Pros rantage: Fanon Bodie
I almost didn't post this. Then something hit my 'annoy' button, hard, and I was off running again.
The Professionals frustrates me. I don't think I've ever come across a fandom where I like the characters and universe so much, and the great preponderance of fanfiction so little. I mean, I love Bodie. Flat-out. No kidding. But, unfortunately, I like a genuinely thick-skinned Bodie -- one who isn't secretly wounded at a stray hard word from Doyle. I like my Bodie loyal once he's given his trust, but sensitive to and intolerant of betrayal -- giving every possible benefit of the doubt, and then unwilling to offer second chances. A Bodie who lives perpetually on the edge of leaving, one foot out the door and three bolt holes all lined up and waiting.
A Bodie who's been through hell, who's crossed lines you don't come back from, and who will never, ever talk about it -- instead spins tales that grow taller as the years pass; who will tell you about bad bugs and bad food and hint at nebulous adventures and if you think what you're complaining about is bad, well my son I've been through worse -- because I'm big bad Bodie and this hardship is nothing to me popping up like the tagline of some fantastical character out of Kipling. But the details of the stories change and shift, like a wink at some older child after you've pretended to pull a quarter out of his kid brother's ear.
I like there to be something elusive about Bodie -- smiling, genial buys-his-round Bodie and the serious substance of him always just out of reach. I want there to be some deep, quiet places inside him that are like rooms -- utterly still, white drop-sheets spread out over the furniture -- locked up long ago and the keys lost, irrevocably, no matter who he fucks or loves or cares for.
I like Bodie with trauma in his past -- he's survived, he's coped -- but it's left its mark like broken bones that weren't set quite right before they healed -- strong, maybe even stronger now -- but just a little off and nothing will fix it. A Bodie who holds big pieces of himself back, even from the few people who get past the outer layers of armor, and always will; who's largely incapable of the deeper levels of intimacy, who just can't let himself be vulnerable in the ways that really matter. But he'll buy you a beer, jolly you out of the occasional black mood and, if he loves you, give you your way, take a couple of hard lumps he didn't deserve, carry most of the luggage and just let it pass.
I want a Bodie who lets Doyle tug him around, but like some big sleek predator leashed on his own whim -- who comes to heel at Doyle's whistle, trailing along after him with a kind of intrigued amusement, who's almost certain he could not follow if he chose, but for reasons he isn't going to look at too closely, unwilling to put it to the test. Maybe next time he will. Or the time after that... And the years pass, and Doyle whistles, and Bodie follows, amused and intrigued and not certain, weighing his compliance idly, like a handful of spare change he's gotten used to jangling in his pocket.
I have trouble finding this Bodie in fanfic. And oh how I want him.
Instead I find blindly 'whither thou goeth' Bodie. 'Oh but is he in love with me' Bodie. 'Fucked over but takes Doyle back' Bodie. Doormat Bodie. Punching bag Bodie with a marshmallow center. 'Goes home and cries into his beer' Bodie. Sappy Bodie. Sucker Bodie. 'Here, let me spill my guts to you' Bodie. Bodie who played 'The Game.' Bodie who just needs to put on a leather thong and get spanked wearing tit clamps.
It's not that I'm right and they're wrong. It's just that these Bodies aren't what I want, aren't the Bodie I happen to fall in love with.
You see, normally I would turn all this into a fic -- that's why I don't post much in the way of essays or meta. Fic is my commentary, my mode of expression. But, let's face it, there is no way on god's green earth I'm going to be able to disguise that I'm an American. Colloquial rhythms are too essential, too fundamental to my style -- and I can put all the blokes and kips and locals in that I like and, to anyone with half an ear, I'm still going to sound glaringly like an American. The Britishness of The Professionals is more than a patina, and I'm not willing to treat it as one. So I tip my hat to those writers with the talent and dedication to capture that, post my little abstract portrait and have done.
The Professionals frustrates me. I don't think I've ever come across a fandom where I like the characters and universe so much, and the great preponderance of fanfiction so little. I mean, I love Bodie. Flat-out. No kidding. But, unfortunately, I like a genuinely thick-skinned Bodie -- one who isn't secretly wounded at a stray hard word from Doyle. I like my Bodie loyal once he's given his trust, but sensitive to and intolerant of betrayal -- giving every possible benefit of the doubt, and then unwilling to offer second chances. A Bodie who lives perpetually on the edge of leaving, one foot out the door and three bolt holes all lined up and waiting.
A Bodie who's been through hell, who's crossed lines you don't come back from, and who will never, ever talk about it -- instead spins tales that grow taller as the years pass; who will tell you about bad bugs and bad food and hint at nebulous adventures and if you think what you're complaining about is bad, well my son I've been through worse -- because I'm big bad Bodie and this hardship is nothing to me popping up like the tagline of some fantastical character out of Kipling. But the details of the stories change and shift, like a wink at some older child after you've pretended to pull a quarter out of his kid brother's ear.
I like there to be something elusive about Bodie -- smiling, genial buys-his-round Bodie and the serious substance of him always just out of reach. I want there to be some deep, quiet places inside him that are like rooms -- utterly still, white drop-sheets spread out over the furniture -- locked up long ago and the keys lost, irrevocably, no matter who he fucks or loves or cares for.
I like Bodie with trauma in his past -- he's survived, he's coped -- but it's left its mark like broken bones that weren't set quite right before they healed -- strong, maybe even stronger now -- but just a little off and nothing will fix it. A Bodie who holds big pieces of himself back, even from the few people who get past the outer layers of armor, and always will; who's largely incapable of the deeper levels of intimacy, who just can't let himself be vulnerable in the ways that really matter. But he'll buy you a beer, jolly you out of the occasional black mood and, if he loves you, give you your way, take a couple of hard lumps he didn't deserve, carry most of the luggage and just let it pass.
I want a Bodie who lets Doyle tug him around, but like some big sleek predator leashed on his own whim -- who comes to heel at Doyle's whistle, trailing along after him with a kind of intrigued amusement, who's almost certain he could not follow if he chose, but for reasons he isn't going to look at too closely, unwilling to put it to the test. Maybe next time he will. Or the time after that... And the years pass, and Doyle whistles, and Bodie follows, amused and intrigued and not certain, weighing his compliance idly, like a handful of spare change he's gotten used to jangling in his pocket.
I have trouble finding this Bodie in fanfic. And oh how I want him.
Instead I find blindly 'whither thou goeth' Bodie. 'Oh but is he in love with me' Bodie. 'Fucked over but takes Doyle back' Bodie. Doormat Bodie. Punching bag Bodie with a marshmallow center. 'Goes home and cries into his beer' Bodie. Sappy Bodie. Sucker Bodie. 'Here, let me spill my guts to you' Bodie. Bodie who played 'The Game.' Bodie who just needs to put on a leather thong and get spanked wearing tit clamps.
It's not that I'm right and they're wrong. It's just that these Bodies aren't what I want, aren't the Bodie I happen to fall in love with.
You see, normally I would turn all this into a fic -- that's why I don't post much in the way of essays or meta. Fic is my commentary, my mode of expression. But, let's face it, there is no way on god's green earth I'm going to be able to disguise that I'm an American. Colloquial rhythms are too essential, too fundamental to my style -- and I can put all the blokes and kips and locals in that I like and, to anyone with half an ear, I'm still going to sound glaringly like an American. The Britishness of The Professionals is more than a patina, and I'm not willing to treat it as one. So I tip my hat to those writers with the talent and dedication to capture that, post my little abstract portrait and have done.