On Television – Page 18

Frances McDormand Shines As a Complicated, Frustrating Woman in HBO’s ‘Olive Kitteridge’

With her gray curls and thick, veined ankles, unadorned on screen as she is in the book, Olive, captured by McDormand, is a fascinating and complicated character. She is ferocious, intelligent, tactless, cruel, and achingly kind, sometimes all at once. The actress is not physically alike Olive, who Strout described as stout and big, but she inhabits the spirit of the character so completely – a fact sure to be recognized awards season – that you cannot take your eyes off her even as you wonder what cringe worthy thing she will say or do next.

This is a guest post by Paula Schwartz.

Frances McDormand is magnificent as the title character of the four-part HBO miniseries Olive Kitteridge, based on the Pulitizer Prize-winning novel by Elizabeth Strout that chronicles the illicit affairs, crime, hilarity and tragedy that ensures in the seemingly placid and hardscrabble New England town of Crosby over a 25-year time span.

The story begins when Olive is in her early 40s and teaches seventh-grade math. She is married to the kindly pharmacist, whom she often badgers and insults. The miniseries is as much a story of Olive’s journey as a portrait of an ordinary marriage with its trials and tribulations, petty resentments, and minor victories. Richard Jenkins is terrific as Olive’s long-suffering husband, Henry, who is as easy-going and relatively sunny as Olive is curmudgeonly and negative.

The action continues until Olive is in her early 70s, retired, and reconciled to the rhythm of an uneventful but relatively happy marriage. During the years she tries to find balance in her relationship with her son (John Gallagher Jr.), whom she loves but who resents and fears her sharp tongue and mood swings. Life takes cruel and typical twists for Olive as it does for most people.

Romance enters unexpectedly in late life in the form of wealthy widower Sam (Bill Murray), a bald-headed old man with a big belly she discovers one morning slumped over on her walking path, possibly from a heart attack. “Are you dead?” she asked him. “Apparently not,” he replied. Tragedy and comedy co-exist naturally in Olive’s world.

McDormand and Tom Hanks executive produced the miniseries, which hews to the spirit of the book that has been gracefully adapted by Jane Anderson and expertly directed by The Kids Are All Right director Lisa Cholodenko. Except for Hanks, they all turned up last week at the show’s premiere at the SVA Theater in Manhattan, along with cast members Rosemarie DeWitt and Cory Michael Smith.

On the red carpet, I asked author Elizabeth Strout who inspired her for the character of Olive:

“People always wonder if it’s my mother. It’s not. I grew up in Maine. Even though I’ve lived here for over 30 years I grew up on a dirt road with many older relatives, old aunts, mostly aunts, often grumpy, and it was just the air I breathed as a child, so it was sort of natural for me to find that character as a compilation I think of many of these different people that I grew up with.”

I asked Strout how she came up with Olive’s physicality, her large size and ungainliness:

“Olive just came to me as somebody who was large. She’d gotten larger and she knew that and was uncomfortable with that, but wasn’t going to stop her from eating. I could almost feel it and sometimes, even now, I guess because there’s been so much written about Olive, all of a sudden – this is already a few years ago in my writing career – I just looked at my ankles the other day and I thought, ‘Oh, they’ll get bigger, like Olive’s,’” she laughed. “There wasn’t any particular person that I based her on. I just saw her and felt her.”

At the end of the book Olive seems to be embarking on a romance. I asked Strout if she had any plans for a follow-up book on Olive:

“I’ve actually found some old Olive stories that I hadn’t used. I’m such a disorganized person but I don’t know. I think maybe I better just let her go and have people hope the best for her.”

Strout told me the project for the series became with a phone call three years ago from her agent who told her,

“You know, Frances McDormand is interested in this,’ and I was like, ‘Really? Wow! That’s great.’ I met with Frances a few times in New York and we talked about Olive. We talked about different things. She’s an amazing person and actor and she got it. She knew about it because Olive’s very interior. There’s a lot that goes inside without her speaking it. And Frances does that. She shows us in her minimalist motions and her facial expressions.”

I asked if McDormand asked for tips on portraying the character but her only questions were unsurprisingly about adapting the book:

“She asked me about the timing. Like how did I think they would get the 25 years in? I said I had no idea. I don’t know anything about film. I was no good,” Strout laughed.

The author told me she never envisioned her book as a movie:

“No. I did not. The Burgess Boys, which I just wrote, I actually can see that as a movie because the narratives much clearer and the characters are very distinct in certain ways. But with Olive I didn’t. I did not think of it, so it’s extra special for me.”

I asked screenwriter Jane Anderson about how she became involved and about the challenges of adapting the book:

“I read the book for pleasure and when Fran called me up and said, ‘Are you interested in adapting it?’ I said absolutely. But it took me a couple of years to get it right because it’s a great piece of literature and the better the piece of literature, the more profound and subtle the piece of literature, the harder it is to adapt for screen. And because my parents are in Olive and Henry I saw the theme of the book as the theme of making a marriage work and I think ultimately they do work as a couple. I think often the pessimistic, difficult people and tender, easy people often work together as a unit. They need each other.”

The main goal was to be true to the book’s lack of sentimentality. Olive is a character you can’t stand at first but she grows on you. Anderson agreed:

“That first chapter she’s terrible. You can’t bear the woman. She’s cranky. She’s cruel. She’s dismissive. But then there’s the brilliance of Fran. Because Fran didn’t just want to just make her sentimental. Fran didn’t care if you liked her not and that’s what made her so good. Fran has no vanity. It was lovely to have her voice, the voice of Olive.”

Poster for Olive Kitteridge — Poster for *Olive Kitteridge*

Jenkins, who is so terrific as Olive’s husband, told me he didn’t worry about his character coming across as one-dimensional or too much of a milquetoast:

“I think the time made it possible, the movie’s four-hour length. You get to see a complex life, not just certain characteristics of a person. You get to see the whole person. Nobody is just one thing, so I think that helped.”

Director Lisa Cholodenko told me how she became involved in the project when McDormand called her three years ago and told her about the book, which she then sent:

“She said read it. I’m going to play it. It hasn’t been published. I’m going to deal with HBO, see if you’re interested in adapting it.” The director told me she loved the book and heard McDormand’s voice but the timing wasn’t right for her. “I told Frances, I don’t know how to adapt this. Go with God. I hope you find somebody awesome to do it. I don’t think I’m the person to do it now, but I would love to talk to you if you get a script. And three years later I got a call form HBO saying hey we have this script. Are you still interested? I said yeah I’ll read it. I was hooked.”

I asked about the casting choice of Bill Murray as Olive’s possible love interest. He has a legendary reputation for being difficult to contact and refusing most movie parts, so his casting is particularly intriguing.

“What’s not to love about Bill Murray?” Cholodenko chortled. “What was more wonderful is you never know if he’s going to show up, so you’re like, Yeah, Yeah, no Bill’s going to do it! Yeah let me know when he lands. And he did!”

Paula Schwartz is a veteran journalist who worked at the New York Times for three decades. For five years she was the Baguette for the New York Times movie awards blog Carpetbaggers. Before that she worked on the New York Times night life column, Boldface, where she covered the celebrity beat. She endured a poke in the ribs by Elijah Wood’s publicist, was ejected from a party by Michael Douglas’s flak after he didn’t appreciate what she wrote, and endured numerous other indignities to get a story. More happily she interviewed major actors and directors–all of whom were good company and extremely kind–including Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie, Morgan Freeman, Clint Eastwood, Christopher Plummer, Dustin Hoffman and the hammy pooch “Uggie” from “The Artist.” Her idea of heaven is watching at least three movies in a row with an appreciative audience that’s not texting. Her work has appeared in Moviemaker, more.com, showbiz411 and reelifewithjane.com.

How to Get Away with Dynamic Black Women Leads

Not only does this kind of stereotyping delegitimize Black women’s feelings, but it functions as a racist and misogynistic social policing tactic that pressures black women to self-censor their opinions, feelings and needs, or else be written off as a “type.” In fictional representations, the Angry Black Woman labeling and policing limits the types of black women we see in film, literature, comics, television, and other media.

This guest post by Corinne Gaston previously appeared at the Ms. blog and is cross-posted with permission.

After the weeks of hype and speculation leading up to the premiere, How to Get Away with Murder has been the show to watch on Thursday nights. Viola Davis stars as Annalise Keating, a law school professor and criminal defense attorney, whom you can tell from the get-go is not a person to be crossed.

She expects 100 percent from her students when she walks into Middleton Law School’s Criminal Law 101–or, as she likes to call the class, How to Get Away with Murder. Their first assignment? Come up with a defense for the attempted murder case she is working on. The only catch is that not one of the dozens upon dozens of students can repeat another student’s idea. She takes these students under her wing but she does not mother them; after all, the business of defending criminals is a hard one.

While many have praised Davis’ characterization of Keating, others, such as The New York Times critic Alessandra Stanley, boxed-in Keating as an “Angry Black Woman” before a single episode of the show had even aired. Keating was portrayed as “strong” and confident in the show’s trailer, which was enough for some folks to write her off. But in the pilot we see her actual character, and from the second she steps in front of the camera she is a force to be reckoned with. Keating’s gaze is unflinching and penetrating, her voice unwavering and, I must admit, I found her character to be menacing. But that does not obscure her creativity, brilliance and charisma. She openly expresses anger, dissatisfaction, sexuality and high expectations, and it should go without saying that stereotyping her would be a huge misstep.

Given the relative lack of diversity on television, particularly with show leads, characters like Davis’ Keating already have the limited representation of Black women in television (and film) working against them—it leads to extra pressure to “represent” or act as “spokespeople” for Black women, even if that is an unfair expectation. But then the double whammy comes in the form of racial biases. If you’re a Black woman actor and your character is too sexual? Jezebel. Cares too much for others? Mammy. Loud or expressive? Ratchet. Reveals any emotion that can be linked to displeasure OR (and here’s the kicker) personal standards? Angry Black Woman.

Despite the public criticisms that are sure to arise over Davis’ character—that she is too tough or aggressive—I am personally thankful that her character exists and that Davis plays Keating the way she does. It’s not often you see a Black woman character exude so much fearsome, respected power and confidence and not be portrayed as an over-the-top Sapphire stereotype, like many of the women in Tyler Perry’s movies. She is a hard, dynamic, and mysterious person. However, she does have her moment of vulnerability when one of her students finds her crying over the state of her strained marriage–because, of course, she’s human.

Oftentimes it feels like writers, producers and directors are afraid to show truly complex depictions of Black women for fear that audiences will not accept them. Which is funny, because white men are given huge amounts of freedom to depict complex, questionable and even immoral protagonists. Beyond that, these white male characters are often praised, loved and lionized—all without being written off as Angry White Men (even when they are very, very angry). Characters like Walter White from Breaking Bad and Dexter Morgan from Dexter, for example, amassed huge fan followings, even though one is a meth kingpin and the other is a straight-up murderer.

