Emmys – Bitch Flicks

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

Check out what we’ve been reading this week–and let us know what you’ve been reading/writing in the comments!

Emmys Rundown: The Good, the Bad, the Gender Disparity by Sara Stewart at Women and Hollywood

Women Make Up Only 26% Of Nominees for 66th Primetime Emmy Awards by Rachel Larris at Women’s Media Center

Girls on Film: 5 ways movies can be as diverse as television by Monika Bartyzel at The Week

Margaret Atwood has faith in Hollywood by Doug Camilli at The Gazette

Watch: “Women in Refrigerators” Supercut: Female Characters Killed to Give Male Characters Depth by Laura Berger at Women and Hollywood

Did Lois Lowry Sell Out Your Childhood? by Andé Morgan at Bitch Media

Film Adaptation of Opera Classic ‘La Boheme’ w/ All-Black Cast Begins Production… by Tambay A. Obenson at Shadow and Act

This is the Summer of Lesbian Web Series by Anna Miller at Bitch Media

Film 4 Justice: Join The Movement! by ReBecca Theodore-Vachon at Film Fatale NYC

Black Feminists Respond to Ferguson by Miriam Zoila Pérez at Colorlines

What have you been reading/writing this week? Tell us in the comments!

‘Breaking Bad’: Postmodern Redemption and the Satisfying End of Desperate Masculinity

Because Jesse doesn’t fall into the same masculine megalomania that Walt does, he prevails. He suffers–god, does he suffer–but he is not sacrificed. He peels out of that Nazi compound in that old El Camino, tearing through the metal gates and sobbing and laughing his way away from his life as a prisoner of toxic masculinity–first Walt’s, then Jack and Todd’s.

Breaking Bad finale promo.

Written by Leigh Kolb

At the end of Breaking Bad, Walt slips away into death. Badfinger’s “Baby Blue” plays and the camera pulls up, as police are tentatively swarming his body. The lyrics mirror Walt’s love for his craft–for his “Baby Blue” that he has returned to–but the line, “Did you really think I’d do you wrong?” wasn’t from Walt’s point of view. Instead, Vince Gilligan was showing he’d fulfilled his promise to us, the viewers.

Ultimately, Gilligan did not do us wrong. Many critics were squirmy about how neat and tidy the end was, but it worked.

After “Ozymandias” aired, I was pleased and comfortable with my hatred for Walt. I was done. I would not be a “bad fan”–a “Todd.” In thinking about the father worship that surrounds Walt, I kept repeating, “Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I’m through.”

And then “Granite State” happened. I was pulled back in to Walt’s desperate humanity, and the pity and aching sympathy that I thought I’d banished came flooding back.

Dammit, good writing!

I didn’t know what to expect from the series finale. I refused to read any grandiose predictions. I’d heard that Gilligan was telling interviewers that the ending was “satisfying,” and that’s all I needed. My only wish was that Jesse wouldn’t die, but I was wide open for anything else.

Walt sets out to undo some of what he’s done.

As uncomfortable as I was with my quiet, uncontrollable root-for-Walt urges after “Granite State,” the finale, “Felina,” let me reconcile my disgust and my sympathy. To the outside world, Walt’s final acts were cruel, manipulative, and dangerous. He’s ensured that Flynn will get the remaining money (which Flynn doesn’t want) by, as far as Gretchen and Elliot know, holding them hostage and threatening their lives. He admits to Skyler that he’s done everything for himself. He poisons Lydia. He kills the Nazis and dies in a meth lab (by his “Precious,” Gilligan said). Willa Paskin writes at Slate, “Imagine the news story: ‘Druglord Heinsenberg found in Neo-Nazi compound: Dozens dead, booby-trapped car found on premises.’ Walt would have loved that.”

We can see all of that, but we are also focused in on Walt’s point of view throughout (a brilliant analysis on NPR describes how point of view and camera angles have encouraged us to root for Walt). We know that those hitmen were Badger and Skinny Pete with laser pointers. We know Walt saved Jesse. We know he hadn’t been cooking that meth.

Because we can clearly see Walt’s evil and his shreds of good, we are able to reconcile our feelings for him and his death feels right. He is redeemed as much as he can be in this postmodern antihero’s tale. He does not die a hero, but he dies doing what he thought needed to be done. His family is safe. Jesse is safe. At the end, they are safe in spite of and because of Walt. He did what he could to redeem himself–even if that redemption consisted of picking up and rearranging the garbage that he’d created.

Jesse is chained against his will.

In the end, I got to feel all the feelings about Walt: contempt, pity, and some kind of complicated, undying fatherly love (listen, it doesn’t help that my own father is a retired biology teacher, basically has the same wardrobe as Walter White–especially that khaki jacket–and loves Marty Robbins). Walt-as-hero wouldn’t have worked. Walt-as-pure evil wouldn’t have worked (for me). The complexity of the last three episodes takes us through an arc of emotions about our protagonist that we must work through.

There was something for all viewers (except for, perhaps, the Todd fans, who were probably drunk and confused and mad at Skyler for some reason).

Skyler, hearing Walt’s final words to her.

On a larger scale, I loved the ending because of the ultimate messages the show conveyed about masculinity.

From the very beginning, Walt’s journey was one of desperation–to provide for his family, to heal, to be the best, to be the king, to be violent, to run an empire. Walt wanted to be a fucking man. And for a long time, he embodied what it means to be a man in our culture. He’s violent, ruthless, proud, and never satisfied. He’s domineering and authoritative (or tries to be) at work and at home.

As a foil to Walt’s desperate and festering masculinity, Jesse has always been drawn as a sensitive, emotional, and compassionate man. His conscience guides him, and he avoids violence. He loves. He cries. His last name is Pinkman.

When the band of Neo-Nazis watch Jesse’s confession DVD, Uncle Jack says, “Does this pussy cry through the whole thing?”

Which of these characters possesses strong, masculine traits?

Which of these characters possesses weak, feminine traits?

If you ask the Todd fans and Skyler-haters, it’s always been pretty clear: #TeamWalt.

True aficionados, however, will realize that we are supposed to criticize this binary, and that pushing and prodding “strength” and masculinity into a narrowly defined, violent box will lead to failure. It will lead to death–literally and figuratively. Relationships and lives are ruined because building an empire for himself made Walt feel “alive.”

Jesse, however, is introspective and emotional. He is careful and gentle, and this is illustrated in the flashback to him as a younger, softer teenager in shop class lovingly crafting a wood box (he’d sell it for weed instead of giving it to his mother, but it brings to mind again Jesse-as-a-Christ-figure imagery).

Jesse kills his captor, and releases himself from bondage.

