bad.’ That’s a good thing if you’re roommates, but it’s a bad thing if you’re running the show, maybe? No one has ever bullied the other.”
That’s how it works for this creative team—one attempts to balance the other. Sometimes that works and sometimes it creates a spiral that erupts into an extra long waiting period for a new season. They just wanted the show to be good, they both sweat the small stuff (though a small poll of their studio declared Harmon the biggest perfectionist).
And that obsessive attention to detail is exactly why consuming 22-minute episodes of “Rick and Morty” feels more like an advanced college course in philosophical and scientific history or a surprise therapy session than the standard animated fare. Everything has a deeper meaning, even Jerry’s new post-separation animated attire (the windbreaker and newsboy cap) has been specifically selected to channel that lost-dad look.
The show, which airs at 11:30 p.m. Sundays on Cartoon Network, revolves around mad scientist Rick (Roiland) and the family he has recently reconnected with: daughter Beth Smith (Sarah Chalke), son-in-law Jerry, granddaughter Summer Smith (Spencer Grammer) and grandson Morty (Roiland again). Each episode, Rick takes Morty (or another Smith family member) on a bizarro adventure reminiscent of “Doctor Who” but with twice as much swearing and infinitely more interesting alien high jinks. (Parent alert: As has been evident since the pilot episode, when Rick smuggled alien contraband in his rectum, “Rick and Morty” is definitely for adults.) But just because the main character burps out half of his lines like Foster Brooks, that doesn’t mean it’s simple. “Rick and Morty” is grounded in a “Star Trek”-centric love of scientific explanation. And the writing staff has yet to meet a sci-fi theory it didn’t want to thread into the show.
For instance, simulation theory is addressed through an intergalactic Dave & Buster’sstyle video game titled “Roy: A Life Well Lived”; adolescent uncertainty is used to fracture the world’s timeline into several new paradox-inducing realities, filled with floating Schrödinger’s cats (eerily reminiscent of that flying toaster screensaver).
Even the simplest plot points from the current season—in which Rick transforms himself into a pickle—morph into a reality check about the monotonous upkeep that comes with repairing and maintaining healthy relationships. Pickle Rick was a lesson in mental health, not that any of the characters is going to learn from it.
And that’s the quandary of the series: Just about every episode dances with nihilism yet manages to include beautiful David Bowie-inspired songs about cosmic unity.
Those songs are usually about a totalitarian alien race taking over the galaxy, but they are still somehow beautiful.
“A lot of the flavor of the show is Justin,” Harmon says. “I think that’s truly the success of the show’s feel. It has this juvenile energy to it. The universe. There’s something really funny about that. God isn’t going to mess with you because he’s an old man on a cloud that has some stern disdain for you. God’s going to mess with you because he’s nuts.”