White male television characters can be crime bosses, murderers, meth manufacturers, drug dealers, drug users and thieves and be lauded, while in real life some of those identities (such as drug user and thief) have been used to dehumanize Black individuals and argue away their murders. Clearly there’s a racial representation issue that goes deeper than television, but as it stands, Black women actors should have the freedom to play as complex and troubling characters as white men and have their acting expertise applauded.

The first episode of How to Get Away with Murder laid the groundwork for twisting story lines to come: murder, affairs and, of course, more murder. If the plot line follows the path I think it will, the second murder, supposedly committed by four of Keating’s students, will be discovered, the four will go to trial and Keating will end up either defending or prosecuting her very own students. The show has the flexibility to go in many directions and so does Annalise Keating, who doesn’t tolerate the word “failure” in her personal dictionary, but will be forced to reckon with her own secrets.

At this point, I don’t know much of who she is, to which side her complex character skews in terms of general morals, or even if I’m rooting for her yet in the storyline. What I am rooting for, however, is her existence.

Corinne Gaston is an editorial intern at Ms. Follow her on Twitter @elysehamsa or go to her personal blog.

High School Hospital: ‘Red Band Society’

‘Red Band Society’ presents the high-school dynamic explored in a sick-lit microcosm. It’s largely fluff and nonsense, but it’s quite entertaining nonsense on the whole – not least because Octavia Spencer is a treasure and is marvelous as the superheroic Nurse Jackson.

Written by Max Thornton.

A TV dramedy about teens who live in a hospital is perhaps the logical next stage in a culture where The Fault In Our Stars was such a phenomenon. In fact, I would guess that someone pitched it as “Breakfast Club meets TFIOS.” Red Band Society presents the high-school dynamic explored in a sick-lit microcosm. It’s largely fluff and nonsense, but it’s quite entertaining nonsense on the whole – not least because Octavia Spencer is a treasure and is marvelous as the superheroic Nurse Jackson, while it’s an absolute joy to see My So-Called Life‘s Wilson Cruz back on TV.

Because of my interest in disability theory, I was interested to see how the high-school dynamic might play out in a hospital context, but to be honest the show isn’t doing as much with it as it could. Not least this is because of the show’s metaphysics, which it lays out there both in the premise – it’s narrated by a comatose boy who can see and hear everything that goes on around the hospital, and interact with the other patients when they are under for surgery (though not when they’re asleep, for some reason) – and in an explicit statement of mind-body dualism made by one character to another: “Your body isn’t you. Your soul is you.”

I’m so involved in body-affirming scholarship, including disability and crip theory, that it kind of shocks me when I hear such forthright statements of dualism in pop culture. Rejecting mind-body dualism wasn’t just an abstract philosophical decision for me; it dramatically changed my life. While I know (oh God, how I know) that telling yourself, “I am not my body, I am just in it” can be a life-saving consolation in times of extreme bodily distress, I don’t think it’s ultimately a tenable way to understand your existence in the world. In many ways, this is what crip theory (and its intertwined conversation partner, queer theory) is about: refusing to accept mind-body dualism and its passive reinforcement of a normative narrative about what constitutes a healthy, whole, socially acceptable body.

My point is that, despite its setting, thus far Red Band Society hasn’t shown much interest in engaging with disability tropes beyond letting its characters take time out from being ~brave and inspirational~ to be snarky, bratty, illegal-substance-pursuing teens. Which, to be fair, is a great step up from classic media portrayals of disabled people as either inhumanly angelic or miserably bitter: at least these characters are the center of their own drama, not vehicles for the edification of able-bodied people.

There are six members of the titular society:

Seen here in no way invoking The Breakfast Club. — Seen here *in no way* invoking *The Breakfast Club*.

Charlie, our comatose narrator, offers commentary primarily in the form of zingers. He has a Tragic Backstory of which every single beat has been wholly predictable, although the latest episode ended on a Charlie-related moment that was ridiculous even for this show, so who knows what’s ahead.

Leo is a recovering cancer patient whose leg had to be amputated. At least once per episode, one of the characters will remind us that pre-cancer Leo was a stereotypical jock who wouldn’t have given these people the time of day, and look how he’s grown through adversity! Soccer was Leo’s jam, and because Nurse Jackson is not bound by the laws, rules, and circumstances governing us mere mortals, she happens to know an amputee athlete who agrees to train Leo. However, Leo ultimately decides against the training, because he doesn’t want to be known as an amputee athlete. Honestly, this smacks of the writers not wanting to deal with actual amputee athletics training: wouldn’t he at least try one training session before giving up on his lifelong passion and imagined future?

Dash is Leo’s BFF. It took until the most recent episode, the fifth, before Dash finally got some characterization of his own, beyond how he relates to the other characters. Dash is also Black. JUST SAYING. When he’s not trying to seduce the young nurse, smoking weed with the ward’s resident hippiechondriac, or getting jealous over Leo (which causes all the other characters to tease him about being in love with Leo, because boys can’t have close friendships without it being gay, and everyone knows homosexuality is hilarious), Dash is a graffiti artist extraordinaire. Also his lungs don’t work right or something, but who knows, it never seems to impede his life in any way.

Emma is my favorite. She’s bookish and smart, and she tries to do what she thinks is right by people, but she has a streak of fire in her which can sometimes lead to poor decisions. She’s in hospital for anorexia, and stays in a ward with cancer patients and people needing transplants, because… reasons, I guess? Whatever its logic, this juxtaposition does make for interesting possibilities in exploring the stigmatization of mental illnesses and psychological disorders, which can occur even among communities of the sick and the disabled: Leo yells at her that she doesn’t need to be in hospital, she’s only there by her own choice.

Kara is my other favorite, the bitchy cheerleader who is completely self-aware of her role as gratuitously mean hot girl. On the whole, she revels in taking the other characters down a peg or two, though it has been hinted more than once that massive self-esteem issues underlie her unpleasantness. She has an almost symptom-free heart condition, but isn’t on the donor list because of her pill-popping. Also she has awful power lesbians for moms, because, as Charlie says in a line that is certainly a verbatim quote from the writer who suggested it, “What? Dads fall for a nanny all the time. Why not moms?”

Jordi is the new kid. (Kara is technically a new kid as well, but she can’t be the Everyman character because she’s a girl, and not just a girl but a mean girl.) He’s boring and annoying, and I feel like he and his abandonment issues walked straight off The Fosters and into this show. It’s cool that the Everyman is Latino, but I am super done talking about Jordi and his annoying hair and dumb personality.

There are some adult characters other than Octavia Spencer, too: a Dr. Sexy type who is even more annoying than Jordi (but thankfully gets less screentime); a ditzy nurse; assorted parents floating in and out – but none of them are all that interesting.

It’s not clear yet whether Red Band Society will last out the TV season. I hope it does, because, for all its faults, this show can be very charming, and I think there’s potential for something new and exciting beneath the cheese.

Also, somebody thought this ad was a good idea. It was rightly pulled after complaints.

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Max Thornton blogs at Gay Christian Geek, tumbles as trans substantial, and tweets at @RainicornMax.

‘The Good Wife’: Being Bad

The premise of ‘The Good Wife’ brilliantly sets up and challenges particular gender roles and expectations. Julianna Margulies plays the lead character, Alicia Florrick. Given Margulies’ age – she was 43 when the show began – and popular culture’s continual privileging of youth, particularly with reference to women, this is an achievement in itself. Alicia’s married to Peter Florrick (Chris Noth, who’s no stranger to playing “bad boy” partners after his role of Mr Big on ‘Sex and the City’), who has just been jailed following a string of political and sexual scandals. The pilot sees Alicia dutifully standing by her husband, remaining silent as he apologises for his indiscretions, before the show cuts to several months later as Alicia returns to work as a defence attorney following 13 years as a stay-at-home mom.

Written by Sarah Smyth.

The Good Wife centralizes the conventionally marginalized wife figure — *The Good Wife* centralizes the conventionally marginalized wife figure

Warning: Contains MAJOR spoilers!

Like many other fans of the hugely popular political and legal drama, The Good Wife, a few months ago, I sat down to watch the latest episode, “Dramatics, Your Honor,” only to be rudely awakened from the state of pure escapism which the show pleasantly induces. Although often clever, complex, and compelling, the show is also a somewhat ridiculous yet highly entertaining romp, with a taste for outlandish storylines and theatrical, scheming characters. In other words, I do not watch the show to get a reflection of or even a reflection on Real Life. Real Life sucks, and The Good Wife allows me, and others I assume, to escape life’s often mundane, tedious, and sometimes downright brutal existence. However, in this episode, Will Gardener (Josh Charles), one of the main characters who also serves as the love interest to the leading character, Alicia Florrick, dies. Taking this extremely personally – how could the writers do this to me? – I took to Twitter to find answers. Here, I came across this letter written by the creators and executive producers of the show. In it, they wrote a rather jarring sentence: “The Good Wife, at its heart, is the ‘Education of Alicia Florrick.’” As I reflected on this statement, I began to wonder to what extent Alicia Florrick needed to learn something and, more worryingly, to what extent this need to learn is highly gendered.

The premise of The Good Wife brilliantly sets up and challenges particular gender roles and expectations. Julianna Margulies plays the lead character, Alicia Florrick. Given Margulies’ age – she was 43 when the show began – and popular culture’s continual privileging of youth, particularly with reference to women, this is an achievement in itself. Alicia’s married to Peter Florrick (Chris Noth, who’s no stranger to playing “bad boy” partners after his role of Mr Big on Sex and the City), who has just been jailed following a string of political and sexual scandals. The pilot sees Alicia dutifully standing by her husband, remaining silent as he apologises for his indiscretions, before the show cuts to several months later as Alicia returns to work as a defence attorney following 13 years as a stay-at-home mom. Through this premise, The Good Wife centralises the conventionally side-lined figure of the wife by giving her a voice and an identity beyond this primary label of “the good wife.” Alicia not only embodies a complex and multifaceted identity as a lawyer, but also as a mother, sister, daughter, friend, and lover. The show also complicates the label of “the good wife” itself. For every character who praises Alicia for standing by her husband, another lambasts her for sticking with him, claiming she fails both herself and women everywhere. The show makes apparent that a woman’s “choice” – for how much autonomy did Alicia really have in this situation? – is intensely scrutinised and criticised. The show then follows Alicia’s struggle with the complexities and obstacles of her identity as she attempts to navigate marriage, motherhood, and the workplace, as well as her increasing sexual attraction for Will, her boss and one of the named partners at the firm where she works.

