Drama
My Life with the Walter Boys
This Netflix drama about a teen girl who has moved from NYC to Colorado features enough adolescent angst to electrify a small city.
Welp, the food revolution went off without a hitch.
The tasty residents of Shopwell’s supermarket successfully revolted and slaughtered all of humanity within a (literal) grape shot. Now, all that’s left to do is to erect a new food-based society on the fleshy remnants of the old one, where eats will never be eaten, and where every edible morsel—from the smallest grain of rice to the largest bag of dried dog food—will be considered equal.
Yes, the revolution’s leaders—Frank, the sausage, and Brenda, the bun—will work to ensure that everyone will be wieners—er, winners—in their new realm. Misery has been banished along with mastication.
But alas, building a new society isn’t as easy as one might imagine. Especially if one expects to do so before one’s expiration date.
The rains came quickly, and literally. Soon, the streets were covered in the squishy corpses of bread-based foodstuffs. And that was only the beginning of the revolution’s newfound trials. Brenda, Frank and the rest soon discovered the perils of birds, crumbling infrastructure and a lack of refrigeration.
And if outside challenges to this consumable commune weren’t enough, the challenges inside were perhaps even more daunting. Factions developed. Human teeth—now the realm’s prime form of currency—were hoarded and flaunted. Capitalism (horrors!) infected Foodtopia, undercutting Frank and Brenda’s vision of a society filled with love, peace and sex. (Especially that last part.)
Frank, with the help of a human named Jack, eventually managed to get his dream of a utopian food society sorta back on track—but at a great cost.
Brenda didn’t survive the incursion. To make matters worse, most Foodtopia residents—even those who originally supported Frank and Brenda—are fed up with sharing resources. And frankly, they’re none too pleased with Frank, either, since he still has a pseudo-romantic relationship with Jack. Even though Jack has converted to cannibalism to avoid eating his food friends, they still consider him to be a threat. (In Season One, the human-hot dog pairing had sex.)
It’s so bad that Frank and Jack (along with a couple of their friends) get exiled from Foodtopia. They make their way to another food-run paradise called Newfoodland. But as they soon discover, things are just as dangerous here as they were in Foodtopia. The only difference is that Newfoodland is better at hiding its nefarious undertakings.
In 2016, comedian Seth Rogen and frequent collaborator Evan Goldberg brought the R-rated Sausage Party to theaters. It became, at the time, the highest-grossing R-rated animated movie in history. But it was plenty gross in other ways, too. And I, for one, kinda hated it.
Sausage Party: Foodtopia, isn’t quite as noxious as its predecessor. It doesn’t come with the original’s anti-religious undertones, and that’s a bit of relief. Also, with this being a series rather than a movie, you just might avoid graphic food sex for whole episodes.
But to say that Foodtopia is “better” than Sausage Party is a little like saying, Did I leave that egg salad sandwich in the back seat of my car last month or last April? No matter the answer, it’s still liable to make you a little sick.
First, the food sex. Yes, you see a lot of food having sex with a lot of other food. Every type of sex. Every position. Every pairing. And tripling. And septupling.
Let’s not forget that these lower-rung food-chain dwellers have revolted against humanity—and they eliminate said humans with extreme prejudice. Rarely do we see the full carnage (and, given the animation style, it always looks rather cartoonish anyway). But trust me, many a killer from a slasher film could take notes and learn something. (Jack takes up cannibalism in later episodes, as well.)
Unfortunately, these morsels also learn that they can control humans, whose brains seem to be located in their rear ends. (And this applies to food characters, too, evidently.)
Alcohol? You bet that bottles of vodka are in on the revolt. Drugs? Bath salts are the best way to make humanity aware of the food-mageddon. Toilet humor? Let’s just say that one sausage link holds a (literally) touching memorial for some of his fallen—and digested—comrades. Swearing? These foodstuffs may be clueless about the concept of “rain,” but they know plenty of foul language.
And just as a little worldview kicker, Foodtopia has little room for free-market capitalists, it would seem. Ayn Rind would be unwelcome.
