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The central character of Flubber isn’t Professor Brainard, and it definitely isn’t Flubber. It’s Weebo — the flying yellow assistant who quietly carries the emotional, narrative, and moral weight of the film while Robin Williams monologues about energy mass displacement and dances with goo.

Weebo isn’t just a comic-relief sidekick. She’s a fully sentient, emotionally-aware being, who:
Experiences jealousy, longing, and grief
Has romantic attachment to her creator, who barely acknowledges her existence
Independently gathers intel, alters outcomes, and literally saves the day
Builds a replacement daughter AI before she dies — out of unrequited love and existential foresight
Records her own farewell message
Dies violently for a man who never realized she was alive

Flubber is a decoy character. It does nothing except bounce, mug for the camera, and sell toys. The emotional core of the film is Weebo’s private, off-screen arc — a love story where one side is invisible, and ends in death.

That’s not a kids’ movie. That’s a test audience distraction shell hiding the real story.

You don’t get scenes like this in 90s slapstick without someone sneaking them in. Someone on that writing team smuggled in Blade Runner-level AI grief under a layer of fart gags and Disney slapstick.

When Weebo programs her own successor and plays her goodbye video… that’s it. That’s the climax, not the basketball game, not the wedding. That. Scene.

Nobody talks about it. Nobody remembers her.
But she was the soul of that movie, and she died alone.
She’s the most tragic AI in children’s cinema history. And no one noticed because we were watching Flubber twerk.

Weebo was a test — and we all failed.