On Whedon: the Artist and His Art

OK. I've thought about this for a little while....

Let's go back to that extremely uncomfortable question I asked in my final post on whedonesque: mainly, at what point does the actions of the artist affect your enjoyment of the art?

I cited three specific examples: Orson Scott Card, Roald Dahl and Bill Cosby. I only know Card from Ender's Game, and his notorious homophobia has pretty much killed any interest in further exploring his books. Cosby, the hypocritical wagging finger of morality in the face of the younger generation, has completely ruined his classic comedy albums for me. I don't think I could watch the Cosby Show again without feeling a little queasy. (But... but! I think I could always watch I Spy. Nobody can turn me away from Bob Culp.)

Roald Dahl? Racist and anti-Semite...

I'm a big fan.

I know, it makes no sense. But I suppose it's up to each person to decide if artists' personal actions or beliefs have "betrayed" or "invalidated" their art. In the case of Cosby, I absolutely think that's true. In the case of Dahl, I've achieved some form of separation of the two....

So what do I think about Whedon? Has the unpleasant scenario laid out by Kai Cole convinced me that Joss' well-reknowned feminism was just him talking through his ass? That Buffy has been fatally diminished by her creator's flaws?

No.

I did not reach this conclusion easily. I had to reach down and think about exactly why I loved Buffy so much, and why I found Angel, Firefly and Dollhouse to be worthy successors (more or less) to the mother series.

If you study them closely enough, all four of Whedon's TV series (I'm not counting SHIELD) have a common narrative. Let's call it Joss' monomyth:

We meet our protagonist ("J") at a point of spiritual emptiness or existential crisis. "J" has lost a sense of purpose (or a path to that purpose has been blocked or obscured).

"J" meets a spiritual guide (a mentor figure or a peer) who sets "J" back on the proper path. But the path is not an easy one. Progress toward individual fulfillment bumps against the rules and constraints of society. These forces try to press "J" to conform or stray from the path.

With the help of a group of like-minded individuals (a substitute family), "J" gradually surmounts all obstacles, both external and internal, until finally achieving a plateau of spiritual growth.

You'll note that I deliberately avoided gender specific pronouns here.
This is the story of Buffy, Angel, Mal and Echo/Caroline in a nutshell. I think it holds true for everything from "Welcome to the Hellmouth" through "Epitaph Two." (You can fill in the specifics on your own. You know them as well as I do.) And it's Joss Whedon's talent for telling this basic, universal story -- populated with vivid, complex characters -- that is the source of his strength as a writer. I don't think anything revealed in recent days has changed that.

**********************

But something HAS changed in recent days, symbolized by the shuttering of whedonesque.

For a good chunk of Buffy fandom, it was always assumed that Whedon and his fan base shared a common moral vision, a commitment to a set of beliefs that fueled his art. In the quest of Buffy Summers to make sense of her life as a slayer, she battled the pressures of society, like all Whedon protagonists; but specifically, these pressures often manifested themselves as representatives of the Patriarchy -- the Watcher's Council, the Mayor, Caleb. The devoted fanbase assumed (dangerous word) that Joss "got it"-- he knew all the ways women in this culture get worked over by men who make all the rules, and he was working to be part of the solution....

Well, that magical connection between fan and artist, that moral certitude, is gone now. If we believe Kai Cole's cri de coeur--and yes, I do--then maybe Joss Whedon doesn't "get it" as well as we all thought he did.

This doesn't dilute the power of Whedon's storytelling strengths. But if Whedon's moral authority is now in doubt, it does open the door to less admiring, more harshly critical assessment of his work. (For instance: What's the deal with the "weaponized waifs" running through all of his series? Was Dollhouse a critique of female objectification or just... female objectification?)

And maybe that's not such a bad thing.

**************************

In the end, there's only one real tragedy here--and that belongs to Joss Whedon, Kai Cole, and their kids. When all is said and done, this is their story, not ours. We can stand on the sidelines and debate the implications, but we have no voice in the matter. We can only ponder the strange relationship among artist, art and audience--a relationship that's up to each member of the audience to define for themselves.