Neville Longbottom—He’s Worth Twelve Malfoys

**Due to recent misinterpretations of some one post from this blog, a disclaimer is now apparently necessary.  If this is your first visit to The Scratched Camera, please read the introductory post and discover, for yourself, that every typed word that follows is unabashedly my opinion and mine alone.  In said introductory post, which, shockingly, I did not simply type up for my own good health, I state that we all read events and characters with our own baggage in mind; no one observes with a perfectly clear lens—hence the name The Scratched Camera.  Therefore, it is completely your will to disagree with any material that follows, just as it is my will to agree and advocate for what is mine.**  ~End, irritating obligatory disclaimer~

Neville Longbottom—He’s Worth Twelve Malfoys

            IGN described Neville as the “quintessential dimwit-turned-hero.”  While this description is undeniably accurate, I can’t appreciate the way it is worded—as if to imply Neville’s journey is as common as an everyday Zero to Hero storyline.  The transformation of Neville Longbottom, to me, holds far more weight than the simplicity of this statement allows for. 

           

Longbottom started as nothing more than a fool who was often harnessed for some comedic merit.  His list of failures is nearly as long as Granger’s list of accomplishments; therefore, I’ll issue the same courtesy I handed the previously mentioned brainiac.  Two or three examples should suffice—after all, there’s no reason to beat this already dead horse.  In Prisoner of Azkaban, he was foolish enough to write down the passwords for the Gryffindor Common Room, a mishap that provided the unforeseeably harmless Sirius Black an all access pass to the child he was supposedly attempting to murder.  In Order of the Phoenix, his own clumsiness results in the spilling of Stinksap all over his classmates.  He even managed to transport his own ears onto a cactus in Transfiguration in the fourth novel of the series.  Although, it should be noted at this juncture that it was revealed in OoP that the wand Neville held throughout the first four novels was recycled from his father and was, therefore, never truly allegiant to him.  The wand does, after all, choose the wizard. 

           

The various failures put on display, particularly in the course of the first four novels of the series, serve to allow Neville to represent the insecurities we all suffer from.  Not only are his own short fallings enough of a reminder, his family and friends are ever eager to depict him as nothing more than a disappointment as well. 

           

This often results in bullying and belittling.  His family members bullied him in his formative years, as they strove to prompt any form of magic to erupt from the boy, whom they suspected might actually be a Muggle in disguise.  His arrival at Hogwarts did not put an end to this torment.  His grandmother still actively strode to inform him that he falls short of those who came before him, as she pressures him towards “upholding the family honor,” a phrase the reader wouldn’t truly understand for several hundred more pages. 

The staff and his acquaintances at Hogwarts provided little to no solace on the issue either, as Snape and Malfoy eagerly filled the shoes vacated by his family members in the role of torturer.  Malfoy goes so far as to bluntly state that Longbottom is far too cowardly to be in Gryffindor and, therefore, surmises that the Sorting Hat must’ve made some form of a clerical error when sorting him. 

            This torture isn’t always necessarily external either.  Frequently, Longbottom seeks to put himself in his own place, as he reminds others of just how pitiful he thinks he truly is.  In Chamber of Secrets, he all but declares himself as a Squib.  Matters have not improved by the beginning of The Order of the Phoenix, as he brushes off his introduction to Luna Lovegood—you know, the woman who should’ve ended up as his wife—with a declaration to his unimportance:  “I’m nobody,” he tells her, causing the heart of nearly every reader to clench in the process. 

            Despite the constant cycle of belittling and resounding sense of inadequacy, Neville not only frequently finds the motivation to fight, but is often willing to stand for a cause that frightens most, if not all, others.  He is one of a handful of students who respond to the call of the D.A. coin in Order of the Phoenix and Half-Blood Prince.  He alone stands brashly in rebellion against Snape and the Carrows in Deathly Hallows, a position he feels obligated to rise to with the absence of previous fearless leader Harry Potter.  

            Through these insurmountable odds and solidarity, Longbottom often finds a shocking amount of bravery to batten down his hatches.  Despite facing off against three of the most popular and successful students—well, maybe except Ron—the school has to offer, Neville stands strong, as he insists the Golden Trio stay in for the night in Sorcerer’s Stone.  By Order of the Phoenix, this insignificant scene becomes far more important than the reader could’ve possibly ever expected it to, as a deeper sense of justice and bravery develops over the course of the novel for the character.  He stands against Seamus to declare his allegiance to Harry and Dumbledore on the return of Voldemort.  By the end of the novel, he’s challenging Harry Potter himself, as he demands to be allowed to put their lessons from Dumbledore’s Army to use and serve as his backup in the Battle at the Department of Mysteries.  Longbottom’s accusations, which entail calling the protagonist out on his insistence to go alone and accusing the D.A. as being nothing more than a game, quickly serve to reverse Potter’s premeditated plan. 

            As the series progresses, a source for this sudden reservoir of courage slowly emerges.  In Goblet of Fire, the audience learns that Neville is familiar with the Cruciatus curse as we experiences the affect a demonstration of the curse can issue to the character.  When he hears the sound provided by the opening of the Dragon’s Egg, Longbottom’s first inclination is to assume it is the horrible sound of someone being tortured by the same curse.  No hesitation is dealt from Longbottom on the matter; the conclusion is reached automatically. 

            By the end of the novel, Dumbledore finally puts the puzzle pieces together for the audience, as he reveals to Harry the terrible fate Frank and Alice Longbottom suffered through at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange.  When we learn that his parents are still alive, yet suffering a mental hindrance along a similar line to Muggle Alzheimer’s disease, Harry, and the audience, grows to understand the character on a scale that was unprecedented previously.  The horrible suffering his parents were subjected to often serves to fuel a fire in Neville.

            Throughout Order of the Phoenix, the flames only grow in intensity.  When Malfoy jokes about a wing at St. Mungo’s solely fit for those who have weakened minds from exposure to certain violent magic, Neville charges at the boy instantaneously.  Gone are the days of stuttering Longbottom, who barely manages to confront his own friends; he’s ready to defend his family and himself to the cruelest bully in all of Hogwarts. 

            As the novel continues, the audience is only shown more dedication to truly upholding his family’s honor.  The combination of Bellatrix Lestrange’s escape from prison with the opportunity for intensive lessons from Harry through the D.A. finally allows for Neville to become truly successful with magic, even with the continued use of his father’s recycled wand.  The knowledge that the woman who tortured his parents is no longer paying for her crimes fuels Longbottom’s internal motivation in a way no previous force has been able to.  He wants to know he has the ability to return her favor, should the opportunity arise for him to do so. 

            By the final novel, the suffering of his parents has driven Neville to the point where he is nearly unrecognizable—in a good way, of course; and, in the case of the films, in an extremely good way.  He suffers his own first dose of the Cruciatus Curse from the Carrows, as punishment for aiding other students they were torturing.  As a result, he is forced to flee to the Room of Requirement to escape prison or death.  In the Battle of Hogwarts, he alone stands up to Voldement, despite the fact that “the Chosen One,” is supposedly dead and the war effort should, therefore, be truly diminished.  His courage in the face of adversity would’ve undeniably rendered his parents proud of their son. 

