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—He’d Do Anything to Save a Friend, Even if They’re Part Barnyard Animal

**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—He’d Do Anything to Save a Friend, Even if They’re Part Barnyard Animal

            Percy Jackson’s reaction to the earth-shattering news that he is part god and part man is startlingly ordinary.  While he understands, as Uncle Ben so adamantly informs us, that with great power comes great responsibility, he can’t help but marvel and mischievously comment as the chaos unfolds around him, his smirk in place and his cheeky remark always ready to be dropped at the first sign that the morale is in need of a boost. 

            Percy Jackson was the character to solve my natural inclination to dislike protagonists.  He starkly contrasted Harry Potter, the character I frequently compared him to in my teens, as they were the first two series that truly convinced me that reading wasn’t such a horrible thing after all.  The two seemed like night and day to me; Percy with his laid-back demeanor and ability to keep a cool head even in moments of crisis, Harry with his incessant angst—angst that I have since grown to fully understand, but which served to annoy me to no end through my original read-through of the series. 

            This isn’t to say that both protagonists didn’t have a fair share of traits in common.  Collectively, there is a driving desire to sacrifice themselves for the safety of the world or their loved ones—a duty they are called on to perform regularly and which their companions often draw attention to.  Annabeth acknowledges very early on that Percy’s Fatal Flaw is his willingness to sacrifice the world or himself for his friends and family.  Shockingly, Annabeth explains that this flaw isn’t always necessarily a good thing.

            As a demigod, Percy is naturally rather short-tempered and impulsive; he finds it very difficult to sit still and, as a result, whenever he discovers he can do anything to resolve Camp Half-Blood’s current issues, he is quick to jump at the opportunity, even if it may cost him his life.  Early on, he has a difficulty understanding that the fate of the world is an even higher priority than the fate of his friends and family.  In The Lightening Thief, Percy almost risks destroying the world in light of saving his mother.  In The Titan’s Curse, Jackson refuses to obey orders to sit at camp and wait for the others to rescue Annabeth; he seeks to join them on his own. 

            However, by Titan’s Curse, he has a better grasp on what it means to be a hero.  He immediately offers to be the one to take down the metal guardian who resides over the junkyard of the gods, despite holding no responsibility for its spring into action.  Jackson literally carries the weight of the world on his shoulders for several minutes, as Artemis works to trick Atlas into resuming what should’ve always been his burden.  In The Battle of the Labryinth, he insists Annabeth flee, to leave him to handle the monsters as Mount St. Helens works towards an eruption.  Chase fights him, of course, but even Percy can occasionally be too stubborn for her to trump. 

            In The Last Olympian, Percy risks his own life as he takes one dangerous swim across the River Styx.  Doing so could’ve very easily killed him, and, therefore, severely impaired Camp Half-Bloods prospects of defeating Kronos, had he not had the will—not to mention, the tenaciousness of an imaginary Annabeth—to lead him through it.  However, he knew it was what needed to be done; it was their best chance of winning the war against Kronos and preventing the destruction of Mount Olympus. 

            In the Heroes of Olympus series, Percy gets an opportunity for a bit of a reboot, as the audience discovers in Son of Neptune that he has very few of his memories still intact; all he has is his name, Annabeth’s, and an adorable Panda Pillow Pet—told you this kid was the stuff of legend.  Despite this potential for a personality reboot, Percy persists in his bravery and courage, particularly in terms of those he cares for.  He makes some friends at Camp Jupiter and, therefore, feels there’s no other option than to step in and help them in their assigned quest; the decision is an easy one for him.  Finally reunited with his old friends in Mark of Athena, he very easily could’ve heeded Annabeth’s advice and simply let her fall to Tartarus; logically, he could’ve been of more use on the other side of the Doors of Death.  Instead, knowing he can’t let her suffer alone, he refuses to let go and follows her journey down to the depths of Tartarus. 

            This dedication to his friends and family comes with both positive and negative consequences.  Throughout the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series, Kronos frequently attempts to exploit this well-known flaw of Jackson’s, in the hopes that one of the numerous times he places himself on the line to save his friends, he will die in the process.  Kronos’s plans fall short, however, as Percy never fails to come through. 

