Consent – Bitch Flicks

Rape, Consent and Race in Marvel’s ‘Jessica Jones’

Marvel’s ‘Jessica Jones’ is the latest, best example of white feminist fiction: excellent on sexism, terrible on racism.

This guest post is written by Cate Young and originally appeared at her site BattyMamzelle. It is cross-posted with permission.

Trigger warning for discussion of rape and rape culture.

Marvel’s Jessica Jones is the latest, best example of white feminist fiction: excellent on sexism, terrible on racism. There are a lot of great things about this series that speak directly to the ills that women face on a daily basis. Kilgrave, the central villain, is chillingly terrifying, specifically because the only difference between him and your garden variety abuser is his total power to enact his will. The examination of male entitlement in ways both large and small (by contrasting Kilgrave and Simpson for example) are excellent and poignant. But as I watched the 13 episode first season, I was struck by how callously black people’s lives were treated on the show, rendered into convenient plot devices in service of the white female protagonist’s character development. As a black woman viewing the show, it was easy to see that the active pursuit of liberation from abuse was not a struggle that this show believes includes me (an ongoing struggle for Marvel). Ironically, the best parts of the show are its treatment with its villain, while the worst are its treatments with its female anti-heroine.

While I do have several critiques of the show, there were a number of things that I thought were handled exceptionally well. Firstly, this is a show driven by women about the fears and terrors that women must navigate in the world shrunk down to a micro-level, enabling us an intimate look at the various levels of abuse women routinely endure. The contrast between Kilgrave and Simpson is genius, as it helps demonstrate the full scale of abuse that men knowingly and unknowingly enact on the women around them. The two men are flip-sides of the same coin. While Kilgrave simply takes what he feels he is entitled to by means of his powers of enhanced persuasion, Simpson initially takes a less forceful but no less sinister approach, exemplified in his treatment of Trish after he realizes that Kilgrave has compelled him to murder her. As Stephanie Yang writes in a Bitch Magazine review:

The warning signs are there early on. Under Kilgrave’s control, Simpson assaults Trish inside her own apartment. Once Kilgrave’s control wears off, he’s wracked with guilt and comes back to apologize. The problem is that Trish doesn’t want Simpson’s apology; she wants him to just leave. Trish doesn’t want to be reminded that she was attacked in her own home, or feel trapped by her own high-end security system while her attacker lingers outside. But Simpson is insistent, sitting in her hallway and talking to her through the intercom. Simpson makes his apology about his needs and his absolution, not about Trish’s needs, safety or mental health. It’s entirely understandable, but it’s still wrong.

Simpson and Kilgrave certainly have different motivation for their destructive actions. But as Jessica points out, intent doesn’t matter. Their actions and consequences are what matter. That’s an important distinction that needs to be made at a time when courts and media alike dismiss many real-life cases of abuse because the abuser “couldn’t know” what they were doing was wrong. Violence is a symptom of a culture that indulges bad behavior as being inherently and unavoidably part of masculinity, or even a romantic expression of desire and protectiveness.

I would go a step further and name Simpson’s insistent apologies to Trish as outright abusive on their face, specifically because they prioritize his need for absolution over her need to heal. Trish is the victim in the situation, and yet Simpson manages to find a way to center himself in the story of this trauma. As with Kilgrave and Jessica, Simpson’s abuse is rooted not in a cartoonish hatred of women as we are often led to believe, but rather in prioritizing his own will and desires over Trish’s.

The show’s exploration of rape and consent is also spot-on. Through interaction with Kilgrave’s superhuman abilities, Jessica Jones is able to make plain text of the subtext of rape culture. In one episode, Jessica makes plain that what Kilgrave did to her was rape. She says the word and invokes it over and over, explaining to him that by revoking her ability to consent, he violated her in a profound way that he can never make up for, nullifying any “kind treatment” during that time. For Jessica (and many other victims of sexual abuse) she was raped not only when Kilgrave forced sexual consent by rendering her suggestible, but also by forcing her to display trust and affection for him against her will. We see this idea replicated when Hope demands that she be allowed to abort Kilgrave’s fetus, because “every moment it’s in me is like he’s raping me all over again.”