            The influence of his Frank and Alice may not always be directly referenced, but it holds an undeniable power in creating some of Neville’s bravest moments, allowing the character to very easily prove Malfoy wrong and earn his worth as a proud Gryffindor.  In Order of the Phoenix, he and Harry are truly the only two left standing at the close of the Battle at the Department of Mysteries.  He reforms the D.A. in the face of the cruel Carrows, in the process holding true to Potter’s indoctrination of rebellion.  On his final walk, it is Neville that Harry trusts enough to prompt his brief pause to issue one final order—steal the sword, kill the snake.  Potter knew, even if he couldn’t experience the end of this battle, he could count on Longbottom to see it through to the bitter end.  Harry’s faith is not misguided—Neville comes through with brilliant dependency.  

            Many questions have arose over the course of the years since the reveal in Order of Phoenix that the prophecy could’ve potentially been about Neville, had Voldemort chosen to pursue him instead of the Potters.  Most frequently, it is asked just how dimwitted Longbottom would fair if forced to suffer the same trials as Harry.  Personally, from the very first stand against his friends to the very last clean swipe of the Sword of Gryffindor, I think the wizarding world would’ve faired just fine, as long as they had Neville Longbottom as their champion. 

From Gary King to Nicholas Angel:  Is Neville a good role model?  Neville not only rose above his humble origins as the silly comedic relief, he turned them on their head and shocked the entire audience with his ability to conquer any oppressive force presented to him.  He has not only suffered—the loss of his parents, bullying from family, classmates and teachers—but has driven motivation from that to become one of the most skilled wizards in the series; a wizard capable of learning the Stunning Spell second only to Hermione Granger, the know-it-all he used to beg for help regularly.  His intelligence eventually carries him far enough to present him with an opportunity to share his definitive knowledge on Herbology with others, as he is invited to teach the subject at Hogwarts.  I love the Rowling is saying education is a valued profession that is worthy of even the likes of the heroic Neville Longbottom.  However, it is his actions in the final novel that truly cement the character as legendary, as the audience witnesses even further examples of Longbottom’s definitive role model potential.  Even with facing the death of one of his dearest friends—the one person who was supposedly able to defeat Voldemort and win the war—Neville refuses to submit.  He makes yet another stand and, as is now the norm, follows through swiftly.  Finally, his insistence that the no underdog suffer at the hands of the Carrows serves a beyond exemplary example that every single person is important.  This belief in the value of the individual is rare amongst males in young adult literature, including Neville’s very own protagonist.

Role Model Rating:  10/10

From Peter Parker to Spider-Man:  Is Neville Relatable?  Neville truly did succeed in climbing up the ladder in terms of magic-based achievements.  By the end of the fifth novel, he manages to master complicated spells with a wand that hadn’t even chosen him.  Despite this, he is never chosen first; not by professors, his family, or Voldemort—that last is obviously a fortunate thing.  This perception that Neville is always second best or in some other way inadequate often subscribed to by others allows the general public to relate to Neville far more so than Harry—who is constantly popular, constantly skilled and constantly chased after, none of which is generally very relatable.  Finally, the suffering Neville experiences at his parents’ loss of their mental faculties is particularly relatable in a Muggle world infected with Alzheimers.  Even Harry acknowledges that, while he receives quite a bit of sympathy for the death of his parents, it is Neville who truly deserves it, for he is forced to contend with two surviving parents who can’t even recognize their own son.  When the audience observes Neville on a trip to St. Mungo’s where he graciously thanks his mother for handing him something as silly as an empty gum wrapper, he doesn’t cry or shout.  He merely thanks her, eternally grateful that she could briefly manage acknowledging his presence.  This feeling is far more common than it should be and, as a result, Neville will always remain in the hearts of the readers.

Relatability Rating:  9/10

Captain Malcolm Reynolds—Choosing the Losing Side Doesn’t Make it the Wrong One

**Due to recent misinterpretations of some one post from this blog, a disclaimer is now apparently necessary.  If this is your first visit to The Scratched Camera, please read the introductory post and discover, for yourself, that every typed word that follows is unabashedly my opinion and mine alone.  In said introductory post, which, shockingly, I did not simply type up for my own good health, I state that we all read events and characters with our own baggage in mind; no one observes with a perfectly clear lens—hence the name The Scratched Camera.  Therefore, it is completely your will to disagree with any material that follows, just as it is my will to agree and advocate for what is mine.**  ~End, irritating obligatory disclaimer~

Captain Malcolm Reynolds—Choosing the Losing Side Doesn’t Make it the Wrong One

            On the surface, the audience should not like Captain Reynolds.  He’s surly, bitter and angry for the majority of time.  When he isn’t too busy calling Inara a whore, he’s insisting that Simon and River bring him nothing but trouble and must vacate his ship immediately. 

            However, this is merely part of the role Reynolds plays.  Despite his violent disagreement at Saffron’s insistence that we all merely play our parts, on some level, he knows she’s right.  For further confirmation of this, the audience need only look to the crew he has surrounded himself in.  Each member aboard Serenity represents some facet of his personality long driven away by trials and tribulations.  Kaylee, with her naïveté and sweet innocence, Wash with his avid love of life and resulting sense of humor, Book’s spirituality and Inara’s blunt preference for honesty, which allows her to speak her mind—well, on most things, anyway.  Together, they represent a man the audience never truly got to meet—the Malcolm Reynolds in the days before the war.  As a result, he is highly loyal to all those who surround him; he protects his crew because he doesn’t want to see them damaged as he is.

            Mal informs Saffron that, despite the fact that she believes she has the edge due to her clever cunning, she’s wrong. He has his friends and crewmates—people he honestly believes he can count on until his very last breath.  He never once doubts that they will come through for him in the end; that, to him, is far more valuable than any form of intellect Saffron may have in her possession. 

            At first, River and Simon were not necessarily included in this grouping.  However, by “Safe,” Reynolds reveals the great lengths he is willing to go through for their safety—although, I could argue this is at least partially due to his dedication to his own moral code, but more on that later.  The audience sees this again in “Ariel,” as Mal nearly kills Jayne for turning the pair over to the feds.  This conflict is crucial in terms of his character development—where he previously and sometimes presently couldn’t tolerate the risk the two presented to his ship and his crew, he is now willing to murder a ranking crew member for their sake. 

            Then there is, of course, his intense loyalty to Inara.  While he is obviously allegiant to all members of his crew, his relationship with Inara has always involved a different form of devotion.  When she requests he come to the rescue of her friends—all of which are common whores, not even worthy of the elevated status of Companion—he heeds her request with very few questions asked.  Although, he screws it up royally as he manages to sleep with the head whore, Nandi.  This action, a cliché guy move, placed me as definitively disappointed in the character for quite some time.  In the film, he comes to aid, despite knowing that it is undeniably a trap.  Even after a conflict breaks out, they both work together to insure they return to Serenity in one piece.

            River, Simon and Inara are not the only people or material objects Mal blesses with his strong sense of allegiance. When he is faced with the choice between himself and his crew, Reynolds will undeniably sacrifice his own livelihood to insure their survival.  While the audience had suspected the character was capable of this selflessness, we see it first hand in “Out of Gas,” where the captain evacuates his crew and elects to stay behind and attempt to fix Serenity himself.

