King Of The Hill’s New Season Cements Its Legacy As The Definitive American Anime

Fifteen years after being canceled on Fox, King of the Hill is back. Its fourteenth season doesn’t only mark the return of Hank Hill, America’s dad before American Dad; it canonizes the meme-belief that the long-running animated sitcom is, in fact, our nation’s greatest anime. And it does so by pulling off a shonen classic narrative trope straight out of Naruto’s playbook: a timeskip arc. 

If the original run of King of the Hill was its Naruto era, then season 14 is its sequel series, Naruto Shippuden. King of the Hill’s time-lapse opening, which used to show a lazy afternoon with Hank and the crew drinking beers in the alley, now provides an update that fills in the gaps of what happened during the show’s break—like Bobby Hill moving out and Hank and Peggy going to work in Saudi Arabia before returning home—cleverly helping viewers catch up. Like its viewers (present party included), Bobby Hill has grown up, and so has the series. Like Naruto, King of the Hill’s timeskip serves as a narrative reorientation, graduating Bobby Hill from being the show's emotional core to its main character. 

King of the Hill’s timeskip doubles as a worthwhile thematic addition to what the show’s been cooking narratively (with propane, naturally) since 1997. The madcap adults who once shaped its younger cast’s suburban living now sit comfortably in the background with their narrative arcs largely complete. Now, they’ve become the mentor figures, Kakashis and Jirayas clad in denim jeans, saying “Yep” in a back alley with brewskies in hand, while Bobby, Joseph Gribble, and Connie Souphanousinphone navigate the messy landscape of adulthood in a world that’s changed just as much as they have.  

Throughout its 10 episodes, the new season leans into shonen tropes with surprising sincerity. Topics such as generational tension, inherited trauma, the burden of legacy, and the slow, painful process of self-actualization are as present for Bobby as they were for his father in the original series. Growing up, Bobby Hill was my Naruto Uzumaki before I ever watched Naruto. And Bobby’s journey mirrors Naruto Uzumaki’s in ways that feel eerily similar. He was the weird kid who didn’t necessarily fit in, questioned everything, and had the uncanny ability to make folks laugh with how infectiously likable he was. Whereas Hank once grimaced at Bobby’s love of improv, yoga, and anything he deemed remotely “unmanly,” the new season reframes those moments as foundational to Bobby as an adult. 

All lessons that followed in Naruto Shippuden, where Naruto, after a three-year absence from his hometown, made his grand return as a young man who would eventually become the hero he had always claimed to be. Although Bobby doesn’t return as a ninja, he defies traditional career paths laid out before him by sticking to his guns, not attending college, and becoming the head chef at an Asian fusion restaurant. Our boy smokes weed and fucks, all while following his nindo to live a curious life unafraid of celebrating what makes him happy, gender norms be damned. Granted, not everything is perfect for Bobby, but watching him navigate those early adulting struggles is as compelling as watching him navigate adolescence.  

Like any good shonen sequel, King of the Hill doesn’t just rely on nostalgia by playing familiar hits—it questions what it means to be a sequel that relies on cheap pop culture memberberries. King of the Hill’s timeskip forces its characters and viewers to reckon with what’s changed and what hasn’t in good old Arlen, Texas, and whether it’s better to leave things in the past instead of wishing for things to be the way they used to be. Hank, now retired, returns to Arlen and finds himself bewildered by Uber review etiquette, all-gender bathrooms, and maonsphere influencers poisoning the minds of young men. But the show doesn’t resign itself to mocking cultural shifts. It explores them with the same quiet dignity and dry wit that made it a standout in the first place. Hank’s arc is no longer about raising Bobby right—it’s about learning to let go and trust that the boy he raised can carry on himself (and ask for help if needed).

Having watched the show as a kid, seeing Hank’s newfound trust in adult Bobby was a hard-won milestone. Since the show’s start, Bobby’s existence was always considered miraculous. He was famously born to a man with a narrow urethra and no butt, to a married couple who adopted their bloodhound, Ladybird, believing they would never have children. As a pudgy little guy and the son of a football quarterback who peaked in high school, Bobby’s coming-of-age was never going to be easy. He wasn’t athletic, didn’t conform to gender norms, and often clashed with Hank’s conservative worldview. Hank's complicated relationship with his son is also shaped by his troubled bond with his father, Cotton Hill, a Hall of Fame sexist who routinely tried to mold Bobby in his image. But that tension was the show’s beating heart. It gave viewers a father who learned to love his son not despite his differences, but because of them. It also gave viewers a son who never stopped being himself, even when his father said “he ain’t right.” 

Season 14 doesn’t erase the legacy the show built as an animated sitcom that was not mean-spirited about child rearing — it expands on it. The only difference this time is that the show’s revival no longer reflects the world as it once did. If anything, its world is far kinder than ours. Still, King of the Hill addresses modern issues with the same conservative-liberal back-and-forth it always has, now with a bit more nuance, with Bobby as our main character. Throughout the show, Bobby questions progressive phenomena, such as Connie’s ethical non-monogamous relationships and the fine line between cultural appropriation and appreciation, as well as weighty existential fears like making space for his parents in his life before it's too late. All of these elements exceeded my wary expectations as a '90s baby who grew up alongside Bobby. 

King of the Hill’s cult status as an anime has as much to do with subs vs. dub debates, its relaxing slice-of-life pacing, and expressive character animation as it does with its emotional arcs. Speaking with IGN at San Diego Comic-Con, series co-creator Mike Judge acknowledged the fandom’s comparisons to anime, and it’s easy to see why in retrospect. The way its characters moved with a fluidity that rivals any Studio Ghibli work. What’s more, the show’s signature soft, comfy watercolor background art, which remained a series constant up until its thirteenth season, remains truly remarkable to watch all these years later. It was so spectacular that Judge felt it behooved him to note season 14’s digital animation, saying its watercolor look and hand-drawn style are the relics of a bygone era. That’s as monogamous to the anime industry’s refrain about why modern shows aren’t cel animated like Akira anymore as it gets. 

Sure, my King of the Hill Naruto comparison would be more apt had I drawn a parallel to Naruto’s spin-off series, Boruto, which follows Naruto’s eponymous son and the next generation of brightly-colored superpowered heroes. But I haven’t watched Boruto, and frankly, I don’t have the spoons to commit to another shonen saga with no end in sight. What I do have is an infinite curiosity to see how the new King of the Hill fully Kakashi Hatake’s Hank Hill—letting him fade into the background while Bobby, Connie, and Joseph take center stage. Like me, they’re not the kids anymore, and they’re just as clueless as their parents when it comes to scraping by in a world that’s just as confusing, hilarious, and profoundly courteous as Arlen ever was. Long live King of the Hill: Shippuden.