So what does idealistic, feminist children’s television look like? It looks like ‘Sesame Street,’ which over the course of its 45-year run has won more than 120 Emmy Awards. ‘Sesame Street’s frank and honest treatment of race, women’s rights, adoption, breastfeeding, death, childbirth, incarceration, divorce, HIV, health, bilingualism, and poverty throughout the years has added a dimension of social understanding to a show that also deals with teaching children their ABC’s and 123’s.
Written by Leigh Kolb as part of our theme week on Children’s Television.
Until I was in kindergarten, the only channel I ever saw was PBS. For all I knew, it was the only channel that existed. I was an only child on a small farm, and in addition to the woods and barns, Sesame Street was my playground.
The diversity and multiculturalism that the show has prioritized since it debuted in 1969–45 years ago this year–not only exposed me to a world outside of my rural homogeneous upbringing, but it also certainly shaped who I would become.
Sesame Street‘s roots–as progressive, authentic, research-based, educational television for children–transformed the way generations saw television, education, and themselves.
With a background in education and journalism, Joan Ganz Cooney set out in 1967 to study how television could be used to educate children. Seeing a need for education–academic and social–she penned “The Potential Uses of Television in Preschool Education” after traveling the US and interviewing teachers, child psychologists, child development experts, and children’s TV producers. From the study, she created the Children’s Television Workshop to produce a “new kind of children’s program” (one whose format would be influenced by Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In and commercials). She wanted to create a show that “would hold children’s interests, its characters would become their friends, and it would teach.”
Joan Ganz Cooney and Oscar the Grouch
Ganz Cooney’s resume and influence have made her an incredible force–she’s a woman whose name we should know. A self-described feminist and idealist, she was one of the first female television executives in America. She was CEO and chair of the Children’s Television Workshop until 1990, and continuously has served on nonprofit boards and worked toward literacy and education advancement for children.
So what does idealistic, feminist children’s television look like? It looks like Sesame Street, which over the course of its 45-year run has won more than 120 Emmy Awards. SesameStreet‘s frank and honest treatment ofrace, women’s rights, adoption, breastfeeding, death, childbirth, incarceration, divorce, HIV, health, bilingualism, and poverty throughout the years has added a dimension of social understanding to a show that also deals with teaching children their ABC’s and 123’s. A recent study showed that children who watched Sesame Street have GPA’s that are 16 percent higher than those who don’t; perform better in math, English, and science; read books for pleasure more often (and read better in kindergarten); and express “less aggressive attitudes.” Jim Henson’s Muppets and a cavalcade of guest stars over the years have helped make Sesame Street a popular, groundbreaking children’s television show.
Idealistic, feminist children’s television looks pretty good.
In its first year on air, Sesame Street landed three Emmys, a Peabody, and a TIME cover.
Of course, as a child of the 80s, I’m most familiar with the “classic” Sesame Street format and episodes. Recent years have shown growth with the times–a larger web presence, apps, streaming services, online games, and online activities have given Sesame Street a much larger network to educate and influence young minds. Over the last 45 years, Sesame Street has built an empire with the goal of not just entertaining children, but giving them a broader perspective on life and education.
I still am moved by the touching and transformative Sesame Street segments that powerfully show that we are both unique and not alone in this world. We need more of this kind of media for children (and for adults).
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Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature, and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri.
‘She-Ra: Princess of Power’ represents a network of powerful women who not only like each other, but they support each other, organize a rebellion against an oppressive patriarchal regime, and get shit done. The example this powerful group of women set for impressionable girls like myself is tremendous.
She-Ra: Princess of Fucking Power
This repost by Amanda Rodriguez appears as part of our theme week on Children’s Television.
Confession: as a child of the 80’s, I refused to watch cartoons that didn’t have a significantly visible representation of women in them, and the more visible and the more badass, the better. GI Joe and Transformers were out, but Jem and the Holograms, Thundercats, and He-Manmade the cut (don’t ask me to explain my little girl logic). Though Jem had a ton of women in it and I loved the series obsessively, She-Ra: Princess of Power was my favorite because not only did the show have tons of women in it, but they were all kickass warriors. I still think about and talk about the show more than is probably considered “normal” (whatever that bullshit word means). Now as an adult looking back, I’m compelled to figure out why that show has been so prominent in my consciousness then, as an impressionable young girl, and now, as a feminist grown. First, we’ve got to compare He-Man and She-Ra, twins with magical, transformative, empowering swords. He-Man’s non-magical alter ego is Prince Adam, while She-Ra’s is Adora. Prince Adam takes on the persona of the lazy, whiny, spoiled, conceited prince who is generally a coward, while Adora is the smart, organized, capable, and charismatic leader of The Great Rebellion. While He-Man had to spend half his time pretending to be a fuck-up and to this day people mock Prince Adam (I strongly advise you to watch the video below for some serious yucks), Adora was an example of a tactically astute, benevolent leader who included the talents and ideas of others.
When the twins transform into their superhero selves, both have equally unmatched physical strength (though She-Ra is more prone to doing flips and super sweet spin kicks while shouting “Hee-Yah!”). The jewel in She-Ra’s sword isn’t the only difference between her and He-Man’s swords of birthright. Her sword can transform into nearly any physical object she commands (a shield, a lasso, a ladder, even a helmet that lets her breathe underwater).
She-Ra: “Sword to ice-maker.” Great for making ice cream or freezing over lakes to go skating on warm summer days.
She-Ra also has innate powers that are denied He-Man. She can communicate via telepathy with animals. Not only that but she can heal the injured with a good old-fashioned laying on of hands. It’s easy to see some of her additional powers as the writers attempting to feminize the character. Her empathic communication with animals and healing powers could certainly be coded as “nurturing” and therefore more traditionally feminine, but at the same time, She-Ra is just as strong as He-Man. Let’s face it, with her extra abilities, she’s an even bigger badass than he is.
Then we’ve got to consider the sheer number of female heroes in She-Ra.
From left to right: Glimmer, Angella, Castaspella, She-Ra, Frosta, and the villainous Cat-Ra
Like most shows geared toward young girls around that era, there were a lot of female characters and a notable dearth of male characters. In fact, Bow was She-Ra’s only regularly featured male hero to be included in The Great Rebellion. I also remember She-Ra more consistently involving and more fully featuring its wide range of female characters than, say, My Little Ponies or Rainbow Brite.
In part because of the huge female cast, She-Ra also showcased tons of Bechdel test-passing female friendships.
From left to right: Perfuma, Castaspella, Mermista, She-Ra, Glimmer, Angella, Frosta
These women all work as a team for a noble common cause under a female leader, Adora. Glimmer and Angella are even an inter-generational mother-daughter duo with a profoundly strong connection as shown in the He-Man/She-Ra feature-length film The Secret of the Sword wherein She-Ra is introduced to the He-Man universe and must rescue Queen Angella from a minion of The Evil Horde. Glimmer is also clearly Adora’s best friend. In all actuality, the general lack of female rivalry should be attributed to the pre-sexualized nature of the show’s target audience. Though there are some crushes throughout the series, they are all harmless and never consummated (even with a kiss).
Unlike many superheroine mythologies, She-Ra isn’t the only one with astounding abilities. In fact, her friends possess a plethora of mystical qualities that make them assets to The Great Rebellion. Though the female characters are not diverse in their race or in their slim and buxom builds, they are diverse in their talents. Flight, clairvoyance, teleportation, creation of energy shields, spell casting, uncanny aptitude for disguises, power over frost, and physical transformations are just a handful of the amazing strengths She-Ra’s friends possess. To a woman, they are all brave, leaders in their own right, and capable of working as part of a collective.
She-Ra: “Ladies…um, and Bow, let’s kick some ass!”
Let us not forget that The Great Rebellion is a predominantly female rebellion from its leaders to its foot soldiers to the monarch they hope to enthrone. Glimmer’s mother, Angella is the Queen of Bright Moon and is considered the “rightful ruler of Etheria.” A benevolent matriarch, She-Ra and The Great Rebellion fight the evil Horde in order to restore Angella’s kingdom. All these women have joined together to fight Hordak, who is a symbol of the tyranny and oppression of the patriarchy. Don’t believe me? Just think about it: in the film The Secret of the Sword when we meet Adora, she is known as Force Captain Adora, and Hordak is a father figure to her. He has indoctrinated her into the Horde, leading her to believe that the Horde is just and the rebels evil. Hordak also surrounds himself with patriarchy-complicit women like Cat-Ra, Entrapta, Scorpia, and even the mother figure, Shadow Weaver who casts her spells to subdue Adora to the will of Hordak. Essentially, Hordak has lied to Adora about reality. Once she becomes aware of his lies, Adora turns against Hordak, discovers her true, empowered identity as She-Ra, joins a band of women, and fights to supplant him with a matriarchy.
She-Ra…for…the…win…
Yes, all the women of She-Ra are white (except for a handful of obscure cameos by Netossa), and they’re all scantily clad, thin ladies with big boobies. Yes, She-Ra is a calculated He-Man spin-off designed to bring in a female audience and sell more toys in the never-ending quest for more money. And, yes, it’s probably an accident that the girl power vibe and transparent anti-patriarchy theme are so strong. Whatever the studio’s reasoning, the end result is a network of powerful women who not only like each other, but they support each other, organize a rebellion against an oppressive patriarchal regime, and get shit done. The example this powerful group of women set for impressionable girls like myself is tremendous. In the 80’s, I had a glittery She-Ra sword that I felt completely justified in swinging around because I, like She-Ra, was the heroine of my own story.