            This is not a one-way street; the crew is equally resolute in their dedication to their captain, as he is to them.  Before the end of “Out of Gas,” both shuttles have returned to aid Mal; as a result, they manage to save him at the very last moment.

            Even a petty Alliance Commander, who has known Mal for approximately fifteen minutes in “Bushwacked,” can very easily spot the faith his crew has in him.  He comments that the captain is not only capable of extreme loyalty, but that he also has a habit of inspiring that quality in others.  While the faith he puts in his friends and the fealty he receives in return is incredibly valuable, his ability to imbue that characteristic where it may not have previously resided is certainly most impressive.

            The conversation with the commander reveals a deeper and even more important aspect of Mal’s demeanor.  As he snidely responds to the posed questions, the audience learns very quickly that this is a stubborn character with very little respect for authority—a particularly ironic current characteristic, considering his position of power aboard Serenity.  Instead of idly keeping his temper in check, he still feels compelled, even years after the war has ended, to return the favor when members of the Alliance push.  In the interrogation, the commander implies that he isn’t a fan of Serenity’s name—the ship is, after all, named after the definitive final battle of the Unification War, where the Browncoats suffered their final crushing defeat.  The Alliance member embraces the opportunity to reassure Reynolds it is ridiculous to name a ship after a battle of a war he was on the wrong side of.  In response, with a thinly veiled tone of contempt, the captain snipes right back, as he claims losing doesn’t necessarily equate to wrong. 

            This is, obviously, a very risky move.  He is in their territory; it would be very simple for the commander to seize his ship and his crew.  However, whether fortunately or unfortunately, Mal has his own pressing moral code that demands to be followed.  As a result, he refuses to be bullied by the authority of the Alliance.  This leads to a proclivity towards underdogs—his choice in crew supports this, as almost every single member aboard the ship is at odds with some banner philosophy of the Alliance—and controversial causes. 

            He helps the whores in “Heart of Gold,” not only because Inara asked him to, but because they face an oppressive force.  His motivation behind constantly assisting River and Simon’s escape from the Alliance is partially driven by a general blanket of loyalty to any person who sets foot on his ship; however, the truly deeper desire is a blind refusal to submit anything or anyone to the Alliance.  He is, at his very core, still at war with the oppressive figures and, therefore, cannot justify giving them any pardon or assistance. 

            Perhaps the most interesting part of his own moral code is his opinion towards women and how they deserve to be treated.  On one hand, he is ever eager to insult Inara’s profession, calling her a whore at every opportunity that presents itself.  However, the moment someone becomes too possessive or disrespectful, he is the first to throw down the gauntlet.  In “Shindig,” Mal spends the bulk of the episode nitpicking Inara’s date—a client named Atherton who presents a pleasant surface appearance, even going so far as to offer to employ Inara as his regular companion, only to pan out to be a misogynist who seeks to possess her, whether she agrees or not.  As a result, Mal challenges Ath to a duel, one he perseveres to win for the sake of his somewhat antiquated penchant for protection. 

            This is also revealed in “Our Mrs. Reynolds,” where Mal delivers a poetic speech to his supposed wife—or, at least, poetic by his standards.  When Joan Saffron implies that men are permitted to kill unpleasing wives on her home planet, Reynolds is quick to be disgusted, as he barks at her that she should never stand for that:  “someone ever tries to kill you, you try to kill ‘em right back.”

            Perhaps typical captains of spaceships would’ve advised a woman to seek out the assistance of someone stronger—a man, perhaps?  It’s certainly what Caleb would’ve encouraged what he saw as worthless women to do.  However, Mal, conceived as a positive character in the wonder that is Joss Whedon’s mind, knows that women are more than capable of handing themselves.  He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s quite right, as Saffron serves to be one of the very few women who can outsmart this clever captain.  Once again, when the truth is revealed, and Saffron manages to overcome Reynolds, not once, but twice, he may be surprised—due to his own propensity towards prosperity—but he is never disgusted, merely vastly impressed.

From Gary King to Nicholas Angel:  Is Captain Mal a good role model?  Reynolds served for his own noble cause in the Unification War, where he fought for the underdogs—the Independents.  While their war effort may have lost, it is admirable to see a character willing to take a stand for a cause that is truly worth the dedication Mal offers.  Even after they’ve lost the war, he continues to hold his ground, as he continually defies the Alliance.  His allegiance is admirable.  There is also a deep respect for woman about the character that is exemplary.  Mal’s ability to see females as powerful and authoritative characters is something almost every man I’ve met could use a bit more of.  This respect, although valuable, has a tendency to cross into over-protection, which can aggravate women who don’t feel the need to have a bodyguard constantly looming over them. His character has some rough edges, brought on by the terrible trials and tribulations he suffered through in his service for the Unification War.  While he can be snarky and rude at times, generally the character is decently balanced, particularly considering the struggle he’s suffered.  In fact, this ruggedness has equipped him with a rough sense of humor that allows him to simultaneously worry over potential Alliance threats and laugh off the inherent danger present to their every day lives.  Much like Percy Jackson, Mal Reynolds manages to toe a line between realistically vulnerable yet casual acknowledgements that our fate isn’t always in our realm of control. 

Role Model Rating:  8/10

From Peter Parker to Spider-Man:  Is Captain Mal relatable?  Mal, despite being more intelligent than he actually gives himself credit for, is not above fault.  He misreads the Saffron situation, opening himself and his entire crew up for raid.  This instance, and several others similar to it, shows an inherent ability to not only acknowledge his own mistakes, but keep an ever present smile on his face while he does so.  Often this smile is nothing more than a facade, introducing another relatable factor to the character.  Despite his insistence that Saffron is wrong on the ‘we all play parts’ front, he, much like the bulk of the audience and fellow fictional characters alike—except Cordy.  I think we all can agree that’s one Whedon character that truly puts her entire self out there, exposed openly to the world—always puts on his brave face and utters a sarcastic comment to hide how things truly affect him.  In a world where appearance is everything, this is remarkably relatable, if not depressingly so.  Finally, while loyalty is truly important to the captain, his first priority is money.  This is very applicable to the audience, as we all seem to agree we could always use a few more funds.

Relatability Rating:  9/10

Remus Lupin—He Existed as an Empty Shell (Requested)

**Due to recent misinterpretations of some one post from this blog, a disclaimer is now apparently necessary.  If this is your first visit to The Scratched Camera, please read the introductory post and discover, for yourself, that every typed word that follows is unabashedly my opinion and mine alone.  In said introductory post, which, shockingly, I did not simply type up for my own good health, I state that we all read events and characters with our own baggage in mind; no one observes with a perfectly clear lens—hence the name The Scratched Camera.  Therefore, it is completely your will to disagree with any material that follows, just as it is my will to agree and advocate for what is mine.**  ~End, irritating obligatory disclaimer~

Remus Lupin—He Existed as an Empty Shell (Requested)

            Remus Lupin is frequently dealt tough cards; far more common is his insistence that he suffer, not only for the travesties fate sends his way, but also for things that were beyond his own control.  Easily the best and most popular professor in Harry’s long line of failing Defense Against the Dark Arts instructors—a startling number of which were deeply invested in the utterly wrong side of the Dark Arts to be truly qualified for the position—due largely to his own positive perceptions of others, he unfortunately rarely sought to see so much good in himself. 