Walt loses. Jesse wins. And while they ultimately weren’t pitted against one another (so many fans expected a final showdown), they nodded to one another, an understanding gesture that ended their relationship. They both know Walt is dying–Jesse sees the red blood stain bleeding into the sky blue lining of Walt’s jacket–and that Jesse is living.

This is the way it is supposed to end.

And while Walt’s machine-gun trick is pretty bad-ass, it’s destructive. It’s fleeting. Power and violence is not the answer. Our cultural definition of masculinity may be fun to watch or aspire to, but it’s not real. It doesn’t–it shouldn’t–win.

He doesn’t shoot Walt when he sees his side has already been punctured by a bullet. See above, in re: Jesse-as-Christ-figure.

In Marty Robbins’s “El Paso,” the singer is in love with “Felina.” In Breaking Bad, Walt’s Felina (or FeLiNa) isn’t a woman. It’s not his wife; it’s not his children. It’s his power and his money, the empire that he built with blue meth. The line “A bullet may find me” foreshadows what will happen to Walt. He has, purposefully or not, killed himself. His own gun, his own ricocheted bullet, did find him. At the end, his desperate need for power, to be a man, killed him–and so many others in his path.

“I did it for me,” Walt tells Skyler. “I liked it. I was good at it. And I was really–I was alive.” As he dies, Walt emotionally touches the tank in the lab, leaving a bloody handprint as he falls.

I realized that this ending is exactly what I wanted. And sometimes it’s good to get what we want–especially when it involves excellent storytelling, complicated characters, and criticism of our worship of American masculinity.

Jesse is free–feeling all the feelings, just like we are.

__________________________________________________________

Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri. She hopes that before she retires, “Breaking Bad as Literature” is standard college fare.

2013 Emmy Nominations: Get Your Feminist Commentary Here!

Outstanding Comedy Series

30 Rock (NBC): “Goodbye Forever, 30 Rock“ by Max Thornton

The Big Bang Theory (CBS): “The Evolution of The Big Bang Theory“ by Rachel Redfern

Girls (HBO): “Girls and Sex and the City Both Handle Abortion With Humor” by Megan Kearns

Louie (FX): “Listening and the Art of Good Storytelling in Louis C.K.’s Louie“ by Leigh Kolb

Modern Family (ABC): “‘Pregnancy Brain’ in Sitcoms” by Lady T

Veep (HBO): “Political Humor and Humanity in HBO’s Veep“ by Rachel Redfern

Outstanding Lead Actor in a Comedy Series

Jason Bateman, Arrested Development: “Arrested Development‘s Mancession: Economic and Gender Meltdowns in Season 4″ by Leigh Kolb

Jim Parsons, The Big Bang Theory: “Big Bang Bust” by Melissa McEwan

Matt LeBlanc, Episodes

Don Cheadle, House of Lies

Louis C.K., Louie

Alec Baldwin, 30 Rock: “The Casual Feminism of 30 Rock“ by Peggy Cooke

Outstanding Lead Actress in a Comedy Series

Laura Dern, Enlightened

Lena Dunham, Girls: “Let’s All Take a Deep Breath and Calm the Fuck Down About Lena Dunham” by Stephanie Rogers

Edie Falco, Nurse Jackie: “Nurse Jackie as Feminist Id?” by Natalie Wilson

Amy Poehler, Parks and Recreation: “Why We Need Leslie Knope and What Her Election on Parks and Rec Means for Women and Girls” by Megan Kearns

Tina Fey, 30 Rock: “Liz Lemon: The Every Woman of Prime Time” by Lisa Mathews

Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Veep

Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Comedy Series

Adam Driver, Girls

Jesse Tyler Ferguson, Modern Family

Ed O’Neill, Modern Family

Ty Burrell, Modern Family

Bill Hader, Saturday Night Live

Tony Hale, Veep

Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Comedy Series

Mayim Bialik, The Big Bang Theory

Jane Lynch, Glee: “Glee!” by Cali Loria

Sofia Vergara, Modern Family

Julie Bowen, Modern Family

Merritt Wever, Nurse Jackie

Jane Krakowski, 30 Rock: “Jane Krakowski and the Dedicated Ignorance of Jenna Maroney” by Kyle Sanders

Anna Chlumsky, Veep

Outstanding Drama Series

Breaking Bad (AMC): “‘Yo Bitch’: The Complicated Feminism of Breaking Bad“ by Leigh Kolb

Downton Abbey (PBS): “A Gilded Cage: A Feminist Critique of the Downton Abbey Christmas Special” by Amanda Civitello

Game of Thrones (HBO): “Gratuitous Nudity and Complex Female Characters in Game of Thrones“ by Lady T

Homeland (Showtime): “Homeland‘s Carrie Mathison: A Pulsing Beat of Jazz and ‘Crazy Genius” by Leigh Kolb

House of Cards (Netflix): “The Complex, Unlikable Women of House of Cards: Daddy Issues, Menopause and Female Power” by Leigh Kolb

Mad Men (AMC): “Mad Men: Gender, Race, and the Death Knell of White Patriarchy” by Leigh Kolb

Outstanding Lead Actor in a Drama Series

Bryan Cranston, Breaking Bad: “Seeking the Alpha in Breaking Bad and Sons of Anarchy“ by Rachel Redfern

Hugh Bonneville, Downton Abbey

Damian Lewis, Homeland

Kevin Spacey, House of Cards

Jon Hamm, Mad Men: “Hey, Brian McGreevy: Vampire Pam Beats Don Draper Any Day” by Tami Winfrey Harris

Jeff Daniels, The Newsroom: “The Newsroom: Misogyny 2.0″ by Leigh Kolb

Outstanding Lead Actress in a Drama Series

Vera Farmiga, Bates Motel

Michelle Dockery, Downton Abbey

Claire Danes, Homeland: “Homeland‘s Carrie Mathison” by Cali Loria

Robin Wright, House of Cards: “Claire Underwood: The Queen Bee on House of Cards“ by
Amanda Rodriguez

Elisabeth Moss, Mad Men: “Mad Men and the Role of Nostalgia” by Amber Leab

Connie Britton, Nashville: “Quote of the Day: Screenwriter/Director Callie Khouri Weighs In on How TV Is Friendlier to Women” by Leigh Kolb

Kerry Washington, Scandal: “Mammy, Sapphire, or Jezebel, Olivia Pope Is Not: A Review of Scandal“ by Atima Omara-Alwala

Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Drama Series

Bobby Cannavale, Boardwalk Empire: “Boardwalk Empire: Margaret Thompson, Margaret Sanger, and the Cultural Commentary of Historical Fiction” by Leigh Kolb

Jonathan Banks, Breaking Bad

Aaron Paul, Breaking Bad

Jim Carter, Downton Abbey

Peter Dinklage, Game of Thrones: “The Occasional Purposeful Nudity on Game of Thrones“ by Lady T

