by Sherry Ginn
John Headroom becomes the referee/guide for the game/episode. He tells Crichton and Chiana the cryptic rules of the game which include a riddle within a poem about kissing the princess and finding the green door. Confused? It is easy to be on a Farscape episode, and that is the intended feel of this episode in particular. We, the audience, will be as addled as Don Quixote seemed in his story and as Crichton feels trying to progress through this story-game. Don Quixote is a tragically comic hero who has read too many chivalric novels making him want to be a knight. John Quixote is a bit more reluctant. He just wants out of the game, but in order to get out, he has to play. Could it be that this episode is a bit of an ars poetica (writing about writing), where Browder is testing and learning to trust his own abilities as a writer?
The emotion lying at the heart of “Green Eyed Monster” was jealousy; “John Quixote,” on the other hand, investigates trust. The episode even contains flashbacks to conversations between Crichton and Aeryn regarding trust in their ever-evolving relationship. Nevertheless, this episode does not just investigate trust between Crichton and Aeryn. As Crichton progresses through the different levels of the game, he encounters characters that resemble his friends. There is a Zhaan who has been transformed into a fat man and a Rygel dressed as a black knight who will not let Crichton and Chiana advance further in the game. In each case Crichton underestimates what the others will do. These are his friends, but their actions in the game and how he reacts to them make the audience wonder: how much about his shipmates/friends does he really know? What does he unconsciously think of them? Is Crichton controlling the game, or is it John Headroom: a representation of Crichton’s psyche? Did Ben Browder feel lost at all while trying to weave together this story?
The writer and director are obviously in control of how the actual story plays out, but the quality of the episode’s storytelling lies in controlled chaos. The confusion the characters experience is aided by unusual camera tricks, garish sets, and disorientation as to whether or not Crichton and Chiana, at any given moment, are in or out of the game. Browder may have been using other episodes from the series that showed the crew struggling through alternate realities as inspiration. For example, in the Season One episode “Through the Looking Glass” (1.17) the crew members were plunged into split realities involving unusual sounds and disturbing visuals. They must work through environments that are overloading their senses in order to save themselves and Moya. Several times during “John Quixote” the audience thinks Crichton and Chiana have escaped the game when, in actuality, they have not. From the very first episode of Farscape, Crichton has tried to make connections with the beings he has encountered, and he is trying to do so within the game as well. Towards the end of the game he encounters Stark, now as the Max Headroom character, who tells Crichton that it is too dangerous to have his consciousness returned to the world, a reference to Crichton’s wormhole knowledge. The game wants to trap Crichton.
What is Browder saying about his own character, Crichton, in this episode? At this point in the series, Browder has played the character of John Crichton for three seasons, and while Crichton has exhibited a large capacity for compassion, intelligence, and heroism, there are still many people who trusted Crichton and who have died or been hurt in some way because of their association with him. Many of these injuries or deaths have been because of the known and hidden knowledge of wormhole technology that Crichton holds within his brain. It is this knowledge that he fears could endanger Earth, and other worlds, if it falls into the wrong hands. Writing the “John Quixote” episode, perhaps, gave Browder a chance to work through some of the questions he had for himself about the burdens carried by the character of Crichton.
Still very centered on himself Crichton thinks the key to getting out of the game is kissing the princess, and his princess is Aeryn Sun. When he returns to the incarnation of Aeryn he quickly discovers that she is not the princess who will free him. He finally realizes it is not his princess he should be looking for. Rather it is Stark’s princess, Crichton’s good friend Zhaan, trapped in a male incarnation, who holds the key to the game. Crichton frees Zhaan, perhaps the only person in this universe with whom he is comfortable enough to discuss the questions about his character that the game has raised. It could be argued that Zhaan is one of those who died for her love of Crichton and his relationship with Aeryn. Zhaan asks Crichton if he has wasted the deaths of so many. With a kiss Zhaan is finally freed, not only from the game, but from Stark’s obsessive love (who, in this episode, is reference to Browder’s early effort, “Green Eyed Monster”). It was Stark who had been holding onto some of Zhaan’s real life force. Crichton frees Zhaan from the ugliness of the male form that represents her in the game, but also from her half-existence. Now, can Crichton free himself from the burden of the question that Zhaan posed?
