On Television – Page 29

A Post About ‘Community’s Shirley? That’s Nice.

Written by Lady T.

Yvette Nicole Brown as Shirley Bennett on Community

Anyone who has absorbed even a little bit of pop culture can see that the “sassy ethnic woman” archetype is ubiquitous in television and film. Women of color – particularly black and Latina women – are often used as sassy, finger-snapping side characters who exist only to provide amusing one-liners in the background of whatever white person drama or comic event happening in the forefront. (On a great scene from Scrubs, Carla and Laverne demonstrate how to act like a “minority sidekick from a bad movie”:)

One refreshing departure from the “sassy ethnic woman” stereotype is Shirley Bennett on Community. Played by Yvette Nicole Brown, Shirley is one of four people of color in the show’s main cast, though the only woman of color. In an interview with The Daily Beast, which included cast members Alison Brie and Gillian Jacobs and writer Megan Ganz, Brown discussed why Shirley is a refreshing character for her to play:

As a black actor, it’s refreshing that I’m not playing the “sassy black woman.” It’s something that Dan Harmon was cognizant of from the beginning. It is something that I’m always cognizant of. Every woman on the planet has sass and smart-ass qualities in them, but it seems sometimes only black women are defined by it. Shirley is a fully formed woman that had a sassy moment. Her natural set point, if anything, is rage. That’s her natural set point, suppressed rage, which comes out as kindness and trying to keep everything tight.

Shirley is, perhaps, the only main character on Community who has her own catchphrase, but the catchphrase – “That’s nice!” – is a far cry from the finger-snapping talking-through-the-nose stereotype demonstrated on the above clip from Scrubs. Shirley is exactly what Brown described: a woman filled with suppressed rage who covers up her anger by trying to be sweet and kind. But rather than being an example of a different kind of negative black stereotype – the Angry Black Person who bursts into a rage for no stated reason – the Community writers and Brown show that Shirley has plenty of reasons to be angry.

Like the other members of the Spanish study group, Shirley comes to Greendale Community College when she needs to start a new chapter in her life after the first chapter ended badly: her husband abandoned her and their two children, and she wants to earn a business degree so she can sell her baked goods. Christian and motherly, Shirley takes on a protective nature to the youngest members of the group (Annie, Troy, and Abed), tries to develop a camaraderie with Britta and act as a cheerleader for her flirty dynamic with Jeff, and does her best to ignore the sexual harassment from Pierce.

Annie (Alison Brie), Britta (Gillian Jacobs), and Shirley get caught in a “reverse Porky’s” shenanigan

Soon, Shirley develops close bonds with other members of the study group, trying to keep the group dynamic sweet, light, and happy – but time and time, her repressed anger rises to the surface.

Shirley flies into a rage when Jeff shows interest in a woman other than Britta, acting indignant on Britta’s behalf, but she later admits that she’s still in deep pain over her own divorce: “I was too proud to admit I was hurt, so I had to pretend you were,” she says to her friend.

Shirley is put out and offended when her friends don’t want to attend her Christmas party, taking their reluctance as an insult to her faith, but again, Britta gets to the heart of the matter: Shirley is desperate to recreate a tradition that’s important to her, that’s missing from her life since her painful divorce.

Shirley, when given a chance to act as campus security with Annie for a few days, insists on being the “bad cop” of the duo, a role that Annie also claims. The two characters clash during most of the episode because both are desperate for a change in image. While Annie wants people to stop seeing her as a sweet little girl, Shirley wants people to stop seeing her as a sweet motherly type. (More on that in a minute.)

Annie and Shirley as campus security officers

In short: Shirley has a lot of anger. What makes Shirley’s anger so refreshing is that her anger is not portrayed as a sign of her blackness, or her womanhood, but as the sign of a flawed, complex human being with legitimate pain. Sometimes her anger is towards a perceived slight that has nothing to do with her (assuming that her friends judge her for her Christianity when they don’t), and sometimes her anger is completely justified (getting fed up with Pierce’s harassment and racist comments). Sometimes she’s wrong, and sometimes she’s right – just like any other person.

Anger isn’t a character trait limited to Shirley, either. Annie also has repressed rage. The two women have a lot in common, “aww”-ing over cute things and getting upset when they’re not taken seriously. But of all the other characters in Community, Shirley seems to have the closest bond with Jeff. On the surface, they have little in common – he’s a white playboy sarcastic former lawyer, she’s a married black Christian woman with children – but just as Shirley covers her anger with a layer of sweetness, Jeff covers his with layers of blasé indifference. The fact that a young, insecure Shirley turns out to be Jeff’s former bully from when they were children seems perfect for their characters, and their friendship deepens – and some of their anger is assuaged – after they confront this issue.

Jeff (Joel McHale) and Shirley, BFFs (sort of)

Sometimes the writers on Community give Shirley short shrift compared to the other characters, as if they’re not sure what to do with a woman who is now re-married and in a happy relationship (their strengths are in writing damaged people, not content people). I’d also like the show to further explore her complicated dynamic with Britta, a woman with whom Shirley craves close friendship, but also finds threatening. Still, I’m grateful that Community allows Shirley to be as flawed, funny, and complicated as everyone else at Greendale Community College. She’s my younger brother’s favorite character, and I think that’s nice.

———-

Lady T is a writer with two novels, a play, and a collection of comedy sketches in progress. She hopes to one day be published and finish one of her projects (not in that order). You can find more of her writing at www.theresabasile.com.

Lady T is an aspiring writer and comedian with two novels, a play, and a collection of comedy sketches in progress. She hopes to one day be published and finish one of her projects (not in that order). You can find more of her writing at The Funny Feminist, where she picks apart entertainment and reviews movies she hasn’t seen. – See more at: https://www.btchflcks.com/search/label/Lady%20T#sthash.84hpSUKB.dpuf

As a black actor, it’s refreshing that I’m not playing the “sassy black woman.” It’s something that Dan Harmon was cognizant of from the beginning. It is something that I’m always cognizant of. Every woman on the planet has sass and smart-ass qualities in them, but it seems sometimes only black women are defined by it. Shirley is a fully formed woman that had a sassy moment. Her natural set point, if anything, is rage. That’s her natural set point, suppressed rage, which comes out as kindness and trying to keep everything tight. – See more at: http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2012/02/28/community-alison-brie-yvette-nicole-brown-gillian-jacobs-megan-ganz-roundtable.html#sthash.cAOgrEkS.dpuf

As a black actor, it’s refreshing that I’m not playing the “sassy black woman.” It’s something that Dan Harmon was cognizant of from the beginning. It is something that I’m always cognizant of. Every woman on the planet has sass and smart-ass qualities in them, but it seems sometimes only black women are defined by it. Shirley is a fully formed woman that had a sassy moment. Her natural set point, if anything, is rage. That’s her natural set point, suppressed rage, which comes out as kindness and trying to keep everything tight. – See more at: http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2012/02/28/community-alison-brie-yvette-nicole-brown-gillian-jacobs-megan-ganz-roundtable.html#sthash.cAOgrEkS.dpuf

As a black actor, it’s refreshing that I’m not playing the “sassy black woman.” It’s something that Dan Harmon was cognizant of from the beginning. It is something that I’m always cognizant of. Every woman on the planet has sass and smart-ass qualities in them, but it seems sometimes only black women are defined by it. Shirley is a fully formed woman that had a sassy moment. Her natural set point, if anything, is rage. That’s her natural set point, suppressed rage, which comes out as kindness and trying to keep everything tight. – See more at: http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2012/02/28/community-alison-brie-yvette-nicole-brown-gillian-jacobs-megan-ganz-roundtable.html#sthash.cAOgrEkS.dpuf

Women of Color in Film and TV: Talk About a ‘Scandal’: ‘Bunheads,’ the Whitey-Whiteness of TV, and Why Shonda Rhimes Is a Goddamn Hero

This guest review by Diane Shipley previously appeared at Bea Magazine and is cross-posted with permission.

I love Scandal. Halfway through the second season, it’s still some of the most sharp, fast-paced, thrilling TV I’ve ever sat through. Sure, it’s often improbable and features silly banter, but it’s never predictable, and Kerry Washington shines like the star she is as clever, controlled, morally ambiguous “crisis manager” Olivia Pope. (Yes, she’s the Pope.) (Oh, if only.)

What I don’t love is the fact that Kerry Washington is the first black woman to have the lead in a network drama in my lifetime.

Shonda Rhimes’ Scandal

I’m in my thirties! And since five years before I was born there hasn’t been a black female lead in an American network drama. (That was one called Get Christie Love!, inspired by the blaxploitation films of the ’70s.) And while there have been Asian and Latina leading ladies in that time, let’s not pretend that TV has ever been full of diversity. It’s a white person’s playground.

So it’s maybe not surprising that when Gilmore Girls creator Amy Sherman-Palladino’s new show Bunheads first aired, Shonda Rhimes, who created Scandal as well as Grey’s Anatomy and Private Practice, felt a little fed up.