            Despite his enemies attempting to use this trait to their advantage, more often than not, Percy comes out on top in duels.  This success can be attributed to his persistent practice and corresponding success over the years—through which he has acquired quite a few presents:  the Minotaur horn, Medusa’s head and the Nemean Lion pelt, to name just a few.  This training, combined with his dedication to his friends, and his natural inclination to take on the role of leader creates a stubborn and brilliant swordsman.  It motivates him to fight to his very last breath, should the situation call for it, and frequently in situations where he wasn’t called upon to fight to begin with.  At the age of twelve, he eagerly stepped in to fight Ares so as to prevent the god from causing any harm to Grover and Annabeth.  Impressively, pre-teen Jackson was triumphant, despite the insurmountable odds that come with facing off against a god to begin with.

            In Sea of Monsters, he fights Luke, who is acknowledged to be one of, if not the best demigod with a sword in camp.  Not only does the underdog win the fight, he manages to trick Luke into revealing his responsibility for destroying Thalia’s tree in the process.  He once again places himself in this position in Last Olympian, this time even under steeper circumstances, as Luke has now been possessed by Kronos.  The fight nearly kills him, but he still can’t help but give it his best attempt.

            In House of Hades, Percy feels horrible leaving Bob behind to clean up their mess in Tartarus.  The giant has remained loyal to him throughout his entire journey through Riordan’s version of hell; but, regardless, Percy was still forced to leave him behind, ann action which feels incredibly cowardly and treacherous to him. 

            Despite his various displays of success, Chiron and Mr. D both attempt to keep Percy out of the quests issued in Sea of Monsters and Titan’s Curse.  In both situations, he would’ve perhaps listened, had it not been his friends on the line.  In Sea of Monsters, he seeks to save Grover, believing he is uniquely qualified to do so, due to the empathetic link the two share.  In Titan’s Curse, he refuses to allow Annabeth to remain in peril while he simply sits and waits for her safe return.  Eventually, in both of these situations, the other demigods involved come to realize that Jackson is an unrivaled asset to be held on a quest and submit to allow him to tag along. 

However, simply being permitted to join the quest isn’t easy for him.  Percy will always struggle when he is not assigned as the leader of the quest; taking orders isn’t something he necessarily handles very well.  In his youth, he was expelled from every school his mother attempted to send him to.  Therefore, Percy was not only the unending new kid, he was also always labeled the troublemaker—the rebellious outcast with a perpetual smirk, painted regularly as an underdog.  As a result, he would often gravitate towards other self-labeled misfits.  In his time at Yancy Academy in Lightening Thief, he frequently saves Grover from bullies.  Once he arrives at Camp Half-Blood and joins yet another community with its own idiosyncrasies, he is temporarily labeled as the jock in comparison to his previous nerd status; he is, after all, the controversial heir of one of the big three.

            When Tyson arrives in Sea of Monsters, Percy is ashamed of his brother.  He looks at the Cyclops and sees nothing but another opportunity to be ridiculed.  He no longer feels like the cool kid who saved the day in The Lightening Thief; now he’s the kid who’s dad slept with some strange sea creature to produce a Cyclops.  With Tyson’s disappearance and apparent death later in the novel, however, Jackson comes to his senses.  The loss of a brother he hadn’t even realized he had started to rely on hits him hard.  As such, his cold distancing from Tyson at the start of the novel will really be his last callous display of teenage angst in his pursuit of popularity.  From here on out, not only will Percy naturally gravitate towards outcasts, he will regularly seek them out and provide the friendship they need, receiving an equally fervent loyalty in return. 

            This leads to some unique and strong friendships throughout the course of both series.  Despite his brief amount of time spent on her island, Percy feels very distressed that he cannot stay and give Calypso the company she obviously desperately craves.  Quirky artist and activist Rachel Elizabeth Dare doesn’t scare Percy, despite her radical tendencies and strong personality.  In Son of Neptune, he’s immediately drawn to the least popular Cohort.  He takes this one step further, as he bonds with Frank and Hazel—two extreme outcasts in an already existing island of misfits. 

            However, for those who serve as the majority or expected leaders of a society, this rebellious tendency to favor underdogs can be quite chaffing.  Frequently, Percy’s acquaintance with people such as this gets off to, at the very least, a rocky start, resulting in a turbulence that typically prevails.  Clarisse, Reyna, Zoe and Piper, while eventually growing to respect Percy for his ability to succeed, still always seem distrustful of him or perplexed by those who seem so intrigued or fascinated by him.  To them, he is a capable fighter and person, but not necessarily worthy of the recurrent hero-status he receives. 

