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

Summers versus Chase—Who is the Better Grown Up Cheerleader?

**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~

Summers versus Chase—Who is the Better Grown Up Cheerleader?

            In terms of the arc of their characters, both Cordelia and Buffy have a lot of commonalities.  They each come from humble beginnings—in character, not necessarily in monetary or influential terms, as both girls came from moderate to vastly successful families and were at the height of popularity in their perspective schools—as a character carved from an archetype of the popular cheerleader variety.  However, despite these disconcerting origins, both characters rose above their circumstances to become a vastly more powerful and relatable character than the audience could’ve ever anticipated from their introduction. 

            When we first meet the characters in the television show, Buffy has already made some progress in the issue of maturity, whereas Cordelia is approximately in the same place as Buffy was during the film set earlier in the same school year.  As a result, Cordelia serves as a constant reminder of the life Buffy left behind in order to fulfill her destiny as a Slayer.  Chase, in her ignorance of all things supernatural, is able to be popular, run for prom queen, date and, in general, have a normal social life. 

            Buffy, at the start of the series, has been forced to sacrifice quite a bit already.  In the flashbacks provided by Becoming, as well as first hand experiences seen in the film Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the audience glimpses that Summers was almost as tactless as Cordy at one time.  She was once cruel, as she speculates manipulating others into asking her to the dance and releases verbal lashings to her supposed best friends.  In Los Angelus, she could say whatever she wanted and people would bow at her feet, just begging to know her, be close to her.  At the time, this made her feel as if she were on top of the world. 

            Cordelia, who expresses in Out of Mind, Out of Sight that she would rather have fake friends than none at all, understands this feeling of superiority.  The conversation is difficult for Buffy to navigate, as she can appreciate that her life has improved since her days of popularity have to come a close; yet, she still yearns for that sense of normality that Cordelia so illusively represents to her.  In short, Buffy envies Cordy, something I doubt she’d ever fully admit. 

            When Cordelia learns that Buffy was once possibly even more popular than her, any chance of a potential friendship between the two is eliminated.  Instead, Cordelia, in her authority as the Queen Bee—or, C, as she would undoubtedly prefer—of Sunnydale High School, declares Buffy a social outcast, as Summers turns towards the true friendship offered by the likes of Willow and Xander as an alternative to the merely motivationally driven companionship that Cordelia extends.  High school Cordy, in all her power and authority, represents, as the authors of Praising Cordelia state, “the archetypal feminine type,” a woman who embodies the “stereotypes of femininity”—endowing her with an ability to simultaneously dominate all the females of the school and command the attention of every male.  In short, Buffy has a supernatural power that makes her nearly unbeatable on a battlefield.  Cordelia, on the other hand, has an applicable sway and charisma (get it?) that allows her to reign supreme in the structure of the public school society. 

            From this downgrade of Summers’s social status, the two will forever serve as mutual foils and rivals.  They compete over titles of popularity, friendships and, of course Angel.  In their time spent at Sunnydale High, Buffy is clearly the better role model.  Cordelia’s blunt honesty does have several merits, but, beyond that, her character lacks a level of vulnerability that would be required to redeem the negatives of this trait, making her appear to be little other than cruel.  The audience does get a peak of a true potential for emotional exposure from within Cordy at her discovery of Xander’s betrayal in Lover’s Walk.  Unfortunately, she quickly closes all emotions down and regresses towards her vindictive and popularity driven ways. 

            Cordy, in a somewhat Fronting Feisty Female fashion, enjoys berating others while being utterly incapable of standing on her own without need of a savior.  Buffy, on the other hand, requires very little rescuing in the first three years of the show.  She is often the one doing the saving, with the damsel in question frequently being Cordelia herself.  With this earned selflessness, Summers has learned to filter what she says since her days in L.A.  However, this does not mean she’s completely changed personalities; she does managed to remain true to herself in this time.  With the change in her priorities, Buffy simply accepted that a change in her personality came with the job.  The change is brought about in a more begrudging manner from Chase, who suffers endlessly between a desire to be popular and what her true instincts tell her she should do. 

