Aubrey Plaza – Bitch Flicks

‘Life After Beth’ and the Trouble With Absent Presence

Poster for Life After Beth — Poster for *Life After Beth*

Horror-comedy Life After Beth is the kind of movie that’s very easy to explain.

Girl dumps Boy, Girl dies and comes back as a zombie with no memory of the break-up, Boy continues to date her even though he’s a little afraid of her.

But there’s not a lot else. Even the titular character is scarcely more than a name. After sitting through the slim 89 minutes of I Heart Huckabees writer Jeff Baena’s directorial debut, I’m still left wondering who Beth is. And what did she care about besides her boyfriend and sex?

Aubrey Plaza plays the dear departed Beth Slocum, cut down by a snake bite during a solo hike, leaving behind her stalker ex-boyfriend, Zach (Dane DeHaan). Zach hasn’t taken her death very well. He dresses in black and ignores his parents and brother, preferring to spend time with Beth’s grieving parents (John C. Reilly and Molly Shannon) who treat him like a son. When the Slocums stop contacting him, he stalks and spies on them to find out why. Quickly, he discovers they have been hiding Beth, who has mysteriously returned from the grave, unaware of her own death.

A scheme is hatched. Beth’s parents will continue to cherish “the miracle” of her resurrection and Zach will get his girlfriend back and have a second chance to get it right and take her dancing and on hikes like she always wanted. Keeping Beth a secret is crucial, they will continue to hid her return and keep her in the dark about what had happened to her. But her sudden fits of rage, rotting body, and crazy strength make things difficult.

From Beth’s perspective this would make an intriguing premise; she is confused, strange things are happening to her body, things she can’t control, and that’s the stuff horror movies are made of. Yet, despite her lone presence in the title, the poster, and Plaza’s top billing, the film is never about Beth. The story belongs to Zach.

Beth’s all-consuming lust for Zach is painted as monstrous

Though Plaza gives a committed physical performance, clearly having a ball in monster make-up, it’s really all she’s given to do. She isn’t even given much room to be funny in the supposed comedy. It’s as if Plaza has been cast in a feature length sketch-show, playing all manner of stereotypical “girlfriends from hell.” For a good while she’s the horny girlfriend who needs to be reminded not to rip her boyfriend’s clothes off at any opportunity, then she plays the jealous girlfriend who’s convinced any women her boyfriend talks to is sleeping with him, after that she’s briefly Linda Blair in The Exorcist, before finally ending the film as a rabid dog biting at anything that gets too close. I imagine it on Saturday Night Live: first a short musical theme, “The Girlfriend from Hell,” then Plaza making a snarky comment to her boyfriend and vomiting pea soup all over him.

But who was she when she was alive? What does Zach love so much about Beth that he couldn’t get over her, it had to have been more than just her potential to act as a sex robot. What kind of memories do her parents cherish about her?
None of these questions is answered.

To make a film that centers around a death, that death has to mean something to the audience. There are many ways to do this, from the inherently sad (child deaths) to the anguished (and unbefitting of a comedy) mental breakdown of the surviving characters. The main problem with Life After Beth is that the titular character never once felt like a real person, a once living girl who happened to be named Beth. Instead, she felt like a construct invented by writer and quickly named for a catchy title. All she is is a girl named Beth, no more fleshed out in the finished film than she would be in a rough plot line, this guy’s girlfriend and this couple’s daughter. She matters to people but she never achieves personhood herself and so is difficult to care about.

Beth and Zach finally go on the hike they always wanted

While the film opens with a brief glimpse of a scared (still living) Beth lost in the woods and looking for cell service, this is all we see of her. As we are never allowed to know Beth; her presence as a zombie is robbed of any sense of irony or tragedy, which would make it entertaining to watch. The short grief narrative the film opens with only serves to remind us that these stories are about absence. Even when Beth returns, she is absent, a dead girl given a flesh and blood presence, yet never a voice. Throughout the film, Beth is fetishized as a dead girl, and in one scene, Zach masturbates with a scarf she had left behind.

Zach keeps Beth’s scarf and uses it to masterbate — Zach keeps Beth’s scarf and uses it to masturbate

Beth’s constant desire for Zach is meant as a source of humour, notably as she pops out of the roof to ask him to go for a hike. Though he was originally the one obsessively in love with her, even stalking her family, she is seen as the pathetic one. Her lust is uncontrollable and as it morphs into murderous and cannibalistic impulses, and the high female libido is painted as monstrous. Moreover, the destruction of the attractive female body is intended as a source of dark comedy and Beth is de-personified to the point where, when she finally dies again, it’s with Zach shooting her in the head to put her down, again like a rabid dog.