Even when he and Annabeth first become acquainted, there was a distinct dislike between the pair.  However, with time, Annabeth began to see his mischievousness and accompanying smirk, not necessarily as dissention in the ranks, but as a healthy ability to question authority and seek to find the best possible solution for all involved.  Thankfully, for both their sakes, they were able to rise above their original disagreements and develop one of the healthiest bonds in young adult literature.  They rely on each other, without requiring the other to “complete” them.  Had either one of them fallen to Tartarus alone, they never would’ve survived; Annabeth may work to keep Percy grounded and logical, but Percy reassures her that anything and everything is possible, if only they can work together to live another day. 

From Gary King to Nicholas Angel:  Is Percy a good role model?  Percy’s sense of humor allows him to display an excellent ability to toe a particularly difficult line; he’s able to show worry and concern for his friends while simultaneously embracing that there is only so much he can do to force a situation.  Where Annabeth has a tendency to overanalyze, Percy impulsively sets to a plan and follows it through.  As an impulsively concocted plan, it may not always be the best option, but he, at the very least, gets the operation in order.  While he may regularly find his way on quests that weren’t his to begin with, he isn’t afraid to place credit where credit is due.  In Sea of Monsters, he gives Clarisse the fleece, knowing that her ability to fly—by which I of course mean by plane, not that she has some latent ability to sprout wings and take to the air—is the quickest resolution to the border problem at camp.  This concession shows an ability to acknowledge that he doesn’t always need to be the hero that is certainly commendable.  He’s bold and brash—a trait which isn’t always an exceptional model to set; however, Percy doesn’t necessarily directly disobey, so much as he forges his own path and solution.  This rebelliousness and bravery often earns him respect, most notably in the eyes of gods that aren’t necessarily easy to please—for instance, Hades (who hates humans), Artemis (who dislikes men), and Mr. D (who hates heroes)—serving to show young readers that standing out can only be beneficial.  Finally, he shows a willingness to risk his well being for those he cares for and for the sake of a bigger purpose.  His selflessness is a commendable characteristic that all young readers—either male or female—could use to see more of.  Bella Swan sacrifices her livelihood—and, if you were to ask Edward, her soul—in the name of something as superficial as romantic infatuation.  Percy persistently places himself on the line to make a better world for his friends and family.  If there’s a better example to set, I’m not sure what it is. 

Role Model Rating:  10/10

From Peter Parker to Spider-Man:  Is Percy relatable?  Jackson is an exceptional fighter, which could’ve potentially caused him to be less relatable to the audience.  However, despite his prowess with a sword, he frequently relies on his friends to save him—Annabeth, as is most often the case.  While he is skilled, he is not god-like and retains an ability to slip-up in his dueling.  Along with the human side of his DNA, he does have several noted fears.  It is acknowledged that he is claustrophobic, although it never really impedes his ability to win a fight.  After the conflict in Alaska in Son of Neptune, he also acquires a fear of suffocation, which plagues him off and on throughout the Heroes of Olympus series.  Both of these fears serve to humanize his character in ways his amazing skills with a sword might have previously impeded.  In addition to his fears, he, like all other demigods, suffers from ADHD—which is his body’s natural battle instinct pushing to be address—and dyslexia, which results from his brain’s original familiarity with Greek.  Due to my disposition of disdain, both in general and in regards to school, as a child and my previous disregard towards reading, I could certainly relate to Percy’s ongoing battle with expulsion and external conflict with teachers such as Mrs. Dodds.  In my time as a teacher, my suspicions that other students would relate to Percy for these very same reasons were confirmed; I found that a majority of the high schoolers who proudly proclaimed they hated to read, would also declare that they had read all of the Percy Jackson novels to date and simply couldn’t wait for the release of the next one.  Finally, Percy, in his temper-driven and capricious courses of action, often makes mistakes that he can pay for very dearly.  On a superficial level, early on in the series he struggles with society’s expectations for him to be popular, resulting in his isolation of Tyson.  Eventually, he is able to overcome this mindset and grows to even embrace his status as a rebel.  However, the best instance of paying for his previous actions is, by far, the circumstance in which he is forced to suffer the fates he has inflicted on his various enemies from his past in House of Hades.  While he had previously viewed his past prowess with nothing short of confidence and pride, the experience sought to humble him greatly as he realized just how much pain he had inflicted over the years.  I love that, with this realization, Riordan tones down any chance for arrogance on Percy’s part, and allows the character to realize he may not have always been the good guy, a fact he had previously been quite settled in. 