She tweeted ABC Family:

“Really? You couldn’t cast even ONE young dancer of color so I could feel good about my kid watching this show? NOT ONE?”

Which seems like a fair comment, as Bunheads‘ lack of diversity is a glaring omission.

It’s great to see a show that’s unabashedly female-centric and more concerned with telling stories than trying to be gimmicky (and which portrays performers with far more subtlety than Smash could ever manage). There are enough shows where women are nothing more than set dressing for it not to be an issue that all six leads in Bunheads are ladies.

But it is an issue that all six leads are white.

It would have been nice if Rhimes’ tweet had launched a respectful debate about the underrepresentation of women of color on TV. Instead, it sent Sherman-Palladino on a self-justifying rant in a horrible interview with Media Mayhem, which was notable for the fact that neither she nor the journalist who questioned her actually stuck to the point. That journalist, Allison Hope Weiner, said that what she took from the incident was that it was “inappropriate” for a woman to criticise another female showrunner, when there are so few of them.

Sherman-Palladino agreed, saying she would never “go after” another woman and that women in TV are not as supportive as they should be. She also pointed out that she only had a week and a half to cast four girls who could act and dance on pointe. Then she said that she doesn’t do “issues shows.”

It’s hard to know where to start with this clusterbleep of wrongness, but how about we begin with the idea that women should always support each other, no matter what?

Rebecca Paller of the Paley Center posted a blog post about the fracas, “Bunheads and Women: Why Can’t We Just Get Along?” in which she supports Sherman-Palladino and scolds Rhimes for her criticism, saying:

“You should have been more supportive of another female showrunner especially in this day and age when it’s so difficult to get a new dramatic series on the air.”

(Excuse me while I scream into a pillow until I throw up.)

Kerry Washington as Olivia Pope in Scandal

Here’s the thing: if anyone, regardless of gender, makes a mistake in their professional life, you have the right to call them out on it. Sure, Shonda Rimes could have been more deferential, but why the hell should she be?

Saying that women have to be nice to each other at all times because there are so few of us in top jobs only promotes the idea that we’re special snowflakes who have to be treated like precious cargo. While there are men whose shows are similarly lacking in diversity, female solidarity doesn’t preclude valid criticism. And the competitiveness among women that Sherman-Palladino alludes to is surely a symptom of the patriarchy and the fact that it’s so hard for women to get ahead rather than a case of “bitches be loco.”

Even worse, for white women like Sherman-Palladino, Hope Weiner, and Paller to ignore the context of Rhimes’ remark is breathtakingly ignorant. As you might have noticed, America has a history of oppressing both women and people of color and of stereotyping them in popular culture (the Academy is still rarely more impressed than when a black women plays a maid). And yet Paller mentions a possible Asian extra as proof that Bunheads is diverse, and says she’s “still not certain” why Rhimes saw fit to criticise Sherman-Palladino.

Shonda Rhimes is one of very few TV writers creating interesting black female characters. And she’s a black woman. That’s probably not coincidental. Sure, white men could be doing the same thing. But they’re not.

The most disappointing thing about Girls is that Lena Dunham appeared to not even consider that her show could include a main character who was black, or working class, or disabled, or transgender, and that viewers could still relate to that person. Because some of them are that person. Perhaps she was reluctant to make what Sherman-Palladino so charmingly dubs an “issues show,” but Scandal proves that a black character’s race doesn’t have to be her defining characteristic.

Kerry Washington as Olivia Pope in Scandal

A few months ago, Vulture ran a round table discussion with female showrunners to acknowledge that there have historically been so few women in charge of TV shows, and to celebrate the fact that things are starting to change. When talk turned to criticisms of Girls, this exchange actually happened:

E.K.: I think the lack of diversity on Girls probably has something to do with HBO’s willingness to let her be very specific, and tell her story. Whereas with network shows, there’s always a mandate. It becomes, “How are we gonna include this group of people?” or “We have to have some diversity.”

W.C.: And then every doctor is black.

E.K.: It becomes a token gesture. It doesn’t come from a place of sincere storytelling, or anything organic to the world.

It’s true; there’s been a lot of tokenism in TV over the years, with black doctors and lawyers and police officers clumsily slotted into the background of shows like politically correct afterthoughts since at least the early ’70s. But this was still progress, because before that television was so white-dominated that only by networks making a concerted effort to seek out non-white actors could things start to change. Even now, a lack of diversity is more often an oversight than some kind of brave creative choice.

And sure, we’re talking television here, and not real life. But TV shows matter. They’re probably our biggest shared cultural experience, and how they portray (or ignore) members of historically marginalised groups can reflect and reinforce stereotypes in an insidious way. Helena Andrews wrote a great piece for xoJane about Bunheads and the fact that, had her own ballet teacher not been black, she might not have realized that the white-dominated world of dance was something she could take part in, let alone enjoy:

“In a world that was looking less and less like me just as I was beginning to actually take a look at myself (oh, hey, there puberty) seeing an impossibly elegant (and forgive me) strong black woman every week was more than just a drop in the bucket of my confidence. It was a monsoon.”

Not seeing anyone like yourself on TV, over and over again, is profoundly alienating, and yet Sherman-Palladino and Dunham seem to shrug off the idea that this matters, as if their life’s work has no effect on people.

Shonda Rhimes knows it does.

———-

Diane Shipley is a freelance journalist specialising in women/feminism, books, and wonderful, wonderful television. She also blogs at No Humiliation Wasted and tweets (a lot).

Women of Color in Film and TV: ‘Scandal’ Pilot: Loosen Up Your Buttons, Baby

Scandal

Guest post written by Nakeesha Seneb, originally published at Structured Breakdown. Cross posted with permission.

I think Shonda Rhimes, and her writing round table, are some of the most prolific storytellers of our times. Yes, I said prolific and I’m going to stand by such a big SAT word. Prolific actually means producing much fruit. I don’t know about you, but I love fruit. I can’t get enough of the juicy, sweet treats. That’s exactly how I feel about Scandal.

Where most screenwriters are taught to button up their Acts, Rhimes plays fast and loose with that rule and goes so far as to button up her scenes. Like a period, exclamation point or question mark, a button is a punctuation mark at the end of an act, or in Rhimes’ case, a scene. When we think about punctuation marks we most commonly think of, and use, the period. A period signifies the end; finality. You won’t find many period-buttons in Rhimes’ scripts. You’ll most often find exclamation points, which indicate strong feelings and high volume. In fact, the exclamation point wasn’t introduced until the 1970s, and then only in comic books to indicate a gun bang or punch!

Button Up Your Act

The pilot episode of Scandal is divided into five acts. Acts typically end at commercial breaks. The commercial break is a dangerous time for television writers because the audience now has a choice of getting up to use the facilities, grab a snack, or worse, turn the channel. If you study the end of each act in Scandal (or Grey’s Anatomy or Private Practice), Rhimes buttons up each act-end by raising the stakes before the commercial breaks. The punctuation marks she places at each break serves to keep her audience pinned in their seats. Let’s take a look at the structure of Scandal‘s pilot episode, “Sweet Baby.” Here’s a link to Rhimes’ original draft script.

In “Sweet Baby,” Act One ends with a murder suspect walking into the office with blood literally on his hands. Act Two sees that murder investigation and raises us a POTUS (President of the United States) embroiled in a sex scandal. In Act Three, Olivia’s conservative-soldier client, the alleged murderer, gets arrested because he refuses to be “outted.” By the end of Act Four, Olivia “handles” the POTUS’s sex scandal by destroying the life of the President’s accuser/mistress who then tries to kill herself. The middle of Act Five is where we learn the biggest scandal of them all: that Olivia and the President were having an affair. By the end of the show, the stakes are raised sky high when Olivia, feeling betrayed by her married ex-lover, takes the President’s mistress on as a client.

I strongly feel that these act ends are all exclamation points! They’re also a lot to cover, so this breakdown will only focus on the first act. The first act of a television show is known as the setup. A setup has three goals: to be immediate, quick, and grab attention.

Act I Scene 1: Exclamation Button

The setup starts immediately with the first scene. We are introduced to newcomer, Quinn, who’s trying to escape an undesired blind date. Rhimes grabs our attention with witty dialogue delivered by attractive individuals. Quinn believes Harrison is her date – whom she wants to ditch. Harrison is nonplussed by her attempts, instead he seems amused. We want to see how this ends and then – surprise! It’s not the man that every woman dreams of getting set up with. No, it’s better. It’s a dream job, and of course, every 21st century woman is going to jump at the chance of her dream job. Though Quinn doesn’t shout out loud at the prospect of working for Olivia Pope, strong feelings are written all over her face at Harrison’s offer. “I wanna be a gladiator in a suit,” is said with wide eyes and quiet awe.

