The index to the entire Joss Whedon roundtable is here.
It feels creepy to say this about a middle aged man I’ve never met, but Joss Whedon has profoundly changed my life, from providing my role models in the darkest days of middle school to shaping my choice in picking the college where I will be spending the next four years of my life. In preparation for leaving for Wesleyan, I’ve been cleaning out various corners of my bedroom. Of all the toys I’ve accumulated over the past eighteen years, I kept three things: crudely made action figures of Spike, Tara, and Willow.
I first watched Buffy with my family when I was about thirteen and have continued to binge watch it every couple of months since. Without my emotional prejudice I would still think the show is the best ever made, but it is so much more to me than a well-written, intricately plotted masterpiece. Buffy is the first thing I can remember watching with strong and imperfect female characters who were lovable and flawed and who I could always look up to. Watching little blonde Buffy kick ass and defy stereotypes and Willow transform into a more confident and capable version of herself was what got me through my middle school years. On “blonde joke Fridays” I would imagine Buffy Summers kicking my algebra teacher Mr. Almanza in the face, and when my lunch table referred to me as “the ghost” and wouldn’t let me speak, I remembered how ghost Willow saved the day in the Halloween episode.
In this world devoid of Black Widow movies and pay equity, I would like to think that my obsession with Whedonverse characters speaks not only to my geeky antisocial tendencies but to the problems in representation. Buffy Summers is both feminine and a badass.
Tara and Willow are an adorable couple, but they made such an impression on me because they had the first lesbian kiss I can remember seeing.
Angel’s Fred Burkle is undoubtedly an objectively wonderful character, but she is so important to me because she went from being a damsel in distress to running her science laboratory.
Firefly’s Kay Lee is a sweet mechanic with a healthy attitude about sex.
All of these fictional women are so important to me because they’re not just characters in shows I watch, they’re examples of identities that are okay to have. I know this is so cheesy, but the characters Joss wrote validated and still validate my goals and myself.
I spend a fair amount of time on the feminist side of the internet, a place where Joss is not always loved. I think a lot of the criticism about his portrayal of rape and racism and certainly darling Natasha Romanoff’s characterization is valid, and yet I am still full of admiration for this rich white guy. I have my own complaints about his treatment of characters and I’m not blind to his problematic moments, but I will always respect his portrayal of strong female characters.
I no longer need Buffy to beat up my bullies, but I find just as much comfort in Joss’s characters as I enter season four of my life. Whether it is loss of a loved one, starting a new part of your life, heartbreak, or vampire attack, Joss has written a weirdly applicable and comforting story about it. I’ll never understand why season four of Angel happened or why on earth Bruce and Natasha, but I will always be in awe of how one person could create my favorite horror movie, Shakespeare adaptation, musical, and short lived sci-fi Western. I couldn’t be more excited to attend his alma mater, and I hope it’s nothing like UC-Sunnydale and I don’t have a demon roommate.
Just the concept of Buffy was important to me as a fairly sheltered, middle class, white kid in high school. I won’t go far as to say it singularly transformed me. It was more akin to hearing Van Halen for the first time. It made my ears perk up and it helped open the door to new things. So I’m right there with you Madeleine.
I suppose we have some beautiful hatchet jobs coming up, so it’s good to first have a reminder of how much Joss Whedon’s work can mean to people (especially women? especially who encounter him during adolescence?) (neither of those is at all
intended as a disparagement).
Yeah, I thought it would be nice to start with an appreciation. A lot of the frustration with Buffy for me is the feeling that it could have, could have, could have…but of course, there’s so little popular culture that even gets to could have. And Buffy had its moments too. Worth remembering that.
Thanks Madeleine. It’s a useful reminder as a start for the roundtable. I have a piece coming up that’s not as generous, but as a teen Buffy introduced me to feminism, and in the end this fact overweighs much of my problems with his work.
This is lovely, Madeleine, and very much mirrors my own feelings about Joss Whedon. One thing your post particularly made me think of is how much I associate his work (especially Buffy) not just with important moments in my life, but transitional ones. In the same way that I re-read Jane Eyre about every ten years, I rewatch Buffy every five, in part to see what new parts resonate with my experience and how.
I’ll also just echo what others have said: I really like the idea of kicking off criticism with a moment of appreciation and love, especially one that’s so rooted in our own experience. The best criticism comes from a place of love, I think, but it’s easy to lose sight of that, especially when we’re trying to point out the way something is complicated and flawed. I like your reminder that a piece of art can (and usually is, and maybe should be) both frustrating and wonderful at the same time.