Mandy Patinkin, Homeland

Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Drama Series

Anna Gunn, Breaking Bad

Maggie Smith, Downton Abbey

Emilia Clarke, Game of Thrones: “The Mother of Dragons is Taking Down the Patriarchy” by Megan Kearns

Christine Baranski, The Good Wife: “So, Is There Racial Bias on The Good Wife?” by Melanie Wanga

Morena Baccarin, Homeland

Christina Hendricks, Mad Men: “Is Mad Men the Most Feminist Show on TV?” by Megan Kearns

Outstanding Miniseries or Movie

American Horror Story: Asylum (FX): “‘That Crazy Bitch’: Women and Mental Illness Tropes in Horror” by Megan Kearns

Behind the Candelabra (HBO)

The Bible (History)

Phil Spector (HBO)

Political Animals (USA)

Top of the Lake (Sundance Channel): “Not Peggy Olson: Rape Culture in Top of the Lake“ by Lauren C. Byrd

Outstanding Lead Actor in a Miniseries or a Movie

Michael Douglas, Behind the Candelabra

Matt Damon, Behind the Candelabra

Toby Jones, The Girl: “Too Many Hitchcocks” by Robin Hitchcock

Benedict Cumberbatch, Parade’s End

Al Pacino, Phil Spector

Outstanding Lead Actress in a Miniseries or a Movie

Jessica Lange, American Horror Story: Asylum

Laura Linney, The Big C: Hereafter

Helen Mirren, Phil Spector

Sigourney Weaver, Political Animals

Elisabeth Moss, Top of the Lake

Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Miniseries or a Movie

James Cromwell, American Horror Story: Asylum

Zachary Quinto, American Horror Story: Asylum

Scott Bakula, Behind the Candelabra

John Benjamin Hickey, The Big C: Hereafter

Peter Mullan, Top of the Lake

Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Miniseries or a Movie

Sarah Paulson, American Horror Story: Asylum

Imelda Staunton, The Girl

Ellen Burstyn, Political Animals

Charlotte Rampling, Restless

Alfre Woodard, Steel Magnolias

Outstanding Variety Series

The Colbert Report (Comedy Central)

The Daily Show with Jon Stewart (Comedy Central): “YouTube Break: Too Many Dicks on The Daily Show“ by Amber Leab

Jimmy Kimmel Live (ABC)

Late Night With Jimmy Fallon (NBC)

Real Time with Bill Maher (HBO)

Saturday Night Live (NBC)

Outstanding Host for a Reality or Reality-Competition Program

Ryan Seacrest, American Idol

Betty White, Betty White’s Off Their Rockers

Tom Bergeron, Dancing with the Stars

Heidi Klum and Tim Gunn, Project Runway

Cat Deeley, So You Think You Can Dance

Anthony Bourdain, The Taste

Outstanding Reality-Competition Program

The Amazing Race (CBS)

Dancing with the Stars (ABC)

Project Runway (Lifetime)

So You Think You Can Dance (Fox)

Top Chef (Bravo)

The Voice (NBC)

Outstanding Reality Program

Antiques Roadshow (PBS)

Deadliest Catch (Discovery Channel)

Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives (Food Network)

MythBusters (Discovery Channel)

Shark Tank (ABC)

Undercover Boss (CBS)

Outstanding Animated Program

Bob’s Burgers (Fox)

Kung Fu Panda: Legends of Awesomeness (Nickelodeon)

Regular Show (Cartoon Network)

The Simpsons: “Bart Simpson’s Feminine Side” by Lady T

South Park

Outstanding Guest Actor in a Comedy Series

Bob Newhart, The Big Bang Theory

Nathan Lane, Modern Family

Bobby Cannavale, Nurse Jackie

Louis C.K., Saturday Night Live

Justin Timberlake, Saturday Night Live

Will Forte, 30 Rock

Outstanding Guest Actress in a Comedy Series

Molly Shannon, Enlightened

Dot-Marie Jones, Glee

Melissa Leo, Louie

Melissa McCarthy, Saturday Night Live

Kristen Wiig, Saturday Night Live

Elaine Stritch, 30 Rock

Outstanding Guest Actor in a Drama Series

Nathan Lane, The Good Wife

Michael J. Fox, The Good Wife

Rupert Friend, Homeland

Robert Morse, Mad Men

Harry Hamlin, Mad Men

Dan Bucatinsky, Scandal

Outstanding Guest Actress in a Drama Series

Margo Martindale, The Americans

Diana Rigg, Game of Thrones

Carrie Preston, The Good Wife

Linda Cardellini, Mad Men

Jane Fonda, The Newsroom

Joan Cusack, Shameless

Women in Politics Week: Political Humor and Humanity in HBO’s ‘VEEP’

Written by Rachel Redfern.

Foul-mouthed and frazzled, Julia Louis-Dreyfus (eternally known as Elaine from Seinfeld), stars as United States Vice-President, Selina Meyer, in the Emmy Award-winning HBO political satire, VEEP. The show focuses on Dreyfus’ character, a woman who wants power, but resides in a fairly weak place, politically, having to hide in the shadows of the president and worry about her approval ratings.

There are two Hollywood versions of Washington, D.C.–one where the president is Morgan Freeman and he’s strong, but compassionate, and you feel good about being an American. The other version is something out of a John Grisham novel in which the city is one giant 60 Minutes expose of cynicism and conspiracy (the latter version just makes you sad to be alive). VEEP is the second, minus the conspiracy and snipers and with the addition of obsessive BlackBerry use.

Since the show never features the president, VEEP is free to focus on the more trivial aspects of federal politics, like the clean jobs bill Selina tries to put together, only to have the president close it down and give her obesity instead (not that obesity isn’t a big issue, it just offers a few more humorous situations than Guantanamo Bay). VEEP is interesting though, not because the characters surrounding her are ridiculous, but because Selina, the main character, is ridiculous and unlikable herself. She’s a toxic political figure, a creator of monumental gaffes and inappropriate situations who doesn’t even have the excuse of good intentions. Her intentions are always self-serving and she treats her staff atrociously, often assigning them the blame for her mistakes.

Julia Louis-Dreyfus as Selina Meyer in HBO’s VEEP

Selina’s staff isn’t any bundle of joy either; they’re just as unethical and self-serving as she is. Amy (Anne Chlumsky) is her competent, yet also incompetent chief of staff; Gary (Tony Hale of Arrested Development), is her faithful personal aide who is so loyal he takes a sneeze in the face to save her from being sick, and even breaks up with her boyfriend for her (in a sidenote, this is the second role that has featured him as a mildly obsessed man with an insane devotion to an older woman, a role that is played out as being emasculating and undignified); Sue (Sufe Bradshaw), is her sassy secretary; Mike (Matt Walsh) as the over-the-hill fading director of communications; Dan (Reid Scott) who is politically savvy, but also a social climber of epic proportions; and of course, the weird presidential liaison, Jonah (Timothy Simons), who tries to sleep with Amy.