Act I Scene 2-4*: Dash Button

In the second scene, we meet the famous Olivia Pope, and her dashing rogue of a colleague, Stephen. We meet them in the midst of a deal about to go wrong. Olivia momentarily halts the conversation with Stephen about engagements to smooth over the dilemma of two Russian bad guys pointing pistols at each other. Olivia comes off as badass, uber-confident and smart. With the deal settled, she and Stephen take their “package” and continue their banter about his impending nuptials as though no one was just in mortal peril.

The scene starts with Olivia and Stephen–then there’s a conflict, which is resolved–and the scene concludes with Olivia and Stephen continuing their banter. It’s a set of dashes. “The dash is a handy device, informal and essentially playful, telling you that you’re about to take off on a different tack but still in some way connected with the present course,” instructs Lewis Thomas. The playfulness comes across in the scene as Olivia and Stephen leave the danger giggling over how much they love this job.

*It’s divided as three scenes because of location. If you know Final Draft, or any screenwriting software, you’ll understand. Scene 2: Olivia and Stephen are walking into the building. Scene 3: The confrontation with the bad guys. Scene 4: Olivia and Stephen walk out of the building.

Act I Scene 5-7**: Exclamation Button/Act End

Scene 5 starts with Quinn, our novice, coming into the extraordinary world of Olivia Pope and Associates. Through her, we begin to learn the rules of this new world. Olivia’s crew is introduced, along with their respective duties, and Quinn is quickly schooled that this is not a law firm but a firm of problem solvers. We learn the package Olivia negotiated for was a kidnapped baby who is promptly picked up by its diplomat parents.

The setup is complete by the end of Scene 5. Everything and everyone we need to know has been established. Now the story is about to get moving. A disabled, Iraq war hero appears in the office lobby with blood on his hands. “My girlfriend. She’s dead,” he says. “And the police think I killed her.” In a comic book, the exclamation point follows the BANG! In this scene, the gun has already gone off and we are seeing the effects of the aftermath. Harrison turns to Quinn and says, “Welcome to Pope and Associates!”

**Scene 5: Quinn and Harrison are walking into the office. Scene 6: they enter the office with the others. Scene 7: they are in the lobby.

Early on in our grade school education, we are taught how to construct sentences in order to get our points across. Today most of our writing is peppered by the point of periods. Punctuation marks, like exclamation points, dashes, and even the ellipses, we’re told to use sparingly. Rhimes and her team pays no heed to that grammar lesson. Their characters shout it out, are elliptically coy, and dash off with our hearts. And it has paid off for them episode and episode again!

———-

Nakeesha Seneb, a longtime addict of YA and paranormal romance novels, is the Co-Founder and Education Director of Tapestry Writers Collective. By trade, she’s a screenwriter who wrote and produced for the kids’ programming block of the Black Family Channel. Currently, Ms. Seneb teaches screenwriting and digital media production at the Art Institute of Washington, DC. The Structured Breakdown Blog focuses on structure and techniques used in the stories she reviews.

Women of Color in Film and TV: Shirley, Donna, and Lana: African-American Women in Thursday Night Sitcoms

Written by Max Thornton.

Thursday night is the best TV night for comedy fans. Even now that 30 Rock has departed this mortal coil (goodnight, sweet show; may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest), there is still a lot to enjoy about Thursday nights. For me, it’s the trifecta of Community, Parks and Recreation, and Archer.

(Remember 2009, the year all three of those shows debuted? Ugh, what happened to you, TV – you used to be awesome.)

I love Community, Parks and Recreation, and Archer. They are my three favorite shows on the air at the moment. Coincidentally, each of them has an African-American woman among the main ensemble, and it makes for an illuminating comparison to look at the respective treatment of Shirley Bennett, Donna Meagle, and Lana Kane.

Community: Shirley Bennett (Yvette Nicole Brown)

Not gonna lie, I adore that pun.

The central conceit of Community is that seven unlikely friends are drawn together as a study group at a community college. The intent to explore diversity is built into the concept. Unfortunately, the actualization is not always as laudable as the ambition.

Shirley has tended to get short shrift in terms of character development. A lot of the time it kind of feels as though the writers don’t quite know what to do with her. It’s not necessarily because she’s one of the older characters – they never seem to run out of things for Chevy Chase to do as crusty old white dude Pierce. It’s not necessarily because she’s a woman of color – Troy and Abed are the show’s most beloved characters, and neither of them is white. I think it’s an intersectional thing. Shirley is an African-American woman, a committed Christian, and a middle-aged mom, and possibly none of these are things a writers’ room for a hip young pop-culture-savvy show is entirely comfortable with.

There has been some recognition on the show’s part that Shirley was a little underdeveloped in the early episodes, and seasons two and three made a conscious effort to give her more depth. We learned that she has a history of alcoholism, that she kicks ass at foosball, that her Miss Piggy voice is actually her bedroom voice. She had a very ill-advised hookup and a paternity scare while getting back together with ex-husband Malcolm-Jamal Warner. She has toned down the evangelical fervor of her faith to accommodate the diverse religious traditions (or lack thereof) among her friends.

Shirley is still often the show’s most problematic character and the one that is left most adrift in its various plots. At this stage, though, she is well-rounded enough that she actually feels like a real character. It just took a little longer than it did for everyone else on the show.

Parks and Recreation: Donna Meagle (Retta)

My main complaint about Donna is that she is too often in the background. She was technically only a recurring character in the first two seasons of Parks and Rec, only getting promoted to a regular in the third season.

Donna rarely if ever has storylines focused on her, which is a shame because she’s kind of awesome. She’s one of Pawnee’s most competent employees, tending to just get things done when the rest of the Parks Department is goofing around, but she also has a healthy sex life (both partnered and solo: in one episode she was shown casually reading Fifty Shades of Grey at work), a friendship with Aziz Ansari’s character Tom, and a brilliant made-up holiday called Treat Yo Self.

Although Donna is more of a background player than Shirley, she feels fully developed on much less screentime. It certainly helps that Retta is not the only woman of color in the Parks and Rec cast: Rashida Jones and Aubrey Plaza are both ~~perfect~~on the show, and if any character is a little undercooked it’s Jones’s Ann Perkins (and her ennui is finally being addressed in-text).

Ann and April: NOT friends.

One question I do have for the Parks and Rec writers, though: With such a fantastic, positive, nuanced portrayal of a larger woman on your show, why do you keep making so many fat jokes about the citizens of Pawnee?

Archer: Lana Kane (Aisha Tyler)

Archer is a show of an entirely different tenor than the NBC sitcoms. An animated dark comedy on FX, it’s considerably less popular and considerably edgier than either Community or Parks. As always, edginess in comedy is a double-edged sword. When it works, it’s absolutely brilliant (and perfectly attuned to my personal sense of humor); when it doesn’t, it’s just painful.

For the most part, Archer walks the line very well. If you’re unfamiliar with the conceit, creator Adam Reed’s description “James Bond meets Arrested Development” is not a bad one. Lana Kane is one of the top spies at ISIS, an espionage agency centered on the dysfunctional relationship between suave, self-centered, reckless Sterling Archer and his mother Malory, the agency’s head. At its best, the show functions largely as a workplace comedy with cool gadgets and some magnificently weird characters.

Lana is indisputably the most sane person at ISIS, in a Dave-Nelson-in-NewsRadio kind of way, and she also has to cope with being a woman of color in a pretty unforgiving milieu. Archer does a pretty good job of portraying other characters’ prejudice against her in a way that skewers the discriminators, not the discriminatee. Just look at the most recent episode, when Lana challenges Malory for refusing to send her on a mission to Turkmenistan.

Lana: “Because I’m black, or because I’m a woman?”

Malory: “Pick one! I mean, look, I don’t want to sound racist, but–”

Lana: “But you’re gonna power through it.”

Malory proceeds to explain how sexist and xenophobic Turkmenistan is, and how she just had to send only white men – who are meanwhile cocking up the mission with considerable panache. It’s a nifty but non-preachy way to demonstrate the myopia of racist thinking.

I love my Thursday night shows, and I’m glad they include rich roles for women of color. None of them is perfect, though, and it’s a sad truth that they are all created and helmed by white men. Putting women of color in your shows is great, but as long as the creators, showrunners, and executives are overwhelmingly white men, there is still a helluva lot of progress yet to be made.

Max Thornton blogs at Gay Christian Geek, tumbles as trans substantial, and is slowly learning to twitter at @RainicornMax.

Women of Color in Film and TV: Mammy, Sapphire, or Jezebel, Olivia Pope is Not: A Review of ‘Scandal’

Scandal, created by Shonda Rimes and starring Kerry Washington

Guest post written by Atima Omara-Alwala.

