Beverly Crusher (‘Star Trek: TNG’) and Dana Scully (‘The X-Files’): The Medical and the Maternal

The impact of Dr. Beverly Crusher and Agent Dana Scully cannot be understated, not just on the landscape of female representation on television or the portrayal of women scientists but the way they also drove young women to pursue STEM fields in reality. …They transcend mere descriptors like woman, lover, mother, caregiver, skeptic, scientist — because they’re all that and more.

Beverly Crusher and Dana Scully

This guest post written by Carly Lane appears as part of our theme week on Women Scientists. | Spoilers ahead.


In the vast, diverse spectrum of science fiction worlds, it often seems as if no role, no profession, is off-limits to female characters. To that end, it has often been cited as a deeply progressive genre for fictional women, depicting the importance of their contributions as being equal to their male counterparts. When compared alongside the investigation of extraterrestrial life or the exploration of worlds other than our own, a strong and competent woman doesn’t seem that extraordinary by comparison.

Although science-fiction has been guilty of relying on outdated sexist tropes on occasion, it should be celebrated for the avenues where female characters are allowed to become more developed and three-dimensional. It’s these women that we often look up to as role models, even though they sometimes come from a future very far away from our own. Two of those characters appeared on television shows which spanned nearly fifteen years — Dr. Beverly Crusher, from Star Trek: The Next Generation, and Dana Scully, from The X-Files. Maybe not surprisingly, there’s more that links these two fictional ladies than the fact that they share the same hair color, or that they both have backgrounds in STEM fields. Over the course of their respective programs, they were allowed to become fully realized characters who had journeys independent of any influence from men — and though both women do have important relationships with several men in their lives, it isn’t what defines them.

Star Trek TNG_Crusher

When we’re introduced to Dr. Beverly Crusher (Gates McFadden) at the start of The Next Generation we learn two things up front: first, that she’s a single mother to young son Wesley (Wil Wheaton), and second, that she has a personal history with Jean-Luc Picard (Patrick Stewart), who captains the Starfleet vessel the USS Enterprise. In spite of the tie that binds them, which is revealed to be the death of Crusher’s husband Jack, the doctor assures Picard that it will in no way affect “the way [she] serves [him], the vessel or the mission” as Chief Medical Officer (“Encounter at Farpoint”).

And, for the most part, it doesn’t — at least not early on. In fact, it seems like she’s barely joined on with the Enterprise before she accepts a position as head of Starfleet Medical less than a year later. Granted, the decision of the character was heavily informed by the departure of actress Gates McFadden at the end of season one; both McFadden and Crusher returned to the show for season three after fans campaigned to bring the character back. While the reason for Crusher’s return is never provided in dialogue, we see the toll her absence has taken — especially in her relationship with her son Wesley, who had remained on the Enterprise as acting ensign. The interactions between them are initially strained and awkward, and eventually Crusher goes to Picard to ask him about how her son has been during her time away (“Evolution”).

Star Trek TNG_First Contact_Crusher

Mother and son don’t resolve their tension right off the bat, either; when Crusher suggests to Wesley that he might have taken on too many responsibilities, he snaps at her, invoking her absence. “I’m here now, Wesley,” she says, and over the course of the remaining episode Wesley allows himself to rely a little more on his mother for a change. It’s one of the few instances in TNG where Wesley does lean on Crusher in some way; more often than not, when it comes to asking for advice or venting his problems, we usually see Wesley seek out a male member of Starfleet, or even Guinan (Whoopi Goldberg), the proprietor of Enterprise’s bar Ten-Forward. Whether that was unintentional or stemming from the belief that an adolescent man shouldn’t be running to his mother with his problems, it definitely contributed to a number of missed opportunities for more meaningful interaction between Crusher and her son.

On the other hand, TNG doesn’t define Crusher solely by her role as a mother — and it shouldn’t. As Chief Medical Officer on the Enterprise, she’s the head of the team responsible for administering care not just to the other vessel’s crew members but also to the alien races they encounter over the course of their mission. Her background in science and medicine requires her to be familiar with unique anatomy, to develop cures for foreign illnesses, or to handle emergency medical situations with a calm demeanor. As a certified bridge officer, she is afforded command of the bridge on several occasions in the absence of other crew members. She has her own friendships forged outside professional boundaries, namely with ship’s counselor Deanna Troi (Marina Sirtis); the two women frequently go to each other for advice and recommendations. She also finds herself pursuing potential romantic attachments, though they don’t tend to last beyond the confines of an episode. And she even dances around a potential relationship with Picard, even though neither of them truly act on what appear to be mutual romantic feelings. Over the course of TNG, we’re afforded the opportunity to glimpse Crusher as a mother, a doctor, and a woman with feelings and strong convictions.

