Joss Whedon: The Biography (74 page)

In the United States,
Much Ado
was first released in five theaters across New York City, Los Angeles, and San Francisco, with a wider release following on June 21. That weekend brought the box office to over $1.2 million, and by September 15 it had taken in over $5 million worldwide. Hardly an Avengers-size haul, but for a low-budget art film screening in far fewer theaters, it was an impressive showing, even setting house records at the Film Society of Lincoln Center.

During a small break from promoting
Much Ado
, Joss returned to San Diego Comic-Con, speaking to a capacity crowd of almost five thousand after a screening of the
Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D
. pilot. He was clearly exhausted, sipping tea to soothe his throat, but never hesitating to connect with his fans at his solo Q&A session.
S.H.I.E.L.D
. premiered on ABC on September 24, to mixed reviews but strong enough ratings that the network would quickly pick up the series for a full twenty-two-episode season.

On November 4, Joss was again honored by Equality Now. However, his acceptance speech at the Make Equality Reality event had a distinctly different tone from his oft-quoted 2006 speech in which he asserted that he wrote for strong female characters “because you’re still asking me that
question.” This time, Joss chose to attack the word
feminist
. He argued that it was polarizing to those who assumed being a feminist meant hating men, and claimed that labeling people who believed in gender equality implied that such beliefs were “not a natural state.” (A notion we as a society were “done with,” Joss proclaimed—despite all the evidence to the contrary.) He proposed that we instead label those who
fail
to acknowledge equality between the sexes; they should be called
genderist
, as those who declare all races to be unequal are racist.

The impetus for his treatise came from the number of celebrities—Joss called out pop star Katy Perry specifically—who directly stated that they were not feminists, following up with an explanation along the lines of “I don’t think women are better than men. We’re all equal!” But it seemed strange that a man who had for years proudly proclaimed himself to be a feminist was now deliberately creating a divide and attempting to prescribe the words that women should use to refer to themselves. It was almost as if he was still the naive college student who was shocked by the fact that the world in 1983 wasn’t a direct reflection of his mother’s household and who didn’t understand why women still had to push to be accepted in all fields.

A far smaller event offered a more intimate and endearing reflection on Joss’s past. In September, Wesleyan University premiered “Joss Whedon: From Buffy to the Bard,” a small yet memorable exhibit that told Joss’s story through rarely seen artifacts from his series and films over the years. These included Buffy’s Slayer scythe, Hawkeye’s quiver from
The Avengers
, and several pieces provided by the man himself: the poster for his student film premiere, notebooks in which he’d scrawled early ideas for the
Buffy
series, and an original sketch he’d made of Buffy garbed in a torn dress and motorcycle jacket below B
UFFY
in bubble letters.

The very first piece in the exhibit was a photo of Joss and Jeanine Basinger taken when she was given an honorary degree from the American Film Institute Conservatory in 2006. There is clearly much joy between the two as they share easy smiles in their traditional academic gowns. Basinger could have chosen anyone to introduce her on that day, and she asked Joss. And as someone who has had such a deep connection with Joss for almost thirty years, she is drawn to him and his work with the same reverence as fans donning J
OSS
W
HEDON
I
S
M
Y
M
ASTER
N
OW
T-shirts.

As for what comes next—whether it’s the long-promised
Dr. Horrible
sequel, the ballet he’s often mentioned, or an adaptation of his
favorite novel, Frances Hodgson Burnett’s
A Little Princess
—no matter the medium, no matter the approach, what Joss Whedon does will always revolve around the story he is telling.

“I think about the old days, ancient days, where there were men who were created as storytellers, designated storytellers,” Basinger says. “They wandered the Earth, and they told stories. They had friends, they had companions—probably they had families. But mostly, they were alive just to be there to tell stories, to bring the stories because we need stories, we must have stories. Those of us who can’t write them, create them, tell them, our job is to consume them. And we die if we don’t have them. And he feeds us. It’s a kind of sacrifice to be the storyteller. And Joss is the modern version of that character. You know? He really is—he’s the storyteller. He will never run out of stories.”

