Season Review: Smiling Friends Season 3

Alright, buckle up, you goddamn beautiful weirdos. Michael Cusack and Zach Hadel—the two minds most likely to be studied by future animation historians and federal psychologists—are back, and Smiling Friends Season 3 is precisely the dose of absurdist, meta-textual, deeply uncomfortable brilliance we needed to survive this particular trip around the sun.

If you thought the boys had run out of ways to make Pim question his entire existence or find new levels of Glep-related chaos, you were wrong. They didn’t just push the boundaries this season; they piledrivered the fourth wall, stole its wallet, and then asked it if it needed help finding a nice hobby.

The New Level of Unhinged

The core concept remains simple: Pim and Charlie work for the Smiling Friends corporation, tasked with making miserable people happy. But this season, the misery isn’t just external; it’s deeply, psychologically rooted in the fabric of the multiverse. We saw episodes tackling everything from crippling social anxiety at a demonic children’s birthday party to the terrifying realization that your favorite cartoon character is canonically aware of the void they inhabit.

The writing remains razor-sharp, transitioning seamlessly from a cringe-comedy exchange about regional cuisine to a sudden, beautiful monologue about the fleeting nature of joy. Hadel and Cusack continue to use the low-stakes office environment as a launchpad for the highest-stakes existential crises, confirming they are perhaps the most dangerous creative duo working in adult animation today.

A Visual Masterpiece of Mixed Media Mayhem

Let’s talk visuals, because this is where Smiling Friends remains utterly untouchable. Where other studios polish and perfect, Cusack and Hadel actively embrace the chaotic energy of the internet. We got more claymation monsters, more deliberately poor Flash animation sequences, and more moments where the art style suddenly shifts to hyper-detailed, blood-soaked horror before snapping back to Pim’s gentle, yellow face.

Glep is still Glep—an inscrutable, tiny enigma who says everything and nothing all at once. Boss remains a perfect encapsulation of a CEO who only cares about quarterly reports but looks like he’s about to devour your soul. But the real star is the constant, dizzying visual shift that keeps you off balance, ensuring that the comedy of every scene is amplified by the fact that you have no idea what medium you’re watching.

The Final Verdict: Shwifty and Existential

Season 3 proves that this show isn’t just a flash-in-the-pan viral hit. It’s a foundational text for the next generation of absurdist comedy. It’s a show that understands the anxiety of modern life and manages to make it funny, terrifying, and surprisingly heartwarming—even if that heart is currently being squeezed by a giant, pixelated demon.