PS: Mom, sorry about that lamp I broke.
Bitch Flicks writer and editor Amanda Rodriguez is an environmental activist living in Asheville, North Carolina. She holds a BA from Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio and an MFA in fiction writing from Queens University in Charlotte, NC. She writes all about food and drinking games on her blog Booze and Baking. Fun fact: while living in Kyoto, Japan, her house was attacked by monkeys.
Figuring out who you are in the face of societal pressures that buffet you every which way is the trial of growing up, and helping people to do that is one of feminism’s goals. It’s also at the heart of ‘Gravity Falls’, which helps cement this for me as an exciting show.
This repost by Max Thornton appears as part of our theme week on Children’s Television.
I am too old for the Disney Channel. The bright candy colors, the rapid-fire pacing, the saccharine music and headache-y flash-cuts and forced zaniness – it all adds up to one massively hyperstimulating, sugar-coated migraine. Half an hour of all that on a Saturday morning and I am ready to bounce off the ceiling before crashing to earth semi-comatose for the rest of the day.
If you can overcome (or, better, avoid entirely) the excruciating commercials and the overstimulation of the Disney Channel milieu, however, you can experience maybe the most exciting television debut of 2012.
Gravity Fallsestablished a pretty dense mythology for itself, jam-packed with occult imagery, cryptograms, conspiracies, clever callbacks, and hidden Easter eggs (and there are already plenty of websites devoted to deciphering this stuff). It’s an enormously fun show, chronicling the supernatural adventures of 12-year-old twins Dipper and Mabel in the creepy, not-quite-right town of Gravity Falls, Oregon. The level of care and detail lavished on the world-building is matched by the depth and – if I can say this of an animated Disney Channel show – realism of the characters.
Dipper and Mabel, voiced by Jason Ritter and Kristen Schaal, are wonderfully characterized as not just siblings but true friends: despite their personality differences, they enjoy spending time together, and although they needle and mock each other, they always have each other’s back. As somebody whose siblings are my best friends, I find it rings very true to life, and the only other show I can think of with a comparably close sibling dynamic is Bob’s Burgers –where, coincidentally, one of the siblings is also voiced by Schaal.
The twins’ age is a savvy writing choice that allows for some spot-on exploration of themes of growing up, pitching the show niftily at the crossover-hit sweet spot for both younger and older viewers. A grown-up trying to convince other grown-ups to watch a Disney Channel animated show can certainly relate to the twins’ swithering between the childish excitement of their supernatural adventures and their desire to prove themselves cool enough for the local teenagers (including Dipper’s hopeless and completely understandable crush, Linda Cardellini-voiced Wendy). Two specific episodes of Gravity Falls work well as companion pieces exploring Dipper and Mabel’s respective struggles to establish their identities.
Season 1, Episode 6: “Dipper Vs. Manliness”
A cutie patootie.
Dipper is the more introspective, bookish twin – as Mabel puts it, he’s “not exactly Manly Mannington.” When an old “manliness tester” machine at the local diner declares him “a cutie patootie,” Dipper’s insecurity about being a man goes into overdrive, and he seeks training in the ways of manliness from a group of Manotaurs (“half man, half… taur!” “I have three Y-chromosomes, six Adam’s apples, pecs on my abs, and fists for nipples!”).
Anyone who’s been a feminist longer than five minutes knows that the enforcement of gender roles harms men as well as women, and this episode features a lot of great jokes lampooning the sheer absurdity of what’s considered manly in our society: the pack of REAL MAN JERKY emblazoned with the slogan YOU’RE INADEQUATE!, the Manotaur council that involves beating the crap out of each other, Dipper convincing the reluctant Manotaurs to help him (“using some sort of brain magic!”) by suggesting they’re not manly enough to do it.
In the end, it’s Dipper’s love for a thinly veiled “Dancing Queen” pastiche that causes him to defy the Manotaurs’ stereotypical definition of manliness. His enjoyment of something considered “girly” opens his eyes to the nonsensical restrictiveness of traditional gender roles. As he says in his climactic speech to the Manotaurs: “You keep telling me that being a man means doing all these tasks and being aggro all the time, but I’m starting to think that stuff’s malarkey. You heard me: malarkey!”
Rejecting the Manotaur’s version of manliness does not, however, answer Dipper’s agonized question about the nature of masculinity: “Is it mental? Is it physical? What’s the secret?” (And how many times have I myself asked that question?) Although the episode puts a neat bow on Dipper’s arc by offering a pat moral – “You did what was right even though no one agreed with you. Sounds pretty manly to me” – it’s made fairly clear that masculinity and femininity do not have to be discrete, oppositional spheres rooted in stereotypes, and the question of what makes a man is left open – as, perhaps, it should be.
Season 1, Episode 8: “Irrational Treasure”
Mabel is the best. She’s my favorite character, and with every episode I love her even more. Her quest for self in “Irrational Treasure” is not a direct counterpart to Dipper’s search for manliness – Mabel is pretty comfortable with both the ways in which she is conventionally feminine and the ways in which she is not (reflecting the sad reality that girls’ freedom to express masculinity is not mirrored by an equivalent freedom for boys to express femininity). In the show’s fourth episode, “The Hand That Rocks the Mabel,” she confronts the societal pressures around dating while female, as she struggles with how to extricate herself from a coercive romantic relationship with the creepy Lil Gideon – an object lesson in how messed up are our society’s ideas of the romantic pursuit of uninterested women by persistent men – but in this episode she faces a less explicitly gendered problem: how to convince everyone that she’s not silly.
The delightfully goofy hijinks of this episode – involving a conspiracy to cover up the existence of Quentin Trembley, the peanut-brittle-preserved eighth-and-a-half president of the United States – are propelled by Mabel’s quest to prove her seriousness to rival Pacifica Northwest. Pacifica is a pretty stereotypical stuck-up-rich-mean-girl archetype thus far, but it seems distinctly possible that an interesting character arc could await her in future. “You look and act ridiculous,” she tells Mabel with scorn, and Mabel takes her peer’s cruelty to heart the way only a pre-teen can. “I thought I was being charming,” she says dejectedly, “but I guess people see me as a big joke.”
Don’t worry Mabel, you really are so so charming.
As it was Dipper’s non-manliness that ultimately proved him a real man, so it’s Mabel’s silliness that saves the day here, allowing her to crack all the clues for the conspiracy and help President Trembley escape the local police (who, despite being called serious by Mabel, are in fact extremely silly). By the episode’s end, Mabel is impervious to Pacifica’s jibes: “I’ve got nothing to prove. I’ve learned that being silly is awesome.”
Figuring out who you are in the face of societal pressures that buffet you every which way is the trial of growing up, and helping people to do that is one of feminism’s goals. It’s also at the heart of Gravity Falls, which helps cement this for me as an exciting show. (Plus, it’s apparently indoctrinating kids into occult symbolism. Cool.)
What makes good television programming “for children” is elusive. No demographic is unanimous in its tastes, but children differ from one another more than other groups: what fascinates a 4-year-old can bore an 11-year-old and vice versa. Add to this problem that most critics and programming creators are not children themselves, and we can see why most children’s programming is so terrible: because it, even more than other types of art, is based on, to quote Jane Wagner “a collective hunch.” Still, like a Supreme Court justice famously said about pornography, most of us, even those of us who don’t have children, can recognize excellent children’s programming when we see it, like the 80s made-for-television ‘Anne of Green Gables,’ based on the book by Lucy Maud Montgomery.
Written by Ren Jender as part of our theme week on Children’s Television.
When I was a kid, in the 1970s, children’s television was…strange. As more than one person has pointed out many programs from that period–with their talking golden flutes, soft-rock singers who are part insect, part human and a bizarre underworld in a magician’s hat–seem to owe more to late 60s psychedelia than any common guidelines–besides the obvious ones that prohibit sex, swearing and gore. As critic Pauline Kael pointed out in a review of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, a lot of films that are meant “for children” (including some Disney films) have scenes in them that leave their intended audience profoundly upset, like the death of Bambi’s mother or Dumbo’s mother (hmmm, another mother) chained and imprisoned. Kael recommended a list of films made for adults that were also appropriate for children because all too often films “for children” are the repository for acting that’s too awkward, plots that are too recycled, and scripts that are too terrible to pass muster with an adult audience.
What makes good television programming “for children” is similarly elusive. No demographic is unanimous in its tastes, but children differ from one another more than other groups: what fascinates a 4-year-old can bore an 11-year-old and vice versa. Add to this problem that most critics and programming creators are not children themselves, and we can see why most children’s programming is so terrible: because it, even more than other types of art, is based on, to quote Jane Wagner, “a collective hunch.” Still, like a Supreme Court justice famously said about pornography, most of us, even those of us who don’t have children, can recognize excellent children’s programming when we see it, like the 80s made-for-television Anne of Green Gables, based on the book by Lucy Maud Montgomery.
