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There are several thousand reasons why the film Serenity is coming to a theater near you on Sept. 30, and on this balmy San
Diego evening in July, a couple hundred of them have just broken out into song. Some sport T-shirts that read JOSS WHEDON
IS MY MASTER NOW. (Pop idolatry like this can happen when you make cult magnets like Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel for
a living.) But most are Browncoats, a division within the Whedon Nation devoted to Firefly, the producer's short-lived 2002
TV series about a rinky-dink spaceship and its thick-as-thieves crew. Tonight, these true believers have gathered in this
multiplex for a sneak peek at the miracle they have helped make possible: the reincarnation of Firefly as Serenity, a $45
million film written and directed by Whedon and starring the show's original cast. So when they rip into Firefly's guitar-and-fiddle
theme song (''Take my love, take my land...''), they do so with glee. And when the Master himself materializes from behind
the curtain, they greet him like a golden god. Whedon soaks it in with a shy smile. Then, a trademark zinger: ''A little enthusiasm
might have been nice.''
He's joking, obviously. But if Browncoats everywhere would like to take him seriously, Universal sure wouldn't mind-much
of its marketing strategy hinges on it. Since April, the studio has sneak-previewed the film a whopping 66 times for Firefly
loyalists as part of a plan to mobilize Whedon's well-organized, Internet-chatty fans. Universal could use the extra muscle:
There's a lot of heavy lifting involved, trying to explain a sci-fi Western in which cowboys giddyap on space freighters,
fire Winchesters, and curse so damned much. In Chinese. (In case you're wondering why Fox canceled the series after 11 low-rated
episodes, now you know.)
For Whedon, the support from fans has sustained him through Firefly's arduous slog from TV flop to potential franchise. ''It
means more to me, in fact, than I care to admit,'' says Whedon, 41, an Oscar-nominated screenwriter (Toy Story) making his
feature directing debut. But in many ways, his fractured heart is there for all to see in his movie. ''Nobody has felt more
like Mal Reynolds than me,'' says Whedon, referring to Serenity's Han Solo-esque haunted hero, a battle-scarred ex-soldier
(Nathan Fillion) who must fight like hell in order to save the life of a strange, damaged child. ''A lot of emotional issues
have come up while making this film. And one of them,'' he says with a laugh, ''is that I don't deal with loss very well.''
Of course, hardship and heartbreak were always supposed to be part and parcel of Serenity's world. Whedon dreamed up Firefly
six years ago after reading Michael Shaara's Civil War novel, The Killer Angels. He pictured a gritty drama about the rigors
of frontier life- ''but on a spaceship, because I'm me,'' says Whedon, who saw Firefly as a scruffy Star Trek minus the noble
causes and aliens. He fell hard for his new creation. TV viewers did not. For all of Firefly's rich ingredients-including
a prostitute with class (Morena Baccarin) and a sad, spacey teen (Summer Glau) tweaked by evil scientists to be a killing
machine — the show was too eclectic for a mass audience. A Friday-night time slot didn't help, nor did Fox's decree
that Whedon lighten up his bleak concept with more Buffyesque quips and kicks. He agreed, though his gut told him that compromise
wouldn't make Fireflyany more commercial. ''I chose to ignore it,'' says Whedon, ''because I was in love with the show. It
was like crack.'' The actors were similarly quixotic. ''I had it in my heart we were doing something good, and because we
were in the right, we would prevail,'' says Fillion. ''And I was crushed.''
Whedon was too, but he refused to accept it. He didn't believe he had to. After all, this was the guy who rescued Buffy,
which was first a failed movie (based on his script) before it became a seminal TV show. After Firefly was snuffed in December
2002, Whedon spent nine months trying to reignite it. But cancellation had given the project a stink. Even UPN and Sci Fi
Channel turned him down. ''I asked all the homeliest girls at the prom if they would dance, and they said no,'' he says. ''Then
the beauty queen showed up.''
' 'I was a Whedon stalker,'' laughs Mary Parent, Universal's now-outgoing vice chairman of production, who dug Whedon's vision
and no-surrender passion. She also recognized a potentially marketable Cinderella story. A modestly budgeted film, Parent
believed, was a gamble worth taking, and in September 2003, Universal optioned the rights from Fox. ''I thought this band
of underdogs could make for a cool movie,'' she says. ''But I did want to see a script first.''
So Whedon wrote. And wrote. And wrote. And wound up with an unfilmable, only-for-the-fans 190-page epic-''basically the second
season of Firefly,'' he says. He boiled the script down to a crackerjack chase flick charged with political subtext: Mal &
Co. on the run from a government agent (Chiwetel Ejiofor) desperate to recover that lethal and loony teen, River. In February
2004, after the script was done (and Firefly emerged as a DVD smash), Universal cleared Serenity for launch. Browncoats cheered.
The cast rejoiced. And Whedon...was pissed. The battle to save Firefly finally won, Whedon found himself ''burping up a huge
amount of an undigested rage.'' Serenity, he realized, was not Firefly; a two-hour film just could not encompass all the stories
he wanted to tell, and could have told on TV. ''When the fight was over,'' he says, ''I finally felt all the pain I never
let myself feel.''
But after that, everyone lived happily ever after, right? Not yet. In early 2005, the studio decided to move Serenity from
April to September to shield its little fish from the bigger ones — namely, Star Wars. Whedon was disappointed for his
fans, and worried the shift would be seen as a sign his film wasn't very good. Fortunately, Universal had an idea for assuaging
his insecurities that dovetailed nicely with its intention to utilize the Browncoats as buzz generators. On April 22, Serenity's
original release date, the first wave of screenings was held, publicized solely through Firefly fansites. The next day, reviews
hit the Web-and fortunately, they weren't bad.
Stumping for Serenity could bring fans the glorious spoil of even more Serenity. Universal execs say the film would need
to gross north of $80 million globally to garner sequel consideration-not an impossible dream, given that Whedon also boasts
a strong following abroad. (''Trilogy!'' cries Fillion.) Whedon is game, though he'd have to find time to juggle franchises:
He's prepping a Wonder Woman movie for Warner Bros. ''This doesn't feel like the end to me,'' he says. ''But then, nothing
with me ever ends.''
Serenity hasn't healed all of Whedon's Firefly wounds, but he does feel a sense of relief...and gratitude. ''I know I'm a
lucky man,'' he says. ''But there's gotta be an easier way to make a movie.''
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