Like every other woman of color who enjoys film and probably many film and TV critics alike, I waited with baited breath to see what the debut of Scandal, the first major network television show in nearly 40 years with an African American woman in the lead would bring. Even with a number of film awards that many black actresses have received in recent years, there has always been the criticism, and justified, that they are stereotypical limiting roles. With Shonda Rimes as creator of Scandal (the godmother of Grey’s Anatomy and Private Practice), whose work pioneered color-blind casting and complex characters regardless of race, I had exceptional high hopes this show would be different. Shonda didn’t disappoint.

Many writers and film critics have written about the three usual archetypes that black women have fit into in popular culture representation. And it is through this prism Scandal is viewed. The Jezebel, who is very sexually promiscuous; the Mammy, who is the tireless devoted mother like figure regardless of all the wrong you did; and the Sapphire, a head-whipping, finger-snapping, anger-filled black woman. These stereotypes permeate all aspects of the American black women experience.

In Scandal, the actress Kerry Washington (from Save the Last Dance, The Last King of Scotland, and Django Unchained) plays Olivia Pope. Olivia Pope is based loosely on the life of Judy Smith, a real Washington operative who is a former member of the George H. W. Bush White House and a well-known crisis manager in DC circles. Like Judy, Olivia works with her team of lawyers, former CIA operatives, and political operatives to fix the problems and very real scandals of her very prominent clients.

Olivia Pope is tough but not in a stereotypical overbearing black woman portrayal like Sapphire. She is tough with necessity. She works in Washington DC and is in the thick of national politics and crisis managing. As someone who actually has worked as a woman of color in politics, I know for a fact no shrinking violets need apply to a world where required skills to success are extreme confidence, intelligence, and very quick thinking, and in Scandal, apparently very fast talking. Among Olivia’s clients are Congressmen, candidates for public office, corporate executives, a renowned pastor, a President, and a former Presidential candidate.

Olivia is not a tireless devoted Mammy because to fix other people’s problems and scandals, Olivia takes a NICE check to clean up your mess. (Evidence: A townhouse in Washington DC and a designer wardrobe to die for, ladies!!) Olivia truly is the lady boss. Her team is fiercely loyal to her as she takes care of them and they do the best for her because she is the best at what she does. It’s established within the first couple of episodes how good she is at what she does. The White House, which she left, calls her back often, and people come to her because her gut, as she infamously says, “is never wrong.” While many of us have seen this in our personal and professional lives (eg. Judy Smith), Olivia Pope is something rarely seen in black women representation on screen and is LONG overdue.

Being a Shonda Rimes created character, Olivia is like all of Shonda Rimes’ female characters: while tough and brilliant, Olivia is a flawed and complicated women. Kerry Washington is a great actress with a broad range who can pull this off well. In one second Olivia is talking tough and intimidating even world officials and next she is sensitive woman with a trembling lip in the next.

But even though Olivia is the great fixer of other people’s problems and scandals, she hides and really can’t fix her own major one: Olivia has a long running affair with the President of the United States, Fitzgerald “Fitz” Grant III (Tony Goldwyn), from when she worked his campaign, who is also white.

Herein lies the debate on Scandal: Is Olivia a Jezebel dressed up in 21st century political correctness? Instead of being a hooker on the stroll, slave mistress, or black girl in heat, she has her own job and career but still got to be all up on someone else’s man, especially a white man? The black blogosphere and Twittersphere debate and differ in opinion. Some say yes: 45-year veteran in advertising Tom Burrell, who has worked to promote positive portrayals of black people in media, calls Oliva Pope “a “hot-to-trot” sexually aggressive trope as old as the institution of slavery itself in the character” (damn!). Some brought up, by extension, the inevitable comparison to a Thomas Jefferson/Sally Hemings drama pretty darn quickly (of course) and some go as far as to guilt other black women (specifically) viewers for watching the show, in one popular meme (seriously?). Others defiantly say no, Olivia Pope is NOT a Jezebel. For my part, I tend to agree with the naysayers.

Olivia Pope is a groundbreaking black female character on television, period. She is a self-reliant, highly accomplished most sought-after professional. But she also made the mistake (something which she very much realizes) of falling in love with a white married man, who also happens to be, oh, the leader of the free world. The show is sharp in that it doesn’t make Olivia blind to her circumstance as any black woman in her shoes wouldn’t be. You find out in Season 2 that not only does she leave the White House to start her own firm but to get herself away from the President and let him focus to be the President he needed. Even in a fit of frustration she says of her relationship with Fitz to him, “I’m feeling a little Sally Hemings-Thomas Jefferson about all this.” Later Fitz confronts Olivia and tells her that the comment was “below the belt.” Because, he said: “You’re playing the race card on the fact that I’m in love with you.” He then proceeds to soliloquize his love so intensely for Olivia, that she (and even I) were a bit worried for his mental state.

Olivia is no Jezebel, because she takes control of her destiny being tied to Fitz and leaves it to chart her own path. Olivia is no Jezebel because the show has progressed long enough for her to have built a relationship with another man, a highly accomplished black man at that, while she still unquestionably loves Fitz she actually attempts to move on with her life, unlike him. No, she’s not perfect, but raise your hands in the air and wave them like you just don’t care if YOU are. As a black woman I realize we want to see ourselves escape the stereotypes because we’ve been held down by these images so much that we inevitably hold ourselves up to perfection to escape it. But this is also damagingly unrealistic for the black woman to do that not only to our mental health but perception from others. Frankly, the more of our stories are out there, the more we’ll reach parity in representation in film and television.

If I have any criticism on Scandal, it’s who IS Olivia, before Fitz, before the White House, and how she came to do what she does. We have a better snapshot, if not complete, on most characters, and knowing Shonda likes to take her time unfolding a character, I am looking forward to what that brings.

All in all, I think Shonda Rimes has done an outstanding job breaking barriers and it looks like she has struck a chord with African American audiences, according to the latest New York Times article. According to Nielsen, Scandal is the highest rated scripted drama among African-Americans, with 10.1 percent of black households, or an average of 1.8 million viewers, tuning in during the first half of the second season. Real life crisis manager Judy Smith live tweets during the show as do other prominent black political operatives and commentators, namely Donna Brazile and Roland Martin. Among the group aged 18 to 34, the show typically ranks first in its 10 p.m. Thursday time slot, which means success to the industry. It’s fast moving, jaw dropping, how-in-the-hell-did-I-not-guess-that cliff hangers that Shonda Rimes is so good at, combined with great actors, projects nothing but continued success for Scandal.

And I will be there every Thursday to watch.

———-

Atima Omara-Alwala is a political strategist and activist of 10 years who has served as staff on 8 federal and local political campaigns and other progressive causes. Atima’s work has had a particular focus on women’s political empowerment & leadership, reproductive justice, health care, communities of color and how gender and race is reflected in pop culture. Her writings on the topics have also been featured at Ms. Magazine, Women’s Enews, and RH Reality Check.

Happy Galentine’s Day! Why It’s So Important to See Ladies Celebrating Ladies

Written by Megan Kearns.

Hey, ladies! It’s that time of year…Happy Galentine’s Day!!

If you’re a fan of Parks and Rec (and if you’re not watching, you should really ask yourself why — I mean it’s only the best, most feminist show on TV), then you know all about the holiday commemorating female camaraderie…and waffles!

Here’s how Leslie Knope defines the holiday:

“What’s Galentines Day? It’s only the best day of the year! Every Feb 13th, my lady friends and I leave our husbands and our boyfriends at home and we come and kick it breakfast-style. Ladies celebrating ladies. It’s like Lilith Fair, minus the angst. Plus frittatas.”

A holiday just for ladies celebrating ladies?? Count me in.

Too few films and TV shows feature female leads. It’s even rarer to see a focus on female friendship, just one of the many reasons why Parks and Rec is such an important series. Creators Greg Daniels and Michael Schur conceived the show to revolve around Leslie Knope and Ann Perkins’ friendship, fitting since Amy Poehler and Rashida Jones are real-life friends.

Leslie is all about supporting other women. She started Camp Athena and the Pawnee Goddesses, programs for teen and tween girls. She idolizes strong women leaders like Hillary Rodham Clinton, Madeline Albright, Condoleezza Rice and Nancy Pelosi. She even made a Geraldine Ferraro action figure as a kid. Leslie has mentored Amber to help her find her career ambition. She compliments and uplifts Ann, gives her advice in her love life, and (after hilarious meddling) embraces her decision to have a baby even though it deviates from Leslie’s perceived path to happiness. So it should come as no surprise Leslie would create a holiday solely to honor and support her female friendships.

Too often we see media depict women as catty and backbiting towards one another or the Smurfette principle with only one woman in a film or TV cast. So it’s great to see the women on Parks and Rec all get along with the crux of the show residing in a female bond.

We need more media reflecting the fact that women’s lives don’t revolve around men. Women have got their own shit going on. Galentine’s Day reminds us to celebrate our lady friends. Because after all, they are pretty awesome.

The Religious ‘Community’

Written by Max Thornton. Originally posted at Gay Christian Geek in March 2012; reposted here in honor of Community‘s return.