Relatability Rating:  10/10

Cinderella—So This is Desperation

**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~

Cinderella—So This is Love Desperation

            Recently, a friend and I engaged in a discussion centered on Disney Princesses.  I suggested that the evolution of the characteristics evident in each new Disney Princess serves to chronicle that era’s expectations when it comes to women.  For instance, Snow White and Aurora, who each sleep through the bulk of their motion picture, represent the ideal concept of a docile and complacent woman.  Cinderella, slightly more revolutionary, introduces a woman’s capability for dreams and ambition, but not without a stern dependence upon a man to help them see it through. 

            Throughout her original film—I will be the first to admit I barely made it through Cinderella I and, therefore, had no desire to seek out any following sequels—the audience sees Cinderella as a hard-working, dedicated servant, basically imprisoned at the hands of her inexplicably jealous step-mother and step-sisters.  She resourcefully completes every task they set to her with barely a complaint uttered. 

            Even as she suffers in silence through her servitude, she maintains an image as a beacon of hope—hence Florida’s choice in constructing Cinderella’s castle above all other princesses in their park—well, as their first, anyway—as they hope children will view this as a confirmation that their dreams have come true via this vacation and, therefore, insist on a return visit in the very near future. 

            However, Cinderella’s dream is flawed.  She wishes for nothing more than for her prince to come along and save her from her dreadful treatment at the hands of her stepmother.  A prince, with his high social standing and financial security—because, you know, no kingdom has ever struggled from money problems—would be able to extract Cinderella from this situation in a way that she is incapable of. 

            Most girls from the twenty-first century immediately have some questions about this situation.  The first is typically why doesn’t she merely seek a job?  Having her own financial means could eliminate the need for a prince entirely—essentially cutting out the middleman—and allow for her to find her own salvation. 

            This is, of course, where my theory that each Disney princess is an accurate representation of society’s expectations towards women comes in.  In contemporary times, we watch Cinderella, mouths agape at the stupidity of the supposed hindrances evident in the plot.  In essence, the audience yells at the screen something along the lines of “if you don’t like your mother, stop complaining, move out and make your own way!” 

            Unfortunately for Cinderella, women weren’t necessarily allowed that liberty in the early ‘50s.  They were often forced to live at home until they could find a husband to impede upon live with.

            While I find the entire concept to be ridiculous, I can, at the very least, appreciate that Cinderella is the eternal optimist.  Even through various pitfalls and struggles, she maintained a strong hope that her dream had to be achieved, even if she didn’t personally have the motivation to achieve it by her own means. 

            There seems to be an association with Cinderella that implies hard work pays off.  Cinderella, serving as almost a slave for the first part of her film, does understand the demands of hard work, forced to do all the chores and duties her step-relatives are too lazy to complete on their own.  However, I would argue that, since this hard work fails to touch any contribution to the achieving of her dream, this is a falsified aspect of her personality.  To achieve her dream, she relies on completely external forces.  The mice and other vermin that she keeps as company complete the original renovations to her mother’s dress.  Her Fairy Godmother is completely responsible for successfully getting her to the ball, as she works the magic necessary to achieve a suitable presentation of what is expected of a future princess.  The only task Cinderella personally achieves is managing to have a foot that fits into a presumably entirely uncomfortable glass slipper, thus procuring herself the prince she has always sought. 

            Then, there is, of course, the awkwardness of love at first sight evident in the film.  At the ball, Cinderella and the prince share exactly one dance, barely speaking in the process, as they exchange choruses of “So This is Love….”

            No, it’s really not.  Simultaneously meeting and falling in love with someone does not set any form of an excellent example.  It sets up teenage girls to fall into the trap of someone they barely know, to be manipulated and persuaded to go against their own instincts simply because they are supposedly loved—a situation that rarely ends well. 

            For my post centered on Bella Swan, I quoted a critic from Entertainment Weekly who said the audience “may wish [Bella] had loftier goals and a mind of her own, but these are fairy tales, and as a steadfast lover in the Disney Princess mold, Bella has a certain saccharine appeal.”  This tale may very well be a fairy tale, but little girls idolize Disney Princesses; they mirror their words, actions and choices.  Personally, I’d rather have my future daughter shooting fake arrows at trees in the backyard than playing dress-up and throwing herself at every Charming she happens to come upon. 

