Back in the early 2000s, Cartoon Network went through an extremely strange time period airing very artsy almost surreal cartoons long before stuff the likes of Adventure Time made it normalized. Among these shows was one such cartoon titled "Whatever Happened To Robot Jones?", whose title became thusly - and I feel somewhat intentionally - prophetic, because now people often ask it themselves. I always took the title to be a sort of joke on the question people ask long after they've graduated school and think back to their youthful days, saying, "Gee, I wonder whatever happened to Caleb Browning?" But as it turns out - and as I said I think the creator did this rather, brilliantly, intentionally so the show would become even funnier with age based purely off the title alone - now it has a somewhat entirely different meaning.
I loved this weird artsy quirky period of Cartoon Network which aired a lot of shows I'll likely be covering on this blog because nobody else ever talks about them. But Whatever Happened To Robot Jones is the most obscure of all the obscure shows from that time period, which is, in and of itself, quite an achievement, considering they've all been rather buried by the ages now. It was created by Greg Miller, who also worked as a writer, animator, storyboard artist and character designer for other shows such as Gravity Falls, Dexters Lab, My Life As A Teenage Robot (unsurprisingly, given his own shows premise) and even worked on Shrek The Third. The man clearly loves robots and technology, considering those play a huge role in everything except Shrek.
The series, which only ran a heart-breakingly brief 2 seasons spanning 13 episodes total, was about Robot Electro Jones, an adolescent (?) robot who goes to school in the 1980s in Delaware to try and figure out how to be a human like child. He makes friends with, understandably, the other outcasts of the school and falls in love with a fellow student named Shannon due to her headgear and metal prosthetic leg. That's some real serious representation for a show from the early 2000s, especially a kids show, and I love it. Animated with traditional cel animation after most shows had moved to digital animation, and has a rough, messy look likely to coincide with inspiration from things like Schoolhouse Rock (given it's the 80s), the series is also somewhat notable for the fact that the creator either wrote or co-wrote every single episode, which is not often done. But, when a show has a very specific creator led tone, it's often necessary for it to stay true to itself, so I applaud this.
Sadly, even in 2018, Cartoon Network has stated that it has absolutely no plans to release the show for consumer purchase on any digital retailers, nor moving it to sister channel Boomerang, and even isn't interested in releasing a physical copy on DVD or Blu-Ray. This is a rather odd move by the network considering they've stood behind almost everything else they've ever released, so for them to sort of disown this charming little piece of animated brilliance is confusing, and leads me to wonder what their real reason could be. Sure, it's no mega smash hit that demands petitions for its release by any means, but it has a small dedicated fanbase who would purchase it or stream it at the drop of a dime, so why don't they do something with it? Maybe drama behind the scenes. I don't know.
So, you may be wondering why exactly I chose to talk about this show. Well, there's a very good reason. I have autism, and growing up when I did, in the 90s and early 2000s, having autism (especially as a little girl) was often something I had trouble coping with myself and got me a lot of flack from my peers and even adults around me. Autistic people are, rather rudely, often called "robotic". We generally like repetition, routine and learning. These are all traits that robots as well hold, so that's partially why we're called that. Also a lot of us speak in a rather stilted, somewhat monotone voice, another thing robots do. We also, unlike robots, don't often understand social cues or how to interact with others in ways society expects people to. I'm not condoning being called a robot, for the record, I'm merely just trying to explain why we're called that. Because of this, I always had a love for technology and robots, and so to see a robot in a cartoon show, as the lead, try and do the same things I myself struggled to do, made me feel really happy.
I could relate to Robot Jones because we both were simply trying to survive in the day to day hell that was adolescence. Often with only a single friend or two by our side, often crushing on those who'd never reciprocate or even understand us, often attacked relentlessly by our peers for no good reason, often talked down to by adults for not being "normal", Robot Jones and I had a hell of a lot in common. Sure, we both went to school to learn english or mathematics, but we also went to school to learn how to be people, and that's not something a lot of neurotypical kids struggle with on the same level as autistic kids do. And while many would say that school is often utilized partially for socializing, and teaching kids how to interact with one another in day to day life, and they wouldn't be wrong in saying this either, it's often not a life long process for them like it is for us. And, much like the title ponders, not many people care to even ask what happened to us after we're out of their lives, sometimes even our own parents.
Even today, now as a 31 year old grown woman, I'm still fairly childlike, especially when it comes to understanding what would generally be considered by neurotypical people fairly simplistic things. I can't tie my shoes. I can't whistle. I can't snap my fingers. I can't do any math of any kind (likely the only real difference between me and an actual robot, besides the whole, ya know, flesh and blood thing) and I struggle with learning very basic things. I can barely use a washing machine and am afraid of the stove. But the difference is, these days I don't find shame in my roboticism. These days, if anything, I find extraordinary pride in it because, despite having trouble doing the things I mentioned, I also know that my autism gives me the ability to excel in other areas, such as writing and art. It gives me the ability to see right through bullshit and tell when people are lying to me. It helps me see things better than most people, and I'm proud of that. And as someone who rarely compliments herself in any capacity whatsoever, this is one time I will not feel guilty for doing so.
I may be like a robot, but now, instead of being mildly ashamed of that fact because it keeps me from engaging with my peers - who never wanted to engage with me to begin with - instead I revel in the difference, and appreciate what it's made me. Like Robot Jones, we're both just dweeby little hopeless high functioning nerds, but we're doing our best to make life work for us, and to make sense of the world around us.
And though often we may fail, it's better to fail than not try at all, because at least failure creates an input into our brains that teach us what does and doesn't work, so we can try again and, hopefully, this time not fail.
Some may ask whatever happened to Robot Jones, but I know what happened. He's been locked away, much like I was, but I still can appreciate him, and really, that's all that matters. It's like he was made for me and me alone, and that makes him special. So here's to a goofy little socially inept robot who was with us only briefly, and who I'll never forget.
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