Alicia navigates the many aspects of her identity including mother, wife and lawyer — Alicia navigates the many aspects of her identity including mother, wife, and lawyer

With a set-up that continually explores and challenges the traditional idea of what is meant for a woman to be “good,” I was puzzled by the idea that Alicia needs an education. As television enters a golden age with shows particularly examining the moral complexities of their lead characters, I wondered whether the need to educate rather than explore Alicia’s character is specifically gendered. As Bitch Flicks examined last year, women are critically neglected from this exploration in two ways. Firstly, women’s contribution is neglected from the critical consensus and canonisation of the television revolution. The title alone from Brett Martin’s book, Difficult Men: Behind the Scenes of a Creative Revolution: From The Sopranos and The Wire to Mad Men and Breaking Bad, makes clear the absence of female-driven television shows within the consideration of this revolution. In The New Yorker, Emily Nassbaum criticises the degradation of “female” and “feminine” culture within the canonisation of television, and proclaims Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City as “the unacknowledged first female anti-hero on television.”

This, then, leads me onto my second point. The privilege of exploring a morally ambiguous character is primarily afforded to white, cis-gender, heterosexual, able-bodied men. Female characters, as well as other oppressed groups, in contrast, are refused this privilege. Not only are there fewer critically acclaimed female-driven shows than male-driven shows, and even fewer with Black or queer-identifying leading women. But when there are shows which attempt to explore complex female characters, they face a much harsher moral and critical assessment. For example, whereas the greed, selfishness and pure pigheadedness of Tony Soprano from The Soprano’s and Walter White in Breaking Bad are continually held up as an exploration of character, earning them a cult status within popular culture, Hannah Horvath from Girls is positively reviled (see here, here and here). Although Hannah’s characteristics are less extreme that Tony and Walter’s, she also shares a tendency to be narcissistic, self-absorbed and, at times, unlikeable. Whereas male characters are entitled to be bad, female characters, it seem, must always be good.

Male television characters can be bad... — Male television characters can be bad…

...whereas a female character must always be good — …whereas a female character must always be good

Ensuring women remain “good” ensures they also remain passive, docile, and unthreatening. As Carol Dyhouse demonstrates in her book, Girl Trouble: Panic and Progress in the History of Young Women, the lives of young women in comparison to the lives of young men has been plagued with social anxiety and moral panic from the nineteenth century. However, the more I thought about Alicia’s education in The Good Wife, the more I realised that her education is not about being good; it’s about being bad.

Near the end of season one, Alicia makes her first difficult and morally ambiguous decision. As the recession hits, the partners at her law firm, Lockhart & Gardener, must decide which first year associate to lay off, Alicia or Cary Agos (Matt Czuchry). In order to save her job, Alicia pulls in a favour with her husband’s campaign manager, Eli Gold (Alan Cumming), asking him to switch legal representation to her firm, enabling her to bring in top lucrative clients. Not only does Alicia unfairly exploit her advantages, advantages to which Cary simply cannot live up, in order to ensure she secures her positions at the firm. She also uses Peter for her own career prospects, much in the same way that he uses her – Eli continually makes it apparent that Peter’s resurrected career as the States Attorney and, later, as the Governor of Illinois depends on Alicia’s support. Her education in complicating, if not rejecting, her “good” label comes to a head at the end of season four when she accepts Cary’s invitation to start their own firm, pinching Lockhart & Gardner’s top clients along the way.

After Will discovers Alicia’s plans at the beginning of season five, he tells her, “You’re awful, and you don’t even know how awful you are.” As Alicia’s complicated love interest in the show – although at times they engage in brief sexual encounters, Alicia is not “bad” enough to involve herself in a full-blown illicit affair, even if her relationship with Peter is strained at best – Will’s words are highly charged. Nevertheless, there’s some truth to them. Alicia’s come a long way from the relatively meek and unsure character of the pilot. As Joshua Rothman claims, “Everyone, including Alicia, thinks that she’s a victim—but, in fact, she’s a predator, all the more dangerous for being stealthy.” With season six currently airing, the show remains committed to this education. As Alicia considers running for States Attorney, the definition of “good” and “bad” become redefined. The latest episode, “Oppo Research” demonstrates the way in which, within the landscape of politics, what’s defined as “good” and “bad” becomes, simultaneously, much more black and white, and much more tenuous – it all depends on outward appearance and surface. As (politically defined) unpleasant aspects of Alicia’s life are made apparent – although, interestingly, they relate to Alicia’s family members rather than Alicia herself – the show reveals that even good girls have skeletons in their closets.

Cary Agos begins as From colleague to rival to partner, Cary Agos motivates Alicia to be bad — Cary Agos goes from colleague to rival to partner, Cary Agos motivates Alicia to be bad

Without wanting to be prescriptive or wishing the integrity of Alicia’s character away, a significant part of me wants Alicia to fuck up. And I mean, really fuck up. I think this is why I became so invested in the relationship between Will and Alicia, and why I was so saddened by the death of Will. I wanted Alicia to ditch her “Saint Alicia” label and embrace being bad. But the success of female-led shows is not in swapping one side of a dichotomy for another. It’s about embracing a nuanced portrayal of women in television and wider popular culture. The Good Wife succeeds in presenting a character who, despite her best efforts, remains flawed. In this way, Alicia Florrick can finally shed “the good” label for good.

Sarah Smyth is a staff writer at Bitch Flicks who recently finished a Master’s Degree in Critical Theory with an emphasis on gender and film at the University of Sussex, UK. Her dissertation examined the abject male body in cinema, particularly focusing on the spatiality of the anus (yes, really). She’s based now in London, UK and you can follow her on Twitter at @sarahsmyth91.

‘Broad City’: Girls Walking Around Talking About Nothing

While ‘Broad City’ is about girls, it isn’t “About Girls.” It’s not a show that makes it its mission to make statements about modern young womanhood, it’s a show that makes it its mission to be funny as all fuck and depict an incredibly sweet friendship between two well-drawn female characters. And that’s just as important.

This guest post by Solomon Wong previously appeared at Be Young & Shut Up and is cross-posted with permission.

Comedy Central’s Broad City, created by Abbi Jacobson and Ilana Glazer, is a show about underpaid 20-something white girls in New York. Kinda like Girls, only Broad City doesn’t give me that rather unpleasant feeling of existential dread that would be probably five times worse if I were a woman. I’ll be honest, that dread kept me from watching past the first episode of Girls, so I don’t have an informed opinion on it. What I will say is that whatever Girls’ place and importance in the TV landscape, Broad City matches in value and exceeds in entertainment. While Broad City is about girls, it isn’t “About Girls.” It’s not a show that makes it its mission to make statements about modern young womanhood, it’s a show that makes it its mission to be funny as all fuck and depict an incredibly sweet friendship between two well-drawn female characters. And that’s just as important.

A while ago, we reviewed Michael J. Fox’s sitcom, The Michael J. Fox Show, and came to the conclusion that while the show was boring, hackneyed, every word for generic and un-creative, its value was in showing it could be done. A cookie-cutter family sitcom where the main character has Parkinson’s. Broad City, on the other hand, is excellent, but similarly, in a field women typically don’t stand in—the genre of slacker/gross-out comedy.

Representation is the big media issue of the past couple years. Women have less than 45 percent of speaking parts in prime time TV, and less than 30 percent of speaking roles in film. Some parts rise to the top—we can all name phenomenal woman characters in television. But it’s rare that a show, particularly a comedy, focused on women gets to be so goofy and small. A friend watched one of the original webisodes (the show is derived from a YouTube series) and read the comment “Who would want to watch a show about girls walking around and talking about nothing?” Well, like, a lot of people. Walking around and talking about nothing is generally reserved for male-dominated casts, and while that’s a combination of words designed to be unattractive, it describes a coveted set-up where the interest comes solely from the characters being themselves. With no gimmicks and no real premise, Broad City draws from its central friendship between Ilana and Abbi to be an intensely character-based show. And let’s be real, they do more than just walk around.

[youtube_sc url=”http://youtu.be/1WavVwnEFhw”]

That said, one of the show’s biggest strengths is its willingness to be petty. These characters have small lives, and pathetic problems. Abbi has a meltdown over her roommate’s live-in boyfriend recycling her big stack of expired Bed, Bath and Beyond coupons (they don’t actually expire!). There’s a whole episode about Abbi trying to buy weed and Ilana struggling with her taxes. In an episode that takes place during a hurricane, the biggest conflict is that Abbi’s toilet won’t flush after she takes a dump with company over. The pilot is about Ilana convincing Abbi that they have to scrounge up $200 to buy tickets and weed for a Lil Wayne show. Nobody is trying to get or keep a job, the stakes are low, but the characters lead themselves on an adventure anyway, “returning” stolen office supplies to Staples and cleaning an adult baby’s apartment in their underwear.

Small problems, but the kind everyone has. What do people in their 20s worry about? Getting drugs, seeing Lil Wayne, having sex, struggling to come up with the motivation to do anything worthwhile. We all have gross, stupid lives, sometimes. The dialogue is often pointless, but it’s the kind of relatable pointless conversation you and your friends take pleasure in. This show, despite the zany heights its plots reach, is authentic and genuine. Ilana is the kind of pseudo-political millennial we all love to hate, taking issue with Staples playing “What a Wonderful World” because “it’s a slave song, look it up,” and referring to her supervisor as “Mr. George Bush.” At one point, Abbi tells her “Sometimes, you’re so anti-racist, you’re actually…really racist.”

Broad City carries with it the themes of decline and aimlessness and disenfranchisement that a more serious and self-important show might, but they’re part of the fabric of this show, not the focus. Abbi folds towels and cleans pubes out of gym shower drains for a living. Ilana gets high at her telemarketing job. One episode opens with the two strutting into a bank to Drake’s “Started From the Bottom” as Abbi deposits an $8,000 check. At a fancy seafood prix-fixe, Ilana eats as much as possible, despite a serious shellfish allergy. At one point, they call in a locksmith to help them into Ilana’s apartment, but he’s so gross and creepy that Ilana gives a fake name and ends up having him get them into her neighbor’s apartment instead. In a montage of their morning routines, Abbi sits next to an old man reading the same book as her. He takes this as a sign and tries to kiss her, and flips her off angrily when she rebuffs him. These themes aren’t often directly explored, but they’re always there in the background and driving the characters.

At the end of the day, Broad City is just a goddamn delight. Abbi and Ilana have an adorable friendship, and the supporting characters are hilarious, especially Ilana’s fuck buddy Lincoln, a dentist played by Hannibal Burress. It’s confidently pointless and gross, willing to show its protagonists at their worst and most brandy-sick, most unmotivated and selfish. With shades of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia and Workaholics, Broad City carries on their tradition of ludicrous character-based catastrophe from a perspective that until now has been excluded from the genre.

[youtube_sc url=”http://youtu.be/jwt3em9NSZk”]

Broad City has been renewed for a second season. Check this show out, please.