“Would you be interested in writing a Joss Whedon biography?” The question seemed so innocuous when I read the e-mail in late December 2010. “Of course,” I said, thinking that it would be for an in-depth magazine article.

I had been a fan of Joss’s work since his teen Slayer hit the big screen in 1992, but it was during the summer of 1998 that I quickly became obsessed with this witty series that filled the space in my heart left by
My So-Called Life’s
cancellation. (Awkward but smart Willow was my girl.) I was a year out of college, lonely and lost, so I sought out people online with whom I could discuss the show. I found the Bronze, and the fact that Joss and the writers would take part in the conversation was exciting. I have always loved television in a way that the stories were as real and important as my own life. (One of my first memories is at three years old, sitting at my kitchen table and watching
Snoopy, Come Home
, hysterically sobbing and yelling at the TV, “Snoopy, go home! Charlie Brown loves you! He loves you!”) So to have that direct connection to those who wrote those stories, who created those characters, was both thrilling and inspiring. To me, knowing that Joss was reading my words somehow bestowed upon me a sense of legitimacy as a fan, and a writer. Six months later, I flew out to Los Angeles to meet my fellow Bronzers at our party. I met Joss very briefly on that trip, but I had no idea of how much he would change my life.

When I say that Joss Whedon changed my life, I’m not being hyperbolic. If anything, it seems inadequate to say that he changed it only once. Through the Bronze, I found a community of friends that I have to this day, and through Joss’s characters, I found a strength and confidence in myself that I would have never thought possible that summer. And on a more superficial level, my daily conversations are peppered with Whedonverse quotes and my vocabulary is filled with Slayer slang.

So first, of course, I must thank Joss Whedon for being so generous with both his time and the personal stories he shared with me. Kai Cole was equally wonderful, and I quickly understood why their friends adore her so much. Joss and Kai have truly cultivated an artistic community around them and, mirroring much of his work, created an extended family from their friends.

I am so grateful for every person who trusted me with their stories about Joss: Tim Minear, David Greenwalt, David Solomon, Anthony Stewart Head, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Tom Hiddleston, Mark Ruffalo, Clark Gregg, Chris Hemsworth,
Cobie Smulders, Jeremy Renner, Samuel L. Jackson, Kevin Feige, Joe Quesada, Jeph Loeb, Eric Wight, Scott Allie, Alexis Denisof, Drew Goddard, Marti Noxon, Jane Espenson, Jed Whedon, Maurissa Tancharoen, Jorge Saralegui, Andrew Stanton, Howard Gordon, Chris Boal, Chris Buchanan, Eliza Dushku, Julie Benz, Fran Kranz, Neil Patrick Harris, Simon Helberg, Morena Baccarin, Jewel Staite, Adam Baldwin, Amy Acker, Jay Hunter, Olivia Williams, Miracle Laurie, Tahmoh Penikett, Nicholas Brendon, Ryan Penagos, Mike Marts, Nick Lowe, Patton Oswalt, Paul Reubens, Rob Thomas, Diego Gutierrez, Dean Batali, David Fury, Shawn Ryan, Danny Strong, Amy Britt, Jessica Neuwirth, Christian Kane, Marc Blucas, and Tom Lenk. They have been so open with their personal memories that I wish that this book could be twice the size to get everything in.

A very special and enormous thank you to Nathan Fillion. I was so enthralled during our conversation, especially when he explained why he felt Joss’s work is so relevant and relatable. Much of his impromptu musing became the foreword, and I’m moved every time I read it.

Huge thanks to Daniel Kaminsky, who has been incredibly patient and helpful with all my requests, and to Chris Harbert for his kindness and for taking the time to open a lot of doors for me.

Jeanine Basinger does indeed make you wish that you’d studied film at Wesleyan—but more than that, she makes you wish that human cloning existed so that we could each have our personal Jeanine mentor. The second time we spoke, I was finally nearing the end of writing and rapidly approaching complete burnout. I was taken again by her brilliance and warmth, and reenergized by her encouragement. I taped note cards with quotes from our conversation on my wall to get me through the final weeks.