In this light, there is something disturbing about seeing her tied up and chained to washing machine for the last act. In order to handle her, Beth must be trapped and contained, with her boyfriend, a person she had tried to break up with, in complete control and possession of her. The situation continues to be horrific for Beth, but but her character’s zombification means she is no longer a person with a perspective of her own. When Zach finally apologizes for how he treated her as a living person, she’s no longer there and the apology is more for him than her.

As she becomes less human, Beth is kept captive and watched over by Zach

Parts of the Life After Beth reminded me of 2012’s Ruby Sparks, another film about a girlfriend who exists only as a male fantasy and to tell us something about him. However, Ruby Sparks, whether successful or not, played with this idea to expose something troubling about the stories we tell in our culture. Life After Beth makes no such commentary. Sure Zach needs to come to terms with his girlfriend’s death but Beth’s return didn’t do much to change this central fact. Throughout the film he vacillates between refusing to give her up and feeling burdened by her presence. Narratively, the film would have worked better if Beth’s resurrection occurred because Zach made a selfish wish, as would have given both him and Beth room to grow.

Toward the end, the film changes gears completely, as people everywhere begin returning from the dead. This larger zombie apocalypse creates a rift in the narrative, and expects us to shift gears, stop caring about Beth and Zach, and start caring about the fates of Zach’s family and their fight to survive.

Plaza pays an unusual physical role and is allowed to be unattractive

As much as I disliked this movie, I can’t imagine how insufferable it would be without Aubrey Plaza as Beth. She’s obviously enjoying herself, playing a role so different from anything she’s done before, and it’s enjoyable to watch that. There’s definitely some fun in the role of Beth, which allows Plaza to be monstrous and unattractive.

Life After Beth tries to be a romantic comedy and a zombie movie, yet forgets how to deliver either laughs or scares. There are a few bright spots: Mrs. Slocum feeding her hands to her monster-daughter and Beth tumbling down a hill with a stove strapped to her back, but they are few and far between. The running gag, of zombies liking smooth jazz, is one of those touches that seems hilarious on paper but cloying when translated to the screen.

It’s always great to see fresh twists on old stories, but we can’t forget what made the old stories great in the first place. With no build-up of the relationship and no reason for the resurrection, there’s nothing left to care about.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Elizabeth Kiy is a Canadian writer and journalist living in Toronto, Ontario.

‘The To Do List’: The Movie I’ve Been Waiting For

And then I saw it–a film that extols the importance of female agency and sexuality with a healthy dose of raunch, a film that includes a sexually experienced and supportive mother, a film that celebrates female friendship and quotes Gloria Steinem, a film that features Green Apple Pucker and multiple references to Pearl Jam and Hillary Clinton.
Yes. This is it.

Let’s get to work, vagina. – Brandy Klark, The To Do List

The To Do List

This repost by Leigh Kolb appears as part of our theme week on Representations of Female Sexual Desire.

I remember leaving the theater after seeing Superbad and asking my friends if any of us could imagine a film like that being made about young women–quirky best friend teenage girls who were on a quest for those things that so many teenagers are on a quest for.

We agreed that we couldn’t imagine it (and then I probably delivered a lecture on the great harm of stifling female sexuality).

That notion–that those teenage “cumming-of-age” stories are reserved for boys only–has been deeply ingrained in us through pop culture. When American Pie came out while I was in high school, the message was clear: there’s a myriad of ways that teenage boys get to claim and act out their sexuality, but if you’re a woman who does the same, you will be singled out and considered an oddity, a freak or simply a prize.

Even before that, I remember always noticing that young adult novels or films about teenage girls that I enjoyed often de-sexed the female protagonist. Teenage female sexuality was either nonexistent or an anathema, set apart to frighten girls or teach lessons. I never saw myself and my feelings truly and fully reflected back to me.

“Sisters before misters”–best friends Fiona (Alia Shawkat), Brandy (Aubrey Plaza) and Wendy (Sarah Steele).

When I saw the trailer for The To Do List, I started to get excited. Maybe this is it–what I’ve been waiting for all of these years.