Crichton jumps off of the castle in order to reset and finish the game in an action much like a sacrifice for, if it had happened in the “real” world, it surely would have seriously injured or killed him. Despite all of the work that Crichton attempts with respect to trust through the dream-like video game world—think of it as sci-fi therapy—he still emerges angry and unsure of how to deal with an Aeryn who leaves him on Moya without even telling him she is pregnant.
When Crichton returns to Moya at the close of this episode, Noranti (the ship’s “healer” after Zhaan’s death) offers Crichton a drug that will help him forget his psychic pain. Noranti asks Crichton how much of his pain is about Aeryn because he cannot think clearly where she is concerned. She reminds him that a warrior needs clarity, but is that true in the war of the heart? We do not see Crichton actually ingest the drug, but when Aeryn tries to speak to him in the corridor Crichton walks by as if she does not exist. Crichton has clearly not resolved his issues of trust with Aeryn or with trusting himself. He still feels guilt over Zhaan’s death. He cannot trust Aeryn to be honest with him, and so he medicates himself to numb the pain, to keep his memories and thoughts at bay.
All We Need Is Love?
Can you truly “love” someone whom you cannot trust? It is love that makes Crichton jealous of the relationships that Aeryn has with Talyn and Crais. It is love for two women that has caused Crichton his greatest pain: his love for his friend Zhaan whom he feels died for him and for his love of Aeryn. It is not just trust within romantic love that is at risk with Crichton’s love of Aeryn. Aeryn—as Crichton noted at the end of the “Green Eyed Monster”—is Crichton’s guide in the unknown world of Farscape. Without trust for Aeryn, therefore, how can Crichton trust his own actions? By the close of “John Quixote,” Aeryn is becoming a person who holds back from Crichton. She does things with which he does not agree. At this point in the series, Crichton cannot properly deal with the notion that Aeryn is also struggling with her own significant issues surrounding trust, especially with herself. Crichton has lost his compass.
Crichton, in “Green Eyed Monster,” is almost a side character. He comes across as a petulant child waiting to be recognized. One might argue that he is still relying on others, such as Aeryn, to show him what needs to be done. However, in “John Quixote” Crichton has matured into a man who can, and must, resolve his own issues; he realizes he must find his own way even if he does not always make what the audience thinks are the right decisions. Unfortunately, he will become harder and more uncompromising throughout the remainder of the series until, in The Peacekeeper Wars, he is willing to destroy the universe in order to protect his family and friends.
A Way Home
Writers like to ask questions. The act of writing itself is a form of inquiry. I had already watched Farscape before I knew that the star, Ben Browder, had written episodes for the series. As a writer, and a fan of the show, I knew I had to answer the question of what Browder was like as a writer. What did he contribute, as a writer, to Farscape versus his primary role as actor?
After spending a great deal of time re-watching the series, focusing on the two episodes Browder
wrote, and researching what he (and others) had to say about his work as a writer, I came away pleased by how collaborative the process was in creating episodes of Farscape. Farscape placed John Crichton in a universe unknown to humans, which challenged Crichton’s world view (and thus the audiences’), and allowed him to make the physical and spiritual hero’s journey (Campbell). Farscape gave Ben Browder a chance to take a step from his known journey (acting) into the unknown, the writing world.
At the start of the series, Crichton only thinks of survival and his hopes of finding a way home. As the series progresses, we watch Crichton redefine what home even is. Browder’s two written episodes fully embrace the overarching themes of the series as he touches on jealousy, love, trust, and the definition of family. As an actor, Browder interpreted the world created by Rockne S. O’Bannon, but as a writer he had the chance to take on an even bigger role in “creating” the universe of Farscape. Writers are at home in words, and part of their journey is shaping those words into stories to share. I feel Browder was just as at home playing John Crichton as he was writing new scenes for the character and the rest of the cast. By Season Three Ben Browder had “lived” John Crichton for two years and knew him as well, if not more so, than the series’ official writers. Browder started a new journey as a writer while working on Farscape, and I am glad we went along for the ride. The classical haiku poet Basho is credited with the very apt saying “Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home” (“World of Quotes”). Welcome home, Ben Browder, the writer.
