The other day I was tweeting with someone about the show Firefly. Those of you who follow me know that I’m borderline obsessed with it (okay, maybe not borderline). As that tweet revealed, I’m not alone in my passion. Invariably, every time I tweet about the show, someone (or several someones) pops up and enthusiastically provides stats on their favorite episodes, characters and so forth.
I am in awe of this. I am in awe of Firefly and it’s fans.
Sometimes when I’m tweeting about Firefly, I get responses from people who haven’t watched the show—or watched it, but didn’t get it. They tend to roll their eyes and tell me to get over it. They say Firefly ended ten years ago… after being around for just one season. It was a loser and a lost cause. I should just let it go and move on with my life.
What they don’t realize is that it wasn’t just a season, it was a movement that led to a movie. That movie led again to a movement.
The show connected with its fans at such a deep level, because it represents all of us. Us geeks. Us nerds. Those of us who spent most of our life lost in the crowd. We grew up with our unique voices muffled by the drab fabric of society. So we relate to a Captain who put his entire being into a fight, a cause, that he did not win. A leader who had been broken by a dream and was now just holding tightly to the ones he loved—keeping them safe from the unkind hands of society.
Even the show itself represents us. The show was a geek. An outcast. It was different and smart and filled with angst. Because of that, it was mishandled by Fox and ignored by a public that fears entertainment that might actually make them think or feel.
So Firefly became a uniting force for nerds and geeks everywhere. It binds us together under our leader, Joss Whedon. We meet in church basements and dying theaters to watch and remember the truths of the show. We raise money for the causes that support those ideals.
All in the hope that one day… Firefly will rise again.