            Unlike his own self-loathing, his students at Hogwarts couldn’t have been happier to finally have a professor like Lupin.  He wasn’t evil, like Quirrell was, with his two-faced betrayal, and he had an actual brain, unlike Lockhart, who considered himself far more important than any tangible skill that could be used to defeat Voldemort.  Remus was steadfast in his faith that any student could be excellent.  When Snape issues a caution against relying on Neville the first day of class, Lupin immediately works to shut the disparaging remarks down, insisting that he has the utmost confidence in the boy. 

            This defiance of Snape instantly earns him the approval of all students, excluding the Slytherins, of course.  His actions continue to speak for him, as he covers for Harry in regards to the Marauders Map, assuredly protecting him from a vicious session of detention in the process.  However, Remus is no push over; he’s quick to issue a lashing of his own to Potter, accusing his risky behavior as taking James and Lily’s sacrifice completely for granted. 

            The students aren’t the only ones impressed by Lupin’s adequacy as a Defense professor.  As soon as he spots the Dementors, he knows what needs to be done, as opposed to Lockhart, who would’ve undeniably gotten the Golden Trio killed; or, worse yet, Umbridge, who would’ve delighted in their passing.  In that moment, Lupin won the audience over, with just a few simple words and a piece of chocolate. 

Dumbledore employs him as a professor, knowing full and well that there is a certain inherent risk in the move, due to Lupin’s state as a werewolf.  However, to the Headmaster, the benefits Remus brings to instruction outweigh any chance of potential peril.  After all, Albus, much like Lupin himself, is nothing if not faithful to his students—either current or past. 

There is also a general consensus amongst the staff that he is very knowledgeable in the subject material.  Madam Pomfrey is immediately impressed with his deployment of chocolate at the first sighting of a Dementor.  She even goes so far as to comment on the lack of reliable mentors in the area, as she is clearly surprised to finally have a teacher on staff in the department that isn’t employed based solely on his face—get it?  Quirrell with his multiple faces, and Lockhart with his evidently attractive one.

            While his inherent knowledge in his subject matter and his ability to see the best in people regularly recommends him as an excellent teacher and human being, it does not mean he is above making mistakes.  Often, despite his own good intentions, he fails to make the correct choices, only prompting a worsening of his own fate.  In his time as a student at Hogwarts, he blindly sat by and allowed his best friends to bully Severus Snape.  While Snape does, of course, hold his own guilt for these interactions, it does not excuse Remus’s lack of intervention.

            Harry, appalled by the behavior of all three of his father figures in the situation, approaches Sirius and Lupin directly on the matter.  In the case of Lupin, Harry can’t help but feel that those who sit by and allow the bully to carry about his business are just as guilty as the tormentor.  While his behavior as a teenager may have left much to be desired, his adult self doesn’t let down either Potter or the reader, as he regretfully admits to his fault in the situation and his own disgust at his enabling. 

            At the end of Prisoner of Azkaban, instead of demanding his right to employment, Lupin resigns to save himself and Dumbledore the trouble of dealing with the backlash of having a known werewolf on staff.  Had he fought for his own desire to teach, the Trio could’ve had another fruitful instructional year with a werewolf instead of a disjointed curriculum provided by the TenthDoctor a distressed Death Eater in disguise. 

            The audience sees his deflection from his own desires once again in Deathly Hallows, as he swears to Harry that he has ruined Tonks’ life—branding her as an outcast and impregnating her with a child that is highly likely to be some form of a werewolf.  He, therefore, feels he must leave his wife and unborn child, for the sake of preserving any form of a reputation she has left.

            The resulting argument has Potter throwing some heavy-handed words in Lupin’s direction.  He dismisses what the older man interprets as logic for cowardice—a blind fear of the unknown that is unacceptable in a man he had once thought of as a brave in the face of damnation.

            While Lupin does, of course, come to see reason, his original thought process indicates a propensity to believe he deserves the worst fate imaginable.  Often, fate will hand this out to him to begin with.  As a child, he was bitten by Fenrir Greyback and, as a result, has spent every full moon since as a werewolf.  Due to his condition, for lack of a better word, he was almost prevented from coming to Hogwarts.  However, Dumbledore, in his infinite compassion, made exceptions and built an entire structure simply to allow for Lupin’s time of the month to pass discretely. 

            However, the change was anything but discrete for Lupin himself, who explains the transformations as particularly painful.  Dumbledore’s provisions separated him from human contact during the change—an inevitable choice, as murdered children is always a horrendously horrible situation, a situation which is perhaps a touch more common at Hogwarts than any other boarding school—but, as a result, Remus would often, in the madness brought on by his wolf-side, turn to biting and scratching himself. 

            Needless to say, the situation was never a pleasant one.  However, Dumbledore’s paths and designed structures did generally work well to conceal Remus’s true identity, up until the evening of the climax of Prisoner of Azkaban.  Through a strange twist of fate, he forgot to take the Wolfsbane Potion—ironically conjured monthly by Snape, of all people—that allows him to maintain a human mind during his change.  As a result, fate hits Lupin once more, as he shifts just as he was preparing to achieve revenge against Peter Pettigrew with his dear old friend Sirius Black. 

            Fate hits him once more as Snape, feeling dejected as the escape of Pettigrew and Black allows his promised Order of Merlin award to evade him, releases the information of Remus’s condition to the public.  This announcement, in Remus’ opinion, gives him no other choice than to resign.  As I alluded to earlier, I do believe Lupin could’ve perhaps put up a bit more of a fight on the issue.  However, I can understand that he felt staying would be seen as a compromise on the safety of the students.  Regardless, he is punished once more for something he had no control over. 

            This is not to say that Lupin is guilt-free.  While fate does frequently see to his misery, he occasionally lends it a helping hand.  He’s wary of committing to Tonks from the start, believing himself to be nothing but a danger to her—old, damaged and unworthy of her love.  This is the underlying motivation fueling his confrontation with Harry in Deathly Hallows, where he still believes himself to be more of a hazard than a benefit to the younger Order member.  His insecurities, though understandable, do not excuse leaving Tonks at the time when she needed him most. 

            However, the greatest price he pays returns to his tumultuous relationship with fate.  He bravely leads a group of defenders into the Battle of Hogwarts, only to receive death as his compensation.  Remus Lupin’s life was a turbulent one—full of extreme highs and devastating lows.  However, he never lost faith in his cause or in his students, and, eventually, in his family and himself.  He fought to his very last breath to make the world an acceptable place for his son.  While he won’t be there to experience the joy himself, he uses his last few words, gifted to him by the Resurrection Stone, to insure that Harry will make it so.