Anyone who is even casually acquainted with me in meat-life will be aware of two facts: (1) Community returned this week, and (2) I was very, very, very, very happy about this.

Community is straight-up my favorite show on TV. Its midseason disappearance from NBC’s schedule was devastating to me, and the announcement of its return had me capslock keymashing all over the internet. I celebrated Thursday’s episode with friends and champagne: it was glorious and beautiful, and it’s not really an exaggeration to say that this show is a religious experience for me. Here’s why.

I just love them all *so much*

1. The community of television

I tend to be fairly generous with my definition of “the religious”. Like Tillich, I think religion is an orientation toward ultimate concern; like Barthes, I believe we are surrounded by images that signify ideologies – and if popular culture reveals and reflects a society’s most deeply held values, then it’s not a huge leap to argue that pop culture can be a locus of religious experience. (Tom Beaudoin’s Virtual Faith makes this argument very nicely.)

Although TV ownership in the US is apparently declining, television is still the most ubiquitous form of mass media in this country (of that 3.3% of TV-less households, it’s a fairly solid bet that many of them still watch shows online). As such, it is the most unifying artifact of American popular culture, and thus television as a whole could be considered a site of religious meaning. Even for a small cult show like Community,several million viewers participate in the weekly ritual of watching it – a shared experience that nonetheless resonates on a personal level for each individual, much like a religious service.

2. The community of the individual

Some people have accused the Community ensemble of being uniformly terrible human beings who evince no character growth and are unlikeable and completely unrelatable. I will not link to the people saying these things, because they are erroneous, incorrect, inaccurate, misguided, mistaken wrong-mongers who are very very wrong.

I see myself in Jeff: his walls of sarcasm and cynicism that try but fail to hide the true depths of his emotional responses.

I see myself in Britta: her enthusiasm for political causes and her morality that stems from a heart in the right place but is often ill-thought-out or hypocritical in practice.

I see myself in Abed: his profound love of pop culture, his social discomfort, his use of pop culture to understand those around him.

I see myself in Shirley: her deep Christian faith and her struggle to overcome her personal failings to live a really loving Christian life.

I see myself in Annie: her neurotic perfectionism and intense fear of failure.

I see myself in Troy: his goofy sense of humor, his deep bromance with his BFF, his quest for a place and purpose in the world.

I see myself in Pierce: his desperate desire for acceptance and inclusion, insecurities often masked by acting like an almighty asshole.

I really, really love these characters. Each one of them speaks to a different part of my own personality, often in ways that illuminate my flaws and weaknesses. They are complicated, imperfect human beings, but they love each other and I love them. They embody the complex, messy reality of being human – of being simultaneously wonderful and terrible, capable of beautiful things and horrific things, worthy of love and of hate.

Remember this?

3. The community of friends

It’s called Community because that’s what it’s ultimately about. This is a show about a group of people who are thrown together in a situation that’s for none of them ideal, and who learn to make the best of it. The interpersonal dynamics at play in this show are special because they are bold and because they speak a truth that is rarely spoken in television.

Compare the show Friends. That was also a show about a group of friends, and it was often a sweet show with a good heart, but all the friends came from the same social location: straight, white, young, of a certain socioeconomic bracket. Community dares to portray a very diverse group of people who find common ground without erasing their differences. The relationship between the Self and the Other must involve both the unity of commonality and the space of respecting difference. Friendship is the experience of navigating this Scylla-and-Charybdis – learning to find common ground in your shared humanity while celebrating and benefiting from each other’s difference – and Community portrays this wonderful, difficult process better than any other show I’ve ever seen.

Remember this??

4. The heart of Community

Community is a dizzyingly inventive show, playing with pop-culture history in endlessly fun and creative ways, but it is still a television show, and as such it follows a certain formula. The characters love each other; they learn lessons about the value of friendship; they make missteps and hurt each other, but they ultimately make the right choices and warm our hearts. Like religious truth, Community‘s heart is both inexhaustibly profound and completely obvious.

So very many religious and philosophical traditions hinge on the Golden Rule. Jesus himself said that everything else was pretty much window-dressing. Love your neighbor as yourself: it really couldn’t be simpler. And yet we have to be taught it, over and over again, in different ways and by different people, and we still don’t do it. It’s childishly simple, but it’s also really difficult.

In the same way, Community is a television show. More specifically than that, it’s a half-hour network sitcom. It plays by established rules and conveys a simple, feel-good message. At the same time, though, it takes such delight in exploring the limits of those established rules and finding new and awesome ways to express that simple message.

Community is a show about love, it’s a show written from a place of love, and I believe it’s a manifestation of God’s love in the world. I leave you with the moment I first knew this show was something really special and a nugget of pure wisdom: cabeza es nieve, cerveza es bueno.

Max Thornton blogs at Gay Christian Geek, tumbles as trans substantial, and is slowly learning to twitter at @RainicornMax.

Goodbye Forever, ’30 Rock’

Written by Max Thornton.

If you care at all about popular culture and feminism, you may have noticed that last Thursday seven years of television history came to an end.

30 Rock had a complicated relationship with feminism. Linda Holmes of NPR’s Monkey See wrote an excellent article on the difference between what 30 Rock wasand what it did:

I have never considered Liz Lemon a feminist icon of any kind, nor have I ever considered 30 Rock especially strong when it comes to gender politics.

I don’t care for the obsessive joke-making about how Liz is ugly/mannish/old/awkward, and I haven’t always been comfortable with the way some of the “she’s baby-crazy!” or “she’s relationship-crazy!” comedy has played. …

And yet, I think it’s been one of the most important, helpful, meaningful, landscape-altering shows for women in the history of television.

No assessment of 30 Rock can escape the unfortunate but inevitable tendency to scrutinize every aspect of a female-led show to an unreasonable degree – most of all its creator. Exhibit A is, of course, poor Lena Dunham. The misogynists are looking for any excuse to hate a successful woman, while we feminists are dreaming of intersectional perfection that the mainstream media is never going to provide. As a result, conversations about 30 Rock are inseparable from conversations about Tina Fey. Which at least is an excuse to link to this.

Luckily, 30 Rock was (it feels so weird to be using the past tense) a show with a strong sense of the meta, and as such it pretty much demands contextualization.

A few years ago, Overthinking It pointed out that 30 Rock looked like a staunchly liberal show – “from far away, if you squint.” Once you start paying attention, though, neocon Jack Donaghy tends to be in the right, and the joke is almost always at the expense of Liz Lemon, the leftist comedy writer and (to at least some extent) Tina Fey self-insert characer.

There’s a kind of self-parody you do around friends which you might avoid more publicly, because you know your friends know you’re kidding. My friends and I tend to Godwineach other with wild abandon, because we spend so much time on the internet that we enjoy its utter absurdity. In a discussion with a stranger, though, I probably wouldn’t throw around the wanton Hitler analogies, since there’s a risk they wouldn’t get the joke.

One of the things that was simultaneously endearing and frustrating about30 Rock was its frequent usage of that friends-only self-parody material. When it worked, it made you feel like a good friend of the show and of Tina Fey, sharing in a self-critical but ultimately loving humor. When it didn’t work, it was awful. (Remember the season-five sleep-rape controversy?) A lot of the time, though, it was hard to tell which side of the line the show was on.

This A.V. Club review of a December 2012 episode asserts that “30 Rock is one of the few shows that can cleverly get way with joking about stereotypical female behaviors, such as everyone rushing to the bathroom at the same time or being unable to work the projector, without getting offensive.” I’m not entirely sure I agree with that. Andrew Ti of Yo, Is This Racist? illustrates the problem with the example he sometimes uses, of the season six episode that features Jon Hamm in blackface. In the context of the episode, the brief skit is parodying TV’s history of blackface. That might potentially be a reasonably clever joke, but, as Ti has pointed out on his site and in his podcast, we live in a media culture where things get taken out of context all the time and people have short attention spans, and what that means is that there’s just a gif floating around the internet of Jon Hamm in blackface. I’m inclined to think it’s just hopelessly irresponsible to make jokes like that when you know how widely your material is circulating.

Having said that, 30 Rock had a tough job to do: trying to appeal to as broad an audience as possible, while still maintaining its distinctive voice and viewpoint. And did it ever have a distinctive voice. If, before I saw the episode, I had come across the finale’s line “Hogcock. Which is a combination of hogwash and poppycock,” I couldn’t have mistaken it for a joke from any other show. It’s a style of humor and a general set-up that simply won’t appeal to everyone, and it never translated to particularly high ratings. To avoid alienating uncommitted viewers further, I think the show sometimes had to pull back from fully supporting specific ideals – I seem to recall a number of feminist blogs complaining that the end of the infamous Jezebel-parodying season five episode “TGS Hates Women” was a cop-out, forcing in some unlikely circumstances to avoid actually engaging with the issues it had raised.