Don’t get me wrong. Foodtopia can be clever. It has plenty of food-related puns, which would ordinarily be a sure way to charm this reviewer. But it’s not as clever or as funny as it thinks it is—and it’s certainly not either enough to excuse the deluge of ridiculously obnoxious content it flings at you.
Sausage Party: Foodtopia reminds us that it’s hard to build a society from scratch. It’s fitting that the show itself feels like evidence of our own society’s decline.
(Editor’s Note: Plugged In is rarely able to watch every episode of a given series for review. As such, there’s always a chance that you might see a problem that we didn’t. If you notice content that you feel should be included in our review, send us an email at letters@pluggedin.com (or contact us via Facebook or Instagram), and be sure to let us know the episode number, title and season so that we can check it out.)
The food-based revolt against humanity is successful. Human corpses now litter the supermarket parking lot, and we hear on a radio broadcast that the revolt is apparently spreading. Frank offers a rousing victory speech, encouraging food to collect human teeth (“once a symbol of oppression used to devour us!”) and have a good time.
“This is what life is going to be like from now on!” He shouts. “Just all of us doing whatever we want and living in perfect harmony!”
And what does food want to do if unhampered by human tyranny? Have lots and lots of sex. We see graphic depictions of all manner sexual acts among all manner of sexual partners, utilizing all manner of orifices and whatnot. Frank and his male friend sausage, Barry, engage in some same-sausage sex. (“Tearing down our entire belief system and starting a new society from scratch is making me … so … horny right now,” Frank says. Brenda, Frank’s bun girlfriend, encourages their activities and ultimately joins in. (Later, Brenda tells frank that it’s like “all of our children are [censored] each other.”)
But then a rain shower comes, and many sexually active foodstuffs are quicky reduced to piles of glutenous goo. Other nutritious combatants get stabbed or skewered or broken. Panicked foods stampede over their comrades, crushing them. A flood sweeps many foody residents into a culvert; a sacrificial wad of gum saves a few, but dies in the process. (Frank accidentally rips off the gum’s head.) Elsewhere, a potato is stabbed in the head with a peeler. Sammy Bagel Jr., a gay bagel, mourns his lover, Lavash, who was killed in the revolt. (His corpse still has several forks sticking out of him. He’s done.) Sentient grapes are squished. A jelly donut loses a lot of his jelly.
We see the human dead, too. One person eventually killed via a tiny umbrella (the type one would put in fruity cocktails) in the victim’s throat. The shoelace belonging to another corpse becomes a handy lifeline.
We hear a reference to the timeline of history, which stretches to 13.8 billion years and involves “two prime species”: humans and food. It’s said that bath salts act as a powerful narcotic that break down the “interdimensional walls” and allow humans to see food as they really are. A bottle of gin mourns the deaths of both a bottle of tonic and a carton of orange juice. There’s a reference to food comrades being devoured by humans and, um, exuded.
We hear nearly 20 f-words and one s-word. We also hear “b–ch,” “h—,” “d–k” and three misuses of God’s name—including one with the word “d–n.”
In the aftermath of the rainstorm, Frank and Brenda decide they need to track down a surviving “humie” to tell them how the world operates. They enlist Barry, who’s feeling unfulfilled since the end of the war, to help. But they worry that Barry may kill any humie they meet before all of their questions are answered. Meanwhile, most of the remaining foodstuffs, disappointed with the results of their revolution, retreat back to the supermarket, where it’s safe. Alas, the supermarket is anything but. On the upside, Sammy has discovered a talent for standup comedy.
Frank, Brenda and Barry do eventually find an outpost populated by three humies. Barry severs both Achilles heels of one with a potato peeler, and the unfortunate man tumbles into a campfire and burns to death. Barry then shoots himself into the anus of another human, which allows him to control the guy’s movements. The Barry-controlled humie gets into a fistfight with his bewildered compatriot (with Barry often looking outside his humie’s fly); eventually, the non-controlled guy is killed via an axe to the head. (We see a flashback to a scene wherein another human was likewise controlled.)