From Bella to Katniss:  Is Cinderella a good role model?  Unlike Bella, Cinderella has some redeeming qualities.  She’s dedicated to her family, despite the difficult tasks they place upon her.  But, more importantly, she’s dedicated to her dreams.  She may ultimately rely on a man to remove her from her less than ideal situation, but she refuses to let any road blocks in her path to finding that man deter her from her dream.  However, marriage as her only motivation in life is not necessarily an admirable goal and, therefore, hinders Cinderella’s ability to serve as a stellar example.  With this drive to find marriage and settle into the local castle, comes a distinct desperation.  As a result, Cinderella—and, astoundingly, Prince Charming as well—believes she’s in love with the prince mere seconds after seeing him.  This—in addition to the extreme makeover provided by the hands of the fairy godmother—places an emphasis on physical appearance that is a feminist’s nightmare.  There is no possible way for the very few words exchanged between the pair to be sufficient to incite a deep enough appeal from both parties to spark any semblance of feelings, let alone as intense of an emotion as love.  Therefore, it is safe for the audience to assume this attraction is driven purely by physical appearances, which is, on its own, obviously never a very solid foundation for a relationship.  By Cinderella’s example in modes of communication and standards, I should fall in love with the checkout attendant at my local grocery store, with whom I exchange more words than Cinderella does with the Prince in their entire first meeting. 

Role Model Rating:  3/10

From Lorelai to Wonder Woman:  Is Cinderella relatable?  With Disney Princesses, there tends to be two options—either the girl is born a princess, or will marry a prince to “earn” the title via marriage by the end of the film.  For obvious reasons, little girls tend to relate slightly more to Princesses such as Belle, who marry into the title; characters such as this give the audience a glimmer of hope that they can marry a prince and become a princess, just as their favorite character did.  Cinderella, much like Belle and a few others, does marry into her title.  She also has a job—if we can really call it that, and I don’t think we really can—that she hates, serving on her step-relatives.  This is a sentiment I think more people can relate to, as opposed to someone in the opposite circumstances who loves their job very much, as I know very few people who are head over heels for their job.  There’s also an element of the hopeful about Cinderella, who avidly—if not actively—seeks out her dreams (even if they are utterly silly dreams…) that is refreshing.  This aspect, while not relatable to me in my realistic tendencies, is arguably appealing to those who are essentially more in the middle on the optimistic scale than I am.  The character is also very sweet, as she submissively obeys the orders from her step-relatives—as opposed to me, who would tell them to cook their own damn breakfast, or perhaps merely settle for spitting in their eggs.  Here, Cinderella once again serves as a relatable model for those who are more in the middle on the delightful/disagreeable scale than I am.  However, the quick pace of her romance with the prince seems a bit ridiculous to those of us who reside in the twenty-first century and serves as a distinct disconnect between the audience and the character.  This void may be lessened by romantics—I do know quite a few women who would still, to this very day, respond with an ‘Awww,’ as opposed to my scoffed ‘please,’ as the first few notes of “So This is Love” queue up.  However, I believe even romantics would be able to see that Cinderella is, as Entertainment Weekly’s Chris Willman states, “no feminist icon,” even with her small accomplishment as the only “vintage Disney Princess who stays awake through [her] last act.”

Relatability Rating:  2/10

Buffy Summers—The Hardest Thing in This World is to Live in it

**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~

Buffy Summers—The Hardest Thing in This World is to be a Slayer Live in it

            When Joss Whedon set out to create Buffy Summers, his goal was to conceive a character that could serve as an excellent role model, particularly in terms of defying the clichéd “little blonde girl,” who gets killed immediately in every horror film.  Conversely, he created a powerhouse blonde (a fact I am personally grateful for, as we are almost always portrayed as hot and/or stupid.) who was beautiful, but a social outcast, vulnerable, and yet could lead a troop into a horde of Uber-Vamps and come out the victor.  Whedon, with his very first official Whedon Woman, succeeded beyond belief. 

            Buffy Summers started out as a Valley Girl.  To see the details of this, view the movie Buffy the Vampire Slayer, although be prepared for a thoroughly different character; she’s almost unrecognizable in comparison to the Buffy we meet in Welcome to the Hellmouth.  Sure, Buffy isn’t at the height of sophistication or maturity throughout the bulk of season one.  As a meager sophomore in high school, it would be unfair for the audience to expect as much from her.  However, the Summers present in the film takes the character’s early faults to new heights, rendering her nearly unidentifiable. 

