The Netflix original series "Cobra Kai," seen on a laptop. (Chona Kasinger/Bloomberg News)
When YouTube introduced "Cobra Kai" in 2018, the hard-working staff here at Spoiler Alerts did not give it much thought. Subscribing to YouTube's premium service was far down on my to-do list. Furthermore, while I am not opposed to reboots and revivals, this one didn't grab me. Like anyone in my demographic, I enjoyed "The Karate Kid" a lot, I remembered the first few minutes of the sequel, and the rest of it faded away.
A television series based on a decades-old property that revives the rivalry between plucky underdog Daniel LaRusso and King of all '80s Bad Guys Johnny Lawrence? What did this show think it was, part of the Star Wars universe?
Then last fall when Netflix bought up the show, I saw trusted friends raving about it, I gave the pilot a watch ... and I still didn't get it. An entire show premised on an old "How I Met Your Mother" riff?
As the weather got colder and more trusted friends praised it, I gave it one last try. And having now finished season three, I confess that my first impression was mistaken. I'm still not convinced "Cobra Kai" is good. But it is awesome.
Let's get the "not good" part out of the way. This show rests on some pretty absurd premises, the most obvious of which is that one's destiny is determined by teen karate tournaments. Indeed, karate is to "Cobra Kai" as Windex is to "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" and vibranium is to Wakanda - the magical cure for all ills. The notion that a middle-aged White guy, even one as clueless as Johnny Lawrence, had literally never heard of Facebook is nuts. And clearly this show exists in a fictional universe in which psychotherapy was not invented, because dear God that would have ameliorated a lot of the conflicts that drive the plot.
I stand by every assertion made in the last paragraph. I also don't care, because this show is as awesome as Eagle Fang karate.
What does "Cobra Kai" do so well? As near as I can figure, the show represents a rare alchemy of solid retconning and generational satire.
The retconning is key. When it was originally released, the original "Karate Kid" was viewed as a "Rocky" knockoff; they shared the same director and same structure. "Cobra Kai" cleverly shifts the story into John Hughes territory, making it a narrative about what happens when 1980s teen characters grow up with the scars of their youth.
Similarly, the original movie had Johnny Lawrence, played by William Zabka, as a rich-boy bully and Daniel LaRusso, played by Ralph Macchio, as the underdog New Jersey implant with a single mom. "Cobra Kai" scrambles that perception in multiple productive ways. Johnny's posh upbringing turned out to have a lot of strings attached, and he starts the show by being a down-on-his-luck drunk. LaRusso is not exactly the bad guy in this reboot. He's just the comfortable rich guy blithely unaware that there might be different ways of viewing what happened in the past and present.
By giving both protagonists teen kids, the show's other outstanding conceit is to compare and contrast teen life today with the 1980s. Bullying in the 21st century is often targeted at the cyber realm, and the show has fun with how the online world and karate world interact. The teen characters do a lot of the lifting, and the show handles their arcs wit aplomb. Demonstrating the ways in which teen bullying scarred Daniel, Johnny and his Cobra Kai cohort is surprisingly affecting.
The premise is good, but the show's humor is better. What "Cobra Kai" does really well is exploit and tweak the small-c conservatism that Generation X is starting to feel as it hits middle age and beyond. It's funny to see Johnny's confused reaction to questions about gender fluidity. Daniel's exasperation at accusations of cultural appropriation are equally amusing. And as the show has progressed it has developed a savvy self-awareness. It is not giving too much away to say that the phrase "karate riot" is used more than once, and it's funny every time.
Perhaps the best thing about "Cobra Kai" is its unapologetic yet hilarious embrace of tropes than anyone who grew up in the 1980s recognizes. There are two music cues, one in a second-season dream sequence and one to close out the third season, that had me crying from laughing so hard.
Finally, the show has efficiently strip-mined almost every part of the Karate Kid universe, from the Okinawa components of the sequel to shot-by-shot remakes of scenes from the original to cameos from Oscar-caliber performances. My only request for season four is that the show go full circle and brings back Hilary Swank.