Ultimately, I agree with Linda Holmes, that 30 Rock was willing to sacrifice pretty much anything for the sake of a joke. In the end, its effects on the TV landscape are more feminist than its content ever was; but it was a damn funny show, written by and starring a damn funny woman, and I miss it already.

Max Thornton blogs at Gay Christian Geek, and is slowly learning to twitter at @RainicornMax.

2013 Golden Globes Week: "I Misbehave": A Character Analysis of Irene Adler from BBC’s Sherlock

Written by Amanda Rodriguez

Spoilers ahead

Benedict Cumberbatch is up for another Golden Globe for his leading role on the BBC’s hit show Sherlock. Season Two Episode One “A Scandal in Belgravia” is adapted from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Holmes story “A Scandal in Bohemia.” The storyline focuses on Irene Adler, portrayed brilliantly by the arresting Lara Pulver, who has incriminating photographs of a member of nobility that Sherlock must retrieve.

In the original version, Adler is an opera singer who had an ill-advised affair with the prince of Bohemia, and he discontinued the affair because he was to become king and thought she was beneath his station. Adler threatens to expose the photos if the now king announces his engagement to another woman. In the updated TV episode, Adler is a high-priced lesbian dominatrix who operates under the pseudonym “The Woman” and holds photos of a high-ranking female member of the British nobility.

Irene Adler: lesbian dominatrix and general BAMF

Confession: I love Irene Adler. She’s infamous for her sensuality, independence, intelligence, and her ability to manipulate. Throughout the episode, Adler and Sherlock match-up wits, and Adler proves to be the cleverer one right until the very end. Adler establishes herself as the quintessential femme fatale. When contrasted with the other female characters throughout the series, she is the only one who is given a strong representation. The coroner, Molly Hooper, is a doormat, waiting for Sherlock to notice her and her inexplicable affection for him. Mrs. Hudson is a doddering old lady whom Sherlock abuses but takes umbrage if others treat her in a similar fashion, in a way claiming her as his property to abuse or reward at his own whim. Finally, there’s the recurring character of Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan, a tough, but mistrustful police officer who always thinks the worst of Sherlock and is too simple-minded to follow his deductions.

Though Sherlock doesn’t know it, Adler is well-prepared for their first encounter when Sherlock shows up on her doorstep impersonating a mugged clergyman. In parody of his earlier nude appearance at Buckingham Palace, Adler presents herself to Sherlock in her “battle dress,” i.e. completely naked. This proves to be a cunning ploy because Sherlock can deduce little about her character without the aid of clues from her clothing. Not only that, but Adler maneuvers Sherlock to help her ward off some C.I.A agents by using her measurements as the code to open her booby trapped (har, har) safe. Adler then drugs and beats Sherlock until he relinquishes her camera phone, which contains a host of incriminating evidence that she claims she needs for protection. She ends their memorable first encounter by saying, “It’s been a pleasure. Don’t spoil it. This is how I want you to remember me. The woman who beat you.”

Illustration by Hilbrand Bos

Minus all the sexy dominatrix stuff, this is where the original Holmes story ends. Irene Adler disappears, retaining her protective evidence, and Sherlock must forevermore admire and be galled by The Woman who beat him. The BBC episode, however, takes creative license to continue the story, having Adler fake her own death only to show up six months later demanding Sherlock give back the camera phone that she’d sent to him presumably on the eve of her death. For six months, Sherlock has done his version of mourning, as only an admittedly high-functioning sociopath can (becoming withdrawn, composing mournful violin music, smoking, etc.). Does he mourn, we wonder, the death of a woman for whom he’d grown to care, or does he regret the loose end, the loss of a chance to ever reclaim his victory and trounced ego from such a superior opponent?

Before her faked death, Adler sent frequent flirtatious texts to Sherlock, with the refrain, “Let’s have dinner.” Sherlock responded to none of her messages, lending increased weight to the significance of their relationship. Upon her resurrection, Adler confesses that despite the fact that she’s a lesbian, she has feelings for Sherlock. Her feelings, in a way, mirror those of Watson, a self-proclaimed straight man who clearly has a deep emotional attachment to Sherlock. Sherlock then forms the apex of a peculiar love triangle at once sexual and cerebral.

“Brainy is the new sexy.” – Irene Adler

Adler tricks Sherlock into decoding sensitive information on her camera phone. After breaking the code in four seconds that a cryptographer struggled with and eventually gave up on, Adler feeds Sherlock’s ego.

Irene Adler: “I would have you, right here on this desk, until you begged for mercy twice.”

Sherlock Holmes: “I’ve never begged for mercy in my life.”

Irene Adler: “Twice.”

She then follows up on all her sexual attentions toward Sherlock by sending the decrypted code to a terrorist cell. She reveals to Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes that she’d played them both and consulted with Sherlock’s arch enemy Jim Moriarty to do so. It turns out, she was playing a deep game, exerting endless patience in her long con with blackmail as her goal all along. She demands such a sizeable sum for the code to her valuable camera phone that it would “blow a hole in the wealth of the nation.”

At this point, Irene Adler has won. She’s literally and figuratively beaten Sherlock Holmes repeatedly at his games of deduction and intrigue. She’s planned for and obviated every contingency. Adler is the only woman to arouse Sherlock’s sexual and intellectual interest all because she proved to be better than him. Adler masterfully manipulates the emotions of a man who cannot understand how and why people feel, a man who seems incapable of anything but his own selfish pursuits. Her problematic confessions of interest in Sherlock despite her sexual orientation are negated in light of her schemes.

Unfortunately, this is where it all goes to shit.

Just as Mycroft is giving his begrudging praise of Adler’s plot (“the dominatrix who brought a nation to its knees”), Sherlock reveals that he took Adler’s pulse and observed her dilated pupils when interacting with him. He deduces her base sentiment has influenced her into making the passcode more than random, into making it, instead, “the key to her heart.”

Sherlocked…get it? Get it? Snore.

With that simple, inane phrase, Adler is undone. Sherlock has broken into her hard drive and her heart. Depicting a lesbian character truly falling in love with a man is a complete invalidation of her sexual identity. Not only that, but it has larger implications that are damaging and regressive. It advances the notion that lesbians are a myth, that all women can fall in love with men if given the right circumstances.

Having a female opponent who is more cunning than Sherlock ultimately lose due to her emotions also implies that women are incapable of keeping their emotions in check. Sherlock insists that her “sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.” While he can detach from his emotions, she cannot, and thus he will always be better than her at the so-called game. Not only that, but this emotion versus reason dichotomy further reinforces the destructive gender binary that assigns certain traits to men and others to women, giving privilege to those assigned to men. Even Adler’s seductiveness, her cunning, her manipulation of the Holmes brothers, these characteristics are coded as female. Adler even enlists the aid of the male Jim Moriarty with the implicit reasoning that he is smarter, slicker, and more capable of handling the Holmes brothers.

Irene Adler must make her way in the world as a sex worker who deals in secrets. (Remind you of Miss Scarlet from Clue at all?) Capitalizing on sex and thriving on the power dynamics inherent in sex (especially heterosexual sex, in which we know Adler engages) are attributes generally assigned to women even though they are fabrications. Having to engage in sexual activity for money does not give women power. It, instead, forces women to exploit themselves and conform to a regulated form of femininity as well as other people’s sexual desires and fantasies (regardless of what the woman herself wants, likes, or doesn’t like). Considering the appalling number of rapes each year, each day, each hour, we also know that power dynamics (from a hetero standpoint) don’t truly favor women. Though the episode doesn’t get into it, presumably Adler is finally cashing in on all her secrets in order to make a better life for herself, a life in which she does not have to sell her body to survive.

When Sherlock outwits Adler, he forces the dominatrix to beg for her life, which is worth little without her secrets. Though he feigns indifference, he ends up finding her after she’s gone into hiding and been captured by terrorists in Karachi. He then saves her from a beheading and falsifies her death in a completely untraceable way.

It’s poignant that Sherlock holds the sword over Adler’s neck, choosing whether she lives or dies.

At the end of the episode, Sherlock stands before a window chuckling to himself about how handily he settled the whole scandal with The Woman. He doesn’t only best her at their game of wit, but he debases and de-claws her. Divesting her of all her power, all her secrets, Irene Adler is completely at his mercy and must to be rescued like a damsel in distress or, worse, like a naughty little girl who’s gotten in over her head and must be dug out by her patriarch.

Despite the frequent declaration that “things are better for women now,” it’s hard to ignore that a story written in 1891 created a larger space for a woman to be strong, smart, and to escape. It’s also hard to ignore that Sherlock doesn’t just outwit Adler, he systematically dismantles all her power and only then does he graciously allow her to live. We can wish the last ten minutes of the episode had been cut, allowing for an ending in keeping with the original story, an ending that empowered a woman as one of Sherlock’s most formidable foes. A potentially more fruitful wish would be that Irene Adler returns in future seasons, stronger and more prepared to play the game against Sherlock Holmes, a game we can only hope she will win the next time around.

