Letters
To the Writers of Captain Power
To the writers of Captain Power,
It’s been almost 40 years since a certain 10-year-old boy watched the show whose story you created, Captain Power and the Soldiers of the Future. He was fascinated by it. He was already a fan of Tolkien and other fantasy worlds, and he needed your show. He needed a darker world to escape to, one where the odds were stacked against the light, just like in Lord of the Rings. Where the line between good and evil was still clear, even if the moral dilemmas were becoming more complex. He needed a story built in the language of his own time and culture, one where machines were everywhere and growing in power. You provided that story. The interactive toys lured him in, but the draw wasn’t the interactivity or the special effects, as good as they were for the time. It wasn’t even the details of the world you built, or the 20-minute stories you told each week. It was something he didn’t expect.
Last but not least: “Corporal Jennifer ‘Pilot’ Chase, tactical-systems expert.” The only thing that matched the depth of the character you created in Jennifer was the talent of the 22-year-old woman—still a girl, really—who played her role. Did you intend to make Jennifer the heart and light of the story? It wasn’t Captain Jonathan Power and his moral clarity. It wasn’t the wisdom and steadfastness of “Hawk” Masterson, or the strength and courage of “Tank” Ellis, or the hipness and cunning of “Scout” Baker. It was the intersection of innocence and guilt, expertise and naivete, strength and frailty, courage and fear, love and snark that was Pilot. It was the way she handled a knife and a proton spanner. It was the way she tried to change the heart of her enemy and grieved her own participation in darkness. It was her sarcasm and her gentleness. She was old enough to look up to but young enough to be for children a bridge to the adult world. She was knowledgeable enough to be a heroine, but naive enough to be accessible. You created a beautiful person whom a young audience—I, at least—could connect with. Little did I know, until the last episode, that the show wasn’t about the eponymous character, but the small, frail, strong, brave Jennifer. Did you know what you were doing? I can’t see how you didn’t.
I don’t know the dynamics behind the scenes. I don’t know about the money, the politics, the personalities, the contracts, the criticism, or the odious schoolmarms griping about “30-minute commercials.” All I know is that you created something beautiful. And then you smashed it in front of me. You rubbed my face in it and left me with a pain I had no way to handle. I don’t imagine I’m the only one.
I think you knew what you were doing. You weren’t just trying to spin a good yarn. No—too many details say you wanted to take the most beautiful thing you created and defile it. I’m reminded of a chilling scene from Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World: When the babies from the lower classes are shown a beautiful thing, like a flower. Their reward for the pleasure of seeing and approaching it? Electric shock. Isn’t that what you did? Shock children who dared love Jennifer?
Here’s what you did, lest you think the above reference is too extreme. You left her alone in the Power Base. You dangled escape in front of her—but true to her character, she stayed long enough to try to save her team and the rest of humanity. You desecrated the phoenix symbol, as if saying there will be no resurrection. You destroyed Mentor’s imaging chamber, so Jennifer was utterly alone. You shot her in the back. You mortally wounded her so that she could feel the impending death from her internal injuries. You made her utter those horrifying words: “All broken up inside.” You tormented her by dangling her love for Jonathan in front of her before she died. Then you gave her no choice but to blow up the Power Base and kill herself in the process. As if that weren’t enough, you did it all on Christmas day—a holiday of hope and expectation (especially for children), even for those who don’t believe. And with each stomp on Jennifer’s beauty, you stomped on the heart of at least one boy who loved her.
I don’t know you. I don’t know whether you feel remorse for what you did to Jennifer. Whether you think you were just telling a story, or whether you believe you told it in a way children could handle. I don’t know whether you think entirely depriving her of any comfort served the story or its audience. I don’t know whether you just wanted to burn it all down and burn the audience down with it. All I know is you made something beautiful only to destroy it.
You created in Corporal Jennifer “Pilot” Chase someone who means more to me than any other character I’ve encountered—and more to me than most “real” individuals I’ve met. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you. Then you tore her to pieces and stomped on her. So I’ll let Jennifer speak for me with her last three words: Go to hell.
Sincerely,
J. R. Clark