Solomon Wong is a writer and a graduate of UC Santa Cruz. He is the co-editor of Be Young and Shut Up, author of the cyberpunk serial novel Stargazer. He likes cooking, fishkeeping, and biking around Oakland.

Meg Griffin vs. Tina Belcher: A Feminist’s Take on Beanies and Butts

The primary difference between Meg and Tina is that Tina comes from a loving and supportive environment, whereas Meg does not. Tina’s parents accept her unconditionally, despite her displaying much of the same repressed eroticism as Meg. She writes “erotic friend fiction,” eagerly shares fantasies of dating an entire zombie football team at once, and does little to hide her attraction to the family dentist. Hell, her defining characteristic is an obsession with butts, an obvious manifestation of tween lust that has inspired a spectacular increase in pro-butt artwork across the internet.

Written by Erin Tatum.

One of my favorite things about fall is watching the majority of my favorite shows come back from hiatus. I’ve been a loyal viewer of Fox’s Animation Domination Sunday night lineup for years. Naturally, I was excited when I heard that Family Guy was doing a crossover with The Simpsons for their season premiere.

I watched it and I was underwhelmed for the same reasons that I was surprised that the crossover was happening in the first place – the tonal discord between the bumbling yet endearing Simpsons and the aggressive and insensitive Griffins was palpable. What followed was a particularly uncomfortable 45 minutes of television.

Lisa encourages Meg to find her hidden talent by offering to let her play her prized saxophone.

I was especially bothered by the decision to pair Meg with Lisa for a cringe-inducing B plot. Basically, Lisa takes pity on Meg after witnessing her rock-bottom self-esteem and spends the episode trying to convince her that she’s good at something. It turns out Meg is an even better saxophone player than Lisa, causing Lisa to feel threatened and dismiss Meg’s talent in a moment of uncharacteristic cruelty.

Lisa is a much more three-dimensional character than Meg will ever be. She has incredibly well formulated views on feminism and politics at the age of eight, whereas Meg is more or less a human punching bag for just about everyone in the Family Guy universe. There’s really no comparison, so the plot fell flat.

I’ve been debating breaking up with Family Guy for quite a long time. The jokes are offensive, the plots are merely filler in between cutaway gags, and every single character is terrible. I remember thinking it was cutting-edge satire as a young teen and being absolutely thrilled by it, mainly because it was by far the raunchiest show that my mother (begrudgingly) allowed me to watch. But times have changed. Above all, the one thing that has consistently repulsed me as an adult is the show’s treatment of Meg.

Lois, Meg's mother, shows little sympathy or patience when dealing with Meg, who often turns to drugs and self-harm to cope. — Lois, Meg’s mother, shows little sympathy or patience when dealing with Meg, who often turns to drugs and self-harm to cope.

Meg is a 17-year-old girl who’s not conventionally attractive. That’s the entire punchline, which creator Seth MacFarlane apparently thought was substantial enough to make Meg’s abuse the most prominent running “joke” season after season. Oddly, her character started out as a pretty generic teenage girl, but I guess it’s not funny without misogyny! Meg is belittled by not only her family, but the entire town. Her sense of self worth is frequently eroded by negative remarks about her appearance and weight. Most notably, her sexuality is treated with absolute disgust. You can count on anything related to Meg and sex or romance to be handled as gross-out comedy.

Meg kidnaps Brian after becoming infatuated with him following a drunken make out at prom. — Meg kidnaps Brian after becoming infatuated with him following their drunken make out session at her prom.

While we’re on the subject, let’s talk about more of Meg’s lowlights. It’s implied that she uses hot dogs to masturbate. She makes out with Brian (yes, the dog) and briefly becomes his deranged stalker after he refuses her further advances. She has a short-lived boyfriend that’s committed to abstinence, only to have him dump her at the end of the episode after seeing her naked body. Peter, her own father, attempts to molest her during a cutaway gag and it’s played for laughs. Meg even unknowingly makes out with Chris (her brother) during a costume party. Following the revelation, Meg plays up the previous night to her oblivious parents, saying that she hopes the boy will call. Standing next to her, Chris unenthusiastically replies “Don’t count on it.”

Meg is horrified to realize she's been making out with chris. — Meg is horrified to realize she’s been making out with Chris.

Haha! Because it’s an insult that even your brother wouldn’t want you sexually! Bizarrely, incest is routinely used to highlight just how undesirable Meg is. Why? Who knows. Meg is supposed to represent even lower standards than incest, I guess.

The Griffins' creepy pervert neighbor, Quagmire, repeatedly attempts to seduce an unwitting Meg with various acts of kindness. — The Griffins’ creepy pervert neighbor, Quagmire, repeatedly attempts to seduce an unwitting Meg with various acts of kindness.

The audience is encouraged to mock Meg for being an insecure teenage girl. She is the only female character who can’t be treated as a traditional sex object, which invalidates her right to be treated with respect. Plus, you know, that whole perception of teenage girls as emotional and frivolous and silly and therefore that makes it fair game to trivialize their thoughts and feelings for like seven years. Too bad Meg is permanently stuck in adolescence.

This already paperthin premise is further validated by the fact that everyone else is an awful human being with no motive for any of their actions beyond their own self absorption. It makes no sense to put so much effort into treating Meg like shit when all they care about is getting whatever they want. There’s nothing to gain in keeping her down. And, barring several neglect fueled outbursts of depravity, Meg arguably has the greatest sense of empathy and compassion out of the entire cast (albeit that the bar isn’t high) due to her low self-esteem. It’s misogyny for misogyny’s sake.

Tina takes a part in 'Working Girl' in the S5 premiere to try and get closer to her crush. — Tina takes a part in ‘Working Girl’ in the S5 premiere to try and get closer to her crush.

I watched Bob’s Burgers premiere the following Sunday and was, as usual, charmed and utterly delighted by the Belcher’s 13-year-old daughter, Tina. I realized that Tina finally offered me a framework to articulate all the things that were wrong with Meg and how she’s portrayed.

Unlike Lisa, Tina’s characterization is fairly similar to Meg, at least on the surface. Tina is socially awkward, frumpy, and uncomfortably sexual on occasion. She’s voiced by a man (Dan Mintz) who makes no attempt whatsoever to make his voice more feminine. If this were Family Guy, that alone would be the catalyst for an onslaught of sexist and probably transphobic jokes. However, about 97 percent of the women on Bob’s Burgers are voiced by men. Baritone is clearly en vogue for the ladies. It’s never used as a punchline and the show pretty much naturalizes it. By the end of an episode, I forget that almost all the women have male voice actors because no one is gunning to designate them as less feminine.

And there’s the kicker: everyone in Bob’s Burgers acknowledges that everyone is weird! Femininity or female sexuality is not a source of shame because gender isn’t a spectacle! They’re all quirky for their own reasons that have nothing to do with how well they conform to gender expectations or the way they express themselves sexually. Bob is friends with a number of transgender escorts and takes their flirting in good stride, even enjoying the attention. He’s propositioned by a male grocery store worker at Thanksgiving and bashfully declines, adding that he’s “mostly straight.” There’s not a superiority hierarchy among characters because they all know that they aren’t in a position to judge anyone else, nor do they have any desire to.

Linda cheers Tina's decision to write erotic friend fiction. — Linda, Tina’s mom, cheers Tina’s decision to write erotic friend fiction.

The Belchers never shame Tina for her desires or try to bully her into changing her behavior. She’s not grotesque, it’s just who she is and her family embraces her regardless. They respond to her momentary teenage dismay and heartbreak with gentle encouragement. If anything, her idiosyncrasies make them stronger as a family. They gather strength from the individual uniqueness of each family member, rather than seek out a black sheep to vilify and take focus off everyone else’s flaws. Tina feels comfortable in her own skin and has an incredible sense of confidence for a 13-year-old.

It is a little disheartening to compare her to Meg because that’s when you really see all of the latter’s wasted potential. Meg could have and arguably should have been Tina, but MacFarlane was too easily seduced by the promise of cheap laughs. Tina is certainly a source of comedy, but in a way that’s endearing. She reminds you of middle school awkwardness and the time you felt like your heart “pooped its pants” because your crush didn’t like you back. Whenever Meg comes on screen, I feel like I’m either about to witness harassment or a sex crime.

Forget mingling with the Simpsons. Once Meg turns 18, she should get the hell out of Quahog and move in with the Belchers.

...and they all live happily ever after. — …and they all lived happily ever after.

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Erin Tatum is a recent graduate of UC Berkeley, where she majored in film and minored in LGBT studies. She is incredibly interested in social justice, media representation, intersectional feminism, and queer theory. British television and Netflix consume way too much of her time. She is particularly fascinated by the portrayal of sexuality and ability in television.

The Complicated Women of ‘Please Like Me’

This realism seeps into the portrayal of women characters. They’re not the fantasy women whom straight men put in their shows, nor do we see the evil matriarchs of some popular cable series who seem more a manifestation of show creators working out their issues with their own mothers than portraits of women any of us have known.

Josh Thomas’s Please Like Me is close to winding up its second season in the US on Pivot. It is produced in Australia, where Thomas is a well-known stand-up comedian. Please Like Me is trying to be a different kind of “reality” television. Although the series is fictional and tightly scripted (by Thomas, co-star Thomas Ward, Hannah Gadsby, and Liz Doran) Thomas plays a character very like himself, an out gay man named “Josh” who has a straight-guy, best friend named Tom (played by Thomas’s best friend since childhood Thomas Ward) and a dog named John (played by Thomas’s dog, John). This realism seeps into the portrayal of women characters. They’re not the fantasy women straight men put in their shows, nor are they the evil matriarchs of some popular cable series who seem more a manifestation of show creators working out their issues with their own mothers than portraits of women any of us have known.

Josh’s Mum, Rose (Debra Lawrance), tried to kill herself at the beginning of Season 1 (in a sequence that Thomas says was very much like when his own mother attempted suicide; some of these scenes, like the rest of the series are unexpectedly, deeply funny): the impetus for Josh to move back home. In last season’s final episode, she’d vomited up a half-hearted attempted overdose (following the funeral for her live-in mother-surrogate, Aunty Peg– Judi Farr) and when Josh discovered her, disoriented and partially undressed on the kitchen floor, she begged him not to hospitalize her. He reluctantly went along with her wishes. The last lines showed a touching camaraderie between the two. “How did you lose your skirt?” he asks.

She tells him she doesn’t remember but “I made sure to put on some underwear before you came home.”

“That was considerate of you,” he says, almost smiling.

In the second season’s first episode Rose gets a puppy and a makeover and can’t stop talking; at the end she announces the to the rest of the characters that she has stopped taking her medication. In the next episode she is at a “mental home” (as most of the characters call the private hospital), the place she had always wanted to avoid in the first season. She’s not happy there and uses her new roommate Ginger’s (Denise Drysdale) attempted suicide to slip out and visit Josh during a cookout he and his housemates are throwing. He brings her back and she has stayed at the “home” for most of the rest of the season except for a visit to the zoo and a camping trip with Josh.

