A Few Thoughts on Firefly

I recently rewatched Firefly for the first time in years, and it was interesting to revisit it. When I first watched the series, introduced by my certified-nerd older brother, I didn’t actively seek out a lot of sci-fi on my own. Most of my previous genre outings had been in more of a fantasy realm, and while I knew heavy hitters like Star Wars and The X-Files, Firefly was one of my first real forays into sci-fi that wasn’t already mainstream. But since then (and likely in part because of becoming a fan of Firefly,) I’ve dived into all manner of genre stuff covering a wide range of subcategories and with a heaping dose of sci-fi. My sci-fi love covers everything from my beloved Doctor Who to the mind-bendy 12 Monkeys to my most recenty-viewed Defiance, and in light of that expanded palate, I returned to Firefly with pretty new eyes.

To be sure, I still got a lot of enjoyment out of the series. Most of the characters are vibrantly-drawn and well-performed – even if I’ve since learned a lot more about Joss Whedon’s typical character/dialogue quirks, I’m also powerless against the charms of a ragtag found family in space. Despite the series’s small number of episodes, pretty much everyone gets at least one episode where they really get a chance to shine. This is the show that gave me Alan Tudyk and Gina Torres, and although I haven’t seen Adam Baldwin or Sean Maher in much else, I’ll forever love their performances on this show. (Plus, the movie was my first exposure to Chiwetel Ejiofor, an obvious public service.)

At the same time, there’s annoying stuff too. The whole notion of companions is a fail for me, because the show pushes forth this idea of being so evolved while simultaneously being so reductive, and the less said about Whedon’s infamous original plan for the “syringe” scene in the pilot, the better. While I enjoy the show leanding so literally into the “space western” idea, I think more could’ve been done to play with the nature of what the ‘verse is like. By and large, the show has two aesthetic dials, “space” and “western,” that it cranks to different levels as needed, and the various shifts don’t always have an internal consistency. But today, what I really want to look at is the third dial, slightly off to the side from the others and operating at a more limited range. And that’s “Chineseness.”

On my initial exposure to Firefly, I enjoyed the “flavor” of the old-West space dialogue peppered with Mandarin for a hot second before it started to bug me. I couldn’t help but look at the Chinese swear words, the occasional Chinese article of clothing, and notes of Chinese décor, while simultaneously noting no Chinese characters of any importance to the story, ever. In a ‘verse in which there’s a suggestion that America and China at some point merged as superpowers and cultural elements of both now influence everyone our heroes come across, why are there no significant people of Chinese descent on the show? There are certainly none in the main cast (although Simon and River’s surname, Tam, suggests there was probably an initial intention to do otherwise,) and despite Asian extras cropping up here and there, I would bet there aren’t more than maybe four Asian-American actors who are so much as given lines in the entire series.

Now, I know this isn’t a new revelation – I’m sure there are online thinkpieces about Firefly so old they were originally posted on Livejournal. And as much as we might be inclined to shake our heads and say, “It was a product of its time,” it’s not like Hollywood doesn’t still have major problems with race. Look at all those ambiguously-brown Essos slaves picturesquely thronging around the pale Danaerys Targaryon, look at Marvel claiming they cast Tilda Swinton as the Ancient One to avoid racism, and look at how long it took Star Wars to cast a woman of color to play someone who didn’t look like an obvious alien. Firefly doesn’t have the market cornered on falling short in this area. (It should also be pointed that three of Firefly’s main cast are people of color, so it’s not like the show only cast white heroes.)

But it still annoys me, and watching the series again, it really jumps out as both lazy and dismissive.  Where did all this “Chineseness” come from if not from Chinese people? Did the ‘verse just acquire it through osmosis? Years ago, did a group of Chinese people shoot an unmanned rocket filled with silks, incense, lanterns, and swear words toward the outer rim, and someone cracked it open and it caught on like a craze? It’s so dumb to have the “flavor” and not the human beings.

In a way, including Asian extras makes the oversight among the prominent cast members even more noticeable. It means the show thought about it but, along the way, never went beyond having Asians as “window dressing,” much like the Mandarin dialoge and costume flourishes are. It’s like you see sometimes in period musicals, where there’s a diverse cast in the ensemble but the leads are all white; these chorus members are proof that the production isn’t slavishly devoted to “historical accuracy” when it comes to casting (although as the Twelfth Doctor points out, “History’s a whitewash,”) so then why do the actors of color extend no further than the ensemble? I would hope that, if Firefly were made today and it kept the “Chineseness” aspect, there would be a lot more characters of Chinese descent present in the cast, from the top down. Unfortunately, I know enough to realize this wouldn’t be a guarantee, but this was bad form on the show’s part, and I would like to hope that a hypothetical new version would rectify that.

Relationship Spotlight: Zoë & Wash (Firefly)

Wash and Zoë are a great example of my fondness for established supporting couples that stay largely in the background.  They get some focus, and some drama, here and there, but for the most part, they just carry on doing their thing and being awesome.

At the start of the series, Zoë and Wash are both the only existing couple on Serenity and a somewhat unexpected couple.  On the ship, they serve entirely different functions.  Zoë is Mal’s number two, an extremely competent former soldier who protects them stoic efficiency.  Wash, meanwhile, is a masterful pilot with a sardonic attitude and a mouth that’s often a step or two ahead of his thoughts.  Their respective positions often place them on opposite sides of the action – Zoë goes out on the crew’s sketchy jobs while Wash stays on the ship and waits to hear that she’s all right – and their respective temperaments make them a less-than-obvious pairing choice.