            Ironically, while it took moving away from L.A. to round-out Buffy’s character, Chase’s relocation to the City of Angels achieves similar ends.  While Cordelia will always have desires driven by popularity and superficial values, she does start to take some impressively large steps in the right direction here.  She hasn’t changed some much as to avoid telling the occasional superficial lie to draw in the attention of a significant other, particularly in one who is of both rich and attractive.  However, she finds that she now has further standards than money and physical appearance; should that person begin to question her or ask her to compromise her part of the Angel, Investigations mission, she will quickly remove them from her life.  Repeatedly, over the course of season one of Angel, we see attractive men come and go, as they begin to bore her in comparison to the sense of purpose she now feels the need to fulfill.

            Alternatively, Buffy, seen in season four as a freshman in college, struggles to continue to hold true to the strength she had displayed in her relationship with Angel.  Her submissiveness at the lack of sustainability in her relationship with Parker is borderline disturbing, as all of her friends attempt to repeatedly convince her that Abrams is nothing worthy of her time or energy.  While it may be more realistic to show a character who isn’t always at the top of her game in terms of relationships with significant others, it does her no favors to show her as desperate as she is here. 

            Likewise, Summers consistently second guesses herself in regards to her relationship with Riley Finn.  I do respect the struggle she adamantly conveys to him before the relationship begins—her bond with Angel was turbulent at best and it is, therefore, only realistic that she be rather gun shy to become invested once again.  However the dependability developed after they become settled into the situation isn’t necessarily healthy.  Finn’s strength—admirable, yet inferior to Buffy’s—also adds a complexity to the relationship, as Buffy admits to Willow several times that she holds herself back to prevent from hurting his feelings.  While this may be the compassionate thing to do, no female should ever feel the need to coddle the insecurities of another at her own expense. 

            I have no doubt that the very thought of holding herself back for the sake of sparing someone’s feelings would be enough to make Cordelia laugh.  While she may not have the strength of Buffy, she refuses to compromise on the characteristics she thinks of as her best assets.  Regularly, characters ask her to bite her tongue in an attempt to become more socially appropriate.  If anything, this only causes her to become more crass as she refuses to do what she’s told. 

            There is also the issue of the near rape towards the end of season six.  I discussed this briefly in my post centered on Spike—although, I will be the first to admit I skirted around the issue, as the actual action and the resulting consequences, or lack thereof, truly bother me.  While I understand what facts allow Buffy to forgive Spike of his misdeeds—namely, the acquisition of his soul—I strongly believe Cordelia’s reaction would’ve been significantly different and would’ve served to set a sturdier model. 

Fortunately, Buffy is endowed with supernatural strength and was able to prevent the assault before it was fully realized.  Cordelia, on the other hand, has been violated several times over the course of her adventures with Team Angel.  In Expecting, she wakes up the morning after a date nearly nine months pregnant with very little comprehension of the course of the previous evening.  In Epiphany, she is once again impregnated, this time by a three-eyed demon that is, at the very least, able to evidently do so without actually sleeping with her.  In the season two two-part ending, Cordy is told that she will be forced to sleep with Gru to rid herself of her visions.  While Chase was initially attracted to Gru, she refuses to sleep with him if it means she will lose her visions in the process.  This repeated sense of sexual violation, albeit in varying levels of seriousness, would most likely have forced a very different reaction from Cordelia, had her place been switched with Buffy’s.  Summers vaguely struggles to redevelop her trust towards the vampire.  While Cordelia manages to forgive a lot of actions Angelus subjects her to, I believe a rape—successful or not—would’ve distinctly placed them in an unforgivable territory. 

While she will never be endowed with the supernatural strength that allows Buffy to defend herself so readily, Cordelia, over the next two years of her life, will become more immersed in the elements of the supernatural, via visions that are incredibly painful gifts from the Powers That Be.  At first, she views these premonitions as a curse, as they induce painful migraines that have the potential to be very dangerous.  However, as time carries on, and she experiences more strangers in the height of their pain, she is fundamentally changed.