            Buffy’s faults are still evident in the television series, although they are slightly underplayed.  Whedon rounds out her character, maturing her a bit as she slowly comes to grips with her destiny.

            This is not an overnight process.  I would argue it takes the entire duration of the series for Buffy to be done baking, like Cookie Dough responsibly accept her destiny and what it means in terms of her life.  She gets her start here in season one, as she chooses social outcasts Willow and Xander as her friends as opposed to Cordelia, who would’ve been Movie-Buffy’s very easy first choice.  By the end of the season, she voluntarily takes on the Master, despite knowing that it will lead to her death.  This decision holds such importance, as it is the first sacrifice of many Buffy will make for the sake of someone she cares for or, of course, for the safety of the entire world. 

            Whedon runs everything on a metaphor.  As with the bulk of the material covered on BtVS, Buffy’s decision at the close of season one is meant to resonate with the audience on two levels—on a surface, it is a sixteen-year-old girl courageously giving up her life to protect the world.  On a more applicable level, it is a sixteen-year-old girl actively making the choice to sacrifice her own happiness for the happiness of others.  Valley Girl Buffy never would’ve cared enough to make this choice.  Yet, here we are, a mere few months later.  She’s made this selfless decision based entirely on the fact that she knows it’s what her duty calls on her to do. 

            This doesn’t mean she submits easily.  If, once Giles had finally informed her of her inevitable fate, Buffy simply would’ve shrugged her shoulders and resigned herself to her death with a begrudging smile upon her face, the character would’ve been too noble, too perfect, for the audience to relate to.  As an alternative, Whedon gives us one of the greatest speeches in the entire series in Prophecy Girl.  Buffy yells and cries out that she quits, she’s fired; she demands they defeat the Master.  Giles attempts to remind her that, should the Master rise, the entire world will come to an end, including her life.  Buffy interrupts, her voice cracking and tears coursing down her cheeks, as she declares she doesn’t care, “Giles, I’m sixteen years old.  I don’t wanna die.”

            My heart broke for her in that moment.  The first season is far from the show’s best.  The plot is rough as Whedon gets the feel for how he wants to run the show.  The writing, however, is, as always, witty and sharp.  The characters are refined and deep, even within the mere first twelve episodes.  Whedon, in this speech, manages to give us an accurate representation of a sixteen-year-old girl, who wants nothing more than a simpler life. 

            As the series progresses, Buffy only grows to be more relatable and a better role model.  In season two, she is forced to deal with the fact that her boyfriend—once kind-hearted and caring—is now a completely different person.  Worse yet, the change was prompted by Buffy’s choice to sleep with him for the first time.  The loss of Buffy’s virginity, and the corresponding change in Angel’s character, is, once again, meant to be pertinent on two levels.  The first level is difficult for us to relate to, as very few people in reality date vampires who lose their soul—the very essence of what makes them good—once they sleep with you.  On another level, however, it is very realistic for the politics of a relationship to shift with the introduction of sex.  I feel assured that Buffy is not the first teenage girl to sleep with her significant other, only to have him become malicious, or even potentially dangerous, shortly after the fact. 

            Season two is, in my opinion, one of the best seasons of television ever produced.  Good guys become bad, bad guys become good—both of which the heroine is, both directly and indirectly, responsible for.  Buffy is now forced to face her accountability for the many deaths Angelus causes over the second half of the season, which involves the very personal death of Jenny Calendar.  By the end of the season, Buffy has matured to the point where her Valley Girl persona isn’t even a dim memory.  She’s forced to reveal her identity to her mother, whose natural reaction is to worry her daughter is insane—a problem Buffy has very little time to ponder, as she’s late for a date with Angelus and Acathla. 

            In an act that may outweigh her sacrifice at the end of season one, Buffy fights Angelus, fully intending to kill him to stop Acathla’s portal from dragging the entire world into Hell.  As if this sacrifice wasn’t a high enough demand, Willow, at the very last possible moment, manages to retrieve Angel’s soul.  For a few small moments, Angel has returned, dazed and confused, oblivious to the reign of terror he has exacted upon the Scoobies for the last several months.  Buffy, unsure what to do, returns his embrace as more tears escape her.  She sees the portal and knows that it is just too late—she has no other choice but to follow her original plan and kill him. 