The other great thing about Jessica Jones is that it is a show ostensibly about rape, that never depicts a rape. It can be argued that the entire engine of the show is powered by the actions of a serial rapist with many, many victims in his wake, and yet the show never feels the need to indulge in crude depictions of trauma to demonstrate how horrifying rape is. Instead, we spend extensive time examining the fallout; following Jessica and Hope as they try to cope with being violated on such a profound level, grapple with their own feelings of guilt and culpability and make it to the other side with their faculties intact. One of the things that made Kilgrave so scary in the initial episodes was the way the memory of him haunted Jessica, always lingering at the edge of her thoughts, out of sight, but never out of mind. It masterfully depicted the way that rape trauma is a burden that doesn’t go away once the act itself is over. In a year that’s been replete with depictions of rape in television, it was refreshing to see a show tackle the true emotional weight of sexual assault without using the violation itself to titillate.

On the other hand, the treatment of people of colour in Jessica Jones is often anti-intersectional and openly anti-black. Vulture‘s year end “Best of Television” list cites the show as demonstrating “a racially diverse cast, heavy on women,” a construction that belies that for many people, diversity means “add black men and stir.” To me, it is borderline disrespectful to call the show racially diverse when the only significant, named woman of colour character is dead before the narrative begins and never speaks a word, while the black male characters are all subjected to incredible violence in service of the white female protagonist. This force frames feminist representation as the representation of white women and yet again, erases women of colour from our popular narratives.

With Reva’s character, this is especially glaring. Her death at Jessica’s hands is essentially the inciting incident of the story; the act that allows Jessica to free herself from Kilgrave’s control. Reva is fridged to motivate Jessica’s escape and eventual confrontation with Kilgrave. As Shaadi Devereaux writes in Model View Culture:

[…] One has to wonder what metaphor is offered, that she has to kill a Black woman in order to finally obtain that freedom. She must literally stop Reva Connors’ heart with a single blow in order to experience her moment of awakening, enabling her to walk away from a cis-heterosexual white male abuser. It brings to mind how white women liberate themselves from unpaid domestic labor by exploiting Black/Latina/Indigenous women, often heal their own sexual trauma by performing activism that harms WoC, and how the white women’s dollar still compares to that of WoC. Like Jessica’s liberation is only possible through the violence against Reva, we see sharp parallels with how liberatory white womanhood often interplays with the lives of WoC. Were the writers consciously aware of these parallels, or was it just the same script playing out in their heads?

It’s disappointing that the show, knowingly or not, replicates the same cycles of abuse that routinely play out within the feminist movement, by positioning violence against black women as the justified cost of white women’s liberation. Jessica eventually enacts the same cycle of abuse against Luke Cage, her main love interest. Shaadi notes:

After killing Reva, Jessica goes on to stalk Reva’s husband, Luke Cage, in a compulsive and boundary-violating cycle of guilt. She finally sleeps with him…without disclosing how she was implicated in Reva’s death. She both withholds and actively obstructs him from finding out information about his own life, so that she can continue to get what she needs intimately from him. In dealing with her own demons, Jessica violates an invulnerable Black man and lays him a blow that no other character in their universe has the power to. Was this another nod to a complex understanding of gender, race and power, or another trope surfacing in insidious ways?

The issue here is that the show does not give any indication as to whether this is commentary or trope, so we are forced to assume the latter, interpreting the text as presented to us. Jessica makes a habit of using the black men around her, in service to her own ends treating them as interchangeable and disposable, a glaring and problematic oversight given the current political climate, and the historical context of black men being subjected to undue violence for the protection of white women. Jessica’s pursuit of Luke despite her knowledge of her involvement in what we are led to believe in the most painful event of his life replicates the same disregard for his feelings that we saw Simpson demonstrate with Trish. To Jessica, her own need to be in Luke’s orbit because of her overwhelming guilt and self-loathing, supersede his right to be fully informed about the circumstances of his wife’s death, and as Tom and Lorenzo astutely write in their review:

[…] Like it or not, she has the capacity to be a bit hypocritical about Kilgrave’s abilities choosing to think that there’s actually a right way to take people’s control away from them.

And Jessica very literally takes Luke’s control away by not disclosing her involvement in Reva’s death. She takes away his ability to choose not to be with the person who murdered his wife. Later, his choice to forgive is later revoked by Kilgrave, as he is forced to reconcile with her under Kilgrave’s control. Again, the invulnerable black man’s pain is not respected, but rather toyed with and manipulated by the narrative to serve the needs of white characters. As Shaadi again points out, the pattern becomes more uncomfortable and glaring as the series continues:

When her neighbor shares how Black people are more vulnerable to others’ perceptions, it invokes not sympathy but an idea of how she can use it for her own ends. The result is several scenes where she pushes Black men into people to create a scene of chaos, using the opportunity to go unseen as she breaks the law. Instead of challenging oppressive systems directly, she uses them to get what she wants and to center her own survival. We see that she has some guilt about it, but sis willing to do it for her survival and the survival of other white characters.