It’s set in the early 90s. My heart rate quickens.

I see the soundtrack‘s track list. I just can’t even.

Yes. This is it.

It was everything I wanted.

I especially love how the “To Do List” itself wasn’t borne out of peer pressure. Brandy (Aubrey Plaza) is mildly affected when her peers shout “Virgin!” at her, but what makes her want to explore and understand her own sexuality is twofold: she wants to be able to be comfortable knowing what to do with hot guys (she’s the one who is attracted and drawn to the college guy), and it’s explained to her that college is like a sexual pop quiz, and she needs to study to ace it.

Brandy takes notes as her older, experienced sister (played by Rachel Bilson) talks about sex.

She understands studying. She understands her own blossoming sexual desires. So she opens up her Trapper Keeper, lines her paper into a grid, and makes a list of sexual acts she must complete before the end of summer, with the ultimate goal being “Intercourse.” (The fact that the film was set in 1993 is important not only for nostalgia’s sake but also for the fact that Brandy didn’t have the Internet and couldn’t easily look up the definitions of the “jobs” she was writing on her list.)

Brandy’s “To Do List” replaces buying shower shoes for the dorm with sexual exploits.

Early on in her journey, Brandy reads statistics about how few women achieve orgasm, and she’s incensed. She writes “Masturbation” on her list (and does so wearing a “Pro-Choice Pro-Clinton” T-shirt, which writer-director Maggie Carey said she wore frequently in high school). The masturbation scene is important because, as Carey says, “When you do see women masturbating, it’s usually a male fantasy about a woman masturbating, it’s not what actually happens.”

Brandy voices anger over the virgin/whore dichotomy, referencing Gloria Steinem. And yet as much as this film empowers female sexuality and independence, it does not do so at the expense of the men in the film. (Remarkable, how completely possible it is to have fully sympathetic male and female characters in a raunchy comedy.) Even Brandy’s father, a Rush Limbaugh-reading, overprotective man who is uncomfortable talking about sex, is portrayed in a sympathetic light.

The teenage boys have stereotypical sexual desires, but Brandy’s desire is always paramount. For the first time while watching a teen comedy, I got to reminisce and laugh from my own perspective–and oh, how I could taste that Pucker when I saw it on screen and feel those goosebumps when “Fade Into You” started playing–instead of imagining what life must have been like for boys I knew in high school.

The film also really has a “radical” message about virginity–not panicked, not preachy, but reasonable and realistic. Maybe most importantly, Brandy never has any regrets (“Teenagers don’t have regrets,” she says. “That’s for your 30s”). The To Do List is “nonchalantly” feminist from start to finish.

After she read the script for the first time, Aubrey Plaza said,

“When I read the script, I just thought it was funny, be it female or male, but I love that it was from a female perspective, and I’d honestly never seen anything that had explored the specifics of that time in a girl’s life when they’re experiencing all their firsts.”

This film is a first full of firsts.

And unlike most first-time sexual exploits, writer-director Maggie Carey knew what she was doing and made it really pleasurable for the audience.

“It’s a skort!”
(And who doesn’t want to make out to Mazzy Star?)

A teenage sex comedy that subverts what’s usually “reserved for the boys” and shows female sexuality and agency as, you know, an actual thing (while celebrating 90s pop culture)? Check.

And just as Brandy will want more and more of the final exploit she checks off, I want movies like this to keep coming and coming.

Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature, and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri.

Enjoyment Isn’t an Item on ‘The To Do List’

The sex in ‘The To Do List’—which comes about for Plaza’s character Brandy Klark after she realizes she has no sexual experience going into college—was utterly joyless; it was as if Brandy was going through the motions. This is hardly surprising considering the premise of the film is to check off a smorgasbord of sex acts over summer vacation in order to be appropriately sexually educated as she becomes tertiary educated.

"The To Do List" poster — *The To Do List* poster

This guest post by Scarlett Harris appears as part of our theme week on Representations of Female Sexual Desire.

I was moved to watch The To Do List after seeing Emily Nussbaum tweet about it over the Christmas break. It was a stinking hot Saturday afternoon in my corner of the world, so I thought I’d watch along with her as she tweeted her disillusion with the Aubrey Plaza vehicle.

