Not quite human: the appeal of troubled genius
Yesterday, I showed my mum an episode of Sherlock in an attempt to get her into it. About halfway through the episode, she remarked, "I know why you like this! It's just like Doctor Who!"
The statement is superficially absurd, but on a certain level, she's pretty spot-on. And it's not as if my Mum was aware of the fact that Sherlock is partially written by the same guy who penned some of my favourite DW episodes - until I told her, anyway. Specifically, Mum's comment was about the character of Sherlock, and his similarities to the Doctor. Again, superficially absurd, but on another level, spot-on. And it got me thinking about what sort of character this is, and just why I might be drawn to such characters - and where else have I seen them?
So the first question - what do the Doctor and Sherlock have in common? Both are highly intelligent - far more so than the majority of people around them, and very muh aware of this. Both are somewhat over-the-top and dramatic, and can be downright obnoxious. Both are distinctly odd, and struggle to appear "normal" - though Sherlock, it must be noted, can manage it when he needs to. And both show a casual disregard for social graces, each in the course of his adventures leaving behind him a trail of destruction appropriate to his genre. Sherlock, who lives in the "real" world, mainly just pisses people off. The Doctor, whose sci-fi reality allows for a somewhat higher body count, causes phenomenally more damage and loss of life. In both cases, there are consequences - but these aren't as severe as they might be in real life.
So why are these characters so appealing? It's not just me, after all. Both shows have legions of fans, both characters have armies of fangirls, both inspire the sort of obsessive geekiness that might cause somebody to blog about them on Christmas Day. Nor are they the only characters fitting this arhetype - Dr House is another one who easily springs to mind, and I'm told that there are any number of other shows with similar misunderstod-socially-awkward-genius heroes.
Now, some people may quote Irene Adler here and simply say "Intelligence is sexy", but I don't entirely buy that. Yes, intelligence is sexy, but in all these characters, the intelligence comes with some rather less-sexy character traits. Sherlock and House are downright nasty, often to people who have done nothing to deserve it. Sherlock, in fact, is so stunted emotionally that he doesn't even understand why a woman might still be sad about a still-born child she had fourteen years ago. The Doctor is considerably more approachable, but also fails on some very basic relating-to-humans measures, such as realising that showing a girl all the wonders of the universe and then dumping her in Aberdeen without so much as a goodbye might be considered a tad heartless.
My first theory is one I already touched upon when writing my post about Sherlock. There's a sort of wish-fulfilment in watching a character say things that most of us wouldn't get away with. Sherlock and House and even the Doctor can go around and insult everybody they think is inferior (which in their cases is in fact just about everyone), and they usually get away with it, just because they're so damn smart - and because they're fictional. The rest of us may think certain people are idiots, but how often do we actualy say it to their face? There's a very good reason we learn to keep nasty thoughts to ourselves, but wouldn't it be satisfying once, just once to tell somebody who pisses you off that they lower the IQ of the entire street? Oh, you'd be a Bitchy McBitchypants, and the impulse would be entirely childish, but it's there nonetheless. Add to that a wish that you really were smarter than everybody else, that you really did have a clever comeback for everything... Well, wouldn't it be nice? At least, in theory. In practice, such behaviour is obnoxious and much more likely to earn derision than admiration. Actually, Sherlock points this out in the very first episode, when Watson tells him that his deductions about Watson's own past are "amazing":
"That's not what people usually say."
Watson: "What do they normally say?"
Sherlock: "'Piss off!'"
And yet, Sherlock does win admiration, and does make a small but important number of friends. So here's the ultimate fantasy: you can be a smart bastard, behave like your most obnoxious childish self, insult everybody who annoys you and still have a few wonderful, loyal friends. It makes even more sense when you think about the fact that most of us have had some experience of being lonely, of being excluded, of struggling to relate to others. (I honestly don't think I know anybody who is so well-adjusted that they can't in some way relate to this.) We're taught as children that we should be ourselves, that true friends will love us for who we are, but reality falls short of this ideal, especially if who you really are is an intelligent, but socially awkward person who struggles with small-talk.
So, we have escapism and wish-fulfilment, living vicariously through fictional characters... but I also have another idea. The beauty of a brilliant, but emotionally dysfunctional character, especially in a series, is that it makes their moments of vulnerability and humanity all the sweeter. Their moments of compassion stand out in stark contrast to their everyday callous selves. Their flaws allow for character development, without which a modern series cannot survive. Gone are the days when our hero could ride in on a white horse and save the day, over and over again, always beautiful, always noble. The modern audience demands complexity, variety and change. You need to start from a place where your character will be admired, but have enough flaws that they can hange for the better over time. They have to be noble enough to be liked, but dysfunctional enough for it to mean something when they open up, when they show they care, when they fall in love. The troubled genius is a perfect hero to fit this mould: his flamboyance and intelligence make him instantly fascinating and his social incomepetence gives him scope for long-term development.
Needless to say, the highly intelligent/emotionally stunted combinaton is also necessary because if they were a genius AND well-adjusted, they'd be insufferable. (Read: Mary Sue.)
So anyway, those are my thoughts on the appeal of fast-talking, highly intelligent and frequently tactless characters in fiction. If you need another cure for insomnia, I'm thinking of another post focusing on "charmingly normal" charatcres. (I mean no disrespect - Sam Gamgee, whom I'd like to use as an example, is one of my favourite characters of ALL TIME.)