Selina and her female staff are just as foul-mouthed and unpleasant as their male counterparts, a fact I actually really like about the show. Instead of giving the women a rosy, fictional gloss, they’re painted more as unique players in the political process, rather than just a token show about “Women in Politics.” In that vein, the show does portray the still highly sexualized role of female leaders, which is disturbing, but unfortunately very realistic. Examples of sexual harassment are fairly common on the show, like when Sue is the recipient of some pretty blatant comments from a congressman, which she just shrugs off; the death of a famously lecherous senator is mocked as everyone raves about him publicly, but in private, all the women sarcastically share their stories of his disgusting behavior. It’s sad to think that this situation is probably very common; male political figures lauded as leaders, when in reality they’re abusive perverts. For me though, the most astute and frustrating example of this came when Amy, Selina’s chief of staff, has to negotiate with two congressmen from Arizona; their immediate disdain for her and the patronizing, “sweetheart” she receives when she sits down is so realistic and problematic I wanted her to smack them. And yet, like so many powerful and intelligent women, she just had to take the condescension or risk sounding like an “over-emotional bitch.” This portrayal of randy behavior from the male senators strikes a contrast to the depth of scrutiny that the women on the show receive about their sex life. When Selina has a pregnancy scare, the media goes crazy and many of her interviews after address that very personal topic, rather than larger, national issues.

Humorously though, her cynical staff decide to turn it into a sympathy moment and try publish a story about in a woman’s magazine. It’s one of many instances when Selina’s stance as the loving, but absent mother plays a role in her political success; It’s only when Selina cries on camera about missing her daughter that her approval rating increases. Comedy shines again as the greater revelator of cultural inequality as Selina’s motherhood is constantly called into question (as is her femininity when she’s given the nickname, “Viagra inhibitor”). As is always the case, a male leader’s relationship with his children is less important than his hairline, but a female leader must always appear guilty and remorseful about her position, she must always regret the fact that her ambition has taken her out of the home or risk being perceived as cold-hearted or worse, un-maternal.

In the end, Selina (and even most of her staff) are undeniably unlikable people. Very little (if any) time of the sitcom is spent showing political figures as doing anything to improve the lives of their constituents; rather their days are filled with scheming and backbiting. Despite the fact that the characters aren’t people you would ever want to meet, the show does highlight the selfish and elitist world of the Unites States’ highest political people, and it’s a nice change to have that shown with a female lead.

Aside from the very astute commentary that the show makes about gender and politics, one of it’s greatest strengths is in the area of the gaffe. Oh the political gaffe: Romney and his 47 percent, Akin and his “women have a way to shut that whole thing down,” Vice-President Joe Biden about half the time. While all we see is the unbelievably stupid thing that a public figure has just said on national television, VEEP does an excellent job of leading up to Selina’s gaffes. They give us the background story and the same information that Selina is given so that when the gaffe does occur it’s incredibly funny, but also a bit understandable. It’s an element of the show that serves as a great reminder of the humanity of our politicians; while yes they say stupid things sometimes, we probably would too if we were in their shoes. I mean, I say stupid stuff all the time, I’m just lucky enough that there aren’t any TV cameras around when I say it. At the end of the day, politicians are just people with better hair.

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.

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

Amber‘s Picks:

The Problem with the Emmy Awards in 5 Pictures by Matt Stopera via BuzzFeed

Migrant workers, women, and China’s modernization on screen by Jenny Kwok Wah Lau via JumpCut

New double review: Bumming in Beijing and Oxhide II by Ania Ostrowka via The F Word

The Mindy Project: unoriginal, yet unprecedented by Heather Klem via About-Face

Female genius and “El Velador” (2011) via Feminéma

Megan‘s Picks:

No Matter What You Look Like In Hollywood You Can’t Win by Laura Beck via Jezebel

‘Binders Full of Women,’ Violent Single Moms and Other Debate Moments by Akiba Solomon via Colorlines

Pitch Perfect and Its Far-From-Perfect Portrayal of Asian-American Women by Nisha H. via Racialicious

Unsolicited Advice for Golden Globes Hosts Amy Poehler and Tina Fey by Alyssa Rosenberg via Slate’s Double X

Race and The Walking Dead: Why Michonne Matters by Renee and Sparky via Racialicious

Labor of Love: How Women Are Changing Documentaries by Chanda Chevannes via Women and Hollywood

6 Insane Stereotypes That Movies Can’t Seem to Get Over by J.F. Sargent via Cracked

The Problem with Sofia the First, Disney’s First Latina Princess, Isn’t Just Race by Alyssa Rosenberg via ThinkProgress

What have you been reading this week? Tell us in the comments!

‘Homeland’s Carrie Mathison: A Pulsing Beat of Jazz and ‘Crazy Genius’

Carrie Mathison, a haunted yet brilliant CIA analyst.

Warning: spoilers ahead!

“I hate straight singing. I have to change a tune to my own way of doing it. That’s all I know.”

— Billie Holiday

In the pilot episode of Homeland, Carrie Mathison (Claire Danes), hurries back to her Washington D.C. apartment after a night out, and the audience sees a photo of jazz musicians and pieces of artwork emblazoned with the word “Jazz.” Jazz–the nebulous, wholly American musical genre–is improvisation. It is individualism and collaboration. It is color-outside-the-lines, boundary-pushing rhythm. It is Carrie, a CIA analyst who must push and navigate her way around the patriarchal CIA and her brilliant and bipolar mind.

When adapting an Israeli drama for an American audience, the show’s writers immediately knew they wanted to make their hero a female. While Carrie’s gender is never an explicit issue in the series, the viewer can discern that many of her challenges (and some veiled advantages) are related to her womanhood.

Carrie shows very early on that she doesn’t strictly play by the rules. In the opening scene of the pilot, she is driving around the streets of Baghdad, headscarf down, and talking on the phone with her superior back in D.C. When she gets stuck in traffic, she simply gets out of the car and starts walking, pulling up her headscarf. She doesn’t hesitate to improvise, and is constantly navigating to make inroads that seem impossible.

The Ken Burns Jazz documentary website states,

“So while it is true that jazz is a demanding and competitive field for both men and women, it is also true that a woman who shows up for an audition or jam session with a tenor sax or trumpet in her gig bag is greeted with a special variety of raised eyebrows, curiosity and skepticism. Is she serious? Can she play? Time-worn questions about women and jazz buzz through the room before she blows a note.”

Carrie’s personal and professional lives weave together–the professional trumps the personal, but her private battles threaten her career.

