Because he isn’t the loudest person in the room, critics often ignore a particular type of character in television. Tanner Buchanan’s character Robby Keene, who appeared in all six seasons of Cobra Kai, was just that kind. Not the lead. Not quite the antagonist. The most interesting people tend to end up somewhere in the challenging middle.
The name “Robbie Keane” is frequently confused with Cobra Kai by casual fans, who occasionally confuse it with the real Irish football legend of the same name. It’s a minor, unintentional peculiarity; years ago, a Reddit thread noted that the name sounded strangely familiar. However, over the course of six seasons, the fictional Robby Keene—spelled differently—carved out his own identity in a way that felt genuinely earned rather than staged.
Robby’s predicament was one of those situations that could have easily turned into a cliché from the start. Bitter and guarded, Johnny Lawrence’s abandoned son nearly unintentionally entered Daniel LaRusso’s life while training under the man his father detested the most. It sounds forced on paper. It worked on the screen. There’s a feeling that Buchanan recognized something about that specific type of teenage rage—the kind that doesn’t announce itself with monologs and goes silent before going loud.
The Robbie Keane arc in Cobra Kai was truly captivating because it didn’t settle. Daniel was his trainer. Then he turned on Kreese. Then he also withdrew from that. Viewers who anticipated a tidy redemption storyline continued to wait for the turning point. At least not on anyone else’s timeline, it didn’t appear. It felt sincere. Individuals who don’t have dependable parents don’t bounce back in tidy seasonal arcs.
Beneath the show’s louder moments, there was a tension created by Johnny Lawrence’s attempt to make amends with Robby while also forming a surrogate bond with Miguel Díaz. It was unsettling to watch Johnny mishandle both relationships, pursuing Miguel in ways he was never able to do with his own son, as is sometimes the case with good television. There’s a sense that Zabka avoided melodrama in those scenes by playing them with a certain amount of restraint. Buchanan also matched it.
How much of Robby’s story the showrunners had mapped out from the beginning is still up for debate. Josh Heald and his associates have expressed their desire to revive every aspect of the Karate Kid universe; they have tracked down actors from decades-old movies, chased obscure references, and pursued Hilary Swank. The attention they paid to Robby’s arc in that context implies he was never an afterthought. The show’s name, which subtly pays homage to an Irish soccer legend who was a member of the LA Galaxy, alludes to the kind of careful consideration that went into even the smallest choices.
Over the course of six seasons, Tanner Buchanan’s work with that character was subtly remarkable. He did not overshadow Miguel by Xolo Maridueña or rival the nostalgia associated with William Zabka and Ralph Macchio. He made the margins appear wider than they actually were by working within them. The task is more difficult than it appears.
When people list their favorite Cobra Kai characters, Robby Keene might not be the first name that comes to mind. But when you watch the show again, you can’t help but notice how much it needed him—not as a plot device, but as a reminder that some of the harm fathers cause takes more than six seasons to heal.
