All That is Lost is Revealed: A Closer Look Over the Garden Wall...

If Purgatory exists, I kind of hope it looks like the Unknown. For as foreboding as it is, there is something cozy and alluring to it as well.

It has been ten years since Cartoon Network decided to take a chance on a bizarre new programming concept: an original miniseries airing two episodes a night for five nights to be billed as a special event in the week following Halloween (though the week of Halloween itself would have been far more appropriate). The idea was a kind of odyssey following two brothers through various autumn-drenched settings of folk Americana conceived and produced by Patrick McHale, then a director for the network's biggest hit show Adventure Time. Indeed, it is probably his reputation and reliability of quality that resulted in its commission; he'd been pitching the idea at various times as a series or a Halloween special. After creating a pilot called "Tome of the Unknown", the miniseries was produced under the more evocative title Over the Garden Wall, subsequently airing to much acclaim, an eventual Emmy win, and ultimately for its small but immensely devoted fanbase, a stature of seasonal classic for years to come.

I have long been part of that fanbase, though I came to it a year after its initial airing. I reviewed it at the time and have referenced it in subsequent pieces. And I return to it every year, this rare gem of a series that feels like a private treasure, extracted from amber or delicately drawn from an ancient chest of nineteenth century knick-knacks and picture books. One of its stars, Elijah Wood said if the show were a record, “it would be played on a phonograph.” Though it does belong to that early 2010s era of animation in some areas of its art style (particularly the expressions) and its' fairly goofy sense of humour -very much of a kind with Adventure Time- so much of its style in art and narrative hearkens back so effectively to, in Washington Irving's words, "a remote period of American history", that it feels as much a part of that time as the one it was produced in. A uniquely charming little dichotomy.

And indeed in this fashion it stands out too for its liberal eeriness, an atmosphere that even in the lighter episodes casts the whole world in a mystifying gloom. But what even is this world? That question is really where this mood derives, and the answer is one of the most captivating aspects of Over the Garden Wall, and what makes it more ambitious and intellectually thrilling than most similar cartoons aimed at a young audience.

“Somewhere, lost in the clouded annals of history, lies a place that few have seen. A mysterious place called the Unknown, where long-forgotten stories are revealed to those who travel through the wood.”

This is our introduction, by way of narration and a series of image vignettes under a haunting song, to the Unknown. Our heroes, the two brothers Wirt and Greg, seem to know little more about this world than we do, as we meet them wandering the forest dressed in outfits that more or less fit the aesthetics around them, but just strange and anachronistic enough (the tea kettle on Greg’s head of course) to raise an eyebrow. They don’t seem to belong here, and yet they do -not questioning the reality of the spaces they move through, even at their most freakish and bizarre. And it’s not clear exactly how long they’ve been roaming these woods -even between episodes, the first six of which are fairly loosely connected, a few of them beginning like the first in media res -the brothers already dropped into a situation we don’t know for sure how they came to. Perhaps slightly irregular a situation in modern serialized storytelling, but it has a long history that many of the more astute observers of the show picked up on. And which of course also fundamentally contributes to its feeling like such a classic piece.

Long before the conventions of modern narrative storytelling were laid down in the development of the novel, the episodic epic with often ambiguous entry-points was fairly common as a storytelling practice. Dating as far back as Homer’s Odyssey, notable examples include The Pilgrim’s Progress and Don Quixote from the seventeenth century, all the way to in spirit Alice in Wonderland and The Wizard of Oz, both of which Over the Garden Wall clearly owes some influence to. But it is Dante’s Divine Comedy from the fourteenth century that is most critical as the show borrows a central premise of that work in a morality tale across a journey into Purgatory -that Catholic metaphysical space between life and death -which is what the Unknown is ultimately implied to be.

The show is not all that subtle here, even if it can’t state it outright being a Cartoon Network show ostensibly targeted at children. But when in the latter half of the series, where we learn more of Wirt and Greg’s story -fed out in hints in the earlier episodes through precisely dropped anachronisms suggesting a more modern context, the severe interpretation of the show becomes impossible to overlook. “Into the Unknown”, the penultimate episode, finally reveals their story and how they came to this place, through a plot point that was at least for a moment perhaps the darkest insinuation ever made on Cartoon Network. Two half-brothers, the older deeply resenting the younger, in light of what appears to be some immense humiliation, flee over the cemetery garden wall onto train tracks. They appear to dodge an oncoming train, though it is a bit obscure. Regardless, they plunge down a hill into a river, passing out. That is when they enter the Unknown.

As far as being a nebulous realm between life and death, the Unknown is not so gloomy as might be expected. In addition to the dangers that Wirt and Greg encounter there, there are also fairly innocent adventures, with people (and animals and skeletons) who seemingly live comfortable lives in its unusual world. But the show obviously doesn't make clear the nature of these entities as spirits or souls, nor should it. Still, I think about the (later revealed) skeleton woman at the Pottsfield harvest party who talks to Wirt  -an exchange that is chillingly ominous:

“Say, aren’t you a little too early?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it doesn’t seem like you’re ready to join us just yet.”