Notes
1. This interview originally appeared in The Houston Chronicle; however, it is no longer available. Most of it is archived on a fan website, “Snurcher’s Guide.”
2. Various commentaries, especially those in Season One, discuss how much the actors contributed to their characters’ “lives.”
3. Again, the web continues to change, and Syfy does not have archives of all their message boards. Excerpts from this bulletin board can also be found online in “Snurcher’s Guide.”
4. In order to tell the two Crichtons apart, one wears a green shirt and the other wears a black shirt, a device that also allows the audience to tell the difference between the two. Crichton-Black is the one on Talyn.
5. At this point in the series we have not yet learned that Sebaceans and Humans are genetically related.
6. The setting is very reminiscent of Terry Gilliam who attempted to film a Don Quixote movie in 2000 that was riddled with problems. The collapse of that film was described in the documentary Lost in La Mancha, released in 2002. How much of this did Browder know about? There is no way to know for sure but I would not doubt a certain touch or influence given how those years and the filming of Farscape overlap. There are additional shout-outs to Monty Python as well as other popular culture references throughout the episode so it would not surprise me if Browder had been influenced by the talk of Don Quixote in the industry.
Works Cited
Basho, Matsuo. World of Quotes. Web. 7 July 2012.
Browder, Ben. “Ben Browder: Farscape Actor/Writer.” Online Chat. TV Guide Online. 28 January 2000. Web. 5 May 2012.
_____. “Green Eyed Monster.” Snurcher’s Guide.Web. 10 May 2012.
Campbell, Joseph. The Hero with a Thousand Faces, 3d ed. Novato: New World Library, 2008. Print.
“John Quixote.” Commentary by Ben Browder and Claudia Black. The Jim Henson Company, 2004. DVD.
Spelling, Ian. “For Browder, the pen is as mighty as the sword.” New York Times Special Features, 8 June 2001. Web. 05 May 2012.
Friend ... Enemy ... Alien ... Ally
Female Community Aboard Moya
Sherry Ginn
Few television programs, even those on the major networks during prime time, could boast as many strong and fascinating female characters as could Farscape during its series run from 1999 to 2003. The cast consisted of seven outstanding recurring characters, eight if one considered that the living ship Moya was female. Grayza was evil; Chiana was amoral; Jool was very young but not so innocent as we believed; Noranti was very old and not above sacrificing everything for the greater good; Sikozu was trying to save her reputation and hide a secret; and, Aeryn was trying to find a place for herself in a new world, having lost everything from her old one. Zhaan had died, sacrificing her life for Aeryn’s resurrection. Moya lived to serve those living aboard her, gave birth to a child, and then mourned his death. However, things were never quite what they seemed on Farscape, and such characterizations obscure the richness of each woman as she negotiated a place in her own universe. My intention in this essay is to first situate women within the genre we call science fiction and then discuss how the women of Farscape not only fit into that genre but redefine it as well.
Locating Women in Science Fiction
Mary Shelley’s novel Frankenstein (1818, 1831) is considered by some to be the first example of the genre we now call science fiction (e.g., Aldiss). Thus, Mary Shelley, the daughter of one of the first feminists,1 could rightfully be called the Mother of science fiction, which is odd considering that her novel is pretty much devoid of female characters. Only four women populate the novel, serving in support roles. Many scholars have commented on the lack of women in Frankenstein; considering the ways in which women were treated in Mary Shelley’s time, their exclusion served to illustrate the anti-femaleness of 19th century science and society (e.g., Donawerth). And women were pretty much excluded from science fiction from the time of Mary Shelley until the 1960s and 1970s.