These scenes demonstrate that as people marginalized along a spectrum, we often leverage violence against others for our own survival, sometimes with full awareness. But is awareness enough? Or as long as power remains unchallenged, will we always be lured by self-priority, the hierarchy of own safety and access? Our hero is willing to take on the mindcontrol of Kilgrave, but not those dangers most affecting the two most important men in her life – both Black. She intimately understands that no one will believe her, but capitalizes on the hierarchy of who has enough humanity to be believed – against other marginalized identities. She can finally walk away from the mind of her abuser, but the gravitational pull of racism is still too much.

As a black woman, I’m left to wonder, is Jessica worse than your garden variety racist for acknowledging systems of oppression only to exploit them? And on a real world level, why is this behaviour heralded by viewers as feminist when it actively takes advantage of people that the feminist movement is meant to protect?

My last issue is less a problem with this show specifically and more a general trope in fiction. I expect that very little can be done about this considering the source material, but truly abhor narratives in which a black person’s “power” is that they cannot feel pain or be hurt. It is a direct callback to very pervasive superhumanization bias and stereotypes that still exist and are perpetuated today. As I have written before about this characterization, it feeds into the idea that violence against black people is not traumatic or dangerous as they can withstand the pain, and that this ability positions them as protectors of white characters who often also do them harm. It explains why young black boys are coded by white people as much older than they are, or why they think black people feel less pain. With Luke, we see this reflected in Luke’s fight scenes as person after person escalates the violence against him to no effect. He is easily able to trounce several men at once. Earlier, we also see him take a circle saw to his abdomen in order to demonstrate his power to Jessica. Later still, we see doctors poke and prod him with needles and other penetrating devices ostensibly to save him, but the scenes only reinforce what we have already been told; nothing can hurt him, and so violence against him is justified.

In the end, I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the show. The way Jessica Jones deals with consent resonated with me on a deep level, but it also made me question why the show didn’t identify with me as a black woman, when I so easily identified with it. Hopefully in the next season we will see a more intersectional approach to the struggles that women face that treats its black characters with the same care that it affords the white women in the cast.

Cate Young is a Trinidadian freelance writer and photographer, and author of BattyMamzelle, a feminist pop culture blog focused on film, television, music, and critical commentary on media representation. Cate has a BA in Photojournalism from Boston University and is currently pursuing her MA in Mass Communications so that she can more effectively examine the symbolic annihilation of women of colour in the media and deliver the critical feminist smack down. Follow her on twitter at @BattyMamzelle.

Emotional Violence, Kink, and ‘The Duke of Burgundy’

Cynthia and Evelyn together

This guest post by Rushaa Louise Hamid appears as part of our theme week on Violent Women.

Note: The best viewing of The Duke of Burgundy is without any prior knowledge. Spoilers are contained throughout this piece.

Lesbian relationships in film often carry the burden of limited storytelling which focuses on coming out stories, pregnancy, affairs, and/or death. Peter Strickland’s The Duke of Burgundy has none of these traits. Rather it is a universal story about love and the ways in which we can be undone by it, exploring the emotional violence that can be carried by a relationship. Most importantly, unlike another film that shall not be named, The Duke of Burgundy highlights this as a failure of communication, not as an evil of kink itself. Evelyn (Chiara D’Anna) is neglectful, Cynthia is avoidant (Sidse Babett Knudsen), and these are aspects that can be found in all relationships.

In much of feminist literature from the past, kink is seen an act driven by patriarchy, with submissive women reproducing their oppressions in the bedroom and capitulating to gendered norms of women as silent and subservient. Even nowadays as the tide gradually changes, there is still a large amount of ire reserved for those who practice BDSM. Yasmin Alibhai-Brown writes in 2012, “When young women become instinctively assertive and free of gender constrictions, their liberty threatens the ‘natural’ order. So they have to be reminded of their place, taught they can never be good enough and must relearn submission.” Thus it is often hard to find films which explore serious issues in BDSM relationships without casting the assumption that the protagonists themselves are dis-empowered or damaged in some way.