The title character (played to perfection by Megan Follows) is a girl (12 years old at the beginning) who is at turns dreamy, dramatic, exploited (as an orphan at the turn of the 20th century, her role in the households that “take her in” is often to care for many other younger children) and impetuous. She recites from books of poetry to get away from the drudgery of her everyday life and speaks to her own reflection in window panes to allay her loneliness. Although she encounters cruelty (as many other girl protagonists in literature, films and TV set in that era do, especially those who are orphans), her love of literature and her imagination have given her a combination of hopefulness and resilience not often seen in other girl characters.
The place where she finds what would now be called a “forever family” is an unlikely one–a small town on Prince Edward Island, Avonlea, in the title home of Marilla (Colleen Dewhurst) and Matthew (Richard Farnsworth) an unmarried brother-sister pair who are closer to the age of grandparents than most foster or adoptive parents would be. Originally they had requested from the orphanage a 13-year-old boy to help out on their farm, and when they see the orphanage has sent them a girl, plan to send her back. But loquacious Anne first charms Matthew, then stern Marilla (who is also reluctant to send Anne to another large family which seems intent on working her to death), so Anne stays for “a trial” that soon ends. She becomes a permanent member of the family.
Anne and Matthew
Dewhurst and Farnsworth were award-winning stage and movie stars in the latter part of their careers, but they don’t have the vanity in their parts that more contemporary stars would: their worn tan faces, with prominent cheekbones, make them look like the older, hard-working (though prosperous) denizens of a farmhouse that these characters are. And because they, along with Follows, are so skilled, they bring a resonance to their scenes, especially those where they show their love for Anne. Farnsworth is especially endearing in a scene at the general store when he postpones buying a party dress for Anne (an item which, as a bachelor farmer, he’s never bought before) by asking for twenty pounds of sugar. Anne never takes their name (her own last name is “Shirley”) and calls them by their first names, never “Mom and Dad” or even “Aunt and Uncle” but the three are very much a loving, if non-traditional family. When the pair see Anne off to a larger town so she can continue her education, Matthew tells Marilla how lucky they were that the orphanage sent them her instead of a boy, Marilla answers, “It wasn’t luck. It was providence. He knew we needed her.”
Although the book was first published in 1908, very close to the time it portrays the TV movie (which has the look of a theatrical release, full of beautiful Prince Edward Island vistas) doesn’t have the sexism that can mar the literature of the past. Everyone (even the town gossip) takes Anne’s education (and the accolades she wins for her studies) seriously, though, in keeping with the period, Diana (Schuyler Grant) Anne’s “bosom friend” who accurately predicts when they first meet, “we’re going to get along really well”, is not allowed to continue school past a sophomore high school level and is instead expected to learn how to keep house.
Anne and Marilla
The other characters are very much of their time too, in their dress, their speech (Marilla, when Anne tells her she doesn’t know how to pray, later tells Matthew she’s a “heathen”) their wall-papered, quilted and curtained houses and unsullied landscapes. Green Gables never has the kind of careless anachronism that even programs that pride themselves on their period accuracy, like Mad Men, do.
Gilbert (Jonathan Crombie) the boy who will become Anne’s love interest (though not until the very end, and with no kissing, so children who hate love scenes are safe) teases her when they first meet, at the town’s one-room schoolhouse, calling her “Carrot” because of her red hair. But instead of giggling, pouting or crying (the go-to reactions for girls in literature, TV and movies) she breaks a slate (which the children write on instead of paper) over his head.
Anne and Diana
Both Anne and Diana are drawn to Gilbert, but they don’t compete for his attention, realizing their friendship is far too central to their lives to ruin for a boy, even in their small town where the selection of potential “beaus” is limited. Green Gables is full of observations about living in a small community (which can also apply to living in the super-small communities of family–or a relationship): often showing Anne finding affinities and support from characters (many of them women) who seem unlikely allies at first.
Anne and Gilbert
Gilbert, although he is often Anne’s main rival for prizes and scholarships at school still respects her intelligence: early in their acquaintance he is rumored to tell a friend, “smart is better than pretty.” But Anne, though she begins Green Gables in pigtails, a smock and a tattered straw hat becomes a poised Gibson girl and a teacher by the end, with a cameo at her neck and gloves on her hands, her hair worn “up”–both beautiful and smart.
Ren Jender is a queer writer-performer/producer putting a film together. Her writing besides appearing every week on Bitch Flicks has appeared in The Toast,xoJane and the Feminist Wire. You can follow her on Twitter @renjender.
‘Adventure Time’ is a Cartoon Network animated series that combines surrealistic comedy, fantasy and science-fiction. Based on a 2008 short by Pendleton Ward that went viral, it parodies the tropes, archetypes and cliches of fairy tales, video games and childhood action figure battles. The basic premise is about Finn, the last remaining human, and his best friend/adoptive brother Jake (a shape-shifting dog), going on your typical slay-the-monster-save-the-princess adventures. Now in its fourth season, it’s an enormous hit with all genders and age groups and shows no signs of slowing down. And let me tell you, as a feminist, why I am absolutely celebrating this show.
This repost by Myrna Waldron appears as part of our theme week on Children’s Television.
Title screen for Adventure Time
Warning: Spoilers up to the end of Season 3
Adventure Time is a Cartoon Network animated series that combines surrealistic comedy, fantasy and science-fiction. Based on a 2008 short by Pendleton Ward that went viral, it parodies the tropes, archetypes and cliches of fairy tales, video games and childhood action figure battles. The basic premise is about Finn, the last remaining human, and his best friend/adoptive brother Jake (a shape-shifting dog), going on your typical slay-the-monster-save-the-princess adventures. Now in its fourth season, it’s an enormous hit with all genders and age groups and shows no signs of slowing down. And let me tell you, as a feminist, why I am absolutely celebrating this show.
The main cast of Adventure Time
Almost every female character is a princess, but the typical cliche Damsel In Distress and/or romance-obsessed girly-girl are parodied and subverted for all they’re worth. In several instances, the princess characters (Bubblegum especially) show little interest in romance, and far more interest in their own personal hobbies. Even more encouraging is that often the female characters are completely able to rescue themselves, and don’t need Finn and Jake’s help.
The characters are given genuine honest-to-goodness flaws. Finn is heroic, but has a terrible bad temper and an impulsive streak. Jake is easygoing, but not nearly as clever or level-headed as he thinks he is. Princess Bubblegum is a scientific genius, but can be incredibly callous about the feelings of others. Marceline is a talented musician, but also has deep insecurities about how her friends perceive her. Flame Princess is astoundingly powerful, but also has dangerously passionate emotions. In all of these cases, there’s no black and white morality. It’s an important lesson for children (since this is a children’s show) to present morality as it really is – in shades of grey.
I love all the female characters, including the gender flipped versions of Finn and Jake, Fionna and Cake. My main complaint with the series is that the female characters don’t appear nearly often enough, and especially not together. We eventually do get some Bechdel Test passing goodness (Bubblegum and Marceline don’t get along too well – and people have naturally interpreted this as sexual tension) but so far the three main female characters have not yet all appeared in the same story together. I suspect that the main reason for this is because each story is about 11-12 minutes in total, and there’s only so much time for introducing characters and conflicts.
Jake stretching around the other main cast members
Speaking of Fionna and Cake, I can see now why that episode is so astoundingly popular amongst the fandom. It’s easily my favourite one of the series. Fionna is an absolutely adorable character – slightly chubby instead of unrealistically slender, tomboyish instead of traditionally feminine, and she still retains her male counterpart’s bravery and heroicism. She still fights with a sword. For my fellow gamers, think of all the games you’ve played in which a female character is a sword fighter. Not very many, right? But there’s no reason they can’t, and this is one thing I really love about the gender flip episode. I also practically exploded with joy at the final scene where Fionna talks about how she has lots of guy friends, but isn’t interested in/isn’t ready to date them, and that there’s nothing wrong with that. THANK YOU. It’s incredibly frustrating how many people think that somehow something is missing if you don’t have an official romantic partner, or that men and women can’t have a platonic friendship. Shippers could do well to remember this – you can like someone without wanting to bang them. (Also, as a Sailor Moon fan, you can’t imagine my joy at seeing Fionna’s ballgown homage to Princess Serenity’s outfit) At any rate, I hope the Gender Swap episodes happen on a regular basis, rather than a once-a-season deal. Wouldn’t it be nice if we had more shows about an ass-kicking girl and her feline best friend? (*coughcoughSailorMooncoughcough*)
This is a fairly obvious point, but I really love how Princess Bubblegum’s interest in science is depicted. She’s an absolute genius – shattering the still pervasive stereotype that the sciences are the domain of men – and she also bucks the stereotype that nerdy/geeky people are unable to have fun or to relate to others. Similarly, Marceline’s interest in punk/indie rock also combats the stereotype that rock is a genre made by and for the enjoyment of men. Girls like to headbang too!