Many scholars have discussed the lack of women in science fiction and to review them all is beyond the scope of this chapter; a number of these works can be found in the Works Cited (see for example, Sargent (Women of Wonder) but for a different perspective see Rabkin). The majority of the criticism centers on the under-representation or sexual exploitation of women in the so-called Golden Age of science fiction, the 1930s and 1940s. Women in the early days of SF were virtually non-existent. If presented at all, they were depicted in the traditional stereotypical roles of wife, mother, and homemaker. Women beyond these roles were evil, stupid, childlike, or a combination of these. For the predominately male audience, women were presented as toys, threats, or enigmas (Sanders “Nature”). If women were presented in any role other than wife, mother, and homemaker at the beginning of the story (such as scientist), by the end of the story she had fallen safely in love with the hero and realized that fulfilling her “natural” roles as wife, mother, and homemaker were all that was necessary for obtaining satisfaction in life. Rabkin points out that science fiction written with these characterizations was merely a reflection of the prevailing culture (not that that makes it right). Understandably, women were not satisfied with such characterizations, although to hear some tell it, women did not read science fiction anyway, so what did it matter? Well, it mattered plenty. Women did read science fiction then, just as they read it now (Bainbridge). They go to see SF films and they watch SF TV. They read SF stories and write them too.
As a matter of fact women have always written SF stories, even in the Golden Age; some used initials or pseudonyms to disguise their gender (Monk; Sargent New; Weinkauf) and some did not bother. The 1960s saw more women entering into the field, and more of them using their own names, sans initials (Sargent “Women”). Science fiction began to reflect the social changes occurring during that time: the Civil Rights Movement, the Women’s Movement, the Vietnam War and the Peace Movement. As the U.S. entered the space race and actually put a man on the moon, it appeared almost as if science2 fact was outpacing science fiction. And, more writers, female especially, became interested in exploring psychological and sociological aspects of the imagined future. Women authors during the two decades from 1960 to 1980 increasingly wrote novels exploring utopian societies, especially those in which women were valued as women. Gender role expectations were reversed in some of this fiction, nonexistent in others, and increasingly different from the traditional gender roles espoused by
American society post–World War II (Friend; Sanders “Invisible”; Vaughn). Indeed, science fiction became increasingly feminist in the latter part of the 20th century, written by such notable female authors as Octavia Butler, Ursula K. Le Guin, and Marge Piercy among others, and it continues to be so today, notwithstanding the Conservative Backlash (Faludi), which would have women renounce their desires for careers and embrace their “instinctive” drive for children—but only if they are middle class.
Nevertheless, while set in the future science fiction is written in the present, and that present is reflected in what is written (Green and Lefanu). Written science fiction thus puts into words what cannot be put into words (Le Guin; Shaw) and I would argue that science fiction television puts into images what cannot be imagined. Shaw writes that science fiction serves to distance the reader from her present, thereby increasing her awareness, especially her critical awareness of that present. Such a philosophy resided at the heart of Gene Roddenberry’s use of Star Trek to illustrate problems afflicting 20th century American society (Alexander). That strategy is not less important today. Indeed, it may be more important today given the increasing hostility and polarization of contemporary society and not just in the U.S.
The Conservative Backlash
But, in some ways, science fiction became more sexist. As women demanded equal rights and, particularly as women gained reproductive freedom, this new found sexuality awakened terror in men. No longer menaced by the big-eyed space alien, her virginity assured by the arrival of Our Hero, women now threatened to sexually overpower the male characters. Not for nothing has society restricted female sexuality throughout the ages, sometimes in hideous ways. Unfortunately, the increasing sexual freedom of the 1960s and beyond has in some cases led to more and more violent, almost pornographic SF (Rabkin). Whereas roles for women in SF became less traditional and stereotypical, they became increasingly sexualized, particularly in film and television. But, if SF rendered its female characters in stereotypes, it did the same for the male characters as well. Male characters were expected to be macho, sexually promiscuous or asexual (depending on the decade), strong and silent, and always confident. Nevertheless, they were still the stars, even many times in stories written by women.