Celebrating “King of the Hill”

One of the most exciting days of my young TV life was the day I learned that King of the Hill would air in syndication at 5:00 and 5:30 PM on Fox. During that time, it was a ritual to watch The Simpsons at 6 and 7:30 with interchangeable middle pieces. There were times when I’d jump over to Jeopardy! at 7, but some days I was just in the mood for the flavor of the month shows like That 70s Show or The Drew Carey Show, whose nauseating levels of omnipresence made them personal favorites. All this is to say that it was a hallowed time for TV watching, and having an additional hour was equivalent to more of a good thing.

In hindsight, the only appeal that King of the Hill had to a preteen was that it was a cartoon. I didn’t have cable. Beavis and Butt-head was closer to urban legends and cautionary tales. Mike Judge wasn’t a figure I had much to compare with. For as adult as The Simpsons could be accused of being, it was still a cartoon with recognizable slapstick. There were kids who got into trouble that looked recognizable to my own. They were a touchstone that still bonds me with other Gen-X and Millennial individuals who reminisce on endless hours of watching TV at too young an age. 

The Simpsons had episodes where the protagonist basically works for a James Bond villain. What did King of the Hill have for a child to latch onto? It had protagonist Hank Hill working for a womanizing, philandering boss who sold “propane and propane accessories™.” His commitment to his job may seem admirable to a working-class adult, but to someone barely scraping through middle school, it was nothing more than watching the mundanity of Texan adults navigating their strange circumstances. I’d say Bobby Hill was the key, but he was no Bart Simpson. He was recognizably unathletic and socially awkward. He wasn’t the most flamboyant kid in the world. Even the idea of Hank being an ethical father in an age where Homer Simpson was notoriously strangling his son feels like an absence of conflict.

And yet I watched. Most nights around 5 PM, I tuned in and got my two episodes in. A lot of the time, it was revisiting for the first time since the original airing. I’d watch the promos and have certain lines etched into my long-term memory (“I’m going to die alone like Weird Al Yankovic.”). The theme would play, and I’d be mesmerized by the fast-paced introduction. It was the way he snapped the beer can. It was the way it conveyed the passage of time in a matter of seconds and reflected what mattered most. These were his friends. This was his family. Whereas The Simpsons had a distractible level of variations, King of the Hill relied upon complacency.

My favorite joke is that Hank probably doesn’t like me. He’d likely stare at me in polite disagreement before walking away and muttering some offhand remarks to himself. As a Southern California kid, my world is much different than the conservative Texas where he resides. And yet, there is an endearment to watching him live his everyday life and attempt to hold onto order. He is constantly butting heads with his environment. He may be stubborn, but his humanity allows for slivers of empathy to enter. We may never agree on the best way to pass an afternoon, but I can respect him because, more than anything, he embodies a lifelong dedication to learning. 

When I watch King of the Hill, I don’t see him as an idiot. Foolish, maybe, but I recognize his heart to be in the right place. At one point, he encourages his son to not join a Christian rock band. While it may seem no different from worrying that listening to hip-hop would lead to moral degeneracy, his larger reason is that he worries it’ll make religion an embarrassing fad. There is a protective level that is loving and, at worst, comes from a place of naivety. The 90s were a radical response to the Reagan years. Even Mike Judge contributed to that narrative by having the nihilistic music critics of MTV in short, digestible segments. It was the period where sarcasm officially replaced sincerity as the national tone, and Hank was not here for it. He was about order and the belief that hard work leads to prosperity.

If anything, the world around him is more questionable. He’s had neighbors driven by ego to the point he has to knock on their door to cite the block charter. There have been scams attempting to demoralize his wife, Peggy. His father is a war hero who is also a raging misogynist who names his late-in-life next child “Good Hank.” Even neighbor Dale is the perfect comic foil as he’s constantly believing in conspiracies on a quest to find order in his life. For a story that is often envisioned as four guys standing around in an alleyway, a lot happens in the intimate spaces. 

As Hank is tossed a can from the cooler, they divulge their everyday lives, and suddenly the show’s longevity makes sense. I love King of the Hill because it doesn’t pretend to be anything other than it is. It’s not The Simpsons dedicating a musical to corrupt businessmen. This is about growing older and trying to hold onto values in a trying world. It’s about knowing when to let those go for the betterment of your life and those around you. Sure, not every episode strives to jab you with a moral, but the way Mike Judge and his team evoke humanity within the disagreements is far too satisfying – especially in an age where the Texas that the reboot is entering comes across as cartoonishly evil.