Nussbaum’s main complaint was that the sex in The To Do List—which comes about for Plaza’s character Brandy Klark after she realizes she has no sexual experience going into college—was utterly joyless; it was as if Brandy was going through the motions.

This is hardly surprising considering the premise of the film is to check off a smorgasbord of sex acts over summer vacation in order to be appropriately sexually educated as she becomes tertiary educated.

"The To Do List" list — *The To Do List*

It’s not a wholly ineffective idea: Brandy understands studying and academic excellence better than she does social mores, so making a project out of a desire to know what to do come college (pardon the pun) prepares her for the next chapters in her life: more academic aptitude and more sex.

Previously on Bitch Flicks, Leigh Kolb wrote in praise of The To Do List, asserting that in the film, “Brandy’s desire is always paramount,” but I don’t think this is the case. While Brady’s parents—well, at least her mum, played to scrunchie-wearing perfection by Connie Britton—and sister, Amber (Rachel Bilson) are portrayed as pretty sexually progressive, their dialogue doesn’t seem to connote “the joy of sex,” so to speak. For example, upon giving Brandy a tube of lube, Mrs. Klark tells her daughter, “As you move forward on your sexual journey, promise me one thing.” “To have fun?” Brandy asks. “No, to use lube,” Mrs. Klark replied. Here, enjoyment seems an afterthought.

A joyless kiss in "The To Do List" — A joyless kiss in *The To Do List*

Brandy’s sexually active sister, Amber, doesn’t seem to enjoy the copious amounts of sex she’s had, either. Though she does tell Brandy to “have fun getting your cherry popped” in the penultimate scene of the movie, it’s said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

It’s important to note that part of the reason Brandy decides to cultivate a “sex manual,” as the objects of her attractions are wont to call it, is due to peer pressure. She’s called a virgin during her valedictorian speech, and her friends insinuate that Brandy can’t go to college as inexperienced as she is. The tipping point in Brandy’s decision to do her… erm… The To Do List ultimately lies in her lust for shirtless guitar player/lifeguard Rusty (Scott Porter), but even that turns out to be about what other people will think of her landing a college guy. At the end of the movie, she tells Rusty, “Am I going to regret losing my virginity to you? No, you are going to be an awesome story to tell my friends.”

So while The To Do List appears as part of the recent cannon of sex positive “chick flicks,” which includes For a Good Time, Call…, not everything is as it seems. The To Do List is more about peer pressure and the sexual experiences you should be having at that age than it is about actual young female desire.

Scarlett Harris is a Melbourne, Australia-based freelance writer and blogger at The Scarlett Woman, where she muses about feminism, social issues and pop culture. You can follow her on Twitter here.

Why ‘The Legend of Korra’ is (Still) a Feminist’s Headache

The Legend of Korra Book 2 promotional poster.

Written by Erin Tatum.

Let me start by saying that I love Avatar: The Last Airbender. I’ve watched it since its original run in 2005 and I continue to re-watch it. The themes are relatable and they always will be. Yes, it’s a kids’ show, but it has genuine appeal across all ages, and not in the same tongue-in-cheek way as Adventure Time or My Little Pony. Set in a world where people can “bend” (control and/or manipulate) the elements–water, earth, fire, and air–the series borrows heavily from martial arts and eastern spirituality. We follow the long lost Avatar, Aang, as he and his friends attempt to restore peace after a hundred-year world war. The animation is gorgeous and the action scenes are impeccably well choreographed. Most of all, the narrative and characterization are emotionally balanced and unexpectedly poignant given its target demographic.

Avatar: The Last Airbender.

Critics noted that A:TLA was unique for the children’s genre in its incorporation of serious romantic themes. Most of the characters have long-term love interests and complex moral or emotional turmoil relating to their relationships, rendering them much more nuanced. This was a radical departure from the usual crush fluff, probably due in part to the fact that the characters were in a perpetual war zone. The writers did a phenomenal job of devoting proper attention to the military conflict while providing the audience just enough fodder to keep us invested in the characters’ personal dynamics. Ultimately, the war always superseded romantic angst in importance.

Korra on her way to steal yo man.