The Duke of Burgundy in contrast demonstrates that submissive desires are not necessarily borne out of an instinct to please men and that acting in a role with limited power does not mean that a women actually has limited power in the relationship. In fact whilst the physical aspects of subservience we see in the film are consensual and empowering for Evelyn, it is Cynthia (the Domme) who suffers from emotional violence as both she and Evelyn accept the subordination of Cynthia’s own personal desires. This can sometimes be hard to recognise as quite as extreme as it is – indeed, in looking through reviews the level of the emotional conflict present is not addressed, instead viewed simply as lesbian love story with a kinky flair. In part this is perhaps due to the expectation that women perform the trope of martyr for love. The film though clearly presents that it is not the adopted role itself that determines the power balance within a relationship, but rather it comes about through the care of the individuals themselves.

The opening scene clouds this perception, deliberately obscuring who we can “root for.” We first see Evelyn approach the house, where she is aggressively greeted by a cold and cruel Cynthia. She is made to scrub floors and massage feet, eventually making an easily fixable mistake that results in the punishment of having her mouth urinated in. Without background information we assume that Evelyn is meek, and conforming to the past feminist conception of the submissive woman, and that Cynthia is controlled and sadistic. We are unsure throughout the scene of the degree of consent that is present. This is similar to the set-up for Secretary – of which The Duke of Burgundy has occasionally been described as the lesbian version of – where Mr. Grey belittles Lee before the two of them develop a romantic relationship; expectations have been put in place that this film will continue the cinematic trend of cold dominants learning to love. Yet once the scene cuts we see the two characters in bed together, Cynthia removing her wig and wanting to know if her performance was “too cold.”

Evelyn

We then get the opportunity to see the role-play from Cynthia’s perspective. We see her nervously preparing by guzzling water and frantically trying to memorise handwritten cards on which Evelyn has laid out every detail of the scene she wishes to enact. We see her struggling to maintain her icy composure, and suffering through back pain as she tries to maintain an upright posture. The violence is an illusion. Like the titular butterfly, Cynthia is mistaken for one type of person but is actually a completely different one.

In essence the film frames the physical act of “violence” and domination/submission as a representation of love and devotion; it is what the characters do because they want to share intimacy. This contrasts with the truer emotional violence – first with Evelyn’s increasing push of her kinks, wilfully ignoring the growing distress of Cynthia, then later with Cynthia’s violation of Evelyn’s safeword. Cynthia throughout takes on a “traditional” feminine obligation to provide support on things she is not comfortable with for love at the detriment of herself, suffering through the emotional trauma of a partner who increasingly ignores all her needs.

There are no men in this realm – everyone, down to the background characters (and even mannequins), are women. This is an interesting set-up, since even in this women-only world Cynthia cannot escape a gendered expectation of taking on the emotional burden of a relationship. On top of this, by divorcing the relationship from heterosexual narratives Strickland is allowing for more focus on Cynthia’s struggle as a dominant role-player since the character does not have to live up to the audience’s stereotype of the hyper-sexualised and commanding masculine ideal.

In a key scene, the emotional care of Cynthia contrasts with the selfishness of Evelyn. “Are you sure you’re going to be OK?” Cynthia asks having shut the heavy lid of the truck containing Evelyn tied up inside for the night. The silence panics her and so again she questions and is responded to with a sharp “Yes!” Cynthia’s legitimate need for a simple word of reassurance aren’t considered valid by her partner – instead there is an anger that Cynthia would dare break the fantasy role that Evelyn has placed her in.

Cynthia

Consent is a key aspect of BDSM, and is not just “no means no” or “yes means yes” but much more fluid and active – it requires partners to consider situations in which their lover might not feel comfortable or be physically able to speak out and so paying careful attention to body language is key. Evelyn is the true inflicter of violence in The Duke of Burgundy by ignoring these signs. If she was presented as a dominant man these acts of control would seem overt – pressuring her lover into a particular type of sexual activity, pressuring her lover to act in a particular way, pressuring her lover to dress in a particular way, ignoring her lover’s discomfort, using “I wasn’t getting what I wanted” to justify seeking things outside the relationship, and pressuring her to perform despite physical injury. Though Cynthia is making these choices too, she is also motivated by a fear that she will be abandoned if she refuses. Only in the end when Evelyn realises the sheer level of strain she has put her partner through (following Cynthia’s breakdown) does Cynthia get that reassurance that her no’s will not lead to Evelyn leaving her. Evelyn relies on Cynthia’s devotional love to continue to be egocentric and aggressive and ignores her responsibility to check in on her lover’s well-being.