JoshRoseCampingPleaseLikeMe — Josh and Rose go camping

The two go on the trip because Ginger, who became Rose’s close friend at the “home,” succeeded in killing herself while Rose (as well as fellow residents, Hannah–co-writer Hannah Gadsby–and Arnold played by Keegan Joyce) were away at the zoo. At night in the tent, Rose cries inconsolably in the sleeping bag next to Josh’s but is dry-faced as they hike during the day while she wonders aloud why Ginger didn’t tell her she wanted to kill herself–and is angry at her for succeeding. Josh is puzzled because Rose has tried repeatedly to kill herself so if anyone should understand Ginger’s actions she should.

Of her own attempts Rose asks, “Weren’t you angry?” Josh explains that he knew that she was attempting suicide because she had a mental “disorder,” so he didn’t take her actions personally. Then he tells her that after one attempt (Rose has tried to kill herself many more times than we have seen onscreen) doctors told him that they weren’t sure they had pumped her stomach in time–and if they hadn’t she would die slowly over the period of two weeks.

“I mean, you’re my mum…” he starts. When the doctors told him they had gotten the drugs out of her system in time and she would recover he states, “Then I got angry.” This show’s thoughtful treatment of suicidality (Thomas has spoken on mental health issues to members of the US Congress), both for those who try to take their own lives and those close to them is a striking contrast to the inconsistent, gimmicky portrayal of the same subject matter on television and in recent films like The Skeleton Twins.

I cringed at first at Josh’s father’s much younger girlfriend Mae (Renee Lim) who is originally from Thailand and has a heavy accent, because I expected her to be a stereotype. But Mae’s lines (and Lim’s delivery) make her one of the wryest wits on the show–and not in the “Asians are magic” way that Josh decries in an episode to a blind date who has just come from Reiki therapy.

When Rose first tries to kill herself, Josh’s father, Alan (David Roberts), is convinced she wanted to die because of his and Rose’s divorce, which happened many years before. Mae says to Josh, who erupts in laughter, “If your father breaks up with you, you might as well just end it all, because you have known perfect love,” before she tells Alan to get over himself.

During the visit to the zoo, Mae and Alan, along with their baby daughter, Grace, tag along and when they are alone together Alan is antsy, saying he has to get back to work. Mae (who frequently looks stressed out, with messy clothes and hair, much more life-like than the blissful, neatly dressed, perfectly coiffed new mothers of American sitcoms) tells him he works too much and that she and Grace need his presence more than they need additional money. When he counters that he bought the big house they live in for them, she holds up her daughter and asks, “Have you counted how many people are in this family?”

I thought at first that the character of Niamh (Nikita Leigh-Pritchard) would be a study in misogyny. She started out last season as the bad girlfriend (or boyfriend) everyone’s bestie has had at one point: she’s completely insufferable to everyone including Tom (who is also Josh’s roommate)–but Tom can never bring himself to end the relationship. Toward the end of Season 1 Tom did end things with Niamh or rather his new girlfriend, Claire (Caitlin Stasey ) did, interrupting his waffling to tell him (in front of Niamh!) “Oh for fuck’s sake, Tom, of course you’re choosing me.”

please_like_me_claire_naimth_tom — Claire, Tom, and Niamh

This season began with a five-year time lapse after the first (Lucas has explained that the series was in development for years and wanted his character to be closer to the age he is now) and Claire, we find out, has been in Germany for 12 months, for work, leaving Tom–and their relationship–behind. Tom has started to hook up with Niamh again, which Josh warns him against, not because of her personality, but because she still loves Tom. Josh tells him that after they have sex he imagines she feels very bad.” And you’re supposed to feel quite nice after sex.”

Niamh isn’t the asshole she was in Season 1, either. She’s sweeter, more vulnerable. We can see as clearly as Josh how much she cares about Tom in the ways she tries to get into his good graces. She has changed the way our own offscreen friends and acquaintances change through the years. The person who was charming and a little outrageous in the first encounter elicits eye-rolls in the 30th. The person who, in the beginning, seemed a little cold and distant becomes, with time, a close and trusted friend. We also see a hilarious glimpse of Niamh ‘s old self when she finds out from Josh that Tom is not only seeing someone else, but has promised to be “exclusive” with this new high-school-student girlfriend, Jenny (Charlotte Nicdao), Niamh picks up Tom’s phone, calls Jenny’s number on speaker (with Tom and Josh in the room) and informs her she and Tom had sex the night before. Before Tom can explain himself Niamh tosses the phone in a flower vase full of water. Later when she talks with Josh (who still doesn’t really like her, even though he feels bad for her) we see that she is heartbroken–and there’s no one there to comfort her.

Tom is both “such a nice boy” (as Rose calls him after he rolls a joint for the camping trip) and emotionally cloddish–in a way that is rare for straight young men on television but not for those in life. He’s genuinely sorry he cheated on and hurt Jenny, but didn’t hesitate to have sex with Niamh, as if he couldn’t have foreseen Jenny might be affected. He doesn’t understand, until she tells him, that Claire had left the country to work in Germany because their relationship wasn’t working–and is despondent at this news.

Josh’s love interests on the show are also more complex than those that populate series created by straight men. Instead of wish-fulfillment cheerleader-model types we get…male model types, but each deeply flawed in ways that sitcom creators rarely make “the girlfriend”. Season 1’s Geoffrey, though he looked like a Greek god, could barely hold a conversation with Josh. Patrick, Josh’s roommate this season, told him he enjoyed hanging out and even making out with him, but didn’t want to have sex. Arnold spends time in the same “mental home” as Rose does.

I’m happy more women are getting the chance to create more television, but I’m eager for one to be able to create a series with Please Like Me’s combination of autobiography, serious issues and comedy–not to mention its expert touch with queer characters. I can’t wait for the day an openly queer woman, playing a role she wrote, based on her own life, kisses a woman on her TV show with the pure pleasure that Thomas radiates whenever he kisses one of his male co-stars.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DODdqLFfzsc”]

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Ren Jender is a queer writer-performer/producer putting a film together. Her writing. besides appearing every week on Bitch Flicks, has also been published in The Toast, RH Reality Check, xoJane and the Feminist Wire. You can follow her on Twitter @renjender. She is hosting a reading in NYC at Henrietta Hudson on Sat., Oct. 11. Go to the Facebook invite for more info.

‘MasterChef’ and Internalized Misogyny

Being a feminist can be hard, like when it interferes with my god-given right to irrationally hate reality TV contestants. The “love-to-hate” feeling is basically the entire point of watching reality television. There is no room for guilty consciences. And yet, this past season of ‘MasterChef USA’ forced me and my partner to wrestle with why we were hating on our least favorite contestants, because the obvious answer was that we’re sexist jerks.

Being a feminist can be hard, like when it interferes with my god-given right to irrationally hate reality TV contestants. The “love-to-hate” feeling is basically the entire point of watching reality television. There is no room for guilty consciences. And yet, this past season of MasterChef USA forced me and my partner to wrestle with why we were hating on our least favorite contestants, because the obvious answer was that we’re sexist jerks.

Contestants from Season 5 of 'MasterChef USA' make shocked faces. — Contestants from Season 5 of *MasterChef USA* make shocked faces.

Examining my sexist reaction to this season of MasterChef made me realize the pervasive role of gender expectations in the series. MasterChef distinguishes itself from other cooking reality competition shows by focusing on “home cooks” without any formal training. Between traditional gendered work divisions regarding who cooks at home (somehow persisting even in the era of the “foodie”), and the rampant sexism of the professional culinary industry, the line between “home cooks” and “chefs” is undeniably gendered.

But the MasterChef producers have done their best to obscure this dynamic: there are a roughly equal number of male and female contestants at the start of each series; and over five seasons, the collective male/female breakdown between the top ten, top five, and top three contestants stays close to 50-50 (26-24 women-to-men in the top ten, 12-13 in the top five, and 8-7 in the top three). This steady equality might be the result of some producer meddling, but MasterChef contestants are never explicitly separated into gender ranks (whereas on the long-running Hell’s Kitchen, also hosted by Gordon Ramsay, has a “boys team” and “girls team” for the bulk of each season, but not necessarily a steady rate of loss from each side as one team is generally made safe from elimination in each episode).

'MasterChef' season 5's top three (from left): Courtney, Leslie, and Elizabeth — *MasterChef* season 5’s top three (from left): Courtney, Leslie, and Elizabeth

This hasn’t stopped the MasterChef contestants from breaking into gendered ranks. A recurring theme is for male contestants to look down on creating desserts and baking as lesser talents, and to dismiss their female competitors’ successes in those challenges. The quintessential example is the first-season elimination of would-be front-runner Sharone, a cocksure Finance Dude, by Whitney, the Personification of Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice, in a challenge to bake a chocolate souffle. Sharone’s attempts to “elevate the dish” (the second most liver-damaging item on the MasterChef drinking game, after Gordon Ramsay using “most amazing” to describe an ingredient) with sea salt backfired, and Whitney’s straightforward but perfectly executed souffle carried her forward to become the first US MasterChef winner. In his exit interview, Sharone expressed lament that “the pastry princess” had the chance to knock him from the competition in a baking challenge.

Season 1's "Pastry Princess" Whitney — Season 1’s “Pastry Princess” Whitney

The High Cuisine Pretenders of MasterChef, who scoff at “rustic” challenges to make comfort food and awkwardly attempt molecular gastronomy, have been nearly exclusively male contestants. They are not there to be crowned “the best home cook in America,” they are there to be discovered as culinary geniuses. These guys usually flame out before the top 10. But notably, even the more grounded male competitors usually say they will use their winnings to open a restaurant, while the women in the competition often focus on the opportunity of the winner’s published cookbook, and see the $250,000 prize as a financial break rather than a seed investment.

The “this will change my life” reality TV cliche applies neatly to the MasterChef Season 5 HitchDied Hateoff. My most-hated contestant, season-winner Courtney, leaned on this trope with all her weight. My husband’s most-hated contestant, Leslie (second-runner up), was notably privileged and “didn’t need” the winnings.

Man-who-looks-naked-without-a-yacht-under-him Leslie — Leslie, no doubt dreaming of his yacht

But this is not just a matter of haves and have-nots, because of what Courtney and Leslie each do for a living. Leslie is a stay-at-home father with a very successful wife. Or, as fellow contestant Cutter put it, “an ex-beautician house bitch.”

Courtney, per her talking head caption, is an aerial dancer. But in her own words, she frames her work as the desperate choice of a woman struggling to make ends meet: “I’ve done things I’m not proud of. No being able to pay my rent, I made the difficult, embarrassing decision to work in a gentleman’s club.”