X-Files Scully

While Crusher’s journey begins as that of a mother and branches outward, the story arc of Dana Scully (Gillian Anderson) is something of the opposite. In The X-Files, it’s the skeptical Scully who serves as an avatar for the audience, our way in; it’s through her science that the FBI intends for her to debunk the X-Files and thereby discredit former golden boy Fox Mulder (David Duchovny) as a result. She’s immediately defined by her science, by her medical background; the frequency of Scully introducing herself by her profession in early seasons is a long-running joke among die-hard X-Philes, but there’s some part of it that’s almost necessary due to the occasional sexism she faces from men working in her field. When a male detective questions “the wisdom of assigning female law enforcement officers to certain types of cases” during a murder investigation, Scully assures him that his “concern” is misplaced (“2Shy”). Fortunately, she doesn’t find herself on the receiving end of any gross comments from her partner Mulder; although the two of them usually disagree on the whodunit, their verbal sparring matches are often a means to allow both parties to bounce potential hypotheses off one another.

It takes some time, but inevitably we learn that Scully occasionally harbors thoughts of having a social life, building relationships, and perhaps even starting a family someday outside of her work on the X-Files. Her attempts at dating never quite end the way she expects (“The Jersey Devil,” “Never Again”). Her alien abduction comes with its own set of side ramifications after Mulder learns that some of her eggs had been harvested during the process, eventually leading to the creation of a child (“Emily”). Scully experiences an overwhelming sense of connection with the girl and is heartbroken when Emily dies from a genetic infection, especially since this comes in the aftermath of Scully learning of her own infertility as the result of her abduction — or so she thinks.

X-Files Scully new

Scully’s desire to be a mother again never truly goes away, and when she eventually decides to have a child through in vitro fertilization she asks Mulder to be the donor (“Per Manum”); although the initial attempt at in vitro fails, Scully later learns she is pregnant shortly after the alien abduction of Mulder, suggesting that the two were intimate long enough to conceive naturally (“Requiem”). While she is overjoyed to finally have a child of her own, Scully soon realizes that she and her son William will never find peace given the threats to his life that exist in her world, and makes the devastating decision to give him up for adoption so that he can grow up safely. In the revival of The X-Files, we learn that Scully frequently reminisces about the life she could have had with William if he had stayed with her, but the question of whether she will ever be able to reunite with her child even after all this time is still open-ended.

After all, as often as we’ve seen Scully try to leave the X-Files (and Mulder, by extension) behind and start anew, something always seems to occur to bring her back in somehow. And there’s value in that, in depicting a female character who wrestles with her convictions both as a woman of science and a woman of faith, in allowing her to explore her own wants and needs while not necessarily prioritizing that of her male partner’s. On The X-FIles, it never felt as though Mulder and Scully were on anything but equal footing; in his absence, she’s given the opportunity to fully champion the truth she had originally been assigned to dismiss.

The impact of Crusher and Scully cannot be understated, not just on the landscape of female representation on television or the portrayal of women scientists but the way they also drove young women to pursue STEM fields in reality. (Scully even has this effect partly named after her.) Maybe it’s because they’re impossible to sum up in just one word; they transcend mere descriptors like woman, lover, mother, caregiver, skeptic, scientist — because they’re all that and more. It’s the full representation of the many facets of their character that’s given these fictional women their long-lasting appeal for so many years already, and hopefully for many more years to come.


See also at Bitch Flicks: The Female Scientists of ‘The X-Files’; ‘Star Trek: The Next Generation’ Explores The Limits of Sexual Attraction in “The Host”Sexual Desire on ‘The X-Files’: An Open (Love) Letter to Scully; Trill Gender and Sexuality Metaphors in ‘Star Trek’


Carly Lane is a writer based in New York City who specializes in obscure pop culture references and miscellaneous geekery. Her work has been featured on The Mary Sue, Teen Vogue, The Toast and more. You can find her on Twitter at @carlylane.

The Complex Masculinity of ‘Outlander’s Jamie Fraser

It’s a surprising twist on the trope. Jamie is undoubtedly a force of man to be reckoned with, though the fact that he is a virgin and thus relatively inexperienced in terms of sex when he encounters Claire – the older, more experienced woman – attributes some unexpected “feminine” qualities to his character.


This guest post by Carly Lane appears as part of our theme week on Masculinity.


Jamie Fraser, of the Outlander series (and subsequent television adaptation), is the quintessential romance hero. Mention his name to any fan of Diana Gabaldon’s works and you will likely hear a swoon in reply. When it comes to romantic traits, Jamie’s got them in spades. He’s a Highland warrior, a well-educated man, and he’s good with horses – not to mention easy on the eyes.

His role in the series, however – first as Claire Randall’s love interest, then as her hastily wedded husband – is anything but predictable, and it’s in looking at his story in the first book (and first season, respectively) that we realize just how multifaceted this masculine hero truly is.

