by Sherry Ginn
TRALTIXX: You cannot stop me, Crichton! Go on! Kill me! There are thousands more just like me. We will find another Leviathan to make our light. And when we do, we’ll spread like a plague. We’ll rise from our dormancy and kill you all!
CRICHTON: I told them it was a mistake bringing you on board.
It is unclear what “dormancy” Traltixx is referring to, but the message is clear: His “kind,” sightless aliens, are a threat and a “plague” to what we must only assume are the “good” (sighted?) aliens, the ones who do not need to take light by force. Despite the many forms of embodied diversity in the Farscape universe, vision is apparently not negotiable. When Chiana is blinded in a later episode, it is temporary, she is ultimately healed. Traltixx is killed by Crichton thrusting a blade into his chest. Even those with unusual vision, such as Noranti and Stark, must redeem themselves by using their eyes to help others. Thus there is bias in this science fiction world—but it is a bias that the majority of viewers, because they are sighted, cannot see.
“I am Dorothy Gale from Kansas”: Crichton as Disabled
PILOT: (To Crichton) You have no special abilities. You’re not particularly smart, can hardly smell, can barely see, and you’re not even vaguely physically or spiritually imposing. Is there anything you can do well?”
CRICHTON: Watch football.
In “Crackers Don’t Matter,” Crichton—who claims that he has no special talent other than watching football—is the individual who ends up saving the ship. Traltixx, the blind alien brought on board to help Moya escape the Peacekeepers, intends to annihilate the others so that he can use the ship’s bioluminescence for his own purposes. He warns the crew that as they pass through the pulsars to his planet, those of “lesser species” may be affected by the pulsar light. By “lesser species” he specifies “genetic laborers, ungifted menials,” flattering the crew by assuring them that none of them would surely fall into this category. It is interesting that Traltixx uses the term “genetic” to describe a “lesser species,” one suited only for menial labor. This trope is not uncommon in science fiction—think Brave New World—but its inclusion into the Farscape universe invites us to reconsider our own attitudes towards genetic differences. One might argue that an outer space fantasy such as Farscape, Star Trek, or Star Wars may understandably portray “other species” as dangerous, suspicious, or threatening. However, we have not yet interacted with otherworldly species, and thus the beings portrayed in science fiction are not “others,” they are us. Each and every character constructed in the narrative of Farscape is a facet of our humanity—no more and no less. Kimberle Crenshaw describes such fantastical texts, which can be interpreted in a multitude of ways, as a “Rorschach test for whatever Americans think ails them,”9 whether that be tensions surrounding race, sexuality, gender, class, or—I would add—ability. Battis observes that the Farscape series is as much about our earthly culture as it is about science fiction fantasy:
[Crichton] learns to question who the ‘aliens’ are in this story, and, by extension, to question and explore multiple versions of humanity available to him ... he quickly finds that certain ‘human’ characteristics are able to save his life, while others appear ridiculous, even offensive, to the aliens with whom he makes contact [3].
Put another way, Crichton is no longer “normal.” While we in the spectatorial audience may most closely identify with Crichton as “normal” and “human,” although we are not all white heterosexual males, we sympathize with his amazement at finding himself denigrated to the status of a lesser species or lesser form of embodiment. Crichton is used to his body being the epitome of normality on his planet (again: male, white, heterosexual, and “able-bodied”). He is offended when D’Argo calls him “deficient.”
CRICHTON: Who are you calling deficient?
CHIANA: You. You’ve got the worst eyes of all of us. That’s why your optic nerves aren’t being affected.
CRICHTON: I got great eyes. They’re better than 20/20 and they’re blue!
AERYN: ... Excellent. If we’re gonna let blue-eyes save the day, we’d better come up with a very good plan.
CRICHTON: I’m not deficient! I’m superior! Humans are superior!
Yet Crichton, this “superior” being, must be smeared with heat-deflecting paste, don special goggles, carry a shield, and be wrapped in solar-reflecting material in order to withstand his encounter with Traltixx’s burning eye-rays. What is compelling about this scene is that Crichton understands that the need for this specialized equipment in no way reflects upon the worthiness of his body or the value he brings to Moya. It is simply what is required to enter and function in an environment that is hostile to him, much the same way that SCUBA gear allows non-aquatic creatures to exist for a period of time in an undersea world. Neither land nor sea creature is superior to the other, but the necessity to access a particular environment may render a being vulnerable or “inferior” within the parameters of that environment. Thus people who do not know sign language are functionally inarticulate in a group where that language is used; those who race on two legs will not be able to keep up with the speed of those who use racing wheelchairs; those same wheelchair users may succeed on the race course only to be disabled by architectural barriers in places as commonplace as a grocery store or post office; and, those whose manner of processing thoughts or sensory information is neuro-atypical may be disabled by attitudinal barriers in certain situations.