Oh, and Happy Christmas, y'all.
Posted via m.livejournal.com.
The statement is superficially absurd, but on a certain level, she's pretty spot-on. And it's not as if my Mum was aware of the fact that Sherlock is partially written by the same guy who penned some of my favourite DW episodes - until I told her, anyway. Specifically, Mum's comment was about the character of Sherlock, and his similarities to the Doctor. Again, superficially absurd, but on another level, spot-on. And it got me thinking about what sort of character this is, and just why I might be drawn to such characters - and where else have I seen them?
So the first question - what do the Doctor and Sherlock have in common? Both are highly intelligent - far more so than the majority of people around them, and very muh aware of this. Both are somewhat over-the-top and dramatic, and can be downright obnoxious. Both are distinctly odd, and struggle to appear "normal" - though Sherlock, it must be noted, can manage it when he needs to. And both show a casual disregard for social graces, each in the course of his adventures leaving behind him a trail of destruction appropriate to his genre. Sherlock, who lives in the "real" world, mainly just pisses people off. The Doctor, whose sci-fi reality allows for a somewhat higher body count, causes phenomenally more damage and loss of life. In both cases, there are consequences - but these aren't as severe as they might be in real life.
So why are these characters so appealing? It's not just me, after all. Both shows have legions of fans, both characters have armies of fangirls, both inspire the sort of obsessive geekiness that might cause somebody to blog about them on Christmas Day. Nor are they the only characters fitting this arhetype - Dr House is another one who easily springs to mind, and I'm told that there are any number of other shows with similar misunderstod-socially-awkward-genius heroes.
Now, some people may quote Irene Adler here and simply say "Intelligence is sexy", but I don't entirely buy that. Yes, intelligence is sexy, but in all these characters, the intelligence comes with some rather less-sexy character traits. Sherlock and House are downright nasty, often to people who have done nothing to deserve it. Sherlock, in fact, is so stunted emotionally that he doesn't even understand why a woman might still be sad about a still-born child she had fourteen years ago. The Doctor is considerably more approachable, but also fails on some very basic relating-to-humans measures, such as realising that showing a girl all the wonders of the universe and then dumping her in Aberdeen without so much as a goodbye might be considered a tad heartless.
My first theory is one I already touched upon when writing my post about Sherlock. There's a sort of wish-fulfilment in watching a character say things that most of us wouldn't get away with. Sherlock and House and even the Doctor can go around and insult everybody they think is inferior (which in their cases is in fact just about everyone), and they usually get away with it, just because they're so damn smart - and because they're fictional. The rest of us may think certain people are idiots, but how often do we actualy say it to their face? There's a very good reason we learn to keep nasty thoughts to ourselves, but wouldn't it be satisfying once, just once to tell somebody who pisses you off that they lower the IQ of the entire street? Oh, you'd be a Bitchy McBitchypants, and the impulse would be entirely childish, but it's there nonetheless. Add to that a wish that you really were smarter than everybody else, that you really did have a clever comeback for everything... Well, wouldn't it be nice? At least, in theory. In practice, such behaviour is obnoxious and much more likely to earn derision than admiration. Actually, Sherlock points this out in the very first episode, when Watson tells him that his deductions about Watson's own past are "amazing":
"That's not what people usually say."
Watson: "What do they normally say?"
Sherlock: "'Piss off!'"
And yet, Sherlock does win admiration, and does make a small but important number of friends. So here's the ultimate fantasy: you can be a smart bastard, behave like your most obnoxious childish self, insult everybody who annoys you and still have a few wonderful, loyal friends. It makes even more sense when you think about the fact that most of us have had some experience of being lonely, of being excluded, of struggling to relate to others. (I honestly don't think I know anybody who is so well-adjusted that they can't in some way relate to this.) We're taught as children that we should be ourselves, that true friends will love us for who we are, but reality falls short of this ideal, especially if who you really are is an intelligent, but socially awkward person who struggles with small-talk.
So, we have escapism and wish-fulfilment, living vicariously through fictional characters... but I also have another idea. The beauty of a brilliant, but emotionally dysfunctional character, especially in a series, is that it makes their moments of vulnerability and humanity all the sweeter. Their moments of compassion stand out in stark contrast to their everyday callous selves. Their flaws allow for character development, without which a modern series cannot survive. Gone are the days when our hero could ride in on a white horse and save the day, over and over again, always beautiful, always noble. The modern audience demands complexity, variety and change. You need to start from a place where your character will be admired, but have enough flaws that they can hange for the better over time. They have to be noble enough to be liked, but dysfunctional enough for it to mean something when they open up, when they show they care, when they fall in love. The troubled genius is a perfect hero to fit this mould: his flamboyance and intelligence make him instantly fascinating and his social incomepetence gives him scope for long-term development.
Needless to say, the highly intelligent/emotionally stunted combinaton is also necessary because if they were a genius AND well-adjusted, they'd be insufferable. (Read: Mary Sue.)
So anyway, those are my thoughts on the appeal of fast-talking, highly intelligent and frequently tactless characters in fiction. If you need another cure for insomnia, I'm thinking of another post focusing on "charmingly normal" charatcres. (I mean no disrespect - Sam Gamgee, whom I'd like to use as an example, is one of my favourite characters of ALL TIME.)
Oh, and Happy Christmas, y'all.
Posted via m.livejournal.com.