Courtney shown with her job title, "aerial dancer" — Courtney shown with her job title, aerial dancer

And so the HitchDied Hate-off for MasterChef Season 5 became mired in dueling accusations of antifeminism. Collin would insist it is not that Leslie is a metrosexual stay-at-home dad that makes him unlikable, but that he’s haughty phony. I would insist that I don’t judge Courtney for her job, just her attitude about it. (Neither of us could get away with saying we hate them for being untalented chefs or cruel competitors, they both clearly deserved their success on the show.)

Runner-up Elizabeth says "if Courtney wins this... I will stab kittens" — Runner-up Elizabeth says, “If Courtney wins this… I’m going to stab kittens”

But I also made fun of Courtney for her aggressively performed femininity (her kitchen uniform is poufy dresses and towering heels) and breathy baby voice, and I can’t deny the sexism in finding these “girly” traits annoying. Especially because I’m a big fan of poufy dresses myself, and might wear towering heels if I weren’t so clumsy. (I thought maybe the heels were to “keep in shape for work,” but aerial dancers perform barefoot, right?) MasterChef‘s narrative didn’t let me feel alone in my hate: other female contestants (including runner-up Elizabeth) complained in their talking heads that Courtney benefited from favoritism from the judges, something we never heard when former Miss Delaware Jennifer came out on top of season 2. So why is Courtney so specially hate-able? Do we hate her because she’s beautiful? Do we hate her because she does sex work? Do we hate her because she’s a girly girl? Is there some other answer here that doesn’t make me a bad feminist for hating Courtney?

Gif of camera zooming in on Courtney's glittering high heels — Gif of camera zooming in on Courtney’s glittering high heels

And is my internalized misogyny to blame, or the MasterChef producers for exploiting it? I couldn’t tell you what any of the other contestants in four seasons of MasterChef wore on their feet, because they didn’t cut ShoeCam every time they walked their dish to the judges. Judge Joe Bastianich bizarrely wears running shoes with his super fancy suits, and I think that took me three seasons to notice. But we saw more of Courtney’s shoes than we saw of some contestant’s faces. It seemed like a sneaky way for the producers to remind us “Courtney is a stripper!” in between her self-shaming confessions, because reality TV producers would see a woman being “saved” from sex work the greatest possible form of the “this will change my life” narrative.

So it goes. Courtney gets her trophy and cookbook, the producers get their “provocative” storyline, Leslie probably has enough money to do whatever he wants anyway, and the HitchDieds will continue irrationally hating reality show contestants despite our feminist misgivings.

Have you ever hated-to-hate a reality TV contestant? Have you caught yourself hating people on TV for sexist reasons?

Robin Hitchcock is an American writer living in Cape Town and slightly-better-than-mediocre home cook.

Finally! A TV Show That Handles Transgender Issues With Grace

Television, historically, has not been a welcoming place for transgender people. “Trans representation” has previously consisted mainly of male sitcom characters relating stories about dating women who turned out to be transgender, and then saying “Eww!”

Things are changing now, though, with the breakthrough success of Laverne Cox on ‘Orange is the New Black’ and now director Jill Soloway’s new half-hour dramedy ‘Transparent.’

This guest post by Leela Ginelle originally appeared at Bitch Media and is cross-posted with permission.

Things are changing now, though, with the breakthrough success of Laverne Cox on Orange is the New Black and now director Jill Soloway’s new half-hour dramedy Transparent. All eleven episodes of Transparent are available for binge-watching on Amazon today.

Transparent revolves around the Pfefferman family, made up of three adult children—housewife Sarah (Amy Landecker), record company professional Josh (Jay Duplass), and free spirit/lost child Ali (Gaby Hoffmann)—and their divorced parents, Jewish caricature Shelly (Judith Light) and wealthy near-retiree Mort (Jeffrey Tambor).

Nearly all the publicity that’s greeted the show since its pilot’s appearance in March has concerned its main plot point: father-figure Mort commences her transition, aligning her body with her female gender identity. The first episode handles this quite elegantly. Mort gathers the children to their childhood home but is unable to break the news to them. Later, we see Tambor, now named Maura, at an LGBT support group sharing a story about encountering micro-aggression level transphobia at a big box store when having to produce an ID for a judgmental clerk (bonus points for accuracy!). At the group, Maura also voices a combination of disappointment and bewilderment at the selfishness and self-absorption of her three children. It’s an appraisal the viewer might share.

Jeffrey Tambor, Jay Duplass, and Gaby Hoffman form an awkward family.

Throughout the pilot, Sarah, Josh and Ali all come off as extravagantly privileged, arrogant, and shallow. They speak exclusively in off-puttingly “clever” banter that’s either the result of overwritten dialogue or inadvisably preserved improv.

Critics often say viewers shouldn’t judge a show’s quality by its pilot because writers discover their characters’ voices and rhythms as they go. That may well be the case with Transparent. While the show deals with its central character’s identity very well, there’s certainly room for improvement when it comes to the rest of the family.

A central conceit of the pilot is that not just Maura, but all the characters have hidden sides of themselves. Throughout the pilot, we see each family pursue their hidden interests. Sarah, for instance, comes across a former girlfriend from college, rekindling a passion she’d long forgotten. Josh, who’s dating a super young, skinny blonde singer, is revealed to have a seemingly secret relationship with an older, bigger woman of color. Ali, for her part, seeks out a strict, militaristic personal trainer, and quickly establishes a kinky dynamic in their workouts.

These plots are all interesting and I can imagine them developing nicely throughout the first season, but the show’s pace feels a little slack in the pilot. The three children’s narcissism and the exemption them seem to enjoy from any of the stress that defines daily life for most people, makes their experiences appear trivial.

This isn’t true of Maura. The necessity of grappling with her gender transition lends gravity to her story. Likewise, her impatience with her offspring’s myopic behavior makes her a kind of audience surrogate.

Tambor is terrific in the part. While it might have been nice to see a trans woman in the role, the fact that Maura is just embarking on her transition mitigates any charges that Tambor, as a cis man, has “stolen” the part from a trans woman actress, in my view. Moreover, Soloway has spoken about hiring many trans crew members for the set, and trans actresses and actors for other parts throughout the season.

Tambor lends real pathos to the role, communicating Maura’s gentleness and offering glimpses of the pain she experiences living an authentic life in a culture where unconscious transphobia lingers and informs countless otherwise impersonal encounters.

I can imagine that as the siblings engage with the reality of their parent’s transition, they’ll experience an increased intimacy in areas of their own lives. Whether the viewer will find that journey compelling or not remains to be seen.

Like fellow female show creator Jenji Kohan (Orange is the New Black), Solloway organically constructs a world seen through women’s eyes. The show’s main male character, Josh, surrounds himself with women, and seems at home with his sisters, and, in one of his few lines of dialogue, Sarah’s husband Len declares, “I like lesbians.” Unlike in OITNB, however, this world seems untethered to reality. The characters swim in money derived from unnamed or farfetched sources (a wealthy, successful music executive in 2014?).

That Soloway’s cisgender characters feel the most unrealistic shows how successful she’s been at representing Maura’s trans experience. In interviews promoting her show, she’s stressed how important that is to her, and has walked the talk, correcting NPR anchor Arun Rath when the latter misgendered Maura, and used the term “transgendered.”

Transparent‘s motives and sensitivities are unimpeachable. Let’s hope its drama and pacing become that way, as well. If that happens, it will be a must-see series.

Leela Ginelle is a trans woman playwright and journalist whose work appears in PQ Monthly, Bitch, and the Advocate.

Three Reasons Why Feminists Should be Watching ‘Mom’

It’s no coincidence that ‘Mom’ drew the ire of One Million Moms, a conservative media watchdog group that seeks to eliminate immorality and vulgarity (their words) in entertainment. In an undated post titled “CBS Makes ‘Mom’ Look Bad,” the group called for moms to protest ‘Mom,’ pointing specifically to the show’s portrayal of mothering: “If possible, try to imagine the worst possible characteristics a mother could have. Then multiply that by ten….” The post listed numerous examples of what was deemed “unacceptable content” on ‘Mom,’ but I think it’s the show’s deliberate challenge to the new momism that really ticked off One Million Moms.

Mom features two strong female leads played by Anna Farris and Alison Janney — *Mom* features two strong female leads played by Anna Faris and Allison Janney

This is a guest post by Jessamyn Neuhaus.

I’m a feminist and I’ve loved television all my life. Now TV has finally started to love me back with some of the most interesting and intelligent female lead characters ever seen in any entertainment medium. But there’s still lots to loathe, with gold-digging hussies, hysterical bridezillas, and helpmeet housewives aplenty on TV.

So when a show—particularly a show on one of the elderly big three networks—gives us something better, we should pay attention. Mom, the latest sitcom spearheaded by longtime TV writer and producer Chuck Lorre, is something better. Featuring two strong female leads, this CBS show about Kristy (Anna Faris), a recently sober single mother of two who is rebuilding a relationship with her own negligent mother Bonnie (Allison Janney), is not a flawless feminist text. But for those of us who believe mainstream popular culture can be a place for both reinforcing and challenging gender stereotypes, there are at least three reasons to be watching when the second season of Mom begins on Oct. 30.

1. Allison Janney is perfect.

Lorre has an uneven record when it comes to his female characters. Roseanne and Grace Under Fire were high points, and I think we can all agree that Two and a Half Men is the lowest of the low points. Even Lorre’s best shows are characterized by an unabashed mainstream commercialism, so it’s not surprising that some aspects Mom are cookie-cutter mediocre sitcom.

For instance, TV’s version of “working class” is frequently cringeworthy and Mom is no exception. Lorre has gotten props for his blue collar characters, but on Mom, a single waitress (admittedly, at an upscale restaurant) with two children and sober for only six months can afford to rent a three-bedroom home in a safe neighborhood and provide her family with smart phones, laptops, video games, and Anthropologie bed linens. Sitcoms don’t set out to be “realistic” of course, but it’s jarring to see the supposedly broke family enjoying luxury consumer goods. Kristy also sports a haircut and color that costs more per month than many viewers’ rent or mortgage payments.

A working class single mother of two could never afford these bed linens. Just sayin.’

In addition, many of the men on Mom are rather shallowly drawn male caricatures, from the loveable high school stoner who impregnates Kristy’s daughter Violet, to the loveable stoner ex-husband who impregnated Kristy years ago, to the whiny married-to-a-battle-ax boss with whom Kristy has a brief affair.

Then there’s the widely panned laugh track. At this point, a laugh track (even if it’s ostensibly recorded live audience laughter) is more than outdated. It undermines the show’s comedic impact.

And finally: the fat suit Farris donned in “Sonograms and Tube Tops.” It’s offensive, and it’s also just not funny. Really. Not. Funny.

Mom’s not perfect. But Allison Janney is.