And yet, they fit together wonderfully.  Each looks after the other in their own way, no one brings Zoë into herself like Wash, and any shore leave they get usually starts with sexy fun times and ends with cheeky pillow talk.  They both give their work the attention it deserves (in the long run – Wash sometimes takes some doing to get there,) but their greatest priorities are definitely one another. 

One thing I really appreciate about them is that Zoë is the tough, fighting one and Wash isn’t, and he’s not the least bit concerned about that.  By which I mean, he does worry about her safety, and his biggest clashes with Mal come when he thinks Zoë is too often sent into dangerous situations.  However, there’s really not a sense that he gets in a snit over the fact that his wife is stronger than he is.  That’s a thread that works its way into a lot of pairings involving strong women, particularly those whose most apparent strength is physical and combat-related.  It somehow seems to become the woman’s fault that her partner feels emasculated.  Generally, it’s an unfortunate plotline at best; even if it’s addressed well, it’s a tired device, and it sometimes resolves depressingly with the woman trying to “hold back” to spare her partner’s feelings.  But with these two, we don’t get that.  Instead, it’s something that Wash loves about her.  He admires Zoë’s toughness, her calm in a crisis, and her superb fighting skills.  If anything, he finds it a turn-on.  Zoë loves Wash’s capability as well – her most overt come-in to him is just after a highly-impressive piece of expert flying.

I also like that there’s no real sense of a triangle between Wash, Zoë, and Mal.  There is one episode where Wash is openly bothered by Mal and Zoë’s connection, and he does make a comment about unresolved sexual tension while under serious duress, but when it comes down to it, it’s not about romantic jealousy, perceived or otherwise.  Rather, the conflict is born of several threads that don’t get trotted out as often.  Since Mal is the captain, Zoë’s devotion to him is essentially devotion to her job, and Wash worries that she puts their work above everything else.  Mal and Zoë are also old comrades from the war; as such, they’ve been through experience together that Wash can’t relate to, and he feels left out of their bond.  And, as I’ve said, Wash worries about Zoë’s well-being whenever she goes out on a job, and he fears that she follows Mal too willingly into danger.  All of that is more complex than any sort of triangle, and I love that, if the show needed to address Wash’s feelings about Zoë’s relationship with Mal, it took that less obvious route.

Relationship Spotlight: Simon & River Tam (Firefly)

 

Like most of Joss Whedon works, Firefly best quality is its magnificent ensemble of characters and the relationships between them.  No doubt the show will be featured again in relationship spotlights to come, but first, I want to look at the extraordinary bond between the Tam siblings.

 

Back when I discussed the Murrays, I said it would have been so easy for Meg to resent her prodigious genius of a baby brother.  Much the same could be said about Simon; while he makes it clear that he’s incredibly smart and accomplished in his own right, he maintains that he looks like “an idiot child” next to River.  Her brilliance is wide-ranging and effortless, but it’s never been the slightest issue between them.  Even when they were children, he would just smile indulgently as she corrected his textbooks.

 

Despite their central-planet upbringing and their family’s wealth, they’ve made their way by leaning on one another.  When River is in dire straits at the Academy, her parents regard her nonsensical letters as just another of her silly games, while Simon is the one to realize they’re encoded.  His good name, career, and fortune are all given gladly in his efforts to help River get out, and he aligns himself with Serenity and her crew of outlaws to take River on the run.

 

His character’s defining attribute is the care he provides for his little sister.  He’s entirely motivated by helping her recover from the trauma, torture, and experimentation she suffered at the Academy.  In order to do so, his own morals and safety are of little consequence – even though he’s a doctor and dedicated to protecting life, he commits violence for River’s sake, and the straight-laced young citizen with the pampered childhood plans a heist of an Alliance hospital to gain access to specialized medical equipment and understand her condition better.

 

To the show’s credit, Simon’s self-sacrifice stops short of saintliness.  As much as he’s devoted to helping River, he’s frequently overwhelmed by their new life as fugitives and by her altered mental state from her experiences.  She’s returned to him with erratic behavior, dangerous tendencies, and a fractured thought process.  Sometimes he’s broken by his inability to help her, and sometimes he’s fed up with being her caretaker.  He loses his temper and speaks in anger, but at the end of the day, his lot is cast with hers.

 

It’s a little harder to gauge the relationship from River’s side, since her character is so wrapped in psychoses and trauma.  As such, she’s often not terribly present in her own scenes, but to the extent that she is able to push through the muddle and connect, she connects with Simon.  She’s aware of all that Simon’s given up to save her, and her despair at her situation is magnified by feeling like a useless burden to her brother.  One of the most affecting moments in the series comes, not in an episode, but in the movie Serenity, when River is able to return the favor and take care of Simon for a change.

 

Beyond the large-looming plots of sacrifice, mental instability, and evading the law, they’re simply a great pair.  I love the hints of comparatively normal sibling behavior we get in River’s more lucid moments:  the way they tease each other, and the brief scenes in which they’re allowed to enjoy themselves.  This is where an idea of the real River comes out, where Simon is at his most genuine and relaxed – they really do bring out the best in one another.