My favorite example of this came in an episode where Hank chaperones his mother’s friends to an island to visit a miniatures museum. Given the rocky relationship they both share with Hank’s father, it makes sense how much animosity pops out during their long car rides and stay at a hotel about to be taken over by spring breakers. Despite the chaos, Hank defends the elderly guests from a debaucherous war zone where beer shoots through the sky and loud music shakes the room. Hank’s desire to please her seems ambiguous at first, but it all makes sense by the end. Like Hank and his small vices, his mother takes this arduous journey to find peace. Miniatures were her escape from an abusive relationship. As silly as it may appear to the outside world, it becomes her reason to live. 

The episode is very funny and has the familiar push and pull that Judge is known for. However, I think what gives King of the Hill a timeless quality is how it challenges order and animosity. Watching Hank’s mother smile at tiny pieces of glass reflects the arbitrary things we all have in our lives. Because of her inability to visit this particular museum often, the emptiness likely aches more than Hank tending to his lawn. As an elderly woman, it may also be difficult to have a fulfilling social life, which explains why she disagrees with her son. This whole endeavor is silly, but so is Hank’s obsession with calling butane “bastard’s gas” as often as he can. And yet, these are the things that give our lives meaning.

A few years ago, I watched the show in full for the first time on Hulu. This was out of curiosity as well as a longing to revisit my favorite moments. The things that stood out weren’t any of the cartoonish elements, but how human it felt. If it were live action, there would be something unpleasant. However, the distance allows for some of the dour elements to be more effective. This isn’t an exceptional show visually, and yet the way a mundane conversation is portrayed works better. The Simpsons may have had mature elements, but King of the Hill was an “adult” show in large part because you don’t fully appreciate what it’s saying until you can fully grasp the concept of nuance. Hank may be a catch-all conservative at times, but he’s not a bigot. He’s reluctant yet comes to understand. There is an evolution that is beyond the schlubby hubby trope that sitcoms ran with at the time. 

And yet, for as much as I loved being in this world and recounting the nostalgic joy I’ve felt since I was a kid, I noticed things popping through that made me love it on a deeper level. My biggest takeaway is that I may actually love Bill more than almost any other character. 

He is a tragic figure: a high school football player who took the team to state. He is a barber for the army and has a reputable rank. In theory, his life should be decent. However, he is also overweight and suffers from depression that’s likely worsened because of a divorce. Efforts to move on have mostly failed, or at least romantically. He has moments of triumph, and those episodes are the most fulfilling. Hank’s desire to help a friend who’s struggled to make it through his adult life is powerful stuff, and the moments that Bill expresses agency make you realize that he's more than a dimwit. He may come across as dumb, but there is a complexity to his heart. He just so happens to be a figure whose equation leans more into animosity than order.

When asked to list my favorite episodes, one of them features a sequence that I laughed at as a child, but have since found it to be one of the darkest plotlines that a network show could’ve done. It’s the episode where I feel King of the Hill officially separated itself as a Simpsons clone and showed that it was willing to dig into more complicated emotions. 

In the episode, Bill has a mental breakdown. He’s reminded of his wife Lenore in a way that causes him to snap. Towards the end, he becomes so traumatized that he wanders into his backyard and puts on one of her dresses (long story) while impersonating her. Bill has become Lenore. As Hank tries to talk him out of it, his voice cracks as he says, “Why do you keep calling me Bill?” There is a clear mental illness in this '90s cartoon, and it’s amazing how deftly Judge handles the situation. It’s an ongoing, serious manner, and while Bill never fully recovers, his struggles feel real. There are even many references to his suicidality. It may be easy to hear the high-pitched squeal of “LENORE!” and laugh, but as an adult, it reflects why Bill is the crux of the show. He’s the type of person who could easily have disappeared from negligence. Instead, Hank cares in a way that transcends any selfish values. 

I understand a lot can be deconstructed about the show beyond this. I haven’t even touched on the show’s smart decision to age up the characters over time. There’s the fact that Chuck Mangione might’ve been one of the best celebrity cameos I’ve seen on a TV show (R.I.P.). So much lives in the minutiae of everyday life, and I think having those decades with it allows the experiences to feel more real. These stories become memories and shape how we see the world. Like the opening credits suggest, this is a show about finding reason to get through the day. Not everything needs to be a diatribe. Sometimes all that needs to be said is, “Yep.”

Today, I will wake up and there will be new King of the Hill waiting for me. For as much as we can argue about reboot culture, something is exciting about this one. What does the show look like in 2025, when Texan culture is even more absurd than it was when the show left 15 years ago? I’m worried that Hank will be too at odds with everything because he seems like the goodhearted fella who has gone out of fashion. Even then, that makes his return all the more valuable. We need someone with sincerity to question what is happening and, hopefully, develop a grander point beyond a need for everybody to be divided. As was the case 30 years ago, Hank may not like the changes, but he recognizes the humanity. Somewhere between order and animosity is truth, a reason to get up in the morning and make the most of it. Time marches on, and it's best to not let the small things ruin your good time.