Not to say that Faris isn’t good too. She has excellent comedy timing and physicality, and also handles some of the more serious moments in the show well, giving Kristy emotional depth within the limitations of a comedy-tackling-serious-subjects-with-a-light-touch framework. Farris has often deftly undercut the typecasting trap of being a cute petite blonde girl, and she does so on Mom.

But Faris’ solid skills are outshone in every scene with Janney, whose crackling delivery and unique physical presence exude…well, the only word is power. Power that is remarkable to see so confidently exercised by a female character on a traditional sitcom. Bonnie has a lot of past problems (teenage pregnancy, drug dealing) and current flaws (tenuously sober, intermittently employed, and highly self-absorbed). She’s making some amends to Kristy now, but she wastes no time on pointless guilt or doubt. Bonnie is always beautifully self-assured. It’s a real pleasure to see, on a traditional sitcom, a strikingly tall, handsome (not “pretty”), deep-voiced woman OVER 50 YEARS OLD strut her stuff without being made into a buffoon or an object of pity.

Alison Janney’s Bonnie is a woman to watch. — Allison Janney’s Bonnie is a woman to watch.

Janney won an Emmy this year for her work on Mom, as well as numerous other awards and accolades, and rightly so.

2. Female sexuality and reproduction are multifaceted and messy.

When the pilot ended with Kristy’s discovering that Violet might be pregnant, I almost gave up on Mom. Another TV teenage pregnancy, because that’s the most interesting thing that can happen to a high school girl, and naturally she’ll never consider an abortion because abortions don’t exist in TV Land? No thanks. But as the season continued, I was won over by some of the nuances and complexities of female sexuality and reproduction on Mom, including Violet’s pregnancy.

Although sitcomish in many ways, the pregnancy story depicted Violet truly struggling to decide whether to raise the baby herself or give it up for adoption. Violet changes her mind several times, up to and throughout her labor and delivery in the season finale. It was an emotionally difficult process, which included choosing potential adoptive parents and convincing her boyfriend it’s the right decision on “Clumsy Monkeys and Tilted Uterus,” and a tearful but determined goodbye to the baby after the birth. Meanwhile, Bonnie and Kristy support Violet’s decision but also experience it as a deep loss—though the emotional toll doesn’t stop Kristy from picking up her camera phone during Violet’s labor to “make a video for you to watch the next time you think about having unprotected sex.”

Kristy encourages Violet to use birth control in the future.

The National Council for Adoption praised the story line, and it was a refreshing change from the standard flippant sitcom treatment of birth mothers and adoption. (Ironically, one of the most egregious examples of such stories was the 2004 episode of Friends in which a birth mother played by Anna Faris is so nonchalant that she doesn’t even realize that she’s having twins.)

There are other things to applaud about the show’s depictions of sex, which are often humorous without falling into gratuitous references to horniness and/or female genitals (Two Broke Girls, I’m looking at you). The show begins with Kristy’s bad decision to sleep with her married boss but she clearly knows it’s stupid and soon ends it. She tries to make smarter sexual decisions, postponing intercourse with a nice guy in an effort to maintain her sobriety and to explore the long term potential of the relationship. But in “Nietzsche and Beer Run,” she falls immediately into bed and almost-love with a smolderingly hot philosopher/fireman (and who could blame her? What a combo!). This guy has a drinking/drugs/womanizing problem and for most of “Jail Jail and Japanese Porn,” Kristy teeters on the edge of messing up her life big time to be with him, but then snaps out of it and cuts him loose. Kristy also occasionally sleeps with her ex-husband, but with a minimum of drama. In contrast to TV’s tired “woman in her 30s who can’t find a husband or manage her romantic life,” Kristy’s sex life is convincingly messy but never demeaning or disempowering. She’s unashamedly sexual, gladly accepting the gift of a vibrator from Bonnie and joking that the only thing that could possibly cause her to relapse and drink again would be “I have a stroke and forget how to masturbate.” But sex is just one part of her life, and although she’s doing some fumbling, she’s not overwrought or hung up about it.

Bonnie’s healthy sexual appetite is sometimes portrayed as unfortunate promiscuity and sometimes embarrassing for Kristy, but Bonnie is never belittled by the writers for being a sexual person. She’s absolutely, completely confident in her attractiveness and picks up desirable (often younger) men with flawless and humorous ease that never stoops to presenting her as a laughingstock. Though Bonnie frets about the onset of menopause in “Estrogen and a Hearty Breakfast,” most of the time her sexuality is sophisticated and fluid in a way that’s unusual for network TV. In “Corned Beef and Handcuffs,” she smoothly comes out the victor in a kinky standoff with a pervy chef, and in “Leather Cribs and a Medieval Rack” casually reveals that she had a long time relationship with another woman. “You were gay?” gasps Kristy. “Not gay so much as temporarily disgusted with men,” smiles Bonnie. She knows she’s sexy, but more importantly, so do the viewers because the show does not depict Bonnie as a pathetic old cougar.

3. The moms on Mom are not “moms.”

Mom, in its title and in its content, strikes a blow against one of the more insidious aspects of gender ideology today: “the new momism.” Identified by Susan J. Douglas and Meredith W. Michaels in The Mommy Myth, the new momism sets impossibly high ideals and norms for good mothering. Douglas and Meredith argue that one symptom of the new momism is the widespread use of the term “mom” itself. They point out that “Mom” is what kids call mothers and in many ways it can be patronizing and problematic when adults use “mom” to describe women.

Recovering addicts, Bonnie and Kristy both attend AA meetings.

On Mom, the mothers are loving, but not even close to ideal moms. And not in a merely goofy Modern Family kind of way, but in seriously screwed up ways. Both Bonnie and Kristy are trying to reestablish trust with their daughters after years of addiction and neglect. Their AA friend Marjorie (Mimi Kennedy) is estranged from her children due to her past drug and alcohol abuse, and another friend, Regina (the always awesome Octavia Spencer) has to leave her son behind when she goes to jail for embezzlement. These are mothers who have messed up, but they are still trying to do right by their kids.

At times, Mom offers funny yet astute counterpoints to our society’s relentless glorification of mothering. For example, in “Loathing and Tube Socks,” Kristy’s son Roscoe’s run out of clean clothes and in desperation, she stops at a dollar store (a small but noteworthy nod to Kristy’s financial pressures) on the way to school to buy him new underwear. But Roscoe balks because they have anchors on them and “anchors are stupid” and he “likes his underwear to make sense.” “Oh for God’s sake, it’s just a design! It doesn’t mean anything,” she snaps, adding “I am not having this conversation with you.” Then a store employee won’t let Roscoe use the restroom to change. Kristy freaks, whips open a beach towel in front of Roscoe, and orders him to take off his pants and change right there in the aisle. The scene captures the frenzied moments when real-life parenting is absurdly exasperating; when you find yourself acting like a total jackass—arguing about anchor underpants with an eight-year-old, for example—and it’s not funny ha ha, it’s funny because it’s so frustrating and ridiculous that you either laugh or completely lose it.

It’s no coincidence that Mom drew the ire of One Million Moms, a conservative media watchdog group that seeks to eliminate immorality and vulgarity (their words) in entertainment. In an undated post titled “CBS Makes ‘Mom’ Look Bad,” the group called for moms to protest Mom, pointing specifically to the show’s portrayal of mothering: “If possible, try to imagine the worst possible characteristics a mother could have. Then multiply that by ten….” The post listed numerous examples of what was deemed “unacceptable content” on Mom but I think it’s the show’s deliberate challenge to the new momism that really ticked off One Million Moms.

Kristy, Bonnie, and even Violet are not sitcoms’ typical “good moms.” Rather, they are interesting, often complex, women who are definitely worth watching.

Jessamyn Neuhaus is a professor U.S. history and popular culture at SUNY Plattsburgh. She is the author of Housework and Housewives in American Advertising: Married to the Mop (Palgrave Macmillan, 2011).

Pretty Little Friendships

This guest post by Victor Kirksey-Brown appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

I don’t know where to start, because I don’t totally understand Pretty Little Liars. This show blows my mind in both good ways and horrible ways. And the show isn’t over, so I can’t say for sure how the themes and lessons will ultimately play out.

The show, based on a book series of the same name, centers around four girls: Emily, Spencer, Hanna, and Aria. After the disappearance and assumed death of their friend and ring leader Alison DiLaurentis they have a falling out, but are reunited a year later when they start receiving threats from an anonymous someone who goes by “A.”

And then shit goes crazy. “A” has done so much shit to these teenage girls and I don’t understand any of it, but I digress.

When the show starts out, they’re all estranged and I wouldn’t really classify them as friends. Aria is just moving back to Rosewood (the fictional town where the show takes place) after a year of traveling in Europe with her family, Spencer is heavily focused on school and extracurriculars, Emily is dealing with figuring out her sexual identity as well as maintaining her top ranking on the swim team, and in the absence of Alison, Hanna is the new “Queen Bee” of Rosewood High.

So they’re all in different places, but are forced to rely on each other and come back together because of “A” and her?…his?..their? goons. “A” is constantly pitting the four girls against each other, trying to use their secrets and desires to exploit them and break them apart. “A” exploits Emily, promising her secret of being a lesbian will remain so if she does what “A” wants. “A” does the same to Aria with her relationship with her teacher Ezra (by the way my feelings on their relationship are pretty well summed up by Gaayathri Nair here.) “A” also does this to Hanna when her mom is stealing money from her work, and multiple times with Spencer because of her family’s many secrets. However, “A” always either then forces them to divulge their secrets or, more often, the girls find that they must trust in each other to make any progress.

Eventually the girls learn that keeping secrets from each other is counterproductive, especially when people are crashing cars into your house, blowing up houses, hitting you with cars, filling your mom’s car with bees, basically TRYING TO KILL YOU 24/7. Albeit it took until season 5 for that to really sink in.

No matter what happens, they’re forced to fully trust each other. When other relationships come in between the core four–like when Spencer’s boyfriend Toby was working with “A” because “A” had information on his mother’s death that he badly wanted and Spencer found out but kept it secret–the group is mad when they find out, but ultimately understanding and compassionate. They accept Spencer back and eventually Toby, because they’ve all been in the same place. They’ve all been pressured by “A” to do things they regret and instead of pushing each other away, they try and understand and stay together.

Because EVERYONE is a suspect, the suspects are often each other’s loved ones and this causes tension with the group. But again, because it happens to all of them, they all give each other the opportunity to prove their loved one isn’t really involved (though they usually are). And if it is discovered said person is involved, everyone in the group knows that they owe it to each other to allow the group to pursue said loved one to find answers.