In contrast to this slow drip of pressure from Evelyn, Cynthia expresses emotional violence all at once, choosing to violate their safeword on Evelyn’s birthday. The scene is aggressive and uncomfortable to sit through – by continuing through Evelyn’s cry of “pinastri” she has dragged Evelyn into a realm where her explicit consent no longer matters. Evelyn goes from a woman in charge of her sexuality to an object to be acted on, voiceless. “If only pinastri could make all our troubles go away,” Cynthia says as she presses onto her lover’s face, as if the only way the relationship can ever work is if one person is always suffering. Unfortunately this major violation is never addressed again in the film.

It is perhaps one of the best merits of The Duke of Burgundy that the resolution does not provide an escape from the duty to provide for love – rightly compromise is portrayed as an essential part of a relationship, and shifting the balance to entirely favour Cynthia would just leave the two cycling through the same mistakes and feelings of frustration. Though it is left ambiguous, with the closing scene featuring Cynthia back in her Domme persona, there is an element of confidence that these characters have learnt a little more about supporting each other. In Strickland’s world the true emotional violence is not defined as doing something you don’t want to do, but rather feeling trapped and ignored and unloved when doing something you have no interest in; it is about intent more than action. When Evelyn can grow and recognise the pain that she causes and Cynthia can articulate her needs they create a more tender relationship that can include the roles that each are willing to perform for the other, without carrying the emotional pain.

Rushaa Louise Hamid is a writer-for-hire normally located in London, UK. She enjoys politics, the issues of identity, and perfecting her Dalek impression. You can find her @thesecondrussia or more of her writing over at rulohamid.wordpress.com.

Call For Writers: Sex Positivity

Simply put, sex positivity is the notion that sex between and among adults with enthusiastic consent is healthy. Practicing sex positivity means that we don’t judge ourselves or others when it comes to sex, not the type of sex we enjoy, the number of partners we choose, or the frequency with which we engage in sexual activity.

Our theme week for September 2015 will be Sex Positivity.

Some urge critical analysis of the sex positivity movement because desire exists within our patriarchal landscape and, therefore, cannot be seen as separate or free from that oppressive force. However, it remains very difficult to even find examples of sex positivity in contemporary films and television. For example, the widely discussed film Fifty Shades of Grey showcases sex that pushes the boundaries of convention but has also been condemned as glorifying abusive masculinity. Boys Don’t Cry, on the other hand, is a film that focuses on the female pleasure of Lana (Chloë Sevigny) and the healthy sexual relationship between her and her trans* partner, Brandon (Hillary Swank). Because he is trans*, though, Brandon is tortured and murdered, underscoring the fact that we do not live in a sex positive world.

Show us examples of film and television that practice sex positivity, empowering their participants, or engage in the critical debate that questions whether sex positivity can even exist and whether or not it is compatible with feminism. Because sex positivity is complicated and nuanced, are there iterations of media that, on the surface, seem sex positive but ultimately are not?

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.

Please be familiar with our publication and look over recent and popular posts to get an idea of Bitch Flicks’ style and purpose. We encourage writers to use our search function to see if your topic has been written about before, and link when appropriate (hyperlinks to sources are welcome, as well).

The final due date for these submissions is Friday, Sept. 18, by midnight.

The Dreamers

Nymphomaniac Vol. I & II

Hysteria

Bob’s Burgers

Transparent

Spy

Kinsey

Waiting to Exhale

Secretary

Stoker

The Diary of a Teenage Girl

The 100

The To Do List

Boys Don’t Cry

Fifty Shades of Grey

Star Trek: The Next Generation

Say Anything

Masters of Sex

Ladies No. 1 Detective Agency

Duke of Burgundy

Waiting in the Wings: Why Hollywood Should Make More Comic-Based Films

Geek culture is big business. The big summer Hollywood blockbusters this year are almost exclusively drawn from comics and other science fiction, or fantasy franchises. From ‘X-Men Days of Future Past’ to ‘Guardians of the Galaxy,’ what was once a small audience has become a massive source of revenue for Hollywood. It’s also big business for the comic’s industry. The release of ‘Guardians’ sparked one of the largest sales months for comics in recorded history. This is great news for the two big players in the world of comic publishing, as they attract new audiences and new readers to their franchises. DC and Marvel have television and film media planned well into the next decade.

This is a guest post by Lisa Pavia-Higel.