Crichton declares that “humans are superior,” but faithful fans of Farscape have learned early on that Crichton takes everything and everyone—including himself—with a healthy dose of humor and skepticism. This is the man who, upon meeting the inhabitants of Moya in the first episode of the series (“Premiere” 1.1), mutters, “E.T., my ass.” He realizes that he has been sold a bill of goods regarding the gentle, socially advanced alien stereotype of Spielberg’s film. Rather, he encounters a baffling, irritating array of beings that can barely exist in the same room, let alone bring peace to the universe. In like manner, when people who identify as “normal” or “able-bodied” encounter those who are disabled (by society if not by impairment), they may respond in a manner similar to Crichton’s.
“What’s wrong with you people?” Crichton demands, as the alien crew interacts in ways for which Hollywood films such as Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977) never prepared him. These are not aliens who apologize for their bodies or behaviors. Unlike the extraterrestrials in Close Encounters, who attempt to calm their hosts by assuming childlike forms, or the alien in Contact (1997) who appears as the human space-traveler Ellie’s father, those in the Farscape universe are unapologetically themselves: farts, prehensile tongues, and all. In like manner, Crichton is dumbfounded to discover that his “evolved” species’ embodiment and behavior are not considered any better than those of his disconcerting crewmates. This leads to conflict, but it also leads to tolerance and growth among the characters. Before heading into the chamber where Traltixx awaits, Crichton faces his fellow aliens and asks, “I look ridiculous, don’t I?” Yes, he does. But he cannot resist pointing out the irony of the situation:
CRICHTON: Does this strike any of you superior beings as a little bit ironic?
CHIANA: Why?
CRICHTON: I’m the deficient one and I’m still saving your butts.
Crichton does succeed in killing Traltixx and saving his fellow crew members, but only with the help of the technology supplied by the others on Moya. Had it not been for the devices they provided, he would not have survived Traltixx’s chamber. In this aspect, he shares a common bond with his nemesis, Scorpius, who is also dependent upon technology to keep him alive. Half Scarran, half Sebacean, Scorpius presents a tough exterior but is in reality a biologically fragile being: he is utterly dependent upon the cooling rods which have been inserted into his head to provide thermal constancy. Thus he, like Crichton, exists in great part due to the technology and accessibility provided by his society. Bo
th are dependent upon the air that has been provided to them to breathe and the technological intervention that could be denied them at any moment.
It is Crichton’s very “deficiency,” in fact, that enables him to defeat Traltixx. In comparison with the others on Moya, he has impaired sight and hearing, yet his visual “impairment” allows him to resist the overwhelming light. He is also considered mentally impaired by the others, but again, this cognitive “inferiority” actually allows him to function well in the crisis, while the others suffer acutely from the disruption of their more “advanced” cognitive skills. Crichton is the dubious hero of the day, and the crew ultimately acknowledges his courage and his shortcomings. He is not what Colin Barnes would call a “super crip,” for his powers are no more amazing than our own. Put another way, we, the audience, recognize Crichton for what he is: a mere human being. It is the environment that he is required to inhabit that defines his superiority or inferiority or, as seen in various Farscape episodes, both. Here again we find ourselves struggling to remain in Hall’s preferred reading position, as humans who cannot imagine Crichton considered as anything but “normal,” in exemplary health and embodiment. Yet in “Crackers Don’t Matter,” as in many episodes, Crichton is seen by the on-screen society as inferior or deficient and is consequently portrayed that way. Thus we are forced to assume what Hall terms a negotiated viewing position: we know Crichton to be embodied in an acceptable manner in our own human society, but must accept that in the environment of Farscape, he is impaired, as we, by extension, would be impaired in that society. In short, we would be disabled.
“Crackers Don’t Matter” invites the audience to contemplate the subtext or what rhetorician Barry Brummet describes as the “hidden rhetorics” or “social issues in disguise” of the story (1). Writing about the episode, novelist Jim Butcher calls us to look below the surface of the narrative:
The implied questions the story asked were surprisingly serious: What consists of value in a human being? Why are some traits more valued than others? What happens when the assumptions of value are suddenly trumped by a radically altered environment? ... [The episode] stated that even those whom our society deems as valueless may have a more significant role to play in our future, and that one should not be too swift to judge what an individual may be able to contribute to the changing environment of our existence. It stated that the variety provided by those outside the mainstream of society may at some point prove useful, even necessary, and that a policy of tolerance is the wisest course [71–72].