Also, they never really fight over boys. (And on a side note it’s actually kind of amazing how long lasting the relationships in this show are given it’s a teen drama, even if they are highly problematic.) Whenever a boy or love interest comes between them it’s because one of them is hiding something from the rest of them to protect the love interest. They don’t get into “cat-fights” with each other over guys, they don’t gossip behind each other’s backs, they don’t get jealous of one another, they do sometimes judge each other, but eventually realize that they all have faults and again they need to trust each other. When they fight with each other it’s because they’re genuinely concerned for each other, like when Spencer gets addicted to Adderall or this season when Hanna has a drinking problem, or it’s because someone has been hiding crucial information from the others, information that could mean life or death.

Ultimately, this teaches the audience what every drama, especially teen drama, I think deep down wants to teach but never fully does: that you have to be vulnerable with your friends, and lying, even when you’re doing it because you think you’re helping, only ends up hurting in the long run. It also teaches that you shouldn’t let boys or gossip come between you and your friends, and if it does, communicate with them and confront it. This is something that is normal in teen dramas, but on Pretty Little Liars the importance of trusting and relying on each other is emphasized because they’re dealing with HEAVY shit. People are constantly harassing them and trying to kill them. The girls don’t have time to dwell on petty things, they’re always trying to figure out who’s trying to hurt them and why. In fact, the times they do dwell on petty things it’s pretty distracting, I have to remind myself that these are high school girls and they have a right to concern themselves with things the average high school girl thinks about.

Another thing is they never slut shame each other, a common thing that will come between female friends in teen dramas. When the group finds out about Aria dating their English teacher Ezra, they’re concerned because of the age difference, but they never attack Aria. They’re eventually very supportive of Aria and Ezra’s relationship. I personally hate Ezra with a deep passion to the point where I yell “Fuck you” whenever he’s on screen, but think it’s amazing that Emily, Hanna, and Spencer are so understanding about it all. And when Emily comes out to them all, again, they’re all very supportive and none of them treat her any differently than they had before.

I mean, even when Alison DiLaurentis is found to be alive and has had a hand in putting them through all the shit they go through, they try to help her and protect her, and they have no reason to even like her. Throughout the show we’re shown flashbacks of their interactions with Alison and they are all of her being horrible and manipulative. But they see that Alison has been through a lot and is maybe in the same boat as they are, so they take her back in. They’re not completely trusting of her, but the point is they give her a chance.

This show is constantly breaking my mind because I have no idea why anything that is happening is happening and it’s all horrible, and there are a lot of problematic relationships and situations, but also there are a lot of progressive things. All of them equally rely on each other and get themselves out of trouble, they’re usually the ones who have to protect their boyfriends and family members, and they aren’t afraid to confront their enemies. Their parents are pretty open minded; Emily’s mother was unsupportive at first about Emily coming out, but then became very loving and understanding. Even Aria’s parents became understanding of her relationship with Ezra to the point of him being invited to family functions. And as I’ve shown you, the girls’ friendship is very progressive.

I don’t know if the writers portray this type of friendship and steer away from many of the harmful female friend tropes on purpose, or if it’s just because there’s no way to fit them in with all the other crazy shit that’s going on, but the strong and positive friendship these girls share is one of the reasons I enjoy Pretty Little Liars. Now, I’m not saying that there aren’t a slew of negative things about the show, or that I even know what my feelings for this show are, it’s constantly doing really progressive things for teen dramas while also doing regressive things, like having every person of color (aside from Emily) ending up being villainous and killed or just killed. I’m just saying that I love teen dramas and I think it’s awesome to see a female led teen drama with strong friendships.

Oh, and another way this show fosters friendships is that you should not watch it alone; you definitely need watching buddies. I don’t know how teenagers can watch this show. I’m 22 and I can’t even fathom it half the time, but I definitely wouldn’t make it through without my friends Laura and Elisha. So if you plan on checking it out, find someone who’ll plunge into the deep end with you.

Victor Kirksey-Brown lives in Minneapolis, Minn.

“She’s My Best Friend”: Friendship and the Girls of ‘Teen Wolf’

The girls of Beacon Hills, especially Allison and Lydia, are loyal, dedicated friends. They help each other out and they encourage each other. They stand up for each other. They’re best friends with all the complexities that relationship implies. There are better, or at least more consistent, examples in media to turn to, but the perfect moments of female friendship in ‘Teen Wolf’ mean a lot to me.

This guest post by Andrea Taylor appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

Teen Wolf may not seem the most likely show to find a celebration of female friendship, but one of my favourite pairs of TV best friends resided in Beacon Hills, the fictional town where Teen Wolf is set. This show has many issues, particularly with representation, but the friendship between Lydia (Holland Roden) and Allison (Crystal Reed) kept me hooked, and I was always hanging on for more scenes with these badass BFFs.

Lydia is introduced as the classic “rich bitch” who befriends shy, new girl Allison, seemingly with the ulterior motive that all popular girls have: keeping one’s (potential) enemies closer.

But Allison and Lydia become true best friends through the course of the show. Their friendship develops from something out of necessity to a deep bond; the climax of their friendship is Allison giving her life in the fight to save Lydia from the Nogitsune. Due to the format of Teen Wolf – several main characters and multiple plots – Lydia and Allison didn’t spend as much time onscreen together as I would have liked (OK, I would have watched a spinoff all about Allison and Lydia). But their moments together are some of the best. Their relationship with each other, and the ones with other girls, are just as important as the relationships they have with boys.

Allison and Lydia not long after they first meet. — Allison and Lydia, not long after they first meet.

Allison’s sweetness complements Lydia’s sarcasm; both girls are strong-willed but are still able to be vulnerable. They can’t do it all alone, and that’s OK. (Teamwork and friendship are prominent themes in the show, overall.)

Lydia’s motives for befriending Allison may have been more strategic than altruistic, but if you look beneath the surface she is a character in need of love, support, and friendship, just as Allison needed a friend when she didn’t know anyone. They supported each other from the outset. Allison encouraged Lydia not to act dumb for her boyfriend, Jackson (although Lydia was never that great at acting dumb, anyway), easily seeing through Lydia’s front. There are a lot of moments like this that I love but I’ll highlight just a few.

Allison provides moral support for an anxious Lydia returning to school.

At the beginning of season two, after Lydia has gone missing from hospital, Allison tells Scott (Tyler Posey) and Stiles (Dylan O’Brien) she is going with them to find Lydia for the simple reason that “she is my best friend.” Her delivery puts emphasis on the importance of “best friend” and makes it clear that she isn’t making a request. When Lydia is found and returns to school, Allison is with her for moral support. As they often do, they stand shoulder to shoulder, neither one in front of the other.

Physical signs of affection can be important in television friendships.

In season three, Lydia tries to help Allison find her archery skills again after the consequences of some magic saw three of the main characters losing their defining skills/characteristics. Lydia’s strategies may not help, but the scene is another illustration of her love for her best friend. Later in the season, Allison accompanies Lydia to confront Peter (Ian Bohen). As they leave, they are holding hands. I love little details that show physical affection between friends and the comfort they can offer. It makes a TV friendship seem more real.

Lydia encourages Allison to keep trying when she loses her faith in her archery skills.

Lydia and Allison may bond mostly through supernatural encounters, but they still have time to do “normal” teenager stuff we’d see in other shows: they go shopping, have sleepovers and, yes, talk about boys. It does get old when girls talk about boys, but I feel that talking about romance and sex (if you’re interested in either) with your friends is an important part of being a teenager.

Doing 'regular' teenage things: Lydia helps Allison pick out clothes and paint colours. — Doing “regular” teenage things: Lydia helps Allison pick out clothes and paint colours.

I was disappointed when, in season one, Lydia makes out with Scott, motivated by jealousy over Jackson’s (Colton Haynes) attentions toward Allison. However, I like that it didn’t ruin Allison and Lydia’s friendship. Another show may have Allison forgive only Scott, but Allison forgives both of them. She doesn’t do it straight away, though. Lydia offers to buy Allison a dress by way of apology. Allison says “as far as apologies go this is more than what I was expecting … but not as much as I’m going to ask.” She tells Lydia to go to the formal with Stiles. This jumping-through-hoops kind of apology bothers me yet it is obvious Lydia regrets what she has done. And Allison isn’t really mean-spirited. There is a lot to unpack here – more than I can in this piece – but that it happens early on, and that there is no more tension as a result of boys is, at least, something.

Lydia feels her own betrayal when she realises that Allison, as well as the rest of the gang, have been keeping secrets from her (you know, werewolves and whatnot). These betrayals are just as important as other moments in the development of their friendship. People don’t always have to forgive those who hurt them, but I think it’s important to see flawed characters who make mistakes. It’s also important that characters find the capacity to forgive each other when their friendship is more important than their mistakes, so long as they are acknowledged.

These are complex young women; they subvert (some) media stereotypes (but of course are still heterosexual cis-women).

Lydia appears to be the stereotypical rich bitch but she’s better described as a “bratty intellectual girl” who is a lot more complex than she first appears. In an interview, actress Holland Roden said that she asked creator Jeff Davis if Lydia could “the smartest girl in school” because she was frustrated at the overwhelming portrayal of “cool, popular” girls as not being academically intelligent.

Allison is the badass babe who can shoot a bow and arrow, but when she’s introduced she’s shy and uncertain; she’s the typical new girl. Her vulnerability doesn’t disappear, and the balance of this side with her physical prowess serves to create a character with depth.

This trend of subverting stereotypes follows through to many other characters. Kira (Arden Cho), although also a fighter, is not just an Allison clone as seen in her clumsiness and awkwardness. Malia (Shelley Henig), having been in coyote form for many years, is learning to be human. Her lack of instinctive nurturing is a refreshing depiction of a girl who’s not meant to be the bitchy girl everyone loves to hate.

They’re all flawed but none of these things make them horrible people and it’s refreshing to see interesting, imperfect girls. But they are still conventionally attractive, heterosexual cis-women, and Teen Wolf has a long way to go in terms of representation.

It’s important to note that there is little in the way of friendship between the older women of Beacon Hills, whereas the men, at least, have one or two examples, which is disappointing. Going back to the younger girls, there are some nice moments between Lydia and Kira and Kira and Malia in season four but, overall, nothing like what Lydia and Allison had. In a panel at Melbourne’s Creatures of the Night Convention, actress Holland Roden explained that Lydia puts up walls around herself. She’s not an unkind person, but it takes her a while to warm up to new people, and, after Allison’s death, she tends to be distanced from the other characters, especially Malia.

I hope that in future seasons Lydia’s walls are able to come down again as I would love to see Lydia, Kira, and Malia as awesome BFFs giving hell to the baddies of Beacon Hills. I’m sure it’s just what Allison would have wanted.

Andrea Taylor lives in South Australia. She holds a Master of Arts degree in Art History, which is currently gathering dust somewhere in her house. Her passions include all things kitsch, trashy TV, pizza, and she basically just loves movies. She blogs about clothes and stuff on Andi B. Goode and you can follow her on twitter (and most social media) @andibgoode.