The Christmas special, which reveals that pseudo-antagonist Ice King was actually a human antique dealer driven insane by his find of a magic crown, is an interesting way of approaching and explaining his very archetypal tendency to kidnap and try to marry princesses. In the Ice King’s case, it’s not so much a wanting to stick to traditional fairy tale gender roles, but a manifestation of his grief over losing the fiance he used to nickname “Princess.” The Ice King is primarily a comic character, but this episode finally established him as being tragic.
Fionna and Cake
I appreciated that, for once, romantic tensions are resolved rather than dragged on, and on, and on, and on. They make it clear that while Princess Bubblegum likes Finn as a person, she feels she’s too old for him, and her sometimes callous treatment of his feelings proves that she isn’t the right partner for him. Flame Princess isn’t the perfect girlfriend either, but at least in their case, Finn and Flame got together very quickly, changing the romantic plotline from “Will they or won’t they?” to “What happens now they’ve got together?” I also like that Jake and Lady Rainicorn’s relationship is loving, positive, literally interracial, and well…adult. (Lady Rainicorn’s dialogue is only in Korean, and bilingual viewers have revealed she says some incredibly raunchy things that only Jake can understand)
In the “Memory of a Memory” episode, Marceline’s (ex) boyfriend tries to bully her into traditional gender roles. He even pulls the “Go back in the kitchen and make me a sandwich” bit. She finds out he tried to trick her, and kicks his ass. (Also, dear men who think this joke is funny: Wow. You’re original. YES I AM GOING TO GO IN THE KITCHEN AND I’M GOING TO MAKE LOTS OF DELICIOUS FOOD WHICH YOU CAN’T HAVE.)
In some ways, other than Marceline, Lumpy Space Princess is my favourite character. She is absolutely hilarious as a sassy valley girl type who, by most accounts, should not be as confident about her body and her sexiness as she “should” be. After all, she’s literally a purple ball of lumps. But this is an important message – you DON’T have to match cultural standards of beauty to be sexy. It’s all about confidence. I’m a fatass, and I’m friggin’ sexy if I do say so myself. And in her own way, LSP is sexy too. At least to fellow Space Lumps.
Finn
The show just keeps getting better every season. The quality of animation has spiked, the character arcs are realistic and well-defined, and the storylines are mature without losing their comedic edge. I’m absolutely hooked on this series, and it’s a refreshing feeling that this year, along with Gravity Falls, I got to watch some great new children’s shows that deserve every bit of praise they receive.
Lastly, I love the sense of humour in the show. I’ve always been a fan of surrealism, as well as referential humour. And I’m also a big fan of fart jokes, like the one where Jake morphs himself into a farting cheetah. I’m 25 years old, and fart jokes are still funny.
Myrna Waldron is a feminist writer/blogger with a particular emphasis on all things nerdy. She lives in Toronto and has studied English and Film at York University. Myrna has a particular interest in the animation medium, having written extensively on American, Canadian and Japanese animation. She also has a passion for Sci-Fi & Fantasy literature, pop culture literature such as cartoons/comics, and the gaming subculture. She maintains a personal collection of blog posts, rants, essays and musings at The Soapboxing Geek, and tweets with reckless pottymouthed abandon at @SoapboxingGeek.
Though the show’s focus on romantic love, fashion, and female rivalry are of dubious value, there are definitely a lot of good things going on with ‘Jem and the Holograms’: the notion that fame and fortune should be used for philanthropic means, that female friendships can be strong and form an important network of support, and that a sense of community is crucial.
This repost by Amanda Rodriguez appears as part of our theme week on Children’s Television.
As a little girl growing up in the 80s, I loved the show Jem and the Holograms. I confess that I still have a bunch of the songs from the show that I listen to from time to time (occasionally subjecting my spin class attendees to a Jem track on my workout playlists). Looking back now as an adult feminist, I’ve wondered how the show influenced me and whether or not that influence was a positive thing. *I did a similar assessment of another of my much-loved 80’s cartoons called: She-Ra Kinda Sorta Accidentally Feministy.*
There are a few potential not-necessarily-empowering aspects of Jem. Firstly, the show is fashion-obsessed and revolves around the characters’ fashionability. Unlike most cartoons where the characters mostly wear the same outfit in every episode, the thin female bodies of Jem‘s characters are adorned in multiple wardrobe changes often within a single 20-minute episode. Fashion and modeling, we know, are traditionally coded as female. The fashion world is extremely hard on women, placing undue emphasis on their bodies, especially on the thinness of those bodies. The drummer (and Black bandmate) Shana, however, designs clothing, so there is an aspect of fun creative expression at play here. Not only that, but the band Jem and the Holograms gets into the world of fashion and music in order to maintain the foster home for young girls that they run.
In this light, being on the cutting-edge of fashion, making money, being famous, and maintaining their record label (Starlight Music) is all a means to a philanthropic ends. The band often performs benefit concerts, singing many songs that deliver a positive message about fair play, hard work, creativity, education, and friendship to its young, predominately female audience. Jerrica Benton (Jem’s alter ego) must become a savvy business woman in the advent of her father’s death in order to run her inherited huge record label while living with her beloved foster girls, trying to give them good, happy lives. Jerrica and her friends are capable, ambitious women who thrive in the business world and do so for noble reasons. That type of female representation is all too rare in any pop culture medium, and it definitely had a positive effect on my impressionable younger self.
Another aspect of the show that could be a negative for little girls was all the female rivalry. The primary focus of the show was the often high-stakes band rivalry between Jem and the Holograms and their nemeses (another all-female band), The Misfits.
The Misfits: Roxy, Pizzazz, & Stormer
The Misfits were mean, reckless, and ruthless in their pursuit to beat Jem at everything. They’d lie, cheat, commit crimes and sabotage, and endanger the lives of Jem and her bandmates in order to win at any cost. They even had a song called “Winning is Everything.” True story.
Though Jem passes the Bechdel Test with flying colors, this dangerous female rivalry is troubling, reinforcing mainstream media’s insistence that women can’t be friends; they must, instead, compete for resources, men, and general approval. Instead of the bands being able to cooperate and collaborate, they are mostly at each other’s throats (with The Misfits, of course, being the instigators). The upside of this rivalry is that the major players are all women. The characters with all the talent, power, and agency are women. The epitome of this is the all-powerful matriarchal figure of Synergy. She’s a basically sentient hologram generating computer system. She gets Jem and her crew out of countless jams, operates as home base for their operations, and acts as a concerned, maternal mentor for them. Though Synergy is a computer system, she has awesome power and Jerrica/Jem often goes to her for counsel.
“Synergy, create a hologram of Jem.”
Not only that, but even the cruel Misfits are given depth over time. My favorite character (on whom I had a serious girl-crush) was Stormer, the blue-haired Misfit who was a bad girl with a heart of gold. When her bandmates crossed the line, she would always undermine their machinations in order to do the right thing, often saving the day. We also learn that Pizazz, the ringleader and front woman for the band, struggles with her former identity as: Phyllis, a rich girl with a neglectful father whose approval and attentiveness she could never garner. Despite the contentiousness of the rival bands’ relations, the fact that women are the primary actors and reactors gives the show a variety of female perspectives and permutations, which is what’s so often lacking in current female representations in film and on TV.
My beloved Stormer storms off.
In fact, there are hardly any male characters in the show at all. There are only two to speak of: Jem/Jerrica’s love interest and road manager, Rio Pacheco, and The Misfits’ slimy band manager, Eric Raymond. Later the lead singer of The Stingers, Riot, enters the scene with his ridiculous hair and obsession with Jem. These male characters’ relevance and even usefulness was often in question. Eric was incompetent at all of his scheming in a distinctly Road Runner style. Jem/Jerrica couldn’t even confide her secrets in Rio, and he was often left waiting in the dark for situational resolutions. I often questioned how healthy for young girls the representation of the love triangle involving Rio, Jem, and Jerrica was. It was bizarre that Jem was Jerrica, so Rio was essentially cheating on his girlfriend…with his girlfriend. There was even an episode where Jerrica gets tired of being herself and her Jem personae, so she dons a hologram of a completely new appearance. Rio falls in love with her, too, and they share a kiss. Though the inherent deception on all sides of the relationship is not good role modeling, maybe it’s important that Rio loves Jerrica no matter what physical form she takes on.
I am in love with this Rio and Jem cosplay duo.
The band itself, Jem and the Holograms, was also surprisingly racially diverse. The drummer, Shana, was Black, and the lead guitarist, Aja, was Asian. They later added a new drummer, Raya, who was Latina, when Shana took up bass guitar. Though the front woman for the band (who couldn’t actually play an instrument) remained a white woman, with the addition of Raya, there were actually more women of color in the band than white women. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen that kind of ratio on a TV show that wasn’t specifically targeted at people of color.
Jem, Kimber, Aja, Raya, and Shana
Though the show’s focus on romantic love, fashion, and female rivalry are of dubious value, there are definitely a lot of good things going on with Jem and the Holograms: the notion that fame and fortune should be used for philanthropic means, that female friendships can be strong and form an important network of support, that a sense of community is crucial, especially that of an older generation of women actively participating in that of teenage girls, that the arts should be respected and fostered, and that the virtues women should value in themselves should include honesty, compassion, fairness, determination, and kindness. Maybe I’m biased because I always thought the show was “truly outrageous,” but the good seems to outweigh the bad, giving us a series about women that tried to teach little girls how to grow up to be strong, ethical, and believe in themselves.