Geek culture is big business. The big summer Hollywood blockbusters this year are almost exclusively drawn from comics and other science fiction, or fantasy franchises. From X-Men Days of Future Past to Guardians of the Galaxy, what was once a small audience has become a massive source of revenue for Hollywood. It’s also big business for the comic’s industry. The release of Guardians sparked one of the largest sales months for comics in recorded history. This is great news for the two big players in the world of comic publishing, as they attract new audiences and new readers to their franchises. DC and Marvel have television and film media planned well into the next decade.

This is also very good news for those who care about how women are portrayed in modern media. That may seem counter-intuitive, given that comics have long been criticized for how they depict women, and how women are treated in the industry. However, an influx of new creative talent, an enthusiastic and ever more diverse fanbase, and a host of characters with long, and complex histories have made comics a wellspring of vast potential for new and better stories. The products created based on comic books can, when done right, be far better than the average action/adventure fare and has the potential to bring more and higher quality action-oriented female roles to the big and small screen.

It’s true that the comic genre has issues with women. There are problems within the industry in how female creators and critics are treated, issues with the art styles that often objectify women’s bodies, and serious issues when women venture into spaces where geek culture is present. In a Bitch Media article, Janelle Asselin published her research on sexual harassment in the comics industry. In her survey of more than 3,600 respondents, 59 percent felt that sexual harassment was a problem in the industry and 25 percent had experienced harassment themselves. In the world of convention goers, 13 percent reported comments of a sexual nature and 8 percent reported sexual assaults while attending cons. Asselin notes that with the growing number of women attending conventions and other fan-centered events, those percentages means that more than 10,000 women in attendance at San Diego Comic Con (one of the largest comic conventions of the year) would have experienced harassment of some kind. As a comic fan, writer, and critic, Asselin knows that the industry is hostile from first-hand knowledge. In May of 2014, she criticized a Teen Titans cover on Comic Book Resource (a comic industry website) and received not only hate mail, but also rape threats. It’s clear that there are systemic issues within both the industry and among the fans. So why is Hollywood’s embrace of comic culture a good thing?

First, because the established source material hosts a slew of strong female characters. Art aside, women were superheroes in comics long before they were fighting the good fight in films or on television. The first female superhero appeared in comics in the 1940s, long before Wonder Woman came along to break TV barriers. Mainstays of current hits like the Avengers can trace their hero backstories to the 1960s when Pepper Pots and Black Widow made their debuts. Catwoman, who most recently appeared in The Dark Knight Rises first appeared in comics in 1961. While their level of agency and influence has certainly changed over the years, characters who have been appearing in comics this long have a great deal from which to draw. And their art aside, women in comics are often far stronger and wield far more power than their counterparts in action television and film. Superhero women not only pass the Bechtel test time after time in the pages of comic books, unlike the run of the mill action heroines, they rarely are saved in their own stories.

Take, for example Black Widow and Maria Hill in the aforementioned Avengers. In the film, neither woman is saved by a male character, and both are strong members of their respective teams. Now this could be because the film’s director, Joss Whedon, has long time devotion to both strong female characters and the comic genre. He’s reported that the second Avengers film will host four female lead characters and will feature them as strong members of the team.

So from where do bad superheroine portrayals come? The problems often arise when these characters, who all have extensive and complex backstories, are translated by those who really don’t understand them. For example, in June David Goyer who will be bringing the new Justice League film to life, was asked what he would do with a long running character, She-Hulk, in a film. His answer was that this character was probably created so that geeky men could fantasize about her having sex with the Hulk, and that she was a “green pornstar.” The reaction among fans was immediate. Comic fans and producers responded to the quote calling out Goyer. Even Marvel magnate and geek guru Stan Lee responded to the controversy defending She-Hulk’s background and personal agency. Even though she bears a name derived from a male character, they laud her feminist values and strength as something they love about the series. She would make an excellent female lead, but this producer could not see beyond the way she was drawn. It’s clear that this producer didn’t take the time to really appreciate the legacy that comics offer for their strong female characters.

Moreover many studio producers just don’t think women can carry action films. This idea is being systematically disproven and it seems like even Hollywood producers are beginning to see the potential of tapping these franchises. According to an article in Time Magazine, Sony pictures will be expanding its Spider Man franchise to include a female super hero and Marvel studio president Kevin Feige said that a female-led Marvel film would happen “sooner rather than later.” This could be in response to new data that says in the last year, films with female leads made more money than those without a strong female presence.