———-

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.

2013 Golden Globes Week: ‘The Newsroom’: Misogyny 2.0

I am a great man.

Written by Leigh Kolb

During the first episode of HBO’s The Newsroom, news anchor Will McAvoy (Jeff Daniels) delivers a rousing monologue about why America is not the “greatest country in the world.” He renders the crowd of college students speechless as he lashes out at the “sorority girl” who asked the question, bashing America’s current “WORST-period-GENERATION-period-EVER-period.” Soft piano music plays in the background as he laments America’s past greatness:

“…We reached for the stars, and we acted like men. We aspired to intelligence; we didn’t belittle it; it didn’t make us feel inferior. We didn’t identify ourselves by who we voted for in the last election, and we didn’t scare so easy. And we were able to be all these things and do all these things because we were informed. By great men, men who were revered.” (emphasis added)

Most of the speech is eloquent, and will have audiences of all political persuasions nodding in agreement (as they should–American exceptionalism is misguided).

What the audience of college students can’t see, and what no one seems to focus on, is the fact that Will, in all of his “great men” bravado, got this idea from a woman.

I’m not sure if Aaron Sorkin, The Newsroom‘s creator and writer, got the memo either. In “How to Write an Aaron Sorkin Script, by Aaron Sorkin,” by Aaron Sorkin in GQ, AARON SORKIN (in case you missed it) writes:

“A student asks what makes America the world’s greatest country, and Will dodges the question with glib answers. But the moderator keeps needling him until…snap.”

In reality, Will sees what he thinks is an hallucination of MacKenzie McHale (Emily Mortimer) in the audience. As he struggles to answer the question, she writes him a prompt and holds it up:

“IT’S NOT. BUT IT CAN BE.”

Then he launches into his “great men” manifesto, and the story begins.

IT WAS HER IDEA!

Much has been written about the “hostile” misogyny of The Newsroom (see here, here, here and here), and rightfully so.

While all of the characters are flawed, Will is a hero, but the female characters are incompetent, clumsy and hysterical. Will goes on the air stoned, is condescending toward dates, tricks MacKenzie into thinking he was going to propose to her years ago, changes MacKenzie’s contract to allow him to be able to fire her every week, but he is our good guy, our hero.

The women? Again, critics have been deconstructing the show’s misogyny from its inception, but the women are unbelievable. Will’s ex-girlfriend and new executive producer MacKenzie is especially baffling. She has returned to America after reporting in Afghanistan and Iraq for two years to serve as the executive producer of News Night. She’s a well-respected reporter and producer, but throughout the first season she consistently unravels into a heap of one-dimensional stereotypes. Is it believable that an esteemed journalist doesn’t understand how to work email? That she doesn’t know anything about economics?

MacKenzie frequently has emotional breakdowns in front of her staff.

It doesn’t make sense. Unless you’re Aaron Sorkin–then this is who women are. They are the flighty associate producer who mixes up the state Georgia and country Georgia and writes “LOL” on a funeral card. They are the gorgeous woman with a PhD in economics who is only convinced to anchor after being seduced by the Gucci wardrobe. They are the women who think an important news tip is a pick-up line, don’t understand the acronym or are too preoccupied with being jealous to get the news (thank goodness there were men to decode the message). They are the women who love Sex and the City and blow up if Valentine’s Day doesn’t go their way. They are purveyors of gossip, and love reality TV.

Maggie earned her position at News Night by being promoted accidentally before McHale promotes her for being “loyal.”

Will has flaws, of course. However, he is consistently portrayed as competent and heroic.

After Maggie’s (Alison Pill) roommate is a guest on News Night and goes on a tangent about abortion rights (which would have been a welcome conversation had it made any sense), her boutique is emblazoned with “Baby Killer” graffiti. Will literally walks out of the steam of the streets to go comfort her. It was was an overly dramatic visual reminder that he is a hero–in fact, he is a “great man.”

“Don’t worry. I got this.”

If Sorkin’s sexism isn’t clear enough in his writing, an interview with The Globe and Mail serves as a persuasive character study. He refers to his interviewer as “Internet girl,” and tells her:

“I think I would have done very well, as a writer, in the forties. I think the last time America was a great country was then, or not long after. It was before Vietnam, before Watergate.”

There it is. Greatness was a time before women’s liberation and before the civil rights movement. And while I’m sure he wouldn’t admit to meaning that, there is clear white male American privilege and hubris that allows someone to truly believe that America was greatest in the 1940s.

In the final episode of the season, Will ends up hiring the “sorority girl” from the beginning (after accusing her of ruining his life) and telling her she is what makes America the greatest country. He learns that seeing MacKenzie in the audience wasn’t his imagination–she was there with the prompts. She shows him the signs, and he says, “It was you?” She says,

“No, it was you, Billy. I was just producing.”

How unfortunate. His defining moment was prompted by women, yet he finishes with all of the power, even claiming or being given the power from their own contributions. Of course an audience of a news program only sees the glory of the anchor, not the leg work of the producers. But when a show revolves around the behind-the-scenes work of a news program, it’s disheartening and infuriating that MacKenzie–who prompts Will’s monologue and remakes News Night–is the fool, and Will gets all the glory for “civilizing” America.

It’s easy to laud the accomplishments of “great men” if you’re so sure that you are one yourself (Will McAvoy and Aaron Sorkin certainly do). And while the show features good acting and interesting critiques of media and almost-current events, it’s hard to fully appreciate all of that through the cloud of self-importance.

Is The Newsroom the best dramatic television series?

It’s not. And unless Sorkin quickly figures out his issues with women, it can’t be.

—–

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

2013 Golden Globes Week: The Evolution of ‘The Big Bang Theory’

Kunal Nayyar, Johnny Galecki, Jim Parsons, Simon Helberg, Kaley Cuoco

Written by Rachel Redfern.

The Big Bang Theory, the show that legitimizes the nerd in all of us and tickles that small (or large) part of us that gets the Star Trek jokes. The writers of the show are like geeky unicorns who can finally tell that nerdy joke you’ve been trying for years and who make you smile with superiority when you manage to understand one of the many scientific concepts thrown around.

For the second time, The Big Bang Theory has been nominated for a Golden Globe award in Best Television Comedy Series. This is also the second Best Actor in a Television Series-Comedy or Musical nomination for Jim Parsons, the hilarious actor who plays Dr. Sheldon Cooper, an award that he won back in 2011. Similarly, Johnny Galecki was nominated for the same award in 2012.

Instead of just being another rendition of ‘Friends’ and ‘How I Met Your Mother,’ The Big Bang Theory has a unique foundation in its scientist main characters. The main characters Leonard Hofstadter (Johnny Galecki) and Sheldon Cooper (Jim Parsons) are brilliant, but struggle socially, embodying the traditional nerd stereotype in their love of science fiction shows, fantasy card games, comic book mania, and gamer lifestyle. In the typical sitcom, these kinds of characters are usually background extras that provide the comedic situation for a bad date; while definitely quirky, each of The Big Bang Theory characters’ intelligence and desperate need for affection provide the necessary comedic relief.

The show’s contrasting use of pop culture and advanced scientific concepts is engaging and is augmented by guest appearances from Star Trek alums LeVar Burton, Will Wheaton, and a voice-over by the unparalleled Leonard Nimoy, as well as scientific celebrities Stephen Hawking and Neil DeGrasse Tyson, to name a few.

However, despite the unique nature of the show and it’s legitimately hilarious dialogue there are problematic elements to The Big Bang Theory and it’s a problem I’ve mentioned before: the use of stereotypes. Stereotypes are obviously an important part of comedy; the stereotype is a relatable way to demonstrate a familiar funny situation (or an unfamiliar one since I know few people as smart and neurotic as Sheldon Cooper). However, the stereotypes used in The Big Bang Theory often pigeon-hole women who aren’t physically appealing into socially awkward nerds with latent lesbian tendencies and traditionally beautiful women into uneducated sluts with bad taste in men.

Kaley Cuoco plays Penny, the third main character on The Big Bang Theory, who is a beautiful, young waitress and a bit of an airhead. There are a few disturbing moments on the show when Penny is condescended to by the male characters and is given lines to reflect an “I’m hot but stupid” mentality. Now, this isn’t to say that there aren’t some people in the world who are probably like this, but perhaps it wouldn’t be so noticeable on The Big Bang Theory if it wasn’t used so often with it’s female characters.

Kunal Nayyar, Melissa Rauch, Simon Helberg, Jim Parsons, Mayim Bialik, Johnny Galecki, Kaley Cuoco

In the first three seasons it’s especially noticeable as all of Penny’s beautiful friends are given similar characteristics, as are the beautiful women that the boys date. Even Bernadette (Melissa Rauch), Howard Wolowitz’s fiancé, who has a Ph.D in microbiology, is often typecast as an airhead who doesn’t understand a common sense principle as well as the boys.