Bitch Flicks writer and editor Amanda Rodriguez is an environmental activist living in Asheville, North Carolina. She holds a BA from Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio and an MFA in fiction writing from Queens University in Charlotte, NC. She writes all about food and drinking games on her blog Booze and Baking. Fun fact: while living in Kyoto, Japan, her house was attacked by monkeys.
For those who don’t know, ‘Jessie’ is a Disney Channel series about a girl from Texas who moves to New York City and becomes nanny for a Brangelina couple with four adopted children from around the world. If done well, it could allow for very educational programming for children about diversity and identity. Spoiler alert: it hasn’t been done well. It’s been done terribly.
For those who don’t know, Jessie is a Disney Channel series about a girl from Texas who moves to New York City and becomes nanny for a Brangelina couple with four adopted children from around the world. If done well, it could allow for very educational programming for children about diversity and identity. Spoiler alert: it hasn’t been done well. It’s been done terribly.
Ravi wearing an Om shirt and probably speaking Hindi
Ravi is the newest addition to the family, recently adopted from India. He brought with him his water monitor (Mr. Kipling), whom he met as a baby. He talks with an exaggerated accent and is constantly referencing Ganesh, samosas, tigers, non-violence, fortune telling, and curry – to name a few. He teaches a yoga class and wears sherwanis.
This entire character is straight out of Edward Said’s Orientalism. Essentially, orientalism is when Westerners lump the entire continent of Asia into one foreign land with which they can associate everything they don’t understand. Things from this exotic land are instantly mystical and weird, because orientalists don’t understand them. This is okay, because orientalists prefer things to be unknown and mysterious and magical. As one of my professors put it: Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern is orientalism; Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations is not. Jessie is orientalism.
Ravi as a stereotypical Indian tourist, despite living in NYC
The idea that Ravi found a random lizard egg and decided to be best friends with it is one example of the orientalism used in this show. India does have a lot of wildlife, but it isn’t quite teeming with exotic creatures – one issue in India right now is how to protect the few tigers left on the planet, all of which live in India, mostly under precarious conditions. Especially since globalization, India is not really the image we have in our heads from Disney’s The Jungle Book, even though Disney is perpetuating this misconception through Ravi and Mr(s). Kipling’s friendship. We’re also exaggerating the influence Rudyard Kipling actually had on India. He traveled there a few times over a century ago; I’m pretty sure a random kid off the streets of India wouldn’t be naming his pet after him.
More importantly, even a “fresh off the boat” 8-year-old Indian kid who had not previously been exposed to American culture would not say things like “great Ganesh!” This isn’t a thing I have ever heard an Indian person say. I also don’t know any Indians who are constantly consulting their crystal balls and other magical ancient devices. A majority of the stereotypes Ravi embodies in the show aren’t even real stereotypes of India, so I really don’t understand why they are so prevalent. Also, how did an 8-year-old get certified to teach yoga? Is this also just because he is Indian?
Zuri giving a boy some attitude
Zuri was apparently adopted from Africa as a baby and raised by an upper-class white family. However, her catch phrases are things like “mmmmhmmmm” and “oh no you didn’t,” both said in a very stereotypically Black way. She also has a major attitude problem that the adults never address, probably because they just assume all Black people act that way.
The worst part about her character to me is that not just the stereotypes, but the fact that she is exhibiting urban Black stereotypes despite never having been a part of urban Black society. She lives in an Upper East Side penthouse and was born in Uganda. It is reminiscent of early 20th century ideas: things like social darwinism. These characteristics of Zuri exist in her genetics just because of the color of her skin.
Emma wearing pink and Luke being a sloppy boy
Emma and Luke are the two white children in the family. Emma is a typical “dumb blonde”; all she appears to be able to think about is boys, fashion, glitter, and celebrity gossip. She is constantly making ditzy comments and screaming high-pitched screams because she broke a nail. Luke is just a typical “boy,” which means he is always hitting on girls and using sexual innuendos. The sexual innuendos in themselves are in my opinion inappropriate for a children’s show; even if the target audience for these innuendos is parents, the children are the ones saying them. It isn’t just the innuendos in themselves, however – it’s that Luke’s character is perpetuating this idea that making degrading comments about girls’ bodies is okay, because it is just a “thing boys do.” Despite societal expectations, pretty blonde girls can care about more than looking good, and boys don’t have to constantly treat girls like objects.
The least offensive stereotype in this show is of Jessie. Since she’s from Texas, her dad is in the military and taught her how to shoot a gun when she was 5 years old. She also is always talking about how great Texas is. Typical Texan…
Recently, Disney Channel aired the worst episode of this show yet: “To Be or Not to Be.” In it, every character ends up switching bodies (a la Freaky Friday). If anyone had been watching the show and somehow didn’t realize how offensive all the stereotypes were, this episode makes it even more blatantly obvious. Jessie gets to put on a “Black girl” accent (I didn’t even know there was a “Black girl” accent?), and the butler does a terrible imitation of an Indian accent (think Ashton Kutcher Popchips ad, but worse). Wholesome Disney fun with hilarious racial stereotypes!
Edit: It just got even better. The new episode that aired 19 April 2013 has a women’s singer-songwriter show that Jessie is invited to perform at. Apparently the only people who would ever go to support aspiring female artists are other women – specifically, women who don’t shave their legs, hate all men, and wear ‘sensible shoes’. Hey, Jessie! You don’t have to hate men and fashion to be supportive of women. In fact, you can even be a man! And/or wear high heels!
Katherine Filaseta is a recent graduate of Washington University in Saint Louis, who is currently living and working with kids in New York. She really likes Bollywood, education, feminism, the performing arts, and apparently children’s TV. Follow her on twitter and wordpress.
The second season of ‘Orange is the New Black’ is all about respect: how you get it, how you keep it, whether it’s something that someone can give you, or something you hold for yourself. Anchored by a standout performance by Lorraine Toussaint, this season is darker and richer than its predecessor, but still extremely fun to watch.
The second season of Orange is the New Black is all about respect: how you get it, how you keep it, whether it’s something that someone can give you, or something you hold for yourself. Anchored by a standout performance by Lorraine Toussaint, this season is darker and richer than its predecessor, but still extremely fun to watch.
Vee and Red are old friends (that means one of them has to die)
To recap: Orange is the New Black is that insanely popular Netflix series about a minimum security women’s prison. The second season went online earlier this month, and it ranks about the same as the first season, in terms of being very entertaining and slightly uneven. If there’s one reason to watch it, though, it’s for the pleasure of seeing Lorraine Toussaint knock it out of the park as this season’s new villain, Vee.
Toussaint, whom you may remember from a very long list of acting credits (I remember her from Ugly Betty), brings so much presence, intensity, and commitment to this role that she steals every scene she’s in. You can’t take your eyes off her – and that’s part of the point.
Vee, who’s introduced to us as Taystee’s foster mother, is an actual sociopath who somehow slipped into minimum security. She’s supposed to be magnetic, charismatic, and charming in a way that draws people to her despite the fact that she’s obviously going to murder them. The performance succeeds not only because it creates a memorable character, but because it allows the audience to experience the same draw — it’s clear from the start that Vee’s an awful human being, but we want more of her, all the same.
Maybe in response to criticism of the first season, or maybe just because this is a natural evolution, the second season of Orange is the New Black is less focussed on Piper (who served as the first season’s protagonist), and more focussed on the other inmates of the prison. The A-story, this time, concerns Vee’s arrival at Litchfield, and the way she lures some of the other characters into her web so that she can use them to smuggle in drugs. This puts her in conflict with Red (who normally corners the market on contraband), and creates a rift between Taystee and Poussey, who’ve been BFF this whole time.
While flashbacks have never been this show’s strong suit – they’re heavy handed, and they over-simplify complex situations by boiling them down into ten-minute narratives – this season throws roughly eight-hundred million our way, as a means of explaining the motivations of the major players in the season finale. In general, the flashbacks are not very good, but one thing they do nicely is lay the groundwork for the dynamics we see play out between Vee and the group. The flashbacks involving Taystee explain why she’s loyal to Vee – Vee may have been a lousy foster mother, but she’s the only real family Taystee has. There’s one really good scene that shows Taystee, her foster brother, R.J., and Vee, sitting down to a normal family dinner; you can tell from the expression on her face – and a nice bit of acting from Danielle Brooks – that this is one of Taystee’s best memories – a moment of real happiness in an otherwise difficult life.
The flashbacks also impress upon us that Suzanne (a.k.a. “Crazy Eyes”) feels rejected and like an outsider – something Vee immediately exploits by love bombing her in an obvious way – and that Cindy needs to prove herself as an adult. (Janae already got a flashback in season one, and we know she’s pissed off because she keeps going to solitary for no real reason.) More importantly, though, the flashbacks show us that Poussey, who seems like she was pretty rad on the outside, is an independent thinker who’s willing to fight for her relationships. Unsurprisingly, there’s a lot of conflict between Poussey and Vee, and the strongest emotional story line of the season is about Taystee being caught between them.