In theory, The Legend of Korra initially seemed full of potential. A strong female protagonist! A woman of color! A woman who could easily be reinterpreted as queerly coded! Unfortunately, the execution is less than stellar. Korra and her friends are 17-20, as opposed to the 12-17 age range of the A:TLA cast. The writers took advantage of the age jump to make the sequel series the Y7 equivalent of Hotter and Sexier, which apparently means piling on the hormones. Whereas in A:TLA, relationship tensions had a slight influence on the action, the conflict in The Legend of Korra serves as mere white noise to the Love Drama of the Week. I almost feel like I shouldn’t bother explaining the alleged overarching premise because it frankly doesn’t matter. A civil war is brewing between benders and non-benders and Korra (the reincarnation of Aang) must again fight to restore balance. While this could have been a fantastic commentary on class struggle, what’s really important is who Korra dates! Accordingly, the plot is consistently suffocated by a love square so forced and melodramatic that I was honestly embarrassed that this was considered quality enough to inherit the legacy of the franchise.

The Legend of Pheromones: Mako and Asami (front) with Korra and Bolin (back).

Long story short, Korra finds herself torn between the affections of two brothers, geeky Bolin and brooding Mako. That sound you hear is me slamming my head against my desk. Korra pines after Mako, who represents a botched attempt to recapture the popularity of Zuko, resident bad boy and puberty catalyst of the A:TLA universe. Mako gets a girlfriend, Asami, who is actually really nice and arguably more sympathetic than Korra, but we are supposed to irrationally hate her because she’s blocking the Official Couple. Sexism ensues. Mako is a douchebag who cheats on Asami by kissing Korra and never taking accountability for it or apologizing to Asami and Bolin. Korra saves the city via a last-minute deus ex machina and Mako tells her he loves her. Essentially, we spend 10 episodes watching the beautiful love story of two emotionally unavailable teenagers with anger issues passive aggressively refusing to date each other until they do. Cool.

Bolin accurately captures my reaction to Mako and Korra’s brief PDA.

With this in mind, I was reticent to say the least about giving the second season a try. Apologists insisted that the choppy quality was attributable to the fact that The Legend of Korra was originally planned to be a standalone miniseries, so I was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. It’s not that Friday’s premiere was necessarily worse, it’s just that the characters continue to be bogged down by needing overt romantic storylines to validate any narrative movement. Six months have passed and more trouble is on the horizon. Korra needs to decide whether or not to go to the South Pole to advance her Avatar training. Korra and Mako have a lot of arguments about whether or not he is being supportive enough because she’s confused and he won’t make a decision for her. Ninety percent of their interaction is arguing. If there’s anything young fans want, it’s to excitedly pair up with your crush and then immediately skip to the part where you’re jaded and irritated with each other.

Luckily for Korra, she has plenty of other men eager to tell her what to do. Her mentor, her dad, and her uncle fight about what’s best for her the entire episode while Korra huffs and pouts. This is supposed to make her more sympathetic by again painting her as an average (gifted) girl who has her precociously cunning intuitions stifled by myopic adults who unfairly underestimate her. I am less inclined to believe this since she never seems to do anything other than either begrudgingly following orders or deliberately doing the opposite and claiming it’s her idea because she’s pathologically incapable of admitting she can’t take anyone’s advice. She has had virtually zero character growth since the pilot, which is a real travesty in light of the extensive personal evolution in A:TLA. I guess Mako came along and made her Distracted by the Sexy.

Korra uses firebending to stop a Spirit from attacking the town.

Korra has a new enemy in the form of angry spirits. The combat scenes are, as usual, visually stunning. I’m in this for the Scenery Porn. True to form, Korra punches her way through everything, choosing to bypass more meticulous styles of bending in favor of brute strength. The problem with LOK is that Korra’s stubbornness and aggression are marketed as female empowerment in that they seem to be the self-aware antithesis to traditional femininity. Korra even pigeonholed Asami early on as prim and proper because she was a girly girl. Why is femininity still considered the enemy or an embarrassing relic to move past? Masculinized traits on their own don’t automatically equal a liberated female protagonist. Reversing the stereotype doesn’t necessarily make the resulting portrayal a positive one. Having a strong point of view is all well and good, but you should have a vague grasp of your identity. We still have no idea who Korra is and it’s the second season. She’s actually quite a disappointing cliché if you think about it. She can only understand herself and her potential for progression through her relationship with Mako. The various conflicts and the bending are simply bells and whistles to distract from the fact that she still feels the need to define herself through a man.

Asami faces down an intimidating businessman.