            She whispers for him to close his eyes, kisses him one last time, and shoves the sword into him, sending Angel to Hell.  The sadness on her face as she realizes she’s lost everything breaks my heart every time. 

            I do not mean that she’s lost everything in the way Bella Swan lost everything in New Moon when Edward Cullen left her.  Bella had alienated every other force in her life; therefore, when the only thing person she relied on chose to leave her, she literally had nothing left to live for (or, at least, she didn’t think so.  I personally think that notion is utterly ridiculous, but whatever).

            Buffy, on the other hand, with this sacrifice, truly witnesses the destructive power that comes with being a Slayer.  At the end of season two, she can’t help but feel that the strength required to be a Slayer only comes accompanied by destruction.  Therefore, to prevent any further damage done on her part, she sought to remove herself from her life in Sunnydale before she could ruin the lives of anyone else.  This decision, while understandable, starts season three on a rough note.

            Season three is a difficult year for Buffy.  She has a lot of important decisions to make, upon her return to Sunnydale.  A resurrected Angel is back in town and is, as always, complicating things.  Faith—a new Slayer as a result of Buffy’s first death…it’s complicated. and Buffy’s foil—arrives in Sunnydale and immediately begins to stir up trouble, eventually progressing to the point of murder and betrayal. 

            However, despite the collection of complications evident in season three, it has some of the show’s most interesting aspects, in the process raising some previously unaddressed issues.  Among them, there is a complication in which Angel is poisoned, with a serum that can only be cured by the blood of a Slayer, forcing Buffy to seek out Faith in an attempt to kill her, badass leather pants and all.  Buffy, of course, fails, as it simply isn’t in her nature to kill humans, nor is it ever allowed, really.  Angel and Spike can kill humans; it’s an unwritten rule that Buffy cannot. 

            As a result, Buffy is forced to allow Angel to feed on her to save him.  He puts up a fight, of course, but eventually submits to Buffy’s insistence.  This situation is very complex to me—to the point where I’m still not quite sure how I feel about it.  My initial reaction is along the same lines as Xander’s—a disgust at Angel for even allowing the situation to come to pass.  On the other hand, Buffy’s desperation to save the man she still loves, despite the fact that she isn’t supposed to, humanizes her, makes her imperfect, still in the process of maturing. 

            I’ve read articles that associate Buffy with a concept called The Exceptional Woman—a character that is infinitely better than anyone else at a specific task.  Veronica Mars can solve crimes better than even her father.  Hermione Granger can cast spells better than her male counterparts (although, let’s be honest.  Hopes were never necessarily high for Ron or Harry).  River Song can kill the Silence while everyone else simply stands by scratching their heads.

            Buffy kills vampires and demons better than almost anyone.  She’s stronger than Riley (even with whatever the professor had him on).  She’s more collected than Faith ever had any hope to be.  She even manages to beat both Spike and Angel, although that may not always be the case. 

            I will agree that Buffy, on some level, is an exceptional woman.  She was created for that very purpose—to offset the stereotypical blonde female who fails at everything, particularly in the matter of surviving.  She, therefore, had to possess a certain level of strength at her disposal, an ability to beat even the most difficult adversaries.  And, to her credit, the bulk of the time, she succeeds.  Summers manages to defeat Glory—the hell-goddess, despite Council insistence that it will be impossible.  The Slayer defeats the Mayor—in all his wormy goodness; she even manages to grab her diploma on the way out.  The Master, supposedly one of the most powerful vampires to ever exist, is put to rest by Buffy at the meager age of sixteen.  Finally, an army of Uber-Vamps and the First Evil present little worry for the Slayer—that is, after she deciphers how to kill the first one. 

            Buffy’s saving grace from the declaration of the Exceptional Woman is the most important facet of her life—her friends and family.  It is true, she achieved all of the items listed above, but none of it was completed on her own.  The Mayor, not to mention his army of vampire thugs, is defeated only thanks to the finally proactive Sunnydale class of 1999.  Without her classmates and friends, who serve as her commanding officers, the Mayor would’ve undeniably succeeded.  She defeated the Master, but not without being resurrected by Xander first.  Not to mention, Giles, Cordelia, Willow and Jenny, who all took the brunt of it, as they fought off the beast of the Hellmouth from ground zero.  As for the Uber-Vamps, without Willow’s ability to share Buffy’s powers with the Potentials, the white hats never would’ve survived the fight, let alone managed to avert the apocalypse.  And there is, of course, the matter of Spike’s sacrifice.  Without his ability to bear the amulet, the world would’ve indisputably come to an end. Summers defeats Glory, but only after Anya manages to retrieve Olaf the Troll God’s hammer.  Even then, the price is a high one, as another sacrifice is required on her part to save Dawn and the world.  She really did save the world, a lot.