Butcher’s invitation to consider such connotations may be a tall order; many will view the episode, and the series, as little more than a light-hearted send-up of science fiction tropes and homologies. That, however, is part of the magic and cunningness of science fiction. It is not necessary for a consensus to exist regarding possible readings of a cinematic text in order for individuals or populations to interpret a text in a particular way, whether in reference to sexuality, class, gender, race, ability, or other identities. In fact, it does not necessarily even matter what “message” or meaning the producer or writer intended. After all, television and cinematic texts are produced by increasingly large teams of writers, editors, producers, technicians, and actors. “Indeed,” notes Brummet, “some hidden rhetorics remain hidden even from those who created them” (216). Fantastical worlds such as that of Farscape provide what John Fiske describes as “gaps” or “fissures”: moments in the text where, whether intentionally or not on the part of the text producers, characters provide discourse or behavior that invites alternative or resistive readings (391–408). One such reading that I have proposed in this essay is that of the disabled body: the body that is atypical in the environment in which the individual lives and moves. Farscape is a feast of atypicality, and it offers an opportunity for the viewer to take an unflinching look at the very concept of normality.
Conclusion
Cinema studies web writer David Church argues that while all cinemas may be seen as imaginary, “fantastic” films have a potential for “positive critical readings and empowering depictions of society ... The fantastic film could be self-reflexively indicative of the potential for a new critical lens” (n.p.). Church includes science fiction as coming under the umbrella of the “fantastic” which he describes as films, which “deliberately and substantially violate verisimilitude and recreate unrealistic situations, worlds, characters, or effects that are typically relegated to the domain of the imagination” (n.p.). It is precisely this violation of verisimilitude that entices the spectator to consider “normalities” outside of his or her life-world experience; the fantasy film provokes these comfortable hegemonies and invites consideration of the unthinkable: that we are the Other, and the Other is us. Cinema studies scholar Steven Neale describes such films as challenging “the boundaries of the human and the issues of difference” (103) and in this aspect Farscape certainly does not disappoint.
The refreshing thing about Farscape is that it disdains and discards the entire notion of “political correctness.” It is not a matter of being correct; it is a matter of learning to live together in a limited space and with limited resources. It is a matter of earning one another’s respect, of never assuming that difference means a threat, and acknowledging that blue butts are just as good as any butts. There is bias in Farscape, to be sure, but it is bias that is presented transparently and across the board—and with humor. Humor, properly used, is one of the highest forms of courage. Farscape invites us to consider all forms of physical and cognitive embodiment without reverence and thus with the greatest of reverence: We are equals in our peculiarities. We must all travel on the same ship.
Notes
1. The transcriber/s of Farscape screenplays at the now-defunct website Pure Pilot editorialize Noranti as a “weirdo,” “hag,” and a cow who “chews her cud,” and suggest that viewers “savor the moment” where the old woman is hit by D’Argo as getting what “she deserves.” All of this without any hint of maleficence on the part of the newly introduced Noranti—but apparently simply due to her age and appearance. (The transcripts from Pure Pilot are now archived at http://transcripts.terrafirmascapers.com.)
2. In “What Was Lost,” Noranti attempts to kill Crichton, justifying her actions by explaining that it is better that he die than that millions die if the seductive Grayza convinces him to give her the powerful Darnaz probes, which Grayza would use as weapons.
3. An exception to this trope is the “regular guy” one-eyed character of Mike Wazowski in the Disney movie Monsters, Inc., an original screenplay which I argue merits attention specifically because such non-traditional characterizations invite an inclusive attitude toward atypical bodies (see Scherman).
4. The symbolism and metaphoric value of the eye and of vision go back for centuries and cross the globe, including stories and folklore from the Mediterranean, Europe, Africa, the Americas, and the Middle East (see Daw as well as Juan).
5. The cruel Peacekeeper Captain Selto Durka is another character whose character is in part signified by his atypical vision—in his case, the iconic pirate-like patch over his right eye.
6. Different folkloric traditions assign power to specific eyes, with the right eye frequently portrayed as the eye that is sacrificed for wisdom, such as in the Norse tale where the god Odin traded his eye for a drink from the well of knowledge, or in the Celtic or Cornish tales where a human is able to see the fairies with her right eye, and is consequently blinded in that eye by an angered fairy. According to the website tvtropes.org, “The eye possessing the power is almost always the character’s left eye ... the sinister eye as ‘sinister’ was once a word for ‘left.’” The characters of Dark Crystal’s Aughra, We’re Back!’s Professor Screweyes, and “Mad-Eye Moody” from the Harry Potter series illustrate this concept. In the Hindu, Taoist and Shinto religions, the right eye is seen to correspond to the sun or the future, with the left eye corresponding to the moon or the past (O’Connell and Airy 155).
But consider Durka.
7. Whereas blind people must use their capacity of hearing to its fullest, there is no magical transformation in the physiology of the ear. One simply learns to “listen better.”
8. Hall proposes that there are three positions that an audience can assume when reading a text, including a television show or a film: they may agree with the dominant/preferred or hegemonic societal view represented, a negotiated version, or an oppositional reading (138). The dominant view of our society is that physiological difference is undesirable. The spectator of this episode of Farscape, then, may be seen as participating in the preferred “reading” of his or her own society by concurring with the dominant view expressed by the inhabitants of Moya—that blindness is undesirable and abnormal, and that those who are blind are envious of the sighted.