Aeryn Sun, You're My Only Home
Farscape (1999-2003)
rating: 4 out of 5 cravats
watched instantly and on DVD from Netflix; on DVD from the Squirrel Hill Library
There's something about the way that Farscape begins - with found footage from a NASA space shuttle launch - that, along with the Jim Henson puppets, I find reassuring. I expected to be bothered by the puppets especially, but the mish-mash of materials is low-fi in a way that lets the story focus on characters.
No, that's not right. I hated the puppets, except for Pilot and the Dominar. I hate that the aliens look like Skeksis (I'm not a Dark Crystal fan); I dislike most of the sets since they seem to be inspired by late-90s Australian rave culture; and, half the time at least, I counted the minutes until the latest endangered-guest-star-of-the-week plot was over.
But as someone wisely says, "No dream is guaranteed, commander. The grace of age is that we learn to accept." A little grace goes a long way here, and just far enough to introduce the reasons why, even in spite of a main cast that I can't completely get behind, Farscape remains a classic. First and foremost, in a world where Betty Draper can't catch a break, you can count on science fiction for great female leads.
Aeryn Sun and John Crichton are a good team from the first episode. The season three "twinning" arc is as close as anything I've watched gets to a "momentary glimpse into that other reality" created when a choice is made in this one. It compelled Richard Linklater to wish he'd stayed at the bus station in Slacker; in Farscape, Aeryn is left with the memories of both worlds to John's singular recollection. There is pain she cannot share with anyone, least of all the man she loves. Her memories aren't simply a burden; they comprise the only evidence in the universe that the happiness she felt was real.
A ship with no offensive capabilities is a novel idea; a living ship another. Never seeing someone again because she's about to go to another galaxy is a smart way to deal with the idea of a pleasant one-night stand. And yes, the budget is small, but there's that observation deck where Moya's crew stares into space, and whatever they dream beyond the limits of the force field is, at one time or another, in front of them. I love that Farscape imagines that the universe is so big that no one could find his way without a map.
And surely there's no villain in science fiction - not in Star Trek, not in Star Wars - nearly as interesting as Scorpius. Both dashing and grotesque, thoughtful and manipulative, Scorpius wants what Crichton wants: a wormhole home. Once wormholes are introduced, most of what's bad about Farscape slips away. Scorpius gets in Crichton's head and Crichton fights back; they're a team but not a team. Crichton has Aeryn, and that's the difference, in the end.
Farscape does what too few ensemble shows do: lets everyone fall in love with everyone else. Most of the time, creators rotate through their cast, pairing couples off then breaking them apart, but there's a moment - in the first season, in "Nerve" - when everyone confesses his/her love for somebody, one at a time. By the end of the episode, there's so much longing in the air that heartstrings hum.
Time and patience are what Aeryn, John, and Scorpius need, or wish for. Sometimes there is enough of both, other times not. Fathers, mothers, children, and friends hang on or let go. Hearts break. John is allowed to be unlikable so often that it's a wonder he's the hero. But when Aeryn holds his hand, he is.
rating: 4 out of 5 cravats
watched instantly and on DVD from Netflix; on DVD from the Squirrel Hill Library
There's something about the way that Farscape begins - with found footage from a NASA space shuttle launch - that, along with the Jim Henson puppets, I find reassuring. I expected to be bothered by the puppets especially, but the mish-mash of materials is low-fi in a way that lets the story focus on characters.
No, that's not right. I hated the puppets, except for Pilot and the Dominar. I hate that the aliens look like Skeksis (I'm not a Dark Crystal fan); I dislike most of the sets since they seem to be inspired by late-90s Australian rave culture; and, half the time at least, I counted the minutes until the latest endangered-guest-star-of-the-week plot was over.
But as someone wisely says, "No dream is guaranteed, commander. The grace of age is that we learn to accept." A little grace goes a long way here, and just far enough to introduce the reasons why, even in spite of a main cast that I can't completely get behind, Farscape remains a classic. First and foremost, in a world where Betty Draper can't catch a break, you can count on science fiction for great female leads.
Aeryn Sun and John Crichton are a good team from the first episode. The season three "twinning" arc is as close as anything I've watched gets to a "momentary glimpse into that other reality" created when a choice is made in this one. It compelled Richard Linklater to wish he'd stayed at the bus station in Slacker; in Farscape, Aeryn is left with the memories of both worlds to John's singular recollection. There is pain she cannot share with anyone, least of all the man she loves. Her memories aren't simply a burden; they comprise the only evidence in the universe that the happiness she felt was real.
A ship with no offensive capabilities is a novel idea; a living ship another. Never seeing someone again because she's about to go to another galaxy is a smart way to deal with the idea of a pleasant one-night stand. And yes, the budget is small, but there's that observation deck where Moya's crew stares into space, and whatever they dream beyond the limits of the force field is, at one time or another, in front of them. I love that Farscape imagines that the universe is so big that no one could find his way without a map.
And surely there's no villain in science fiction - not in Star Trek, not in Star Wars - nearly as interesting as Scorpius. Both dashing and grotesque, thoughtful and manipulative, Scorpius wants what Crichton wants: a wormhole home. Once wormholes are introduced, most of what's bad about Farscape slips away. Scorpius gets in Crichton's head and Crichton fights back; they're a team but not a team. Crichton has Aeryn, and that's the difference, in the end.
Farscape does what too few ensemble shows do: lets everyone fall in love with everyone else. Most of the time, creators rotate through their cast, pairing couples off then breaking them apart, but there's a moment - in the first season, in "Nerve" - when everyone confesses his/her love for somebody, one at a time. By the end of the episode, there's so much longing in the air that heartstrings hum.
Time and patience are what Aeryn, John, and Scorpius need, or wish for. Sometimes there is enough of both, other times not. Fathers, mothers, children, and friends hang on or let go. Hearts break. John is allowed to be unlikable so often that it's a wonder he's the hero. But when Aeryn holds his hand, he is.
posted by NPK at 10:29 AM
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