From Gary King to Nicholas Angel:  Is Remus a good role model?  Lupin makes a great professor, finding ways to encourage almost all of his students, even the occasional undeserving Slytherin.  This behavior, while it should be more common, is seen few and far between.  Lupin’s impressive dedication to the trait, therefore, enables him to become a stellar example.  While more males would probably prefer to be seen like the far flashier James or Sirius, Remus, though obviously less ostentatious, holds a steady merit of his own.  This isn’t to say he is exemplary beyond fault.  He passively sat by and allowed his friends to bully Snape during their time at school.  Under the rule that the enabler is equal in guilt, this does harm the audience’s perception of his model behavior.  At his core, Lupin is very docile.  He simply carries on with the status quo—when Sirius and James choose to act out, he simply allows them to do so.  When fate continues to send the message that he is unworthy of happiness or relief from rejection, he becomes convinced that that is his destiny and allows this mentality to infiltrate every facet of his life.  While these are a few items on a list of undeniable shortcomings—typically which are a direct result of his youth or other extenuating circumstances beyond his control—Lupin does genuinely attempt to be the best possible person and see the best in all other people, dark and light alike. 

Role Model Rating:  6/10

From Peter Parker to Spider-Man:  Is Remus relatable?  Remus is perhaps the most realistic of the Marauders.  He isn’t evil—Pettigrew has got that covered—and he isn’t unimaginably cool and popular—such as James and Sirius are.  He’s just an average kid, trying to keep his nose down so he won’t draw any unwanted attention from bullies—such as Black and Potter—or potential Death Eaters—such as Snape or Pettigrew.  He is certainly the smartest of the Marauders—for proof of this, look no further than the fact that he managed to outlive all of his school friends—but it is not his defining characteristic, which implies that his intelligence is not quite as exceptional as, say, Granger’s is.  Even if he is brilliant, he is careful not to force it upon his students or his colleagues in a way that forces them to feel inferior, rendering him comfortably approachable.  This allows him to be a touch more relatable than the upper-tier of brainiacs—i.e. the previously mentioned Granger or the arrogantly assured Sheldon Cooper.  However, Lupin’s most relatable aspect is actually one beyond his control—the role that fate plays in inspiring nothing but misery into his life.  We all seek to blame our misfortune on some unknown mystical force as opposed to our own misled decisions.  Lupin, at least during his childhood, actually could do so.  Our proclivity towards the same line of thinking naturally allows the audience to sympathize with Lupin and the undeserving destruction he suffers as a result.

Relatability Rating:  8/10

Kat Stratford—Men and Assholes are Unworthy of Her Time

**Due to recent misinterpretations of some one post from this blog, a disclaimer is now apparently necessary.  If this is your first visit to The Scratched Camera, please read the introductory post and discover, for yourself, that every typed word that follows is unabashedly my opinion and mine alone.  In said introductory post, which, shockingly, I did not simply type up for my own good health, I state that we all read events and characters with our own baggage in mind; no one observes with a perfectly clear lens—hence the name The Scratched Camera.  Therefore, it is completely your will to disagree with any material that follows, just as it is my will to agree and advocate for what is mine.**  ~End, irritating obligatory disclaimer~

Kat Stratford—Men and Assholes are Unworthy of Her Time

            Where the current generation of teenagers suffers from the Bella Resonance—a term which here means the effect Bella Swan has had on an entire generation of female teens and preteens, resulting in a group of females whose top priority in life is acquiring a boyfriend and future husband—my generation had Kat Stratford, from Ten Things I Hate About You.  Kat actively works to defy every cliché that could potentially be applied to females in general—in the process, creating an effect of her own.  But more on that later.  The resulting character is an unapologetic, nonconforming feminist with well-hidden insecurities and vulnerability. 

           

At her very core, Stratford dislikes the preconceived notion that all girls must fulfill the same set of clichés and subjugation to males.  This inclination results in a deep feminist center that fuels the shrewish and tempestuous impression she pervades.  For instance, when popular jock Bobby Ridgeway attempts to hit on her in the lunch line, she is not flattered, as those who worship Bella might have been.  She, instead, lashes out—and not in a way that is portrayed as anything resembling cute.  She’s angry and she means business, unlike most other fictional female anger, which eventually gets downplayed as fodder—against him, deeply insulted at his assumption that she will accept him—although, if you were to ask her, she would adamantly maintain that he kicked himself in the balls. 

           

This disposition also contributes to her dislike of aggressive male Joey Donner, who seems adamant that all women should bow down to him in his glory.  She, unlike many of the other females at Padua, sees no charm to his personality.  In fact, his assertive comments tend to chaff her to the point of no return, resulting in a barked response—most notably, the comment referenced in the title of this very article, which displays her insistence that society prefers men who are notoriously rude (an observation that is accurate beyond the point of pathetic in its applications to society). 

           

One final note on Kat’s feminist front—her opinions clearly serve to saturate and infiltrate her taste in music and literature.  She favors “angry girl music of the Indie Rock persuasion,” a clear indicator that she seeks solidarity for her outcast status in lyrics.  Her stated opinion on Hemingway—that’s he nothing more than an abusive misogynist—also declares a demand for progressive literature. 

Her insistence that even simple items of culture meet her high expectations displays a stubborn refusal to conform to the perimeters for females set by society.  As an alternative to the cliché that girls regularly cry as a means of manipulation, Kat seeks to turn that pain around and often prompts the crying of others in return. 

           

Unlike the stipulations of the Belle Paradigm, in which a character is the perfect depiction of what society expects of a woman—elegant, dignified, equipped with a remarkably endless well of empathy and accompanying compassionate nature—Kat is often portrayed as quite the opposite:  temper-driven to an extreme, leading to her frequent label as a “heinous bitch,” as she actively works to spread anything but joy about Padua.  She achieves this goal in a variety of ways; from declaring it must be asshole day as Donner blokes her way, to yelling at Michael to improve his driving techniques.

           

She adamantly refuses to follow in the footsteps of others, going so far as to declare to Verona that she seeks to embody the unexpected. This results from a young and naïve mistake—a submission to sleep with Donner.  The choice was made entirely because it was what everyone else was doing—the popular thing to do.  After this blunder, she sets herself to a determination to go against the grain whenever possible; a trait she attempts to breed in her sister as well.  Her statements to Bianca—who suffers, according to Kat, a disturbingly compliant tendency brought on by capitalistic propaganda, resulting in a fetish for the materialistic and superficial sides of life—that she can do better than her perky passive exterior, while somewhat misguided, are really nothing more than a blind hope to teach her sister the very lesson she had to learn the hard way.  Regardless of her sister’s lack of progress in the area, Kat still sticks to her guns, refusing to ‘people please’ any further—why, she rations, should she live up to other people’s expectations instead of her own?  Why should she, indeed, when her expectations for herself and for society are obviously superior to the vapidly materialistic ambitions of her teenage colleagues.

Where society expects her to giddily attend prom, she snarls that it is nothing more than an outdated ritual, meant to provide boys with an opportunity to feel up a girl.  Society expects her to flutter at the very sight of Patrick Verona approaching her; she instead digs her heels in.  Even once she declares her thoughts on the matter, she can acknowledge that she has feelings for him, but she absolutely hates that that is the case, a theme that was carried throughout the bulk of their relationship. 