“Join you? Yeah, no, I’m just passing through.”

“Folks don’t tend to ‘pass through’ Pottsfield.”

“Oh… yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s nice here.”

A couple other euphemisms crop up around the potential of Wirt and Greg ending their trek and simply staying in the Unknown, which is of course the fate desired for them by the Beast -a fearsome shadowy creature with a deep bass voice courtesy of classical opera singer Samuel Ramey, who follows and attempts to ensnare them.

This Beast very much resembles that of old Biblical apocrypha, a being associated with if not the Devil themselves, who plays a key role in the Book of Revelation. Certainly, the Beast is a kind of Christian devilish tempter, looking for those whom it can convince to carry its soul around in a lantern, deceiving them into believing it is the soul of a loved one. The poor Woodsman is such a victim. The Beast is the great evil that must be overcome, in a decidedly classical sense, some entity perhaps birthed from the Unknown itself, out of the lost souls that succumbed to the darkness turning into the frozen-face Edelwood trees that in a brief flash we see make up his corporeal form.

Quite dense and dark subjects for a show that trades in a lot of silliness and juvenile sensibilities -a lot of the same types of weird gags as Adventure Time naturally (several of the episodes were in fact written by Adventure Time veterans). But that’s part of what makes Over the Garden Wall so magical and the image of its world so compelling. The show comes at you in this sense of safety, and it’s not an entirely false sense. In spite of its greater themes and allegories, it often intends to charm, and does so well. Through the early episodes, it connects you with its characters -Wirt and Greg, and Beatrice too, the cursed bluebird who is ultimately expounded upon into the series’ most tragic character. But in the light-hearted banter and the innocence of Wirt’s insecurities particularly that are on display through “Schooltown Follies”, “Mad Love”, and “Lullaby in Frogland”, we are endeared -and we get to see a side of the Unknown that is delightful rather than perturbing. The boys not being so deep into the woods, it makes sense.

What it also does though is make more accessible the movie’s sharper ideas and its parable. If old Brothers Grimm stories could do it for many centuries, why can’t Over the Garden Wall -which I will say perhaps contentiously, is as effective as any of those classic fables. Because at its heart, beneath the folk horror atmosphere, the Dantean allusions, and dark concept of children navigating a plane between life and death, it is ultimately a story about a kid learning to take responsibility, and learning to love and take care of his younger brother. A rather simple narrative, but one that McHale chooses to express in this incredibly creative and fascinating context. Wirt’s simple journey of character development is framed as an epic quest -at the Old Lantern he is bestowed the role of Pilgrim, this perhaps not an unconscious intimation of The Pilgrim’s Progress.

Not that it’s something Wirt takes particularly seriously, and indeed after he and Greg make it to Adelaide of the Pasture -the Wizard of Oz Beatrice is guiding them toward who could supposedly send them home- only for it to be a trap and betrayal by their kindly bird friend, he eschews that status altogether by simply wandering deeper into the woods with Greg, convincing himself of his mission to get home, but losing more and more of his will and determination, at one point telling Greg they should just admit to themselves they are never finding their way home. That hopelessness however only further succumbs him to the Beast’s darkness.

Greg however, never loses hope -in finding their way home, but more-so in Wirt himself, even as Wirt has done nothing to instil his brother’s faith in him. But Greg is entirely nonplussed by all of Wirt’s criticisms and in spite of everything looks up to Wirt as a model that he only earns by the end. Greg’s goofy innocence, which begins the series as simply his happy-go-lucky little kid personality, is by the end his great virtue of hope, even in the context of self-sacrifice. Perhaps the saddest moment of the series is when that innocence fades for the first and only time, when ensnared in the Edelwood branches, he confesses to stealing his Rock Facts rock that he had been attributing useless information to from a neighbour’s garden, and that Wirt would have to return it for him. It is troublingly chilling to see Greg of all people begin to accept death. Wirt reaches out and pulls him through however by appealing to his own mindset and sense of priorities, naming their frog and asserting their need to get him home -Wirt accepting that objective once again.

The choice to go home is the choice to live, and Wirt overcomes his dimness and defeatism to achieve this. He doesn't so much confront and vanquish the Beast (he leaves that to the Woodsman), but he does summon the strength to pass the test and ignore the Beast's temptation. For both Greg and himself, he must leave the Unknown. It is not their time yet. I think even couched in metaphor it's a good message for the show's target demographic to take in. Resist the Beast, fight for life.