Poussey and Taystee, hanging out in the library (as cool people do)
There are several other story lines this season – Dayanara and the idiot guard who impregnated her are still trying to figure things out; Rosa, the cancer patient, is quickly getting worse; a new inmate named Soso goes on a hunger strike; Pennsatucky has new teeth – but, like the A-story, most of them revolve around respect.
Daya wants the idiot guard to come clean and take his lumps so that they don’t have to lie for the rest of their lives (so that they can respect themselves by living truthfully). The idiot guard experiments with being a hard-ass in order to win some respect from his boss and the inmates – which leads Daya to explain, in a heavy-handed way, that he doesn’t need to bully anyone; the fact that he has a choice about what he does already gives him more power than any of the inmates have.
Soso, a college-aged inmate, initially refuses to shower for unspecified reasons, though it eventually becomes clear that she feels ashamed to be naked in front of everyone else. After the guards force her to do it anyway – in a scene that’s excruciatingly uncomfortable to watch – she starts a hunger strike as a way to reclaim some of her dignity by fighting back against the system. While she attracts some followers who aren’t very serious about prison reform, she also attracts a few people with legitimate grievances. We’re invited to laugh at the protest, but it’s a way for several characters, with different motivations, to try to gain respect.
The A-story, which is about the fight for control of the contraband line – between three opposing, racially segregated camps, represented by Vee, Red, and Gloria Mendoza – is really about individual women trying to hold onto positions that give them a positive sense of self. Controlling the kitchen gives Mendoza higher status in the prison, and it lets her give cushier jobs to the other Latina women; controlling the contraband line gives Red special status, and allows her to buy herself friends; controlling other people feeds Vee’s sociopathic drive to power.
There’s a moment, late in the season, where Vee jokes that it’s stupid to kill and die over who can sell mascara in prison – but that’s not what the fight is about. It’s about holding onto a sliver of self-respect in a place where you have to lie down on the ground when you hear an alarm; it’s about having something that’s yours in a place where you are a number, and issued the same clothes as everyone else.
It’s easy to understand how it would be detrimental to someone to be on a chain gang, to be assaulted, or tied up like an animal while she gives birth – but it’s also detrimental to be treated like you’re not a person, no matter how nice the cellblock is. What Orange is the New Black shows us effectively is women trying to hold onto personhood, even in difficult times.
Vee’s playing the long game (with Suzanne and Cindy)
The first season ended with Piper beating the shit out of Pennsatucky – a meth addict who’d harassed her all season, and pushed her so far that she snapped. The second season dives farther into that same well of darkness, striking an awkward (and sometimes confusing) balance between acknowledging Litchfield as kind of a candy-ass prison, and stirring things up by releasing a predator into the mix.
There are moments that are disappointing, there are moments that are cop-outs, there are moments that are sickeningly sweet, there are moments that don’t make sense, there are moments that seem kind of creepy and slightly misogynist (see: Caputo’s ill-gotten blowjob from Assistant Warden Fig) – but, one of the things that’s always been worthwhile about this show is that most of its characters – good, bad, dull, interesting, funny, sexy, cruel, cunning, average – are played by women, and that means that we get to see something we don’t normally get to see on TV. We get to see complex stories about human nature where “human” doesn’t default out to “male.” That’s the first thing everyone says when they write about Orange is the New Black – I know – but it’s worth saying again, because it’s such an unusual thing.
Season two, if anything, is stronger than season one, since it widens its focus, and gives more of its characters a chance in the spotlight. It’s also stronger because it’s gone beyond the story of season one (being in prison is hard, and it’s not like being out of prison at all), to explore something deeper. It’s pounding the same drum of “prisoners are people,” and, for those of us who already know that, that drum can get old, but this season at least drums with style.
Orange is the New Black is not on my list of “World’s Greatest Television Shows,” but Lorraine Toussaint may be on my list of “Greatest Performers in a Television Show,” and the series is doing something important by modelling how you can have a diverse cast of characters made up of women, and how you can tell stories about our universal humanity, when the humans in question are female.
So, if you didn’t binge watch it opening weekend, it’s worth a look, just to see something different. If you did binge watch it, you already know.
Katherine Murray is a Toronto-based writer who yells about movies and TV on her blog.
Without revealing too many spoilers, the philosophy of the main characters was overwhelmingly skewed toward the idea of the “hen-pecked” “downtrodden” American male, completely emasculated by a society that demands respect and a lack of violence. At first then it appeared we were viewing a hyper-masculine awakening of the main character, Lyster Nygaard (Martin Freeman) and cheering him on as he committed his first acts of violence.
Marge Gunderson (Frances McDormand) and Molly Solverson (Allison Tolmun)
Fargo, the 1996 black comedy from the Coen brothers, featured a beloved, innocuous female lead–a demonstrably unique, pregnant chief of police, seemingly full of Minnesotan goodwill and rural sensibilities, yet surprisingly quick and courageous. FX decided to do a remake, and personally, when I first heard this, I felt there was no way a network spin-off could ever mimic the ingenuity of the original: it seemed like nothing but a bad idea.
But after viewing, Fargo is the rare kind of remake that manages to hold true to the aesthetic sensibilities of the original while expanding the world/characters.
Within the pilot however, I had a few concerns. Without revealing too many spoilers, the philosophy of the main characters was overwhelmingly skewed toward the idea of the “hen-pecked” “downtrodden” American male, completely emasculated by a society that demands respect and a lack of violence. At first then it appeared we were viewing a hyper-masculine awakening of the main character, Lyster Nygaard (Martin Freeman) and cheering him on as he committed his first acts of violence.
Martin Freeman is Lester NyGaard: The Emasculated Modern Man
Similarly, the fantastic character of a less-young female chief of police, so outside of a tough and rumble portrayal normally shown, was no longer present, it seemed. Instead, there was a traditional male police chief–steady, measured, respected, with a pregnant wife and a cohort of bumbling deputies. In fact, in general, Fargo is overwhelmingly a male show, playing host to a lot of casual, intense violence.
The themes of savagery and aggressiveness sort of manage to double-back on themselves, however, where male characters are often referred to as predators and wolves, yet the two most savage characters are also the smallest and the most sensitive to bullying. There’s an underdog quality to the violence as those who are humiliated and emasculated, suddenly turn on their oppressors. Breaking Bad subtly led us down the dark side over five seasons, blurring lines between right and wrong all the time. Fargo though goes straight for the jugular and within the first few minutes we see a main character fundamentally change as he commits his first act of violence. Fargo is less about exploring the grey areas and developing an anti-hero in the vein of Walter White and Don Draper; rather it takes a more literal battle between good and evil, echoing its own biblical themes and references.
So, there are obviously several straightforward evil men running around Fargo, but where are the women, I asked?
Allison Tolmun in Fargo
But then, up came Molly Solverson and her ridiculous last name. Fargo DOES have a delightful female protagonist in the vein of the great Marge Gunderson. She’s smart, unassuming, and tenacious. In reworking the original, Noah Hawley has given us a new character to enjoy, but definitely evocative of Gunderson. Newcomer Allison Tolmon (Molly Solverson) brilliantly acts the part and has even been careful of viewing the original Fargo so as not to confuse her character and that of Gunderson: “I think the series lives and breathes as its own entity. I felt that I’d given myself enough time to work with Molly that I could go back and watch Margie and that I would’ve created enough distance between the two of them that she wouldn’t bleed over into Molly, which was my concern.”
Molly is the moral center of the show; there are no grey areas here either–Molly is the good guy, dedicated to peace and justice and an eye roll towards the overwhelming incompetence she encounters from the men in her office. And to give Noah Nawley credit he’s accomplished something very difficult in a female TV show character: he’s made her relatable. She’s competent, confident, silly and quirky, the very-real embodiment of a girl you’d probably watch a movie with on a Friday night.
So while the show still lacks a lot in the female character department, do we consider it a failure or success that there’s at least one, dynamic and unique female character? Even one as delightful as Molly Solverson.
Rachel is a traveler and teacher who spent the last few years living in Asia. Now back in her native California, she focuses on writing about media, culture, and feminism. While a big fan of campy 80s movies and eccentric sci-fi, she’s become a cable acolyte, spending most of her time watching HBO, AMC, and Showtime. For good stories about lions and bungee jumping, as well as rants about sexism and slow drivers, follow her on Twitter at @RachelRedfern2
In our culture, where children now watch an average of 35 hours of television per week, much of that formative information that children are rapidly absorbing and storing comes from TV. We must, therefore, consider what kind of programming we’re offering to these hugely malleable young people. What kind of messages are we sharing with our children? Are we giving them lessons of acceptance, diversity, and cooperation? Are we teaching them vital critical thinking skills? Or are we, instead, feeding them gender roles, racial hierarchy, and the centrality of the nuclear family?
Our theme week for June 2014 will be Children’s Television
In our capitalist society, many corporations see children as just another demographic with the power to influence their parents to buy toys. Around the 70s, many children’s TV shows became little more than advertisements for products, such that the FCC mandated children’s programming contain some educational content, which inspired the oft derided, tacked-on PSA (public service announcement) at the end of episodes to meet that regulation. This ruling was struck down in the 90s, so now we must rely on the questionable intentions of the corporations who produce children’s media to provide programming that enriches the lives and expands the brains of children.