            In season three, she is offered an opportunity to return her visions in trade for the life of the stardom she had originally sought.  As Skip informs her that retaining the visions will mean her death, she takes the deal, albeit tentatively.  In the events to follow, Chase, without any recollection of her previous life and mission in Los Angelus, manages to find her own way back to the path she chose several years prior.  She kisses Angel, and receives the visions all over again.  Her obstinate demeanor results in another offer from Skip—he can change her physicality to make her part-demon, thereby allowing her to retain her visions without their implicit fatality. 

            Chase’s agreement to change her very nature in order to preserve her part to play in the mission of Angel, Investigations rings along the same lines of Spike seeking out his soul.  Buffy and Angel each had changes forced upon them.  Summers’ character developed because she was called as the Slayer and, therefore, had to learn to grow up rather quickly, as the weight of the world was dumped on her shoulders overnight.  Angel was cursed with his soul and, therefore, much like Buffy, joined the good fight due to an external uncontrollable factor. 

            Spike and Cordelia, on the other hand, each sought out their own way to join the cause.  After the aforementioned attempt at rape, Spike went looking for a way to acquire his soul.  Chase could’ve very easily contentedly settled into a life of fame and fortune when presented with Skip’s opportunity.  Even after the first deployment failed, she could’ve insisted Skip give her one last attempt at finding normality amongst the rampant supernatural saturation that has occurred to her in the last year.  However, she simply can’t do that.  She’s seen a bigger purpose in this world—something that can make her life worth living and dying for.  As such, she goes so far as to voluntarily change her very being to preserve her chance to make a difference in this world. 

To draw attention to this, at the very same time that Cordy is sacrificing her humanity to serve a larger purpose, Buffy is complaining that her responsibilities as a Slayer make it very difficult for her to get a job somewhere other than the local burger joint.  As Cordelia progressively climbs up the selfless ladder in season three of Angel, Buffy struggles to keep her head above water in season six of BtVS.  She engages in a relationship that’s unhealthy and unsatisfying to both her and Spike.  She hides her true afterlife experiences from her friends, despite knowing that they could help her deal with the aftermath of being ripped from Heaven.  In general, she develops a pattern of making poor decisions, as she selfishly puts her own needs ahead of the helplessness of those who surround her. 

            In a sense, I cannot blame her for this.  Buffy has selflessly served as the world’s protector and savior for the last five years.  Her reward has been to lose everything she’s ever cared for.  While her mistakes here are understandable, I still can’t help but be bothered by the uncharacteristic nature of the character in this season. 

            Thankfully, Buffy resumes her usual disposition in season seven.  Roles reverse here once more, as Summers becomes the leader of the greatest army BtVS has ever seen and Chase, possessed and atypical in behavior, becomes Angel’s Big Bag for the fourth season.  The Cordelia here, however, is not, in any shape or form, the actual Cordelia.  Therefore, she cannot be held accountable for any of the horrible deeds she completes throughout the season.  Her resulting comatose state, however, reminds me once again that, while Buffy has her ups and her downs, she is, at her very core, able to take care of herself just a bit better than Cordy has ever been able to. 

From Bella to Katniss:  Are Buffy and Cordelia 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 female characters.  Buffy’s sense of sacrifice is rarely surpassed, as she repeatedly places her own happiness on the line in order to save the lives of others she cares about.  However, this isn’t to say she can’t be selfish.  She spends almost the entire sixth season perpetually whining about money and dead-end jobs.  While I understand her displeasure at the degrading social standing brought on by her supernatural capabilities, to be fair her friends all offered a variety of alternatives that would be more suitable to her Slaying schedule; it was her own depression that forced her to believe she deserved nothing better.  This depression, though uncharacteristic for perky Buffy, does provide a certain model, as depression is rarely shown in media.  In addition to this struggle, she manages to bring herself back around to become an even better role model than ever in the show’s seventh season.  Once the others take it upon themselves to remove her as leader, she and Spike alone remain free off treason in my eyes.  The fact that she is able to rise above their betrayal and return to command their army shows an incredible ability to forgive that is admirable.  On the other hand, her ability to forgive sins enacted by significant others—in varying levels of severity—is a less than exceptional example to be set that results in a hindering of her rating in comparison to the brunette to follow. 

