Johnny Quest, Swat Kats and the wild, brilliant chaos of childhood—why modern animations can't keep up

*Switches on Swat Kats opening credits as I write*

An episode of Tom and Jerry was playing, when we were at dinner in a restaurant lately. I knew they were Tom and Jerry, only because I recognised the distinct shapes and colours of the two.

But I couldn't connect it with what I had used to watch in childhood. Oh dear, I've really become one of those 'In my days...' people. Well. So be it.

What a strange luxury it all now seems, rushing home from school to switch on television and watch cartoons at the firm time slots that your mother allowed. In my early years, it was Flintstones and Jetsons. The stories were delightfully outlandish, which is perhaps why we loved them: Fred and his family living life in the Stone Age, complete with a pet dinosaur, while their neighbors, Barney and Betty, watched on. Everything echoed the stone age: Fred's daughter's name was Pebbles. Barney's son was Bam Bam.

Each 20-minute episode followed straightforward plots, usually centered on Fred and Barney’s maddening escapades, neatly resolved by the end after they trundled away on their makeshift car, if you could call it that.

And of course, the ending credits are etched in every ’90s kid’s memory: Fred banging on the door, demanding to be let in, or shouting the “Yabba Dabba Doo!”

And there was Jetsons, with its futuristic silliness: A family living in space, everyone firmly categorised in archetypes, with dad going to work, mom busy with housework and shopping, teenage girl who’s ‘just got things to do’, and a nerdy child. But we absorbed it all, down to the mysterious machine that could change clothes, provide fancy, snazzy outfits in an instance.  

I was so inspired by that at the age of six, that I desperately kept asking my mother for such a machine. And, of course, ever-reliable Scooby Doo. I devoured the entire series, everything available at that time, and demanded the Scooby snacks too.

There was the joy in the goofiness, animation and the storytelling. It’s why we could watch endless episodes of Tom and Jerry, the good old Hannah Barbera versions: Tom chasing Jerry, Jerry’s nephew Nibbles coming home, and the story of the ugly duckling.

These were all for the giggles and the laughs. And then there were the animations that upped the ante.

Cartoons, animations at that age, inspired you into silliness, absurdities and mess around with an imagination. Live in space, or live in cave times? Or pretend to be two cats out to save the world? That was Swat Kats, for the children, who wanted to level up with some intensity. You wanted to be Teebone and Razor, sitting in a very cool jet that sat quietly in their garage, until called upon. And then they would go fight all the villains, including Dark Cat, or rescue Miss Kelly, who was permanently trouble. And there was Anna, the reporter, with incredible fashionable skills for a cat. But we played those games; we did the role-play as T-bone and Razor, using pillows as makeshift shuttles, pretending to fly off from the bed into horizons, and ‘save’ each other’.

And, there was Centurions. Three men, who would fight on land, water and air. I don’t think that I even understood their quests at that time; it just looked incredibly inspiring, to see all three of them wearing different armour and going to head off into battle. Battle what, exactly, I am still not sure, but it was enough fodder for our games.

One particular show that I’m a little sad that none of my contemporaries remember, is Galtar and The Golden Lance. It was the days of grand theme songs, fights and warriors where Galtar, his princess Golida and her brother Zon went off on adventures, and that included some very peculiar trolls, witches, or possibly just fighting lethal rules.

Yet, nothing comes quite close to complex, mind-bending world of Johnny Quest. From the theme song that remains so seared in the mind, to the nuanced, layered storytelling in sci-fi, with characters like Johnny, Jessie, Hadji, Race Bannon, who was Jessie’s father, and the scientist Benton Quest. There was the madness of adventure, and the wonderfully horrifying feelings of watching the characters almost ‘get lost’ in their worlds of virtual reality.

I keep searching for that old magic, even in the new Tom and Jerry episodes. The animation is slicker, sharper, and digitally flawless—but along with the polish, the storytelling feels stiff and contrived, designed to impress rather than surprise. The raw humour, the chaotic energy, the offbeat absurdities that made shows like Swat Kats, Centurions, and Galtar so thrilling have largely disappeared.

Battles and adventures now follow neat, predictable arcs; villains are less menacing, stakes feel lower, and episodes often wrap up before you’ve fully immersed yourself. Even the humour seems calculated, the quirks over-curated for mass appeal. Animation has undoubtedly evolved technically, exploring vibrant colours, 3D worlds, and intricate CGI—but it sometimes loses the messy, imperfect charm that made our childhood cartoons so endearing. A new version of Swat Kats is under development, but I am doubtful.

Maybe it’s sad that they exist only as memories—but perhaps that’s exactly how they should remain in a world that’s always moving.