A note on Beatrice, the brothers’ guide with her own sad story. She is of course directly named for a similar character in the Divine Comedy, with whom she shares several traits, including her penchant for challenging but also reassuring Wirt. She is not however as singularly virtuous or wise as her literary counterpart, and of course critically she hesitatingly conspires to betray the brothers for the chance to free her own family from the curse she brought upon them; but then proceeds to redeem herself. She is a denizen of this world, befriended by Wirt and Greg, and her story arc as it relates to them is representative of the ambiguous trust placed in this world. It is both comforting and dangerous. And it says something that she ends the story their friend. For Beatrice herself, she is not simply their guide in a general sense but a beacon, enduring the same journey of fear, guilt, and taking responsibility just a little ahead of Wirt. She is a parallel to him and as sympathetic a conflicted protagonist as either of them are.

Her soul is freed as their lives are, each returning to the world and existence they belong in. We see the experiences of the Unknown carried out in even just the brief glimpses we get of Wirt's slightly greater confidence in himself and much greater relationship with his brother. And yet, over the garden wall...

Purgatory though it may be, we are intrigued by it, and McHale knew to end the series on giving the audience one last glimpse of the Unknown and its various corners touched by Wirt and Greg. They didn't belong there, they were just passing through, but we are still compelled by it. The Unknown from Over the Garden Wall is genuinely one of my favourite fantasy worlds, up there with Middle-Earth, the Valley of the Wind, and the Four Nations of Avatar: The Last Airbender. And it is just about entirely down to the entrancing aesthetics and associated creativity. Everything about the Unknown, its enigmatic nature and inhabitants that range from quaint to creepy, thrills me. A collision of folk-tales, old American literature, and absurdism rendered against the most beautiful autumnal backgrounds conceived that seem etched, not animated, into the screen; and accompanied by a varied yet wholly complimentary score and original soundtrack by folk band The Blasting Company. But what is it about this sensibility that works, that inspired McHale to craft the series around it? Why is it the form his purgatory would take?

The latter can't really be answered definitively -whatever inspired McHale towards this storytelling and style he's not made clear. But you go far enough back in history and the iconography of the eras resembles another realm, more so if you factor in the fictions, customs, and superstitions that belonged to it. There's something to that idea of the past informing this sequestered space, that the early American era, its mores and traditions, have passed on -perhaps not quite to the other side, given its reach in the present, but occupying this limbo zone where all American travellers, forced to contend with their culture's past, are destined to visit and ultimately become those Edelwood trees: lost to death forever. Unless they manage to stay in the Unknown like Endicott, Miss Crabtree, or the Pottsfield skeletons -eternally ‘dancing in that swirl of golden memories’. Whatever brought him to that theme, I think McHale tapped into a version of this same conception.

And whether intended or not, there is an innate spookiness to our attraction to it. In this dress and consciously removed from a lot of the evil associated with it (in the Unknown there are no direct indications of colonialism, genocide or slavery), we see a charm to traversing this world which is quite suspect and intriguing. We like the world and the characters whom Wirt and Greg meet there, Beatrice is one of our protagonists who we want to see have a happy ending. There’s darkness in the Unknown but a perhaps mystifying warmth there as well. These settings and figures and their particular strangeness compels us. Could we be lulled by them? Do the hallmarks of past and a cultural eccentricity hold power over us? Would we escape the Unknown, or would we tarry within it, perhaps to become swept away by its dreams? It is something I consider as I am transfixed by it every year. 

“You’ll join us someday.”

That I will. And perhaps I feel better prepared for that moment, or at least more intellectually ready for the challenge, whatsoever that may be in the philosophical idea beyond the living. Even a grounded atheist like me likes the notion of a space like the Unknown, one with a real character in which we can enact those decisive moral challenges over our fates. Over the Garden Wall is so provocative in this sense, and yet it is so simple, so effortless, and so enjoyable. I don’t know of an animated show for that demographic or at least for Cartoon Network, that has succeeded so perfectly; and while I do ponder what would have been if it had been accepted as an ongoing series -as McHale initially pitched it (an iota of that can be perceived in the original pilot “Tome of the Unknown”), but the exquisite package of the miniseries I wouldn’t exchange for anything.

Earlier this year, there was some worry and confusion among the fanbase of Over the Garden Wall, when McHale indicated it was being taken off of HBO Max, it’s only legal streaming home -as had been the case for another great Cartoon Network series, Infinity Train, that David Zaslav and his cronies have tried to scrub from the face of the earth. Thankfully, it has stayed on; but the episode has heightened the importance of owning physical media. Every fan of this show owes it to themselves to find and purchase the DVD (it has not been released on Blu-ray in North America). It is a series particularly important to preserve, like those old stories and Americana antiquities that so informed its fundamental identity. It should be allowed to be part of that very mosaic that enriches the Unknown; that pulls us in, because frightening or fantastic, we need its lessons.

The leaves and winds have changed and that night is now upon us. Care to join me, over the garden wall?

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