Ultimately, we must consider what kind of programming we’re offering to these hugely malleable young people. What kind of messages are we sharing with our children? Are we giving them lessons of acceptance, diversity, and cooperation? Are we teaching them vital critical thinking skills? Or are we, instead, feeding them gender roles, racial hierarchy, and the centrality of the nuclear family? What kind of people, what kind of citizens will these children grow up to be?
We’d like you to examine children’s television shows, analyzing what role they play in the feminist movement as well as the general upbringing of children. Feel free to use the examples below to inspire your writing on this subject, or choose your own source material.
We’d like to avoid as much overlap as possible for this theme, so get your proposals in early if you know which film you’d like to write about. We accept both original pieces and cross-posts, and we respond to queries within a week.
Most of our pieces are between 1,000 and 2,000 words, and include links and images. Please send your piece as a Microsoft Word document to btchflcks[at]gmail[dot]com, including links to all images, and include a 2- to 3-sentence bio.
If you have written for us before, please indicate that in your proposal, and if not, send a writing sample if possible.
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The tension of the spy antics in ‘The Americans’ really gets my heart racing in the climax of most episodes. Besides that phenomenon, though, there’s another aspect of this show that puts me on edge: I cannot tell if I think the way that ‘The Americans’ portrays sexual and romantic relationships is progressive, or, for lack of a better term, creepy and abusive.
This is a guest post by Joseph Jobes as part of our Representations of Female Sexual Desire week.
There is something about the experience of watching The Americans that I find really uncomfortable. I don’t mean this in a negative way, it is kind of the appeal of the show, but the tension of the spy antics really gets my heart racing in the climax of most episodes. Besides that phenomenon, though, there’s another aspect of this show that puts me on edge: I cannot tell if I think the way that The Americans portrays sexual and romantic relationships is progressive way, or, for lack of a better term, creepy and abusive.
Here’s what I mean by this: Many critics have proposed that the appeal of the show is not in its espionage storyline, but rather in the marriage dynamics between Phillip and Elizabeth Jennings. This is true; the romance between the two is certainly just as tense and dynamic as the “adventures” that they are going on in the week’s episode. What makes me unsettled about it, though, is that their marriage is very hard to define. Elizabeth and Phillip are sleeper KGB agents, and their marriage was an arranged front to make them seem more traditionally American (mom, dad, son, daughter). What is so unsettling about this is not the fact that it is an “arranged marriage,” but that they have to pretend it was not.
Faking it in The Americans
Really, what The Americans is about is faking emotions, and how, through faking those emotions, one can produce authentic experiences, for better or worse. This is best exemplified in episode six from the first season (also, we are going to focus the plot discussion here on the first seven or so episodes, which form the first big story arc of the show). In the sixth episode, Phillip and Elizabeth are captured and tortured, with the captors trying to get them to give up information on the KGB. At the end of the scene, they realize that the man interrogating them is KGB, not CIA; their agency was worried they may have defected, since they have found out that there is a Russian double agent.
Before this, Elizabeth had told their higher-ups that Phillip was thinking about defecting. In the pilot episode, the couple realizes that their new neighbor is an FBI agent, and Phillip thinks that the FBI knows who they are. He suggests they pro-actively switch sides. This is a huge source of tension between him and Elizabeth, who is a much more devoted spy. After they leave the interrogation room in episode six, Phillip realizes Elizabeth must have shared his concerns with their boss, and he confronts her about it. Her response is, “You like it here too much!” This is exactly what I want to talk about. Phillip’s job as a sleeper agent is to seem American, and not just complacently American, but actively American. Of course when he started, Phillip was loyal to the Russian cause, but now by pretending to be a patriotic American and by raising American kids in an American house, Phillip has gone past his original intent. By him “performing” as an American, he has become an American.
This is really problematic to me as related to the sexual relationships in the show. Again, remember that when Elizabeth and Phillip first came to America they were young spies, willingly faking a marriage in order to advance the cause of their country. It would be a different situation if they had ended up falling in love due to their shared goal, but that is not the case. Elizabeth reminds Phillip, and the audience, multiple times in the first few episodes that “it never really happened” for them; they never really had the romantic connection that they had to force for so long. This is expanded upon when Phillip finds out that Elizabeth has had an affair with Gregory Thomas, which upsets him. After their fight, Elizabeth tells her husband she is beginning to feel actual love for him for the first time in two decades.
Is their love real?
The next few episodes show the Jennings being a romantic, sexually active husband-and-wife. Though it may seem that they are finally having an open, consensual relationship, I fear something else could be at play here. If Phillip can act American for so long that he becomes American, can Elizabeth have acted like a loving wife so long that she has truly become one? To put it in another way, is her desire and affection for her husband now authentic, or just a learned routine? And, assuming it is as genuine as she claims it is, is it troubling that this emotion had to come from a forced place? If she had not had to live with Phillip for so long, and pretend that she loved him, would she have ever grown a real love for him? It seems troubling to celebrate that Elizabeth has finally accepted the situation she is being forced into; yet as viewers, we want our two protagonists to love each other.
I think there are two separate ways to read their relationship, and I do not know that I am satisfied with either. The first is to view the Jennings as a sort of “odd couple,” a duo forced together out of peculiar circumstances that is now finally learning to live with each other and accept one another’s differences. This is a pretty standard romantic plot, but I think it is a little too easy. The second option is that we are watching the story of two people who have essentially brainwashed themselves into loving each other, and now are fighting to protect and reify the very facade they had created. This reading seems too harsh, though, as Elizabeth and Phillip do seem to share real love in a few scenes. The complexity of their relationship, and the blurred lines between real and forced desire is what makes The Americans such a complex show. Even when things are going great for the couple, I am never completely satisfied with Elizabeth and Phillip’s situation. At best, they are a man and woman who are trying to “make it work,” and at worst, they are two people forced to pretend to love someone they view as a complete stranger. All of this, mixed with the very well done espionage/thriller storylines, makes for very enjoyable, tense television.
Joseph Jobes is a graduate student pursuing his MA in English Literature at Kutztown University. His research interests include depictions of gender, sexuality, race, and class in postcolonial and postmodern texts. Besides reading and writing about literature, Joseph also writes criticism and commentary on cigars, pipes, and the hobby in general.
However, female desire occasionally lives in the subtext of ‘Mad Men’ like fire ants fighting to dig themselves out of a mountain of sand. The show’s complex female characters are regularly lusted after, and at times brave leaps are taken into the sea of their cravings. Other times, their behaviors appear inconsistent, and it seems we’ve been cheated out of crucial discoveries that lurk just beneath their surfaces.
The women of Mad Men
This guest post by Danielle Winston appears as part of our theme week on Representations of Female Sexual Desire.
The glossy backdrop for AMC’s Mad Men is the high-stakes Manhattan advertising game, namely the office of Sterling Cooper. Set right smack dab in the feminist revolution, when season 1 takes off, it’s 1960: the year birth control pills received approval by the FDA.
Mad Men’s stylized universe revolves around the Jagger of the ad world: the ever-enigmatic Don Draper (Jon Hamm).
Fascinating women surround Don at Sterling Cooper. And sometimes just looking at Mr. Tall Dark and Dreamy can steam up their Ray Bans, but more often, he’s so exasperating they struggle with the urge to whack some sense into him with their clutch purses.
The infamous Don Draper
In between writing copy for Lucky Strike, pitching the Cool Whip clients, and lunching at the automat, the men of Sterling Cooper swig scotch and flirt so unabashedly with the secretaries, their actions often cross over into sexual harassment territory, which is totally cool, since it hadn’t been invented yet. Meanwhile, the lucky ladies at the receiving end usually proffer demure smiles, and make sure to reveal just enough ankle real estate to warrant their attentions. As these women partake in the flirtation-dance, their longings are kept under wraps, not unlike the tattered copy of Lady Chatterly’s Lover, which magically opens to the “good parts by itself,” and is tossed around amongst the giddy secretarial pool behind closed doors.
Peggy Olson (Elizabeth Moss) arrives at Sterling Cooperfresh out of Miss Deaver’s Secretarial School with a bouncy ponytail and can-do attitude. Given the demanding position of Donald Draper’s latest secretary, Peggy is uneasy when she finds herself flooded with salacious stares from countless male coworkers. Soon Peggy becomes so distressed by an unwanted sexual advance from a copywriter, she can’t do her work. When she confides in her supervisor, Joan, instead of being met with empathy, Joan tells her that a plain-Jane like Peggy should enjoy her “new girl” status, considering the extra attention surely won’t last. What Joan doesn’t realize is, however naïve Peggy may appear, she is far more clever than her facade suggests, and will zoom up the corporate ladder like no woman ever has at Sterling Cooper.
A young and eager Peggy
The first hint into Peggy’s sexual attitude is her visit to a gynecologist, where she hopes to procure a prescription for birth control pills. But with sexual freedom comes the price tag of humiliation. While in the stirrups, the smarmy male doctor advises Peggy that pills are “$11 a pop,” so she shouldn’t become “the town-pump just to get her money’s worth.” And if that’s not enough to scare the sexy out of Peggy, he adds with a smirk that if she dares to “abuse the privilege,” he will revoke her prescription.