Also at Wesleyan, Lea Carlson, Joan Miller, and Andrea McCarty invited me into the intimate exhibit on Joss’s life and career they had so superbly curated, and Suzy Taraba helped me navigate the library archives to find Joss’s yearbook photos. The utterly wonderful Suzanne Foster at Winchester College was incredibly instrumental in uncovering Joss’s life in England for me, and also connected me with the late Mr. Dick Massen and his wife, Jane, who shared their remarkable and vivid memories of Joss. I have such tremendous gratitude for them all.

I had such fun and fascinating conversations about Joss and his work with Emily Nussbaum, Gail Collins, and Rhonda Wilcox. I’ve known for years that Joss’s fans are amazing, and I am always in awe of their remarkable dedication to cataloging all things relating to his work for almost twenty years. I’m forever indebted to the Wayback Machine at
www.archive.org
for saving all of the sparkly, purple-text-on-black-screen pages of magnificence, and to Whedonesque for both providing a place for Joss to “vent his spleen” for any number of causes and being an amazing guide to the timeline of Joss’s career. Thank you to Caroline van Oosten de Boer, Simon Fraser, Jennifer Riem, and Damon
Schmidt, and also to the One True b!X for his site documenting
Goners’
currently thwarted path to the big screen.

Much thanks, and many drinks owed, to my agent, Brandi Bowles, who was my cheerleader when I needed it the most. And also to her husband, Matt Sears, who sent me that seemingly innocent e-mail that sent me on the most amazing and difficult adventure of my life. Jacqueline Day was a great support and editor in the early drafts, Sam Harrison at Aurum Press gave me such thoughtful and important feedback, and Devon Freeny at Chicago Review Press shaped my words into a coherent narrative.

“
When you can’t run, you crawl, and when you can’t crawl—when you can’t do that
….
” “You find someone to carry you.
” I have such magnificent friends who have kept me propped up both metaphorically and literally as I’ve worked on this book. The magnificent ladies Fionna Boyle, Elizabeth Spencer, Carlie Todoro-Rickus, Sharon and Vicki Weyser, April H, Melanie Morris, and Celi Clark have all carried me with such love and support, especially at the times where I could barely think of crawling. And I’ve had the best battalion of brilliant and witty warriors to charge into the Hellmouth with: Matthew Nolan, Laura Smith, Melynee Weber, Asim Ali, Suzanne Galle, Sarah N. Gatson, Paula Carlson, Stephanie Tuszynski, Cori Killian, Sharlene Mousfar, Michelle Lehman, Lisa Cronin, Katharine Beutner, Irene Adsuar, Matt McDonough, Jessica Brearton, Nezka Pfeifer, Angela Cheng, Lance Nealy, Jen Mercer, Lauren Epstein, Lu Chekowsky, Joe Ortiz, Jesse Loyd, Tami Katzoff, and Patricia Nash.

Finally, thank you to my family: my mother, Kathleen, who loves stories as much as I do, and taught me from an early age that the ones that move us can come from any and all kinds of media; my father, Joe, who has filled my life with fascinating pieces of trivia, noting important facts about family and places and showing me that the smallest thing can have an incredible impact; my brother, Joe, who could never understand my love for Buffy but equaled my fanaticism in his own for the Chicago Bears, which always reminds me how important having a passion is—especially when that passion connects you to a bigger community; my sister-in-law, Neha, who secured a special place in my heart once she explained that if a TV series had aliens, she was in; and my nephew, Gavin, who is barely a year old and I’m already excited about introducing him to Vampire Slayers, renegade space travelers, comic book heroes, and the idea that family is filled with people we choose, and that “if nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do.”

My deepest apologies to anyone I’ve missed. I am forever grateful to everyone who has supported me, from those who put up with my madness for three straight years to those who came in and did one small thing at the exact time I needed it. Every kindness is remembered, and means far more than you know.