When Carrie is questioning the American POW Nicholas Brody (Damian Lewis) for the first time, she is calm and firm, yet her pressing questions make her supervisor question her, as Brody is clearly uncomfortable. The CIA has moved past its extreme “woman problem” of the 80s and 90s, but certainly it’s not immune to continued gender bias.

The audience knows that Saul (Mandy Patinkin) has been Carrie’s mentor, and he continues to be one throughout the series. This older man, who helps guide and protect a young female protagonist, is a popular trope (Ron Swanson, Jack Donaghy and Don Draper, to name a few). It makes sense to the audience that a young woman doesn’t break into the boys’ club alone, so oftentimes these male mentors serve as powerful gatekeepers to gendered worlds. Whether this trope is realistic or reductionist, or somewhere in between, is an important point of discussion (much like the fact that Carrie’s mother is an absent character and her father shares an intense connection with her as they share the same bipolar disorder–this recurrent “absent mother” trope for female protagonists is problematic to say the least).

Saul serves as a mentor to Carrie. (Patinkin has been outspoken about issues of television and feminism.)

While the audience can assume that Carrie has seen and felt many “raised eyebrows, curiosity and skepticism” in her rise through the ranks, her creativity and improvisational talent give her power.

“It’s ill-becoming for an old broad to sing about how bad she wants it. But occasionally we do.”

— Lena Horne

In the aforementioned scene, when Carrie rushes home after a night out, she strips down to a slip and wipes her crotch with a damp washcloth while brushing her teeth. She hurriedly slips off a wedding ring as she leaves to go to work at CIA Headquarters.

Later, she goes to a jazz bar (after laboriously–not pleasurably–putting on black lace) and tells a man in a suit that she wears the ring to “weed out guys looking for a relationship.” After some obligatory flirting, she suggests they leave and go elsewhere.

When Carrie strikes up a sexual relationship with Brody later in the first season (after drunken, raw sex in her backseat), it’s always mildly unclear whether she’s doing so for professional gain. The relationship ebbs and flows in and out of her favor, and the audience realizes that Carrie enjoys sex and some level of human connection. Even when it looks and feels like a chore (as she puts on her black lace, for example), sex is something that Carrie needs. Period.

No strings, no clear ulterior motives, no obsession with marriage. Carrie’s sexual persona is as startling–and as normal–as the crotch-wipe after a night out.

The complexity of relationships and marriages is a central theme in many subplots (Brody’s wife, Jessica, believing her husband dead, has a serious relationship with his best friend; Saul’s wife struggles with his work schedule, although she is a highly successful professional herself). The relationships all reflect very realistic scenarios, and the women–supporting characters, even–are complex and whole.

“Jazz is not just music, it’s a way of life, it’s a way of being, a way of thinking. . . . the new inventive phrases we make up to describe things — all that to me is jazz just as much as the music we play.”

— Nina Simone

When Carrie gets up to leave the jazz bar with her catch of the night, she stops and notices Brody and his family on television. She observes the finger movements of the trumpeter, pianist and bassist, and connects them to the finger-tapping motions Brody is making on his televised press conferences. She leaves her date behind and rushes to Saul’s house, more convinced that Brody has been turned.

Carrie has a wall in her apartment dedicated to unraveling the al-Qaeda terror plot she believes Brody to be operating in. Her personal life and professional life have few boundaries (and her only clear pleasures–jazz music and sex–bleed into her career as well).

Her thought processes are very rarely black and white, as are her male colleague’s. She always seems to be trying to connect new and different dots, and looking at other pieces of stories. When Aileen Morgan and Raqim Faisel were being hunted as prime terrorist suspects, the male agents assumed Aileen was the “terrorist’s girlfriend.” It was Carrie who finally said, “Maybe she’s the one driving this…” And she was. The blonde white woman was the catalyst to their involvement with a terror plot, and Carrie had to point out the possibility that their assumptions (white woman tricked and trapped by a Middle Eastern extremist) were wrong.

A Guardian blog post connected the fact that a Thelonious Monk song was playing as a backdrop when Carrie drove to attend a meeting at the CIA Headquarters. The writer notes,

“Monk was hospitalised at various points in his career due to an unspecified mental illness and there has been some debate about whether he could have had a schizophrenic or bipolar disorder. (In fact, jazz and schizophrenia have long been linked. It is argued that New Orleans cornetist Buddy Bolden, the ‘inventor of jazz’, improvised the music he played as his schizophrenia did not allow him to read music, evolving ragtime into a more free form of music in the process.) It is an association that positions Carrie, who takes anti-psychotics, as a ‘crazy genius’ like Monk.”

Carrie’s mental and emotional well-being, as is exposed in the first season, is held together by those non-aspirin pills she takes out of the aspirin bottle every morning. Her sister gives her anti-psychotics illegally, since she would not be able to be a CIA agent if they knew she had bipolar disorder. Her tenacity, her genius and her fragility (she sobs to her sister at one point, “I’ve been on my own for a while now…”) are in constant battle. She is, very often, on the edge.

Nick Brody and Carrie develop a complicated relationship, although her theories of his terrorist involvement were correct.

When she got (many) drinks with Brody before they first had sex, she told him,

“When I was a girl, my friends and I used to play chicken with the train on the tracks near our house and no one could ever beat me, not even the boys.”

One can see Carrie’s life as an endless game of chicken, whether it’s with trains, sex, surveillance without warrants or hiding a mood disorder. That constant challenge–not unlike a call-and-response jazz pattern that encourages louder and faster feedback–both energizes and limits Carrie throughout the series.

“One day a whole damn song fell into place in my head.”

— Billie Holiday

Carrie’s right. She knew Brody was turned, though no one would listen. Brody’s teenage daughter, Dana (in all of her teenage angst), with Carrie’s help, figured it out as well (and some argue it was Dana who really stopped Brody).

However, Brody stopped himself (his conscience and a malfunctioning bomb stopped him, rather, or even Dana’s phone call). He reigns in the public eye as the good guy, the rising politician, and the complexities of his terrorist motives (connected to drone strikes that killed a young boy) are difficult for the audience to make right and wrong out of. (This is, of course, what good storytelling does.)

Carrie, however, has been found out. A hospitalization left her without her medication, and she chooses to undergo electroconvulsive therapy (ECT, or shock treatment, which is becoming more popular in the US, mostly with female patients) to “heal” her mental disorder. The treatment makes her forget much of what she knew, and she can’t realize that she’s helped thwart another terrorist attack. Her intense guilt after “missing something” on 9/11 certainly drove her mania deeper, yet she is compelled to give up the part of herself that drives her forward with the ECT.

Just as the song is truly falling into place in her head, she loses it.