When he implies she seeks to grab his attention, she sarcastically mutters that that is, of course, her mission in life.  While I know many women for whom that is their true mission in life—Bella, I’m looking at you—with this statement, Kat makes it very clear that she refuses to compromise her temper, personality, beliefs or goals for the sake of a male, even for someone as attractive as Patrick Verona. 

This mentality is applicable to other males outside of Verona; Kat is explicit in her belief that she has no interest in dating any of the mindless riff-raff evident at Padua.  However, it should be noted that this does not imply she refuses to date at all, although that is the interpretation that is commonly drawn from the situation.  Alternatively, she is refusing to settle on someone she finds dull and unacceptable in terms of complementing her—hence her eventual acceptance of Verona, but more on that to follow. 

           

This refusal to date is regularly interpreted as abnormal by the common teenage community she is surrounded by—a population that typically defines things such as Bogey Lowenstein’s party as normal, although that very definition tells me all I need to know on the subject.  This distinction is clear to Stratford, who rejoices in her resulting depiction as an outcast. 

           

In essence, she is proud of who she has grown to be and, therefore, refuses to apologize for any hurt feelings that may result.  Her retribution towards Ridgeway displays this rather brightly, as she smilingly declares to the counselor that he obviously did the damage to himself.  The audience sees this again as she vindictively slams into Donner’s car when he won’t get out of her way, with nothing more than a remorseless “whoops,” escaping her after the fact.  She carries this a step further, as she refuses to submit to her father’s contention on the issue, instructing him to inform the insurance company that it was a seizure, as an alternative to his suggested PMS. 

           

When Verona approaches her directly after soccer practice, instead of playing the part of a dainty girl, she openly declares that she is sweating profusely.  Stratford rejects the stipulation that she should tiptoe around the fact that she is an aggressive and skilled soccer player—whereas, those who hail from a Bella-ized mentality may have considered underplaying their capabilities to insure they didn’t intimidate a potential partner.  But I digress.  The audience sees this again, as Verona pushes her to talk and she defensively argues that, had he given her a more compelling topic of choice than cars, she would’ve perhaps considered conversing.  She is undeniably skilled in the art of debate, a fact proven by her fervent, if ruthless contributions to topics in her English class.  Some may call it terrorism; she likes to think of it as nothing more than expressing her opinion—yet another facet of her personality in no need of an apology. 

           

Unapologetic does not mean infallible.  Kat does admit, however infrequently, that she isn’t perfect.  She tells Verona that it is her goal to disappoint people from first impression, as a method of self-preservation.  Regardless of the fight she clings to, she does eventually submit to Patrick’s persuasiveness and attends Bogey’s party with him.  We catch another glimpse of vulnerability, as she attempts to pursue the relationship further by initiating a kiss.  While Verona’s hesitation was a result of nothing but good intentions, the embarrassment and humiliation that Kat suffers as a result is very realistically presented and endears the character to the audience—shrew characteristics and all. 

From Bella to Katniss:  Is Kat a good role model?  While Kat actively works to subvert the expectations placed upon females by society, by doing so, she lingers dangerously closely to fulfilling an entirely different but equally unpleasant trope.  Frequently, some creators of female characters strive so stubbornly to prevent falling into the superficial romantically inclined girl, that the character becomes nothing more than an archetypal angry rock chick.  This description summarizes a fair amount of Kat’s personality; in essence, in the character’s attempts to avoid clichés, she inadvertently ends up becoming one.  However, there is a unique facet to her character that allows her to escape a definitive declaration of this trope; Kat is one of few, if not the only, angry rock chick to manage to end up with her chosen significant other.  While this could typically detract value from a character’s contribution to depicting a role model, in Kat’s case, it broadcasts the message that a girl should never fail to be true to her own nature in order to claim a significant other.  Stratford’s stubborn clinging to her personality—even her less attractive qualities—and simultaneous ability to attract a male, sends the message that no girl—no matter what faults they may believe they have—should need to submit in any way to retain a partner.  Kat also falls safely along a scale I have created entitled the Bella/Katniss Polarization—on which a female, either fictional or nonfictional, is judged strictly in regards to the prioritization of romance versus her own internal ambitions as the driving force behind her decisions.  While most would claim Kat is perhaps a little too far inclined towards the Katniss line of thinking—Kat and Katniss.  Get it? to truly be a superior role model, I disagree, as she does eventually submit to a date with Verona and even initiates their first potentially intimate moment.  She does, however, strive to apprise everyone of her adamant belief that romance should not be the center of anyone’s world, prompting an entirely new theory of mine entitled the Kat Anomaly—a term applicable to females who decide against the Bella-ized dominating determination that romance should reign supreme in a woman’s priorities.  This scores two rather large points for Kat, who serves as a model that girls can attract the attention of a man based entirely on being true to themselves, and that women can—and should—strive for other achievements than scoring an excellently attractive and rich husband.  Between these two bullets, I can’t help but score her appreciatively. 

Role Model Rating:  10/10

From Lorelai to Wonder Woman:  Is Kat relatable?  Kat is brazen, surprising even me occasionally in her contemptuousness, which is saying something, as I’ve been told I’m a dangerously formidable foe once crossed.  While I can relate to Kat’s temper and honesty, she is certainly an extreme opposite of the more socially acceptable extreme of Princess Belle.  She is not, however, above a humanizing loyalty and insecurity.  When Patrick suffers a great humiliation to win her favor back, she goes to extreme measures to spring him from his punishment.  Her dreaded drinking at Bogey’s party is a direct result of her feeling of failure in regards to her father, who, despite his complaining, obviously prefers the more conventional daughter of Bianca.  The hurt she suffers at her concession to Verona both in her dismissed attempts to kiss him and in his prevailing betrayal at prom show a distress that the previous shrew declarations didn’t allot for.  Finally, while she was originally indignant, she eventually rose above her prideful nature to accept a date with Verona, in the process potentially alleviating some tension from the extreme Belle’s of the world.  While many clichéd compassionate females may find Kat a hard pill to swallow, personally, she’s right up my alley; while I can hinder her rating marginally for this, I cannot destroy her evaluation entirely.

Relatability Rating:  7/10

Percy Jackson versus Jason Grace—A Classic Nerdy Outcast versus Successful Jock Throwdown

**Due to recent misinterpretations of some one post from this blog, a disclaimer is now apparently necessary.  If this is your first visit to The Scratched Camera, please read the introductory post and discover, for yourself, that every typed word that follows is unabashedly my opinion and mine alone.  In said introductory post, which, shockingly, I did not simply type up for my own good health, I state that we all read events and characters with our own baggage in mind; no one observes with a perfectly clear lens—hence the name The Scratched Camera.  Therefore, it is completely your will to disagree with any material that follows, just as it is my will to agree and advocate for what is mine.**  ~End, irritating obligatory disclaimer~

Percy Jackson versus Jason Grace—A Classic Nerdy Outcast versus Successful Jock Throwdown

            To me, the conflict between Jackson and Jason unravels in a similar pattern to the classic playground conflict between the nerdy rebellious outcast who sticks up for their less courageous friends in the face of the popular and successful jock.  While each boy does serve as occasional exceptions to the mentioned molds, they do spend the basis of their time holding the standard of the two listed stereotypes.  The conflict that results can, at times, run a parallel to the ridiculous need to overcome what the other tends to see as their archenemy. 