We see the backside of the Barry-controlled human (Jake) briefly before Barry makes his way inside. We hear that Barry’s control of his human involves manipulating the guy’s testicles.
Barry finds a pile of feces and pokes around in the mess to determined what food it once consisted of. (We hear quite a bit about how the pile stinks.) A jelly donut expires from loss of filling. Lemons and other food items are sliced without mercy. Sammy makes a bevy of lewd, crude and suggestive jokes. A humie gets punched in the eyeball with a tiny hand. Bath salts are thrown like grenades, allowing humies to see food as they really are. We hear about 14 f-words (including one pairing with “mother”), six s-words and a variety of other profanities, including “a–,” “b–ch,” “h—” and “pr-ck.”
Frank tries in earnest to convince the residents of Foodtopia that sharing resources is best for everyone. But the food items believe their freedoms are being squashed, so they exile Frank and his human compatriot, Jack.
Food characters participate in a montage of sex scenes (several include same-sex groupings). The episode is packed with double entendres. An orange has covered the equivalent of his anus with a sticker to prevent anyone from mind-controlling him.
Some characters are still upset with Frank for having sex with Jack during the revolution. They draw pictures of the two in various sexual positions. It’s clear that Jack still wants a relationship with Frank, but Frank is too busy grieving the loss of Brenda. That said, he’s caught sleeping in the waistband of Jack’s underwear.
Frank dreams about Brenda, reliving the scene where she was turned into mush. A few food characters are missing chunks of their bodies from where humans bit into them during the revolution. Many characters collect human teeth as a form of currency. Jack, the only human living in Foodtopia, has taken to cannibalism. He cooks up some human ears to eat. Characters are threatened. Barry (Frank’s friend) roughs up a few characters for spraying graffiti on some buildings. One character gets kicked in the crotch.
Jack helps several food characters lug a refrigerator up a steep hill to Foodtopia. However, just before they reach the top, most of the food rebels, saying that they refuse to work alongside a “former oppressor.” Jack, unable to hold the weight of the fridge on his own, tumbles down the hill with the appliance, crashing painfully at the bottom. Later, he complains about back pain. And general clumsiness leads to falling on his head elsewhere.
Several characters plot to kill Frank and Jack in their sleep using tiny knives. Barry foils this plan and negotiates with the would-be murderers to simply exile the pair instead. When Frank finds out, he orders Jack to force his way back into Foodtopia, but the knives are used to stab his ankles and stop him.
Characters lie. A double-crosser is double-crossed. Jack snorts something to amp himself up.
We hear about 20 uses of the f-word and four of the s-word, along with “a–,” “b–tard,” “b–ch,” “d–k” and “h—.” God’s name is abused once, paired with “d–n.” Although nobody flinches at any of these words, all of Foodtopia gasps in horror when Jack says, “plate.”
Paul Asay has been part of the Plugged In staff since 2007, watching and reviewing roughly 15 quintillion movies and television shows. He’s written for a number of other publications, too, including Time, The Washington Post and Christianity Today. The author of several books, Paul loves to find spirituality in unexpected places, including popular entertainment, and he loves all things superhero. His vices include James Bond films, Mountain Dew and terrible B-grade movies. He’s married, has two children and a neurotic dog, runs marathons on occasion and hopes to someday own his own tuxedo. Feel free to follow him on Twitter @AsayPaul.
Emily studied film and writing when she was in college. And when she isn’t being way too competitive while playing board games, she enjoys food, sleep, and geeking out with her husband indulging in their “nerdoms,” which is the collective fan cultures of everything they love, such as Star Wars, Star Trek, Stargate and Lord of the Rings.
This Netflix drama about a teen girl who has moved from NYC to Colorado features enough adolescent angst to electrify a small city.
‘The Terminal List: Dark Wolf’ provides more context for the events in ‘The Terminal List.’ It also expands on the original show’s violence and profanity.
This adaptation may lack the depth of its source material, but it isn’t a bad option if you’re itching for a new legal drama.
‘Long Story Short’ comes with much of the same humorous melancholy that came with ‘BoJack Horseman’…and many of the same content issues, too.
