Stop pretending you don't remember him. If you grew up in the late '90s or stumbled upon late-night Fox reruns, you know the character. He was thin, frantic, and perpetually seeking a "fix" in the Hilton-Stephens housing projects. We're talking about Smokey from The PJs. For a show that used "foamation" to bring urban life to a stop-motion reality, Smokey was the most polarizing figure in the building. Some called him a stereotype. Others saw him as a painfully accurate reflection of the crack epidemic's lingering scars on the American inner city.
He wasn't just "the pjs cartoon crackhead." He was a person. Well, a puppet person.
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Created by Eddie Murphy, Larry Wilmore, and Steve Tompkins, The PJs took a massive gamble. It tried to find comedy in the projects. That’s a thin tightrope to walk. You fall one way, you're being offensive; you fall the other, you're being preachy. Smokey lived right in the middle of that tension. Voiced by the legendary Shawn Michael Howard, Smokey provided the series with its most chaotic energy. He was the neighbor you loved to avoid but couldn't help but pity.
Why Smokey Actually Worked (And Why He Didn't)
Most people remember him for the physical comedy. The way his eyes bugged out. The frantic, twitchy movements that characterized every scene he was in. But if you look closer at the writing, Smokey served a narrative purpose beyond just being the butt of a joke. He was often the catalyst for Thurgood Stubbs' (Eddie Murphy/Phil Morris) frustrations.
Thurgood, the superintendent, wanted a clean, respectable building. Smokey represented everything that stood in the way of that "respectability politics" dream.
Is he a caricature? Absolutely. Smokey embodied every negative trope of the "crackhead" archetype that flooded 90s media. From In Living Color to Don't Be a Menace, the trope was everywhere. However, The PJs gave Smokey a strange kind of dignity—or at least, a consistent presence. He wasn't a one-off gag. He was a resident. He had a history. He had a name. He wasn't just "some guy" on the corner; he was part of the ecosystem of the building.
The Voice Behind the Twitch: Shawn Michael Howard
You can't talk about Smokey without mentioning Shawn Michael Howard. To get that specific sound, you need more than just a high-pitched voice. You need timing. Howard’s performance was kinetic. He brought a sympathetic quality to a character that, on paper, could have been purely mean-spirited.
Think about the way Smokey talked. It was fast. It was desperate. But it was also weirdly polite sometimes. He would call Thurgood "Mr. Super" or "Mr. Stubbs." There was a power dynamic there that the show played with constantly. Smokey knew he was at the bottom of the social ladder, and he navigated that with a sort of frantic charisma that made him a fan favorite, despite the heavy subject matter.
The show faced criticism, of course. Figures like Spike Lee weren't fans. Lee famously criticized the show for its portrayal of Black life, suggesting it was demeaning. But for many people who actually lived in environments similar to the Hilton-Stephens projects, Smokey wasn't an invention of a writer's room. He was a guy they knew. He was a cousin. He was the man who used to be a track star before the 80s hit. That’s the nuance AI usually misses when it looks at pop culture. Life is messy.
Behind the Foamation: Making a Masterpiece
The technical side of The PJs is honestly staggering. This wasn't cheap animation. It was "Foamation," a proprietary process developed by Will Vinton Studios (the folks behind the California Raisins). Every time Smokey moved, someone had to physically adjust a puppet.
Imagine the work. Thousands of frames. Each twitch of Smokey’s eye or scratch of his neck was a deliberate choice by an animator.
Because the medium was so tactile, the characters felt more "real" than 2D drawings. When Smokey looked tired, you could see the texture of the foam. It added a layer of grit to the show that made the comedy hit harder. It wasn't just a cartoon; it was a tiny, physical world. This grit helped ground the "crackhead" character in a reality that felt lived-in. He wasn't just a scribble on a page. He occupied space.
The Legacy of the Hilton-Stephens Projects
The PJs only ran for three seasons, moving from Fox to The WB, but its impact lingers. You see traces of its DNA in shows like The Boondocks or even Black Dynamite. It proved that you could talk about the "hood" without being a tragedy, even if the humor was dark.
Smokey remains the most discussed character from the show because he represents the "uncomfortable" part of that reality. Most shows want to clean up their characters. They want the "lovable rogue" or the "hardworking dad." They don't want the guy who's struggling with a life-shattering addiction.
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By including Smokey, The PJs refused to sanitize the environment. It said, "This is here. This person exists. Now, let’s find a way to make it funny without losing the humanity." It didn't always succeed, but it tried harder than most.
What Most People Forget About Smokey
People think Smokey was just looking for drugs. Honestly, half the time he was just looking for a way to belong.
There are episodes where Smokey tries to "get clean" or tries to participate in building activities. He’s usually thwarted by his own impulses or by the judgment of his neighbors. It’s a classic tragicomedy setup. If you rewatch the series today on DVD or through whatever streaming service currently has the rights, look at the way the other characters treat him. They’re annoyed, sure. But they also look out for him in a weird, roundabout way. That's a very specific "block" dynamic.
Navigating the Controversy Today
If The PJs came out in 2026, it would be a firestorm. The discourse on X (formerly Twitter) would be unbearable. People would be writing long-form essays about the "harmful tropes of the foamation era."
But we have to look at the context of 1999. The show was produced by Eddie Murphy—a man who had spent his career poking fun at every corner of Black life. It wasn't an outsider looking in; it was an insider looking around. That distinction matters. Smokey wasn't a punchline created by people who hated him. He was a punchline created by people who recognized him.
Practical Ways to Revisit The PJs
If you're looking to dive back into this world, don't just watch the clips on YouTube. The clips strip away the context. You need to see the full episodes to understand the rhythm of the humor.
- Check for the DVD sets. They’re often available at used media stores or online collectors' sites. The commentary tracks are gold mines for understanding how they built the puppets.
- Look for the Will Vinton documentaries. If you're interested in the "how," look into the history of Will Vinton Studios. The level of craftsmanship involved in making a character like Smokey move is insane.
- Listen to the soundtrack. The show had an incredible hip-hop and R&B soundtrack that perfectly captured the era's vibe. It sets the tone for why a character like Smokey belonged in that world.
- Research Larry Wilmore’s involvement. Wilmore went on to have a massive career in late-night and as a producer on Black-ish. Seeing his early work on The PJs explains a lot about his satirical style.
The character of Smokey is a time capsule. He represents a specific era of television where the "rules" were still being written. He was offensive to some, hilarious to others, and a mirror to a reality that many wanted to ignore. Whether you see him as a brilliant satire or a regrettable caricature, you can't deny that he was one of the most memorable parts of a show that dared to be different.
When you're looking for Smokey's best moments, start with the episode "He's Gotta Have It." It's a perfect distillation of his character's frantic energy and the building's reaction to him. It’s not just about the addiction; it’s about the chaos.
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The next step for anyone interested in this era of animation is to look at the intersection of stop-motion and urban storytelling. It's a very small niche, but The PJs stands at the very top of it. You won't find another show that looks like it, sounds like it, or has the guts to put a character like Smokey front and center. It’s a piece of television history that deserves more than just being a meme about a "crackhead" puppet. It’s a testament to a time when TV was willing to be ugly, loud, and weirdly heartfelt all at the same time.