Not to discount the real and debilitating nature of Carrie’s bipolar disorder, one must also reflect upon women’s history in terms of mental illness and the diagnosis and treatment plans women were subjected to. Carrie enters into Season 2 a more domesticated woman (teaching English, gardening, attempting “domestic normalcy”). Treatment for women’s emotional disorders–or perceived disorders–in the late 1800s and early 1900s was often the “rest cure,” when women were isolated and kept away from mental and physical stimulation. This harmed more women than anything, and Carrie being kept from her challenging mental stimulation and work is not, most viewers would argue, good for her. This feminine fragility at the hands of a mental illness isn’t new, nor is the treatment. She’s consistently second-guessed and made to feel insecure, which leads her to doubt herself. However, Saul understands their need for her at this point in Season 2, and will hopefully continue to be her cheerleader and help her navigate the waters.

Carrie’s inner conflicts, starting from her girlhood, are repeated every episode in the show’s opening credits. Dissonant jazz trumpets play in the background, and scenes showing a little girl’s hands playing the piano and trumpet are cut with professionals’ playing. As the audience sees pictures of a young Carrie growing up–in a mask, in a maze, smiling for the camera–news footage from America’s recent history is spliced in (from Ronald Reagan to Barack Obama, with sound bites from numerous domestic tragedies). Her sleeping eyes dart, and her panicked adult voice repeats her guilt and fear of “missing” something from ten years before. Even from this opening sequence, the audience is left tense and uncomfortable feeling and seeing Carrie’s thought patterns.

Improvising is much more difficult than reading sheet music. Jazz musicians must perform on a much different plane than classical musicians–the uncertainty, the complexity and the unexpectedness of what your fingers, or your band mate’s fingers, might do next is nothing short of terrifying. But in this game of “chicken,” the end result is a masterpiece.

Momentarily, Carrie has been relegated to the padded room of elevator music, soft and predictable.

Carrie chooses to undergo ECT, as she convinces herself in Season 1 that her suspicions about Brody are delusions.

Former CIA covert-operations officer Valerie Plame Wilson, who wrote “The Women of the CIA” nearly two years before Homeland first aired, says of Carrie Mathison:

“Carrie does not suffer from the common female need-to-please trait and, in fact, insists she is usually right. She is impulsive in a job that rewards patience and lies to the few people who can tolerate her…You root for her because those very despicable qualities also make her extraordinarily good at her mission. Danes breathes life and realism into a character who, for once, goes against the clichés of what a female CIA officer is supposed to do and look like.”

Carrie is back in action in Season 2, and Saul is listening.

Carrie, much like the female jazz musicians before her, does her best to break boundaries and succeed in the boys’ world. Perhaps she could, and hopefully she will, as long as she can both overcome her bipolar disorder while at the same time retaining the impulsive, creative, compulsive thinking that makes her brilliant.

—

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

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

Stephanie‘s Picks:

Gaycism and the New Normal: The “Hot” Trend This TV Season Is Bigotry by Nico Lang via In Our Words

Caroline Thomson: BBC Still Has Work to Do on Sexism and Ageism by Emma Barnett via The Telegraph

Presidential Debate Commission Co-Chair Blames TV Networks for Lack of Diversity Among Moderators by Tracie Powell via Poynter

Where the Girls Aren’t: What the Absence of Female Friendships on Network TV Reveals by Sheila Moeschen via Huffington Post

Joss Whedon’s S.H.I.E.L.D Show Will Feature A Lot of Women by Alyssa Rosenberg via ThinkProgress

Women in Film: A Feminist’s Take by Riley Stevenson via Flux Magazine

What Do Feminists Have Left?: The Factuary

“Ugh, What’s Up With All These Feminists Being Funny?” Says Chronically Unfunny Woman by Erin Gloria Ryan via Jezebel

Megan‘s Picks:

Amy Poehler’s Systematic Dismantling of the Emmys by Alex Cranz via FemPop

When Will the Media Start Portraying Black Women Without Betraying Them? by Tracey Ross via Racialicious

Rebel Wilson, Pitch Perfect and Body Acceptance by Kerensa Cadenas via Women and Hollywood

Awkward Black Girl‘s Issa Rae Gets a Sitcom with Shonda Rhimes’ Help by Alex Cranz via FemPop

Funny Women Flourish in Female-Written Comedies by Sandy Cohen via The Boston Globe

The Best Quotes from Tina Fey’s Entertainment Weekly Interview by Kerensa Cadenas via Women and Hollywood

DGA Report Shows Few Strides for Female and Minority TV Directors by Richard Verrier via The Los Angeles Times

Raising Hope Star Martha Plimpton on Politics in Television and The War on Women by Alyssa Rosenberg via ThinkProgress

What have you been reading this week?? Tell us in the comments!

A Gilded Cage: A Feminist Critique of the ‘Downton Abbey’ Christmas Special

This is a guest review by Amanda Civitello and is published with permission. Note: this review contains no spoilers for Season Three.

“Christmas at Downton Abbey” (The Christmas Special). Downton Abbey: Season Two Original UK Edition. Writ. Julian Fellowes. Dir. Brian Percival. Masterpiece Classic/PBS Distribution, 2012.

The cast of Downton Abbey

The Emmy-nominated second season of Downton Abbey opened with its characters on the precipice of the destruction of their rarified pocket of Edwardian English aristocracy, with the Great War at Downton’s doorstep. [i] The season’s final episode, “Christmas at Downton Abbey,” submitted as part of the PBS Masterpiece 2012 Emmy campaign, mostly avoids talk of social upheaval in favor of returning to the human drama that was so popular in the first season. The Great War, explored at length during the second season, has already wrought significant – though frequently indirect – change at Downton Abbey. Youngest daughter Lady Sibyl, who trained as a nurse during the War, is now married to the family chauffeur-turned-Republican-journalist and at home in Ireland for Christmas; heir apparent Matthew’s fiancée Lavinia has succumbed to Spanish flu, having outlived her usefulness once Matthew recovered from his battle injuries; and Lord Grantham’s wealthy, widowed sister Lady Rosamund has brought home a new beau for the holidays – and that’s just the news from upstairs.

Lady Rosamund’s narrative thread plays second fiddle to the episode’s main concerns, the murder trial of Lord Grantham’s valet, John Bates, and the imploding engagement of eldest daughter Lady Mary to newspaper magnate Sir Richard Carlisle. The tempestuous and controlling relationship between Lady Mary and Sir Richard is worthy of an in-depth feminist critique, but because its development occurs over several episodes, it’s not feasible to do it justice in this piece. However, the Christmas special’s treatment of Lady Rosamund and her love interest, fortune-hunter Lord Hepworth, encapsulates most concisely the paternalistic, patriarchal society in which they lived. Moreover, Lady Rosamund’s story serves as a useful way to begin a discussion about the way that Downton Abbey portrays two of the senior ladies of the family: Lady Rosamund and her sister-in-law, the Countess of Grantham.

