TV Rewind: I Was a Teenage Alien: The Unsung Genius of Roswell

TV Rewind: I Was a Teenage Alien: The Unsung Genius of Roswell

Editor’s Note: Welcome to our TV Rewind column! The Paste writers are diving into the streaming catalogue to discuss some of our favorite classic series as well as great shows we’re watching for the first time. Come relive your TV past with us, or discover what should be your next binge watch below:

Growing up in the late nineties and early aughts offered you the pick of the litter when it came to what supernatural creature you wanted for a boyfriend. Want that youthful glowiness? Try a Twilight vampire. A strong, animalistic side? Werewolves have you covered… You name it, we had it: fallen angels, demon hunters descended from angels, sexy ghosts…but aliens? In the paranormal romance and YA genres, at least, maybe not so much. An argument could be made for Clark Kent on Smallville, but he harbored no secretly ugly, extraterrestrial form beneath his perfect surface.

Enter: The WB’s Roswell, not to be confused with the aged-up CW reboot, Roswell, New Mexico, that debuted a decade later. (We will not be touching that series here.) Roswell was based on a series of YA novels, Melinda Metz’s Roswell High, and aired for three short-lived seasons from 1999 to 2002. Much like many of its predecessors and peers, Roswell did not initially seem as though it was something to be taken seriously, mixing its façade of extraterrestrial threats with quintessential teen angst and cheesy romance tropes. But this is why its first season, at the very least, is arguably some of the best television in the realm of teen dramas. Its raw moments and tender heart provided a welcome contrast with¾and eventually totally eclipsed¾its mildly corny central premise.

Liz Parker (Shiri Appleby, a true 90s, Hope Sandoval lookalike) works at her parents’ tourist trap of a restaurant in the town of Roswell, New Mexico. Her best friend, Maria DeLuca (Majandra Delfino), is also a waitress, but the pair often spend more time gossiping than they do delivering food. (I can’t blame them: the patrons at the Crashdown Café are often insufferable at best.) As avid alien enthusiasts are wont to do, a fight breaks out between two diners over a photo of a UFO, and Liz is caught in the crossfire, accidentally shot by one of the men. Before she can bleed out on the cracked linoleum floor, though, Max Evans (Jason Behr), a shy boy from her high school who just so happens to be walking by the café, rushes in to save her. No mere boy, but secretly an alien, he harbors convenient healing powers, although he disappears immediately afterward, anxious after exposing his own secret.

Max and Liz inevitably begin to fall for each other; she’s intrigued by this strange boy who saves her life in a true act of altruism, and then seemingly wants nothing to do with her. Maria, along with their other best friend, Alex Whitman (an unexpected recurring role by nepo baby Colin Hanks) is determined to uncover the mystery behind how Liz not only survived, but healed so miraculously fast. And thus, the first season unfolds. Max and Liz’s budding relationship grows hot with the looming threat of forbidden love, not only because Max is an alien, but also because Liz is coveted by the most popular boy in school (the sheriff’s son, Kyle Valenti, played by Nick Wechsler). Max’s sister and best friend, Michael (Brendan Fehr) and Isabel (Katherine Heigl), also play key roles, frequently butting heads with Maria and Alex in their quest to keep their alien identities a secret.

Which, speaking of: In America, “alien” has always had a second meaning, an uglier connotation. Roswell, NM’s first real-life inhabitants were the Clovis Indigenous population, and still has highly diverse demographics to this day. Roswell as an ET/UFO hotspot, in actuality and in fiction, does not seem like an accident. Roswell aged well, arguably better than a lot of late nineties and early aughts TV, and is still manages to feel incredibly timely. As a show about aliens (albeit, literal ones) hiding in plain sight and scared to be found out for fear of what’ll be done to them if they’re discovered by the government, it remains painfully relevant to the political landscape of today.

Despite being a show aimed primarily toward teens and young adults, Roswell doesn’t over-explain its messages. It does not thwack you in the side of the head with a heavy hand, sort of like its later reboot does, which marries the alien aspect with that of undocumented immigrants. While there cannot be enough media made about this issue, given its deep roots in the American political landscape, the original Roswell does a less abrasive job, twining the message more subtly into the foundation of the story. (It may be worth noting that although most of the main characters in the 1999 series are white-passing, Appleby is a child of Moroccan-Jewish immigrants, and Delfino was also born in Venezuela.)

Unfortunately, Roswell’s second and third seasons suffered from poor writing choices. Without getting too spoiler-y, some of the plot twists from Season 2 onward almost have a Riverdale flavor in their over-the-top campiness and general narrative incredulity. This is already a show whose premise must be treated very carefully. Certain lines must be toed so that it doesn’t get too absurd. And yet, poorly executed romantic tropes (including a loathsome teen pregnancy!), sudden deaths of beloved characters, and borderline-outlandish storylines involving the teen aliens vs. the Big Bad Government started to grow a bit… tiresome. It is admittedly difficult to make it through the last season, which may explain why the show was ultimately cancelled before it could make it to a fourth season.

Certainly, an often-overlooked character, one that makes up the underbelly of the show, is the natural landscape that engulfs the teens. A mosaic of sand, grit, and dust paints the ground upon which everyone walks, as characters trudge through the disgusting dry heat that boxes them in. Most seem overall used to it, having grown up there, but the setting lends itself well to a sci-fi show. There’s something almost unnatural about the aridness of a desert. Everything feels slightly out of place, and the undulating heatwaves and mirages caused by heat headaches make it all too easy to write off odd occurrences or sightings of something weird and inexplicable.

The relationships—both the romantic and platonic, like—are ultimately what make the show so rewarding, however. At its heart, Roswell is a story about found family. The writing doesn’t fall back on the easy melodrama afforded to heighten drama by the nature of teenagers. Instead, the characters feel authentic, and in the first season at least, common tropes aren’t overused to move the plot forward or further develop (or destroy) relationships. “Found family” is something incredibly crucial to young people, many of whom may struggle with feeling isolated or alienated, no pun intended, from those around them in their real lives.

This is where television, movies, and books can become like oxygen to those who feel like they’re drowning. Watching lonely people find each other; seeing characters create their own, imperfect families, and struggle with the things that audience members might also be going through, might genuinely save someone’s life. Max, Isabel, and Michael are freaks of nature. They’re not like the rest of us¾as aliens, this isolation exists on a more physical, innate level, which perfectly dovetails with that boon of confusion that haunts most of us during our tween and teenage years.


Gillian Bennett is a writer and editor who has been featured in Strike Magazine, Her Campus, and now Paste Magazine. She enjoys watching copious reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and fantasizing about living in London. You can find more of her neverending inner monologue and online diary on her Twitter or her blog.

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