Role Model Rating:  8/10

Cordelia has a sense of sacrifice, but it is not nearly as honed as Buffy’s.  As the Slayer, a certain level of surrendering for the safety of the world is to be expected.  Alternatively, Cordy, as a civilian playing a game she isn’t fully equipped for, doesn’t have the demands placed upon her as Buffy does and, therefore, is presented with fewer opportunities to follow in those footsteps.  However, when such a chance arises, she consistently chooses her dedication towards her newfound higher purpose above all else—particular examples of this can be seen in her willingness to become part-demon to continue her visions and her eventual acceptance of forfeiting her human life altogether to become a higher being.  Her compassion doesn’t lessen her edge, however, as she continues to contain a certain sense of tactlessness and rudeness.  While some may think Buffy’s more conventionally socially acceptable compassion is the better example to set, I, personally, believe we all could use to follow Cordy’s brutally honest model a bit more often.  Buffy, herself, could certainly use a dose of this medicine in regards to significant others, an area in which the brunette out exemplifies the blonde in nearly every regard. 

Role Model Rating:  9/10

From Lorelai to Wonder Woman:  Are Buffy and Cordelia relatable?  While Buffy is in need of far less saving than Cordelia typically is, this is due to the blessing of her Slayer abilities—had roles been reversed, and Cordelia called as the next Slayer, perhaps it would be the brunette constantly saving the blonde.  This uncontrollable endowment of strengths makes Buffy slightly more difficult to relate to.  While she may have risen from common origins to become a strong female, she wouldn’t have been able to do so without her role as a Slayer forcing her to see the bigger purpose in life.  However, with this realization comes a perpetual state of struggle, as she constantly lays everything on the line and receives very little in return.  This loss appeals to the audience, as no one has traveled through life sans suffering.  Where her previous pitfalls in the realm of relationships hindered her ability to serve as an excellent role model, her mistakes also help the audience to relate to her far easier; I’ve seen many younger girls obsess over significant others in the way Buffy does over Angel or her brief interaction with Parker.  Buffy makes mistakes; she puts her faith in the wrong people and suffers the consequences frequently.  No one is perfect, and Buffy, in her exceptional strength and power as the Slayer, proves just that. 

Relatability Rating:  9/10

Where Buffy was blessed with supernatural powers to jump-start her conversion from vapid Valley Girl to a more compassionate and rounded-out character, Cordelia had no such igniting device.  While the visions she acquired in the first season of Angel would eventually cement the changes she had started to experience, she alone advocates for her own change in personality starting in the second season of BtVS.  As soon as she chooses Xander, and, by association, the Scoobies, over Harmony and the other mindless drones that make up the population of the popular students at Sunnydale High, she took her own first step towards improvement, with no supernatural assistance necessary.  This sends an even stronger message to the audience than Buffy’s previous off-screen renovations to her personality.  Two messages are received as Cordelia progresses.  First, as we watch her grow and develop, the audience is shown that we are in control of what we feel most passionate about.  When she first moves to L.A., she focuses on acting, as that is something that interests her.  Over time, however, she begins to see a deeper, more meaningful potential purpose; a purpose that starts to set in prior to her acquiring her visions, might I add.  Second, you are able to alter your personality without losing sight of all that it means to be you.  Cordelia manages to soften her personality without losing the distinct edge of honesty that just makes Cordelia Cordy.  For those of us who consider themselves on a perpetual track towards attempted self-improvement, this revelation about Cordelia serves to not only make her a decent role model, but works toward making her a more down-to-earth character than her brash and pushy demeanor can sometimes allow for.  It also aids the audience in finding some relatability in an overly beautiful and popular character.  Previous to the loss of her family’s money, life was almost too good for Cordelia for us to realistically understand any struggles she could go through.  With the loss of her confidence and a steady stream of funds comes a propensity to voice the true concerns of the every man; where Buffy is inherently too good to really ask others for money just for saving them, Cordy demands clients pay their bills in full, even if she has to personally put herself in danger to receive the funds.  Cordy, much like us, has bills to pay and a mouth to feed. 

Relatability Rating:  9/10