In the first and most of the second seasons, Lady Rosamund is essentially a plot device who interferes in her nieces’ lives and runs reconnaissance for her mother when necessary to move the story along. Fortunately, the considerable talent of Samantha Bond rescues the character from marginalized oblivion. Lady Rosamund is compelling, even when her scenes don’t contain very much for her to do. There’s a complexity and nuance to Bond’s performance that makes Lady Rosamund someone worth caring about, in part because she’s an actor who makes excellent use of her voice. She’s very much like Maggie Smith in that respect: they are both cognizant of the voice as a flexible, powerful instrument and exercise it accordingly.

“Christmas at Downton Abbey” finally gives Lady Rosamund a storyline of her own, and one worthy of Bond’s thoughtful portrayal. Lady Rosamund’s suitor’s family fortune is so diminished that, as the Dowager Countess of Grantham puts it, “he’s lucky not to be playing the violin in Leicester Square.” Indeed, Hepworth only apprises Lady Rosamund of his dire financial straits at the insistence of the Dowager Countess. “I’m tired of being alone,” Bond’s Lady Rosamund says, and the brilliance of the portrayal is that she sounds exhausted; there’s only the barest glimmer of enthusiasm for a new romance. Lady Rosamund acquiesces to the best future she thinks she can buy: heartbreakingly, she adds, “And I have money.” In Bond’s hands, Lady Rosamund doesn’t sound desperate, as her words would suggest; rather, she’s resigned to an unfortunate, uncomfortable reality. She knows how society values her – and it’s not for her intrinsic merits, but rather for her late husband’s considerable fortune. She’s shrewd: she knows she’s entering into a business arrangement as much as anything else, but she’s motivated by her desire for a partnership as well. When she catches Hepworth bedding her maid, Shore, Lady Rosamund is certainly stung by the betrayal: “I just can’t stand it when Mama is proved right,” she declares, bitterly. She knew he wanted her for her money; she simply dared to hope for more.

But Lady Rosamund is not the only person charting her course. Unbeknownst to her, her mother and brother discussed the match and its ramifications before she discovers Hepworth’s duplicity. “Is a woman of Rosamund’s age entitled to marry a fortune-hunter?” the Dowager Countess asks her son. Yes, he concedes, providing she’s been made aware of the circumstances, “but for God’s sake, let’s tie up the money.” It’s clear that Lady Rosamund finds herself trapped in a gilded cage. She is twice damned: as a widow, she’s essentially passed back to her family, who permit her to make significant life decisions; and despite the independent image she presents, the final say regarding her finances rests with her brother.

Lady Rosamund and her beau, Lord Hepworth

Of course, it’s not a personal slight against Lady Rosamund. The paternalism that Lord Grantham exhibits (and that his mother defends) isn’t the fault of the show: Downton Abbey is, after all, a historically-minded serial; writer Julian Fellowes can’t help the prejudices of the time period. While there’s historical precedent for a woman in Lady Rosamund’s position, the show is fictional and so functions within its own universe, with its own rules. We can watch with an eye toward parallelisms because the world of Downton Abbey is a carefully crafted one, and contrasting Lord Grantham’s handling of his own history and his sister’s nascent romance invites the viewer to realize the prevalence of paternalism in aristocratic families. It’s not accidental that Lord Grantham himself was a fortune-hunter actively searching for a bride wealthy enough to rescue Downton Abbey. The Countess of Grantham and Lady Rosamund are commodities, and their value is their net worth. Lord Grantham doesn’t much mind what his sister does with her affections so long as her money is tied up; some thirty years earlier, he didn’t much mind who he married so long as she balanced his accounts. Julian Fellowes’s use of parallelism in the narrative is shrewd: we discuss these issues because of the way he chooses to tell the story.

That’s not to say that Fellowes is waving the feminist flag; he’s not. He’s in the business of writing well-crafted, witty scripts that tell a good story and maintain as close a degree of fidelity to the historical record as possible. The choices he makes as the writer are entirely to that end. Sometimes, they’re pro-woman, whether in a roundabout way, as in asking the audience to consider what life used to be like, or in a more explicit manner, such as Sybil’s interest in woman’s suffrage and ambition to work and pursue a more autonomous life for herself.

In other instances, however, the show shies away from the most challenging of its subplots. The Christmas special is notable for the storylines which it does not address, and the three most prominent of these concern women: the unresolved question of Lord Grantham’s infidelity; Lady Grantham’s sense of purpose derived from running the hospital housed in her home during the war; and the inter-class intimacy that develops between Lady Grantham and her lady’s maid Sarah O’Brien following the former’s miscarriage in the season one finale.

The first two missed opportunities are linked: as presented in the season, Lady Grantham finds such meaning in her work for the hospital during the war that she initially can’t contemplate returning to her old life of attending to her social obligations. Her husband bristles at her newfound direction, which means she has less time for him. During the seventh and eighth episodes, his flirting with a housemaid, Jane, becomes more and more serious, culminating in an encounter halted only by the precipitous interruption of Lord Grantham’s valet. After Bates leaves, Lord Grantham seems to have reevaluated the situation and remembered his marriage vows – and the fact that his wife is next door, gravely ill with the Spanish influenza.

These two storylines, though linked, fail in their portrayal of women in different ways. In the instance of Lady Grantham’s independence, her narrative simply peters out. In the penultimate episode, Lady Grantham apologizes for “neglecting” her husband; by the Christmas special, she has happily returned to playing lady of the manor, worrying over whether there’s sufficient time to change for dinner.

The apology in question occurs just after Lady Grantham’s brush with death; in response, Lord Grantham simply says, “Don’t apologize to me.” But refusing her apology doesn’t absolve Lord Grantham of his guilt; nor does he seem to have any inclination to admit his indiscretion to his wife. From a feminist perspective, this is a perplexing editorial decision. The script allows Lady Grantham’s apology to stand, because she wasn’t the wife she was supposed to be. He might not accept it, but she’s the one who says the words. Lady Grantham’s tentative steps toward greater independence are immediately retracted; she apologizes for it. In a drama serial that deals primarily with interpersonal relationships, there’s no compelling reason to not address Lord Grantham’s infidelity. In the end, it’s Lady Grantham who’s punished and corrected.