Peggy doesn’t scare easily. She’s highly complex. In perhaps in the first glimpse into her private desires, while alone in the office with Don, Peggy places a warm hand atop his, and lets it linger a beat too long. Put off by the advance, Don tells her, “I’m not your boyfriend,” and sends her a strong message to never to veer into this territory again. Don’s reaction is tricky to comprehend, especially since he’s established as a philanderer. Is this sudden bout of professionalism sincere? Is Peggy simply not his type? Or is the mere fact that Peggy made the first move such a turnoff it immediately labels her as undesirable?
Peggy doesn’t scare easily
Even more curious is Peggy’s experience with another maddening man: Pete Campbell (Vincent Kartheiser). When she first meets the engaged but overly flirtatious account man who is known for his poor manners with women, Pete’s overtures makes Peggy so uneasy she refuses to wait alone with him, even for a few minutes. The encounter takes an unexpected turn when later that evening, Pete shows up at Peggy’s apartment door, drunk, and confesses he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Instead of sending him away and/or slapping the sleaze out of him, Peggy takes him to bed. Was Peggy so flattered by Pete’s desire it awoke her own? Perhaps Don’s rebuff caused Peggy’s powers of sexual reasoning to be muddied. Then, when the liaison leaves her pregnant, Peggy hasn’t a clue. She believes she’s merely gotten fat. It’s not until the startling episode where she gives birth that Peggy discovers the truth. Afterward, she gives the baby to a relative to raise and resumes her life as a single woman.
Soon Don recognizes Peggy’s creative talents, promotes her, and she becomes a successful copywriter. As Peggy evolves, she rises through the ranks on merit, and along the way has a potpourri of unsatisfying boyfriends and love affairs.
Fast-forward to season 6: Peggy’s new boss, the earnest (and married) Ted (Kevin Rahm), confesses romantic feelings for her. During this time, Peggy’s desire is illustrated, as she longs for the man she can’t have. Unable to resist Ted, Peggy falls hard for him. In a love scene where she finally surrenders to her feelings, we witness Peggy’s intense burn. Sadly, instead of finding love, her hopes are dashed the next day when a guilt-ridden Ted leaves New York and decides to stay with his wife. More insight into her desire: Peggy can’t shake lingering feelings for Ted, and they carry over into season 7. So passionate is Peggy when she believes Ted has sent her long-stemmed red roses, she all but shreds them in front of her secretary, Shirley (Sola Bamis), only to discover that they were never hers in the first place, much like dear, old Ted.
The commanding Joan Holloway
When we first meet the head secretary, Joan Holloway (Christina Hendricks), she’s the scarlet-haired bombshell showing Peggy the ropes. Joan’s girlish tips to Peggy include that she should reveal more ankle and put a paper bag with eyeholes over her head. Peggy should then stand in front of a mirror naked and assess the plusses and minuses. Joan has learned to use her womanly wiles to her advantage but it’s her keen intuitive sense and expert problem-solving skills that make her an indispensable asset in the workplace.
Carefree about her sexual persona, Joan often dresses in red to accentuate her ample curves, and early in the show’s run, she enjoys an affair with her married boss, Roger Sterling (John Slattery), and chooses to keep a no-strings-attached vibe. This woman has lovers, flirts with ease, and when she doesn’t feel like paying for lunch, allows the men in the office the privilege of treating her.
After playing the field with finesse, Joan falls in love with a handsome medical student, Greg Harris (Gerald Downey), and it looks as though she’ll have the American dream, something we never dreamed she ever wanted. But all goes sour when Greg discovers that Joan has been intimate with a host of other men before him, and in a fit of rage, he rapes her. Instead of leaving him, as we would expect from the strong-willed, take-no-bullshit Joan, she does the unthinkable… and marries him. And then, even though she is unfulfilled in her marriage, with the exception of a quickie with her ex-lover Roger after they’re both mugged (this is less about desire and more about comfort), Joan is faithful to her husband the whole time he is away in the army.
Later in the series, in a rare scene, Joan and Don play hooky from work, and over cocktails at a bar, Joan asks him if he was ever interested in her. With a whiskey buzz, Don confesses when he met Joan that she scared the pants off him. Not surprising. Even though Joan is a portrayed as a highly sexual being, her longings are mainly alluded to, leaving very little of Joan’s desires reflected on screen. Instead we are given a few heated sighs and eyebrow-raises in Don Draper’s direction, and left to wonder about what might have been. Perhaps Joan is just too much woman for even the writers who created her to deal with, and the notion of a scene that fully realizes her sexual persona would scare the pants off them, too.
In season 7, Joan turns down a chance to settle into a loveless marriage with her gay friend before her “expiration date” at age 40. Joan confides to him that she wants more, and intends to hold out for real love. Vixen façade aside, it would seem Joan is a romantic at heart.
A tousled Betty
At the beginning of the series, Betty Draper (January Jones), a passive aggressive former model, is Don’s wife. Betty, devoid of self-awareness, lies in bed after making love, stares at her gorgeous sleeping husband, her entire universe… and doesn’t understand why he is not just enough. Betty’s longing goes far beyond the sexual realm; she aches to have a sense of self, submerges her feelings, and overeats to fill the void. When very pregnant, Betty meets the distinguished Henry Francis (Christopher Stanley), a local politician, at a charity event; Henry makes it clear that he’s attracted to Betty while he caresses her belly. The incident causes Betty’s desire to spike in a new way: afterward, she fantasizes about buying a decadent rose satin chaise lounge, even though it clashes with everything in her home. And romantic daydreams of Henry haunt her married life. Finally, when he doesn’t appear at a function in her home, Betty storms into Henry’s office. Flushed with white-hot rage, she throws papers at him and demands to know why he didn’t show up. Then Henry confesses that he was waiting for her to make the first move because she is married. What follows is a kiss that uncorks the bottled-up longings Betty has squelched throughout her relationship with Don. At that moment we see Betty as a sensual creature, hungering for a man other than her husband.
Megan and Don
By season 5, Don has split up with Betty and is married to Megan Draper (Jessica Pare), who seems the polar opposite of Betty. A French Canadian, willowy brunette in her early 20s, Megan represents the new generation of women. She is free-spirited enough to reject a successful career in advertising alongside Don to pursue her dream of being an actress, much to the bafflement of those around her. Unlike passive aggressive Betty, Megan knows what she wants, and possesses the drive to get it.
Naturally, Megan’s uninhibited attitude translates to her sexuality. In the much talked about season 5 episode, “A Little Kiss,” Megan throws Don a surprise 40th birthday party, and invites his coworkers. As a romantic gift, she sings Don the French song about love and kissing, “Zou Bisou Bisou,” and dances coquettishly in his direction, dressed in an elegant black chiffon mini-dress. Megan’s performance is far more sweet than salacious, and yet the gesture serves as such an aphrodisiac, consequently men’s throats go dry, and overheated couples flee the party. And Don? He becomes so embarrassed he can hardly look at his lovely wife. After a playful and refreshing display of feminine sexuality, Don is left feeling so raw and exposed that he refuses to have sex with his wife as punishment for her unladylike actions. Interestingly, Don wasn’t the only one who overreacted. The episode’s aftermath caused the twitterverse to go bizerk. #ZouBisouBisou erupted with such Nascar speed, anyone who hadn’t seen the show simply had to know what all the fuss was about. Meanwhile, on HBO, scads of Dawn Age women were lounging around naked on Game of Thrones, and sadomasochistic vampires were having unsafe vamp sex on True Blood, not causing half the stir. How is this possible? Is female longing really that shocking? Or, are we so desensitized to the objectification of women and simultaneously starved for a glimpse into real female desire that when a moment finally makes it on screen, it proves intensely provocative.
Megan sings and dances at Don’s birthday party
In another bold move by Megan this season, after she discovers Don has been lying to her for a year about his job, she stands up to him and tells him, “This is how it ends.” Then, in a perplexing following episode, not only is there is no mention of their breakup, it’s as though a Stepford-Megan has stepped into Megan’s heels. No longer assertive, she appears wilted and insecure, when under the guise of kindness, she pays off a pregnant quasi-relative of Don’s to leave town, worried he might be attracted to her. And if that’s not enough for us to wonder where the actual Megan Draper has gone, she invites her girlfriend over and convinces Don to have a ménage a trois with them, even though Don seems rather bored with the whole idea. Sadly, instead of a display of desire, this appears a last ditch act of desperation to spice up her marriage by acting out a cliché male fantasy.
Many of Mad Men’s most compelling moments exist in the quiet, and that’s part of its brilliance. However, female desire occasionally lives in the subtext of Mad Men like fire ants fighting to dig themselves out of a mountain of sand. The show’s complex female characters are regularly lusted after, and at times brave leaps are taken into the sea of their cravings. Other times, their behaviors appear inconsistent, and it seems we’ve been cheated out of crucial discoveries that lurk just beneath their surfaces.
Danielle Winston is a Manhattan-based freelance writer, screenwriter/director. Her latest project is a psychological thriller called Hands of Fate. Find her on twitter @winstonwrites @Handsoffatefilm.
