Close Search Close

 

  • Comics
  • Theatre
  • Site News

“Say scuba.”

Brock is a cool guy and good around kids.

“Say Scuba.”

In season one, episode six of The Venture Bros, there’s a little scene where Hank is hanging out with Brock while the latter exercises. Hank, as he is wont to do, is babbling inanely, and ends up latching onto the word ‘scuba’, amused by the sound of it; he asks Brock to say it, and Brock indulges him, also amused by the word scuba. This scene is very typical of The Venture Bros on a number of levels; mostly in the sense of it being more about being funny and illustrating ideas than plot (‘round these parts, we’ve often speculated what an entirely comic version of The Sopranos would be, and I imagine it would strongly resemble VB) and partially in how it feels very naturalistic (on top of the funny dialogue, Hank is trying to catch coins on his elbow). It also manages to distill a lot of what is fun about Brock.

Brock is cool. Brock is easily the coolest character on the show; he’s likely the least needy and he’s definitely the least whiny. A lot of it has to do with his cartoonish levels of masculinity performance, but as Todd Alcott noted, that performance walks a very fine line between cool and stupid (he has a mullet, for god’s sake); much of his actual coolness comes from his detached intelligence. The script and Patrick Warburton work very well together here; Brock must be one of the smartest characters Warburton has ever played, and he’s very good at conveying that Brock has his mind on something even through almost monosyllabic lines.

This intelligence is paired with an acceptance of almost anything the world throws at him. Brock has no need for the world to look a certain way; he is concerned almost solely with the actions he can take within it. So long as he can kill guys and work on his car, he’ll go along with just about anything. The genius of the show is the way it reveals complexity in a seemingly simple guy; not just in that he confronts and deals with a certain level of neediness (in that he will murder anyone who shows him less that total respect, and realises that’s kind of destructive), but in how this coolness has evolved over his life, where he was almost sociopathically hedonistic as a young man and sees feelings of guilt and love catch up to him.

This scene is an early example of all of this, as well as a demonstration of what people who are good with kids are like. Kids, like cats, are very strongly attuned to neediness, and are deeply drawn to people who lack it. Most people can treat children as receptacles for their own needs, even when that ‘need’ is the self-image of someone who can take care of a kid, and that can breed some resentment. Brock, as a cool person, is free of this burden; he’s in a room because he wants to be, and he’ll tolerate anything as long as his one basic need – which is usually something he can accomplish himself – is filled, so he tolerates little annoyances and even engages with them with an open mind (“Scuba. Yeah, it does sound funny!”).

Of course, this is also interesting to compare to The Monarch. In a lot of ways, Monarch parallels Brock; he’s equally as delicately walking a line between cool and buffoonery, and he’s equally as goal-oriented, though unlike Brock, his goal is extremely specific and requires long-term thinking (kill, or possibly merely humiliate, Rusty Venture). Monarch is really the Nerd to Brock’s Cool; he’s unfailingly neurotic and even whiny, but he snaps into precision when chasing his goal, pulling together into a systemic focus that a) mirrors the show’s structure and b) is really attractive.

When he’s buffoonish, it’s because he’s dressed like a butterfly; when he’s cool, it’s because he’s chasing his goals with a clarity of vision that reeks of indifference to what anyone thinks of him. This often leads to a mutual respect between him and Brock in a game-recognize-game kind of way. Otherwise, you can’t really call it detachment; if anything, it’s charisma that comes from a hyper-investment in one’s surroundings and a willingness to broadcast that to anyone who’ll choose to listen; a drive to action, which is universally attractive.