Asami is kicking ass and taking names as the new head of her father’s company. She and Bolin close a business deal together and it’s awesome. I want to be excited, I really do. Alas, I’m sure she’ll only reappear to tease romantic subtext between her and Bolin. The scene came off as a bit forced and I think the writers wanted to throw Asami in briefly to respond to the criticism that she wouldn’t have a shelf life after the love triangle. I hope she stays a regular. Also, Mako is now a motorcycle cop, despite the series being very clearly set in the Jazz age. Just in case you needed more confirmation that he’s the golden boy. Mako’s irresistible charisma allows him to transcend the pace of human innovation! Maybe he should use his charm to inspire someone to cure cancer 40 years sooner.

Eska sizes up Bolin.

After getting his heart stomped all over by Korra, Bolin had to be given a new love interest fast or risk losing all relevance to the LOK universe. Seeing that he was relegated to one-dimensional comic relief to eliminate him as a threat to precious Mako for Korra, it’s fitting that Bolin’s girlfriend is… one-dimensional comic relief. Korra’s nearly identical twin cousins, Desna and Eska (boy and girl respectively), come to town and Bolin is instantly taken by the beauty of both twins, although he quickly changes his tune when he realizes that Desna is a guy. Eska’s deadpan, monotone delivery reminded me of Aubrey Plaza and then I saw that Plaza actually does voice Eska, so that’s badass. Eska instantly takes a shining to Bolin’s flirting and suddenly they’re “dating” within a few lines of dialogue. Genuine development is reserved for main characters, which Bolin has apparently been demoted from indefinitely.

Eska breaks up the hug between Bolin and Korra (source).

Many viewers have already raised concerns that Bolin and Eska’s relationship is abusive and claim that fangirls are overlooking Eska’s problematic behavior. In particular, they cite the moment towards the end of the episode where Eska uses waterbending to forcibly separate Bolin and Korra when he tries to hug her and then demands an explanation. Eska’s oddly formal way of speaking and morose goth girl personality, once literally coupled with Bolin’s hapless Idiot Hero shtick, indicates that their dynamic exists almost solely to be played for laughs. I’m not sure if it’s actually funny yet because it screams try hard. Either way, Eska has risen to fandom darling overnight. Funny how traits that would’ve been red flags for assholes where men are concerned translate into quirky and adorable qualities for girls to have. It might be too early in Bolin and Eska’s supposed relationship to determine concrete abusive tendencies, but possessiveness is never cute or attractive, regardless of your gender. You know that if it had been Mako blocking Korra from hugging Bolin, fandom would be in an uproar. The Manic Pixie Dream Girl really is catnap to young audiences, especially if you put her in sheep’s (or rather, goth’s) clothing.

Jinora gazes at a statue of Aang.

I’m the most intrigued by the plot given the least attention. This episode foreshadowed Aang’s granddaughter, Jinora, having special connections to the Spirit World. She is too young to be given a boyfriend yet, so I have faith that she might be one female character to grow and develop as an individual, but only by virtue of prepubescence. Sigh.

It’s extremely frustrating because anyone who has seen A:TLA knows what Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko (the creators of A:TLA and LOK) are capable of. Sure, the romance in A:TLA was enjoyable, but LOK pushes it to soap opera extremes. They seem to be hooked on the thrill of ship wars to the point where it perputually eclipses everything else in LOK. There are already rumblings of a Bolin-centered love triangle with Asami and Eska. Just stop using nonsensical romantic angst to fill narrative space. Not only is reliance on triangles a very amateur writing move, but it signals that you are so uninspired by your own characters that the most compelling thing you could come up with for them to do is fight over each other. That’s stale and frankly depressing.

Lastly, stop leaving Korra in the lurch. One of the last exchanges in the episode gave us this little steaming turd of a gem:

Korra: It’s hard being the Avatar.

Mako: It’s harder being the Avatar’s boyfriend.

(cue forced chuckling and hug)

A dramatic reenactment of my response to the above dialogue.

Is there such a thing as sexism bending? Because it should be certified as a fundamental element of the LOK universe.

The Legend of Korra should be about Korra’s journey. It’s not The Legend of Mako and Associates. Mako and the others can help Korra, but they don’t need to compulsively define her every step of the way. Let her find herself and stumble a bit on her own. I guarantee that she won’t scrape her knees too badly if Mako isn’t there to hold her hand. Korra is strong, so give her a little backbone. The Avatar deserves more than just being somebody’s girlfriend.