Perhaps this is a good transition into the sexist mess that was the early Howard Wolowitz character. One of Sheldon and Leonard’s close friends, for the first four seasons Howard played the role of a disgusting, probably should be on a sex offender list somewhere, horny aerospace engineer. His goal was to get laid and so he lied to women, hired prostitutes, chased them down in a park, and was in general, completely repugnant for laughs. While the character has improved since the introduction of the Bernadette character and their marriage, for the first four seasons, Howard’s character ran rampant through the show, completely unchecked and without any repercussions for his behavior. If anything, there was a congratulatory sense to his actions, as if him hiring a prostitute and going back to his old ways of disrespecting women after a small breakup was something the audience should be sympathetic toward.

Howard’s character displays what I like to call the ‘Mad Men Principle:’ is a show sexist because it portrays sexist situations, or is it instead brilliantly self-aware and exposing sexism? In the case of Mad Men I would argue that yes, it is self-aware and exposing the massive amounts of sexism that was commonplace in the 1960’s. Does the same hold true for The Big Bang Theory?

I would say that in the early years of the show, no, it was sexist. For instance, take the episode “The Killer Robot Instability,” during this episode the sexually rapacious and unethical Howard Wolowitz says something incredibly inappropriate, wildly sexual and completely disrespectful to Penny for about the millionth time, yet when she tells him off, she’s the one who has to apologize for being rude. Despite the fact that Penny has now put up with Howard’s constant pick-up lines and overt sexual come-ons, when she finally stands up for herself and informs him that his behavior is inappropriate, she is the one in the wrong; this action validates Wolowitz’s inappropriate behavior and paves the way for him to continue being disgusting without consequences.

Or again, how Wolowitz treats his mother badly and demands that his girlfriend and wife cook and clean and care for him: the lovely Bernadette looks confused by his constant insistence that she do so, but continues to participate in his illusions about how she’s going to behave.

However, the show has gotten better the past few seasons; the characters feel more well-rounded, there are fewer jokes at Penny’s expense, and the “quick, try to bone every woman in sight” attitude from Wolowitz has subsided since his involvement with the Bernadette character. In fact, there was a moment of acknowledgment and apology for his past behavior in season five, an act of redemption that has put the show on the good side of the ‘Mad Men Principle’ for me.

Simon Helberg, Jim Parsons, Johnny Galecki, Kunal Nayyar

In fact, the season four episode, “The Roommate Transmogrification,” started a clever role reversal featuring Wolowitz and Bernadette as she is offered a high-paying job at a pharmaceutical company. This job will make Bernadette the main ‘breadwinner’ in their relationship and spawns a situation where Bernadette treats him like a trophy wife. Similarly, in season five’s “The Shiny Trinket Maneuver,” Bernadette tells Wolowitz that she’s not sure she wants children, a problem that’s resolved by her compromise to have children if Wolowitz will stay home with them so she can continue her career. It’s obvious that this compromise is unacceptable to him, a fact that I appreciated since it was automatically assumed in the episode (as it so often is in life) that it’s the wife’s duty to give up her career and stay home with her children.

It seems glaringly obvious to make this point about a show who’s title references evolution, but the great evolution and development of The Big Bang Theory makes it, in my opinion, a well-thought out and intelligent sitcom. I’m hopeful that this deserving show will win a golden globe this year and that I’ll continue to laugh like the giant geek I am at every brilliant Star Trek joke that Sheldon Cooper makes.

—

Rachel Redfern has an MA in English literature, where she conducted research on modern American literature and film and its intersection, however she spends most of her time watching HBO shows, traveling, and blogging and reading about feminism.

‘Once Upon a Time,’ Women Were Friends

Mary Margaret (Ginnifer Goodwin), Ashley (Jessy Schram), and Ruby (Meghan Ory) enjoy a girls’ night out

Written by Lady T.

Once Upon a Time, last year’s big ABC hit now in its second season, is like Lost with fairy tale characters. Created by two former Lost writers, Once Upon a Time is also a show about strangers in a strange land, with only a few key characters aware of the world’s rich history. Both shows combine flashbacks and present-day stories to portray how characters have changed over time. Both shows slowly reveal bits and pieces of the mythology and backstory in a non-chronological fashion. Both shows combine fantastical situations with real-life emotions, and emphasize the importance of community.

There is one way, however, where Once Upon a Time is far superior to Lost: its portrayal of female friendships. As the show becomes more complex in its mythology and introduces more characters, we see even more positive interactions among women.

One of the first relationships we’re introduced to is the strange friendship between Emma Swan (Jennifer Morrison) and Mary Margaret Blanchard (Ginnifer Goodwin). Their friendship is a little unusual because Mary Margaret is, in fact, Snow White with an altered memory, and Emma’s mother. (Mary Margaret/Snow has been frozen in time while Emma has not, which explains why the mother and daughter are the same age.) They strike up a friendship when Emma moves to the town of Storybrooke at the request of her biological son, Henry. Neither woman believes Henry’s fantastical tales about every person in Storybrooke being a fairy tale character, but they quickly grow to like each other. Mary Margaret provides Emma with a home when she needs it, they discuss their failed relationships with men, and when the town turns against Mary Margaret when she is accused of murder, Emma alone continues to defend her.

Now that the spell on Storybrooke has been broken, Emma and Snow are aware of each other’s identities. Snow’s maternal instincts have kicked in, and she is much more protective of Emma, but neither woman has forgotten their previous bond. Their mother-daughter relationship is now on even firmer ground because of the friendship they established before the spell was broken, and watching them rediscover each other has been a heartwarming joy to watch.

Mother and daughter, together again (Jennifer Morrison and Goodwin)

Still, it’s no surprise that Snow White is able to have a good relationship with her daughter, because she has a history of valuing her friendships with women. Several flashbacks on Once Upon a Time have shown that Snow has a casual but supportive friendship with Cinderella (Jessy Schram), and a deep and fulfilling friendship with Red Riding Hood (Meghan Ory). When Once Upon a Time throws a twist in the traditional fairy tale and reveals that Red and the Big Bad Wolf are, in fact, the same person, Snow supports her friend through her changes and doesn’t judge her for her wolf side. Red, for her part, helps Snow in her quest to rescue Prince Charming. (Another cool thing about Once Upon a Time? The women rescue the men just as often as the men rescue the women.)

Red, for her part, is also loyal to Cinderella’s Storybrooke counterpart, Ashley (see what they did there, with the naming?) While Snow and Emma are briefly trapped in the enchanted forest, Red quickly bonds with Belle (Emilie de Ravin), helping her ease the transition into a more steady, normal life. Red may be separated from her bestie, but she still makes new friends.

BFFs for life (Goodwin and Ory)

Perhaps the best example of the complex female relationships on the show can be found in the first part of this sophomore season, where four women traveled through the forest on a quest together. Two new characters, Princess Aurora (Sarah Bolger) and Mulan (Jamie Chung). The women, at first, are rivals who are both in love with Prince Philip, but after a wraith sucks out his soul, they quickly bond in a shared goal to punish the people who let the wraith into their world – Snow and Emma.

The outlook is bleak for this new friendship, as Mulan and Aurora first see Snow and Emma as enemies, but this changes very quickly. Aurora soon understands that Snow is not at fault for what happened to her beloved Philip, and the women find common ground, as they have both been victims of the terrible Sleeping Curse. The mother-daughter team and Aurora/Mulan trek across the forest, with different goals that sometimes clash with each other – Snow and Emma want to return to Storybrooke, and Mulan wants to keep Aurora safe – but in the end, they all succeed by working together.

Forget Philip – I ship THIS (Sarah Bolger and Jamie Chung)

The quest across the forest was satisfying to me on so many different levels. I loved seeing four women travel together as a group. I loved that Aurora and Mulan’s love for the same man bonded them together instead of tearing them apart (though, to be honest, I’d rather see the two women as a couple at this point). I loved that each woman had different ways of contributing to the mission – Snow and Mulan through fighting skills and physical dexterity, Emma through strategizing and working with the enemy (the disturbingly sexy Captain Hook), and Aurora through communication in the netherworld. I loved that their conflicts were organic to the characters and situations, not stereotypical catfights among competitive women.

Most of all, I loved that Once Upon a Time took characters from different fairy tales and classic stories, characters who have traditionally lived in male-centric stories with female villains, and made them discover complex and varied female bonds. They find strength in themselves and with each other.

The trek across the forest is now over, and I’m happy to see Snow/Emma reunited with their family, but I hope this isn’t the end of female bonding in Once Upon a Time. I hope and trust that the writers are only going to show more examples of women interacting positively with other women.


Princesses, doin’ it for themselves…

Lady T is a writer and aspiring comedian with two novels, a play, and a collection of comedy sketches in progress. She hopes to one day be published and finish one of her projects (not in that order). You can find more of her writing at The Funny Feminist, where she picks apart entertainment and reviews movies she hasn’t seen.