            Percy Jackson is a rebel at heart.  Quite often, if he doesn’t particularly like an order issued by either Chiron or Mr. D, he will simply choose to ignore it and seek to find his own solution to his current predicament.  We see this particularly when he is younger, as he manages to join two quests that weren’t even intended for him.  Had this been prompted by a purely prideful passion to be seen as popular and prosperous, the character would’ve been labeled subpar and disappointing.  However, as he always acts out of deep concern towards the safety of his friends, his flagrant disregard for rules and protocol deems the label of loyal, as opposed to arrogant. 

At his core, Percy is an outcast who, through various mistakes, expulsions and relocations has often been credited with the title of troublemaker before he even truly earns it in the eyes of the judging.  This status draws him towards the others who struggle to be seen as socially acceptable by the commonwealth of their peers.  In short, Percy has very few friends and, therefore, feels particularly impassioned to go to any length to protect the few that he has earned. 

            Despite the disapproval of several of his compatriots—Reyna, Zoe and Octavion, to name a few—Percy, in his snarky rebellious persona, simply feels like an approachable character.  The audience feels as if they could very easily fall into a friendship with him, with his quirks and his sense of humor, which are occasionally appreciated by the supporting characters, although rarely given the credit they truly deserve.  Fandoms, such as those who follow the publication of Percy Jackson novels, are often composed of outcasts very similar to Percy—characters in their own right, who were often ridiculed in school for an affection towards reading and strange television shows no one has heard of and an embarrassing pair of glasses that seemed to serve as a permanent declaration of their nerd status.  In essence, Percy Jackson is one of us. 

            Jason, on the other hand, represents a form of a superior—the jock that allusively puzzled every nerd on the playground.  Jason is, of course, never as cruel as these stereotypes can sometimes be; he has, in fact, been shown to favor outcasts himself in his past.  However, he constantly serves to be vaguely above his misfit companions.  Percy, with a hefty list of accomplishments of his own, never comes off as superior or overly confident—except for that one awkward moment in the first movie, but, generally speaking, that film is rarely spoken of, and never in specific terms applicable to analyzing the characters.  While Jason never forcefully reminds the audience that he is more experienced than Leo and Piper in the issue of battle, there is something about him, particularly in The Lost Hero, that seems legendary and advanced—a fact which holds a particular force of irony, as, at the time, he can’t even remember the accomplishments that have crowned him with both of those labels to begin with. 

            Essentially, until the most recent novel, the portrayal of Jason’s character has been that of a legend.  He has this huge list of accomplishments, brought on by a rough form of Roman training that started him on his path as a fighter from a very young age.  These achievements give him credibility, but no personality.  Percy is able to reflect on his conquering of the Minotaur and jokingly comment that there was no way he should’ve survived the debacle.  Jason, with the extensive training he has survived, is incapable of merely shrugging off these achievements as luck.  He knows where he stands and, therefore, rarely struggles to succeed in a battle.

            This confidence, while not necessarily full-fledged arrogance, can serve as a disconcerting factor for the audience’s perception of the character.   Rarely does Grace experience doubt or concern that he will not be prosperous in a battle.  In the case that he does encounter some form of insecurity—battle or otherwise provoked—he never allows the struggle to surface.  He internalizes any anxiety or turmoil, hiding an intricate part of his character from his friends.  Often, unless he is the character responsible for the narration of the novel at the time of his struggle, the audience also misses the experience entirely.

            His method of detachment from his worries serves as a barrier between his character and the audience.  Where Percy is straightforward, Jason places a protective wall around his true feelings and, therefore, forces the audience to struggle to understand him.  Until House of Hades, my intense favoring of Percy prohibited me from seeing any signs of further complexities in regards to Grace; the complexion of his character made the task a difficult one and, therefore, in my natural inclination to support Percy, I settled upon the fact that there must be no further complexities to be found. 

            While this was an unfair snap judgment on my part—one, I must note, Percy may have been inclined to make as well—consultation with other Percy fans have led me to believe that I am not alone in this matter.  Grace’s taciturn and serious nature puts up the illusion that he believes himself better than others; his intention, which is eventually revealed to be obviously opposed to the previous preconception, is wrought null and void by the impression already made upon the audience.  Much like the popular jock that the nerds found secretly fascinating, but obviously feared far too much to approach, Jason serves to elude the audience in a similar fashion. 

            Fortunately, much like the aforementioned revered jock, Jason’s character does eventually become clearer to the audience, in the process revealing both negatives and positives.  Two separate debates serve to reveal just how insecure he is, as he prolongs decisiveness in favor of meticulous forms of evaluation, once between his Roman and Greek influences, and again to decipher his feelings and sense of obligations towards Reyna and Piper. 

            Worry is, of course, a realistic consequence of regularly winning the position of leader.  As Jason and Percy are both natural leaders, a variety of complications between the two are to be expected, as they struggle to work together to compromise their perspective styles of management.  Where Jason is eventually revealed to be plagued with doubts and a tendency to overanalyze, Percy is portrayed as an impulsive decision maker; he decides quickly and marches forward aggressively.  As I stated in his individual post, this results from an appreciation that there is only so much one can control about their own fate.  In his rationalization, it is his job to set the plan in motion and fight to insure fate stays on his side; studying several plans of action tirelessly does far less good than simply setting a plan in motion.  This precise implementation results in less worrying on Jackson’s part.  While he does suffer the occasion insecurity—particularly in terms of speculating on Annabeth’s feelings for himself and Luke in the first series—he rarely feels he failed so utterly as to accomplish nothing; his plan may not always succeed completely, but it was, at the very least, a much needed start. 

            There are benefits to both methods of decision-making.  Percy thinks with his heart; he’s impulsive, but dedicated, particularly in plans that involve a sacrifice for his friends.  Jason is completely brain based—he thinks things through thoroughly.  But, once he arrives at a decision, he knows, beyond a shade of doubt that it is the best decision.  While it may not always be in his best interest, it will undeniably serve the greater good in the best possible way.

            Regardless of how they reach decisions, they are both overly eager to engage in a fight.  Typically, any mention of his friends being in danger is more than enough to entice Jackson.  He volunteers to conquer the creatures and the eruption of Mt. St. Helens for Annabeth in The Battle of the Labryinth.  He would’ve sacrificed himself for the entire world in The Last Olympian, had Luke not seen their true navigation away from war. 

Jason, though slowly developing a sense of sacrifice in regards to his friends that trumps all of his previous denotations on the term, is originally ruled to insure the success of the quest above all else.  Frequently this further confirms his status as the jock, as he repeatedly volunteers to protect someone who is assigned a specific task that is crucial in the progression of the quest.  He accompanies Piper and Percy—although, let’s be honest, Piper is the one accompanying them—to attack the two giants in The Mark of Athena.  Grace graciously volunteers to serve as Hazel’s safety net as they approach Sciron, a choice which, while logical due to his specific powers, was necessarily surprising, as his keen sense of justice and dedication to the quest isn’t a secret. 