There seems to be reason for optimism here. The new art for Wonder Woman’s role in the Batman vs. Superman film shows a short, but reasonably costumed with Gal Gadot’s stance powerful and strong in the middle of the frame. No butt shot, nor over the shoulder look. We can only hope her characterization will be as good as the image seems to indicate. Marvel also announced at San Diego Comic Con that Thor, a key role in the Avengers universe would be taken over by a women (not for the first time) and that the transformation would be a long, non-temporary story arc. While many critics were unhappy with the choice, wondering why they wouldn’t create a new female character, it presents even more interesting opportunities within the hero context.

While there is cause for excitement among female fans about seeing old favorites finally make it to big screen, many are more excited to see some of the work being produced by some of the newer talent in the industry. Beyond the world of the Avengers, Batman and Superman, there is an exciting cast of characters ripe for film or television adaptation. A new renaissance is happening within comics that is producing a greater variety of characters and characterizations. From Kelly Sue DeConnick and Dexter Soy’s Captain Marvel who has inspired an entire fandom called the Carol Corps, to Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples’ Saga series which was, until the release of Rocket Raccoon #1, the best-selling comic on the market, a greater diversity of writers and artists are making new characters that Hollywood could, and should draw from.

These titles are bringing new fans and a greater female audience, and they are active, excited, and involved in their media. The aforementioned Carol Corps that formed around the new Captain Marvel specializes in body positive, family friendly cosplay, and produces Carol wear for those fighting cancer. Another online campaign, I am Comics was created in response to Janelle A.’s experience over the Teen Titans debacle, and the ConSent campaign was created at the San Diego Comic Con to help those engaging in cosplay to feel safer in that context by raising awareness that cosplay (dressing up as a character) does not give anyone permission to engage in harassment.

The efforts to make comics a more welcoming place is also coming from the industry. In the aftermath of Asselin’s harassment, the hosting website, Comic Book Resource responded by resetting their forums and publishing a new policy on harassment and online conduct.

No genre is perfect, and comic books and graphic novels certainly have their problems. However, as art primarily created for the male gaze slowly changes, and as a greater diversity of writers and artists break into the world of comics, there is a great potential for dynamic and exciting storytelling that does what all art should: challenge, excite, and entertain us. The cast of film-worthy women continues to grow, and as they wait in the wings all we can do is continue to demand that their stories be told, and when they are, to vote with our dollars sending a message to Hollywood that their time has come.

Recommended Reading

If you are interested in trying out some comics with great female characters:

Fearless Defenders–A short-lived series about an all-female team.

Captain Marvel—In Pursuit of Flight: The first trade paperback in the series.

Lumberjanes–This series has been compared with Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Saga–the number one best-selling series which tells the story of an interspecies war and a child born of two sides. NSFW!

Recommended Viewing

The Talking Comics Vlog on the Geek and Sundry Channel features great titles to get you started.

Black Widow is More than Just a Pretty Face

The Avengers: Strong Female Characters Failing the Bechdel Test

Lisa Pavia-Higel is a community college educator living in St. Louis, Missouri. When she is not raising her 3-year-old geeklet she writes, performs with an all-female stage combat troupe, and is currently teaching herself to sew, badly. She has also mastered the art of playing video games while yelling at the screen about the stereotypes present within them, which gives her feminist husband and gaming partner no end of joy. Follow her on Twitter @lisamariepavia

‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ and Consent Issues (Seasons 1-2)

Sarah Michelle Gellar as Buffy Summers

Written by Lady T.

A year ago, I began writing a series called “Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Consent Issues,” looking at specific episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer that included a major plot point related to consent, rape culture, and sexual violence.

What I found was illuminating. The show explored sexual violence, misogyny, and rape culture in a number of episodes. Some of these episodes shone a light on problematic aspects of our society, while others perpetuated rape culture–and some managed to do both at the same time.

Here is a roundup of the posts analyzing specific episodes from seasons one and two of Buffy the Vampire Slayer:

Episode 1.06, “The Pack”: Xander, possessed by the spirit of a predatory animal, attempts to rape Buffy.


Xander (Nicholas Brendon) attacks Buffy while possessed

“Xander isn’t accountable for what he said or did under the hyena possession. I think unintentional, accidental possession by demonic spirits is about as extenuating a circumstance you can get … I do, however, think that the attempted assault scene reveals something less than pleasant about Xander’s character. No, he would never attack Buffy when he was in his right mind, but he does believe that she’s attracted to dangerous men–that if he were dangerous and mean, she would be attracted to him.”

Episode 2.05, “Reptile Boy”: Buffy and Cordelia are offered as human sacrifices in part of a college fraternity’s ritual.