When we’re first introduced to Jamie in the year 1743, he’s actually something of a damsel-in-distress; due to a dislocated shoulder suffered in the heat of battle, he cannot ride a horse without intense pain. Although Claire has been recently rattled by her time travel through the stones from the 1940s, her medical training won’t allow her to sit by and watch while his fellow Highlanders attempt to set his arm incorrectly. She takes it upon herself to put his shoulder back in place – and then to tend to him later through various gunshot and stab wounds. It’s interesting to watch the dynamic between the two characters in their first interactions together. Claire is familiar with taking charge in a situation after serving as a nurse in the Second World War, but Jamie doesn’t allow his masculine pride to get in the way of letting her help him. (Then again, given Claire’s headstrong nature, he likely doesn’t have much of a choice either way.)

And he can wear the heck out of a kilt, ya ken?
And he can wear the heck out of a kilt, ya ken?

 

The more we learn about Jamie, the more we come to see him as the epitome of a manly man. He volunteers to take a public beating instead of a lashing for a girl accused of loose behavior, and we see him smiling even after getting punched in the face. We’re witness to his participation in a very violent game of shinty against fellow clansmen, tackling other players into the mud. He’s survived through two severe whippings at the hands of Black Jack Randall, a captain of the British army, which left him with serious scars on his back. And when he relays his past as a fugitive to Claire in private conversation, we find out that he’s had to do some pretty hairy things in order to stay alive – like eat grass, for example.

But what’s most surprising about Jamie is that he encapsulates both the (fairly) innocent virgin and the male warrior in tandem, something that has almost been unheard of in fiction. After he and Claire learn that they will need to get married in order to ensure Claire’s protection from Black Jack, she confesses that she’s not exactly a virgin due to her first marriage. “Does that bother you?” she asks. “No,” he answers, “so long as it doesna bother you that I am.”

It’s a surprising twist on the trope. Jamie is undoubtedly a force of man to be reckoned with, though the fact that he is a virgin and thus relatively inexperienced in terms of sex when he encounters Claire – the older, more experienced woman – attributes some unexpected “feminine” qualities to his character. In the wedding episode, there are several scenes dedicated to his sexual education. His comprehension of the act in itself is completely transformed – he admits to Claire that, up until that night, he had believed it was something done with the man behind the woman, “like horses.” He does make a point of reminding Claire after a particularly heated first kiss, however, that while he may be a virgin it doesn’t mean he’s been a monk.

But he is a fast learner and a conscientious partner – he listens to Claire when she tells him he’s crushing her with his weight, and he’s careful to ensure he hasn’t hurt her when she experiences an orgasm the second time they have sex, inquiring if it happens every time for a woman. That thoughtfulness and willingness to reshape his worldview is not something that often goes hand-in-hand with an uber-manly man.

He does define the meaning of "heart-eyes" from time to time.
He does define the meaning of “heart-eyes” from time to time.

 

That worldview is also challenged again when Claire runs away, endangering the clan in the process, and Jamie is expected to beat her as a disciplinary act according to tradition. In the beginning, he can’t grasp why Claire is angry with him for doing so – but later agrees that adhering to a custom is not always the best course of action. After a particularly intense interlude on the bedroom floor (during which Claire holds Jamie’s dirk to his throat in the throes of passion and makes him swear he won’t beat her again), Jamie understands that what may be the conventional response to something in the 18th century isn’t necessarily the right thing to do.

Jamie is not the first character to experience sexual assault in Outlander, but he is the first male character. When he is captured by British soldiers, his masculinity and how he views himself as a man are completely fractured after his traumatic assault at the hands of Black Jack Randall in Wentworth Prison. His entire sense of identity is shattered in those harrowing hours where he faces abuse after abuse, and through his recounting of the events to Claire the audience is privy to every agonizing moment. Not only is he subjected to physical violence that permanently impacts the full use of his hand, he is emotionally manipulated by Black Jack into forced climax, his body unable to stop what his mind is straining to resist.

It’s no wonder Jamie feels less than a man when he is finally rescued from Wentworth. The damage that has been done to not only body but mind causes him to pull away from Claire and any sense of shared intimacy between them. He admits that he can’t even think of returning to his wife’s bed when any attempt at sex would make him feel sick to his stomach.

Through Claire’s love, support and assertion of his masculinity, as well as his willingness to share about his experience, Jamie is finally able to begin to reclaim his sense of self – and the first season ends on a note of hope, as the two sail away from Scotland together. It is rare that a series portrays a leading male protagonist – especially the undisputed romantic hero of the story – as a survivor of rape and sexual trauma, and how he will be healing from that harrowing experience as time goes on.

At first glance, Jamie Fraser might seem like just your average hero – but he’s a fascinating, layered character who doesn’t simply fall prey to the typical traits of masculinity. In true Highlander fashion, he defies them.


Recommended reading: “The Romance of Male Virginity in Outlander” by Laura Stanley @ Chew


Carly Lane is a writer based in New York City who specializes in obscure pop culture references and miscellaneous geekery. Her work has been featured on HelloGiggles, The Mary Sue, Femsplain and more. You can find her on Twitter at @equivocarly.