            The sacrificial distinction between the characters serves to define how others perceive them.  Percy Jackson, once again returning to his roots as a rebellious nerd, wins the favor of gods and beings that are routinely identified as persistent in their animosity towards various aspects of his being.  His repeated effort to include Annabeth in his strategies wins him the favor of Athena, despite the unsightly discord that exists between her and his father.  The unlikely victory he experiences over the god of war in The Lightning Thief, wins him the approval of Ares, albeit briefly.  This is particularly remarkable, as he aggravated the god directly before the duel and was, at the time, eleven years old.  In turn, this furthered the opinion of the other gods, especially those who are not necessarily fans of Ares.  Also in his debut quest, Jackson, in a moment fueled by his perceived injustice at the hands of the gods, mails the head of Medusa to Mount Olympus, with only a note sending his best wishes.  While Grover worried this would only cause the gods to rain more destruction down upon their path, several of the deities later admit to respecting the crassness of the move. 

            This habit of taking risks and following his instincts could’ve very easily backfired for Jackson.  Had he failed in his missions, he would’ve certainly been forced to pay at their hands.  However, as he is also extremely skilled in dueling—not to mention, impeccably lucky at times—he not only survives, but often comes out on top and, in the process, not only wins the approval of several gods that are openly hard to impress, but manages to teach them a thing or two as well. 

            Jason, who adamantly relies on orders to follow, very rarely, if ever, actively strives to upset the gods.  He does earn a decent amount of respect, as he is very successful in all of his endeavors.  However, while the merit his methods earn him is satisfactory, he fails to share the same closeness to some of the supporting gods that Jackson relishes.  This proves that the gods, no matter what form they may be in, and despite all of their complaints and objections, truly do enjoy a rebel over a robotic repeater of orders.  In short, where Percy’s risks sometimes cause him to stumble, his strong dedication eventually pays off as he continues to push until he receives the respect of the gods.  Grace’s impressive lists of accomplishments, while demanding some respect of their own, simply can’t compete. 

            Regardless of the opinion of the somewhat cruel and judgmental gods, both characters prove to be very solid leaders.  Their styles may differ but they do, at their very core, understand what it means to lead their peers into a battle that could serve as their last.  They are confident in their own abilities and, as a result, don’t feel the need to assert their dominance.  When the sacrifice that is required is some measure of their power, they are willing to part with it, despite their own sacrifices to accumulate the authority to begin with.  Jackson eagerly awaits Annabeth’s orders in both The Battle of the Labryinth and The Mark of Athena.  Jason eventually rises above his Roman origins to part with his title as praetor, knowing that it is what must be done for the sake of the quest.  Both characters know that, to get a little, one must give a little.  Although, I do believe that Jason could do with a humbling dose of the situation that caused Percy to suffer the afflictions he has cast on his previous adversaries.  While I wish that suffering on no one, I can’t help but think, perhaps that, and that alone, could awaken something akin to a personality amongst the generally cool and collected officer. 

From Gary King to Nicholas Angel:  Are Percy and Jason good role models? I have rated both of these characters individually in the past.  However, for their evaluations here, I will be comparing them to their foil alone, as opposed to their previous ratings, which resulted from a comparison in regards to the general population of other strong male characters.  Percy is stubborn and rebellious, insisting on paving his own path to the result he desires, even if the fates seem determined to make it impossible for him.  While his capriciousness isn’t always exemplary, his dedication to find a resolution that results in all of his friends and family alive and happy, even if it costs him his own life in the process, is commendable.  There is just a trait about Jackson that allows me to admire him for who he is.  He spits in the face of fate, despite knowing he will most likely pay for it later.  When the consequences rain down on him, he acknowledges that he brought it on himself, and yet still perseveres to reign victorious.  At his very core, he is beyond tenacious about his adherence to his own moral code that allows this nerdy outcast to very easily win my favor.  His best example, however, is, by far, his ability to feel concern and worry, and yet manage to evade a paralyzing fear.  He tackles the problems that chase him down one at a time, showing an admirable strength in the face of adversity and deafening odds.  This, combined with his tenacity, creates a character that, in the words of A Goofy Movie, won’t stop until he starts to stand out.

Role Model Rating:  10/10

Jason is, in several aspects, the complete opposite of Percy.  He was created to serve as the brunette’s foil—particularly in his ability to appear as a blonde Superman.  Where Percy is snarky and rebellious, Jason is reliable and obedient—sort of like a dog.  Percy, when presented with a choice, will always play the riskier gamble, whereas Jason is inclined to decide, after much thoughtful debate, to follow a sturdier structured plan.  As I mentioned in Jason’s individual post, this should serve to make this steadier character a better role model than Jackson’s tempestuous recklessness.  However, this mechanical process can have some unexpected consequences.  The decision he often comes to is in the best interest of the quest, not necessarily what is best in the interest of his friends—although I can concede that this is in the process of improving, as the series progresses.  In the process of finding a solution, he often ignores the instincts of his heart for the logic of his head for far too long, resulting in prolonged debates that weren’t necessarily necessary.  This also sends the message that emotions are inconsequential and should, therefore, often be ignored—a prospect that can be quite disastrous when taken to extremes—Bruce Banner can vouch for this.   Finally, the jock-like role of the character pits him as nothing more than a one-dimensional character, better for nothing more than providing the muscle of the group—ironically, also akin to The Hulk, as I picture Jason punching his fists into the ground and grumbling, “Grace smash!”  While his strength and skill as a fighter is indisputably important in regards to the success of the Seven in the Great Prophecy, it should not be the only merit provided by the character, who’s meager contributions to the quest range very little past a boy who’s lethal with a sword.

Role Model Rating: 4/10

From Peter Parker to Spider-Man:  Are Percy and Jason relatable?  As I mentioned previously, Percy, in his quirks and oddities, naturally appeals to the type of fans that are inclined toward novels such as The Percy Jackson and The Heroes of Olympus series.  He’s constantly on the outskirts of society, marked as a failure in school while the populace fails to recognize the deeper potential that resides within him.  This allows the audience to fantasize that we will eventually find our own society in which we are accepted, thrive and succeed, much as Percy was able to with Camp Half-Blood.  His fundamental need to question authority is also relatable to anyone—no matter their gender, race, etc.  We all feel a need to prove others wrong and mark our own path to stand out, something that Percy personifies perfectly, allowing the audience to understand his motivations and ambitions with the ease of an old friend.

Relatability Rating:  10/10

Jason, on the other hand, serves as a metaphorical Ken doll—he’s attractive, athletic and accomplished.  His ability to succeed so easily in the face of odds that should be insurmountable make it very difficult for the mere mortals that comprise the audience to relate to him.  Truthfully, the issue with Jason in terms of relatability is his depiction.  Until House of Hades, he’s portrayed as a legend, not a person; someone so skilled and proficient that he seemed completely falsified and unattainable—an imitation of a character, instead of a person with tangible quirks and personality.  However, House of Hades introduced a version of the character slightly more comfortable in his own skin, including a resulting prospect of deeper insecurities and complexities.  His declaration of Greek intentions could perhaps serve to propel his role as something other than Piper’s boyfriend and the muscle of the Seven.  Hopefully, future novels can broaden the character and allow him to relate to the audience as something other than the Ken to Piper’s Barbie. 

Relatability Rating:  2/10