            The Exceptional Woman would’ve never allowed Angel to bite her, knowing full well it could result in her death; the Exceptional Woman be far too smart for that.  The Exceptional Woman would’ve never allowed herself to become involved in the intensely sexual and violent relationship Buffy shares with Spike in the sixth season.  Not to mention, The Exceptional Woman would’ve dealt with her pains at leaving Heaven in a much more brisk state, carrying quickly on to do what is right in the name of all that is good. 

            Buffy, unlike the Exceptional Woman, makes mistakes, and very frequently pays dearly for them.  Summers fails to notice her best friend has fallen far from the tracks, until it is almost too late to do anything about it except sit back and watch her bring the world to an end.  Similarly, she fails to recognize how undervalued Riley feels in their relationship until he has boarded a helicopter for some forest or another (although, I’m certainly not complaining.  Good riddance.).  Finally, while she does manage to kill Glory, she fails to do so before deadweight Dawn’s blood has opened the portal to the goddess’s hell dimension, forcing her to make the ultimate sacrifice.  Buffy admitted to Giles that killing Angel for the sake of the world in season two was the hardest decision she had ever made.  Therefore, Summers went into The Gift, refusing to allow Dawn to die in order to save the world.  And, she doesn’t, as she tearfully bids her goodbyes to Dawn, making only the request that she go on living…for her. 

From Bella to Katniss:  Is Buffy a good role model?  Whedon set out to create a cultural icon in Buffy Summers; he wanted everyone to know and remember her name, hence the streaming of the words Buffy and Vampire Slayer into the same title.  In Buffy, he gave us a character capable of an immaculate physical strength, obviously—there are very few enemies she can’t defeat without breaking a sweat, particularly after she ramps up her training in season five.  However, on a less pronounced level, there is an intense emotional vulnerability and strength about Buffy that arguably outweighs her physical merits.  Buffy’s life is never easy—she makes many difficult, sometimes impossible, choices, often with no regard to her own happiness.  She sacrifices so much and receives so little in return.  She suffers many losses—Angel, her mother, Spike—but still manages to take care of her dreadfully dull and foolish fake sister when the day is over.  Whedon sought to give us a woman every girl should aspire to become with Buffy Summers.  She’s strong—fighting literally and metaphorically for who is most important to her in life until her very last breath, willing to sacrifice whatever is required to insure their safety.  While I would never condone this causality with one’s life, to Buffy there are times when she has given so much she is literally left with nothing else to give.  Again, in the mode of Whedon’s metaphors, the message is transparent; one must be willing to put themselves on the line in order to receive the same loyalty in return—just, perhaps, not via climbing a rickety old tower built by crazy people.

Role Model Rating:  10/10

From Lorelai to Wonder Woman:  Is Buffy relatable?  The example set by Buffy is almost too perfect, until you factor in her humble origins and her ability to complain when things fail to go her way—Doublemeat, anyone?  She started as a vapid Valley Girl, who cared about little else than who would take her to Homecoming.  By the end of the series, she’s a force to be reckoned with.  This sends a particular message to the audience—no matter what you may be now, you can become whatever you wish.  Buffy faces a lot of changes in the seven years we followed her.  She grows from a Cordelia-esq cheerleader to the leader of the strongest army to ever be seen on the show.  This transition gives the audience hope that, no matter what background we may come from, where we end up is in our hands.  This isn’t to say Buffy’s perfect.  On the contrary, Buffy knows how to pout with the best of them, particularly in season six where nothing seems to go her way.  This isn’t to say that Buffy needs to always be happy; in fact, despite how difficult it may be to watch at times, I’m glad the show explored a deep depressive state, such as the one Buffy finds herself in during the duration of the sixth season.  Characters in a less than healthy mental state are very rarely seen on television; therefore, it is always interesting to see how writers will tackle the subject.  I felt Buffy’s portrayal in the sixth season was very accurately done, and allowed some audience members to relate to Buffy in ways they may never have been able to previously—particularly in her previously peppy macho-macho-man singing state. 

Relatability Rating:  8/10