Buffy and Cordelia (Charisma Carpenter) wait in terror for the frat boy demon to arise

“Even before this scene, we knew that Richard was a bad guy and that the Delta Zeta Kappa guys were up to no good, but we were also led to believe that Buffy’s date, Tom, was the nice guy of the group. We think he’s the only good one of a group of potential rapists, and when he pulls Richard off of Buffy’s unconscious body, our initial inference is confirmed–until we see that Tom is just as bad as the rest, if not worst of all. He was only pretending to be nice to make Buffy trust him. The message is clear: even guys who pretend to be nice and unassuming can be dangerous, and you can’t assume that a self-deprecating ‘nice’ guy is actually a good guy.”

Episode 2.07, “Lie to Me,” and Episode 2.10, “What’s My Line? Part 2”: Angel admits to his former torture of Drusilla, and she takes revenge on him.

Drusilla (Juliet Landau) begins her torture of Angel (David Boreanaz)

“I’ve often thought that Drusilla is the most tragic character on Buffy, and that’s largely because of her relationship with Angel. I think her obsession with Angel is a commentary on molestation and Stockholm Syndrome. I’m not sure how old she was when Angel and Darla turned her into a vampire, but these episodes and a few flashbacks on Angel indicate that she was pretty young, maybe on the verge of turning eighteen. However old she was, the point is that she was ‘pure, sweet, and chaste’–qualities that made Angel obsessed with her, made him want to corrupt her innocence.”

Episode 2.13, “Surprise”: Buffy and Angel have sex, even though Buffy is still under the age of consent.

Buffy and Angel, shortly after escaping death and before sleeping together

“Even though Buffy and Angel sleeping together is wrong from a legal perspective, I have a hard time categorizing this incident as rape. Defining it as rape would rob Buffy of her agency in making that choice to sleep with Angel. She knew exactly what she was doing in the heat of the moment. She wasn’t under the influence of anything, she wasn’t hesitating for a second, and she wanted it to happen … At the same time, Buffy is barely seventeen, and Angel is two hundred and forty. Angel having sex with Buffy at her age and her level of experience is … well, it’s a little gross.”

Episode 2.16, “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered”: Xander casts a love spell on Cordelia to get back at her for breaking up with him, but the spell affects every woman in town except Cordelia.


Xander walks down the hallway with every girl in Sunnydale High ogling him

“Xander temporarily making Cordelia fall in love with him just so he can break her heart is gross, cruel, and inexcusable (even though I do empathize with his hurt feelings). But imagine if he had wanted Cordelia to love him forever, if the love spell had worked and was permanent, that he slept with her, married her, spent his life with her, all while her feelings for him weren’t real. A temporary love spell for the purpose of revenge is stupid and malicious, but a permanent love spell inspired by ‘pure’ intentions is a much, much bigger violation of consent and autonomy. Yet the second of the two would be considered more ‘romantic’ in our society.”

Episode 2.20, “Go Fish”: Buffy is offered as a “prize” to the members of the school’s swim team.


Buffy worries more for her reputation than her safety

“This episode has a lot of victim-blaming and slut-shaming. Buffy is the one who is attacked, but she’s blamed for dressing inappropriately. She defended herself–something that assault victims are always encouraged to do–but only further incriminates herself in the process. Sure, Cameron does have a broken nose, and Buffy doesn’t appear to be injured, but his word is automatically taken over hers. He’s worth more to the school administration. He’s a successful athlete who brings acclaim and honor to the school, and she’s a violent troublemaker. Buffy’s not the ‘right’ kind of victim.”

After analyzing this batch of episodes from the first two seasons, I noticed a few common threads.

1. In two cases, Xander is an “accidental” predator. The circumstances in “The Pack” were truly not Xander’s fault, as he never intended to become possessed by a hyena. The love spell in “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered,” on the other hand, was entirely his doing, even though he did not intend to use the spell to violate anyone’s physical consent.

2. Buffy was a victim or intended victim in most of the episodes. She was a target of Xander’s hyena-possessed lust, chosen to be a human sacrifice, offered up to the swim team as a prize, and the first girl to fall under Xander’s love spell. The strongest girl in the world still faces victimization whenever she turns around.

What are the implications when one of the main male characters (and one of Buffy’s best friends) is shown to be an “accidental” predator? And what are the implications when our protagonist, a butt-kicking young woman, is a common target for misogynistic attacks?

(Hint: these questions are open-ended for a reason, kids. Give your answers in the comments. Extra credit to those who show their work!)

Lady T is a writer with two novels, a screenplay, 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.