The other missed opportunity in the “Christmas at Downton Abbey” concerns Lady Grantham and her lady’s maid, Sarah O’Brien. In the last episode of the first season, O’Brien’s anger at Lady Grantham’s perceived slight takes a fateful turn when she deliberately endangers her mistress and inadvertently causes Lady Grantham to miscarry. Throughout the second season, then, O’Brien channels her guilt into taking extraordinary care of her mistress; their relationship is characterized by increasing complicity and mutual affection. It is O’Brien who nurses Lady Grantham through her grave bout with Spanish influenza. The overtures of friendship are never quite realized, however, and O’Brien’s touching, climactic scene in which she asks Lady Grantham’s forgiveness occurs when the latter is delirious with fever. Having made the affection she feels for her mistress readily apparent (Mrs. Patmore, the cook, comments on it), O’Brien’s devotion is even acknowledged by Lord Grantham, who actively dislikes her. The Christmas special, however, never addresses the issue at all. It’s a missed opportunity to consider female friendship within a socio-economic context: after all, O’Brien has waited exclusively on Lady Grantham for over fifteen years, resulting in a curious master-servant relationship marked by necessary affinity and learned intimacy. Their tentative steps towards greater familiarity would be an interesting avenue for the show to explore, given the increasing social mobility that’s on the horizon. The fact that the storyline is wholly ignored in the Christmas special is disappointing.

Indeed, the lack of female friendships is a curious omission in Downton Abbey. There is minimal complicity between the main upstairs female characters: most relationships are marked by outright dislike or disinterest. It’s disconcerting; these ladies who are perfectly charming, each and all, around men, but who seem to lack any kind of amity with other women. When moments of camaraderie do come, they are typically between the ladies and their maids: Lady Sybil befriends Gwen, a housemaid, in the first season, but Gwen leaves Downton; eldest daughter Lady Mary has an affectionate relationship with her maid, Anna, that’s similar to her mother’s with her lady’s maid. What renders the dearth of female friendship so extraordinary is that it would have been unusual at the time. [ii] By rendering women either objects of desire or economic necessity, and essentially presenting them only vis-à-vis men, Downton Abbey doesn’t engage with its female characters as fully-realized people. They only rarely step outside of a male-defined paradigm, and when they do, they’re inevitably walked back. Gwen leaves Downton, content with her new job; Lavinia dies on the cusp of a budding friendship with Mary (complicated, of course, by Mary’s continued affection for Lavinia’s fiancé); O’Brien cries bitter tears at her mistress’s bedside and is treated no differently from anyone else on the receiving line for the staff’s obligatory Christmas presents.

Lord Grantham and the Dowager Countess discuss Lady Rosamund’s finances

Ultimately, the lens of patriarchy influences the female characters’ understanding of their self-worth. Lady Grantham tells her daughter that she’s “damaged goods” in the first season after Lady Mary loses her virginity to a handsome, rogue diplomat. Initially we bemoan Lady Grantham’s inability to empathize with her daughter’s plight. As the series progresses, that opinion begins to change. By the Christmas special, when Lady Grantham’s steps to independence have been halted by her husband, it’s possible to see that early scene with Lady Mary in a new light: if Lady Grantham understands her daughter’s worth to be entirely wrapped up in her virginity (read: her marriageability), what does that say about her own sense of self? Julian Fellowes’s tendency to return to similar themes in new contexts enables his audience to reassess those early impressions. In this instance, the audience reconsiders the knee-jerk condemnation of Lady Grantham so as to sympathize with her plight as well. For all that she’s terribly wealthy and beautiful, she’s not expected to be much more than that. What’s sad is that she doesn’t expect to be, either; when she does, she’s put back in her place by her courtly – but no less paternalistic – husband.

Downton Abbey is, in effect, a thoughtful portrayal of the harsh reality of aristocratic women’s lives that lurked beneath the gilded exterior. They lacked autonomy and individual agency, were frequently treated as commodities, and the patriarchal, paternalistic society in which they moved colored their own self-worth. Men like Lord Grantham, as much a product of that society, nevertheless perpetuated their privilege, becoming active apologists for the very hierarchy that constrained their daughters. But beyond the beautiful clothes and the fabulous sets and the compelling acting is strong writing and purposeful manipulation of narrative structure. Julian Fellowes has rightly received glowing criticism for Downton Abbey’s plethora of witticisms and sharp one-liners, but the real achievement is in the narrative’s use of parallelisms to explore a single theme from different angles.

———-

[i] While the term “Edwardian” derives from the reign of Edward VII of England (1901-1910), historians sometimes extend the upper bound to include the sinking of the RMS Titanic (1912) or the start of European hostilities in the First World War (1914). For aristocratic families like the Crawley family at Downton Abbey, the rigid classism and social hierarchy (and its attendant mores) continued well into wartime.

[ii] Sharon Marcus’s excellent 2007 Between Women: Friendship, Desire, and Marriage in Victorian England is a wonderful, immensely readable but rigorously scholarly exploration of the full spectrum of female friendships, from the platonic to the intensely erotic. However, Marcus’s data is primarily drawn from sources written by historical women of the middle class, and some of their experiences (going to school, e.g.) would not have applied to any of the Crawley daughters. Lillian Faderman deals with the spectrum of friendships in the United States in roughly the same time in 2001’s To Believe in Women: What Lesbians Have Done for America, which includes chapters on upper-class women.

———-

Amanda Civitello is a Chicago-based freelance writer and Northwestern alum. She’s written on Daphne and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind for Bitch Flicks. You can find her online at amandacivitello.com.

Listening and the Art of Good Storytelling in Louis C.K.’s ‘Louie’

Louis C.K.’s Louie

“I remember thinking in fifth grade, ‘I have to get inside that box and make this shit better’… It made me mad that the shows were so bad. People have a right to relax and watch theater about themselves that makes them reflect and feel and have a good time doing it.” – Louis C.K.

The subversive feminism of a show is most striking when it is underneath, not necessarily a part of, the writing. From season 1 of FX’s critically acclaimed Louie, it has been clear that Louis C.K. isn’t trying to make some grand commentary on gender or social norms. He’s simply weaving stories out of life.

Louie–starring C.K. as Louie–is one of those shows that doesn’t leave a feminist audience balking at stereotypes or scrambling to celebrate its female empowerment (although C.K. is, in general, a feminist darling). In fact, its power lies in its ability to allow us to not think too much about gender; instead, we are focused on the stories and the sheer humanity of the characters.

Louie is a single father co-parenting two daughters in New York City and working as a comedian. The obviously semi-autobiographical sitcom is wrapping up its third season next week. A TV auteur, C.K. produces, writes, directs, edits, and stars in each episode. He has been nominated for three Emmy awards for the series (for acting, directing, and writing).

Early on, audiences felt there was something different about Louie. The best way to describe the ebb and flow of comedy and dramatic genius would be intensely human. Everyone is flawed (not just Louie, and not just his love interests and friends), and his relationship with his on-screen daughters is particularly moving in its stark honesty. We worry, panic, yearn, laugh, and cry along with our protagonist.

Parenting–a subject most often reserved for the action and commentary of mothers–is central to C.K.’s stand-up and to Louie. In the show, Louie is consistently shown as a capable father who loves and is loved by his daughters. He’s no heroic single father, but we see him as a parent, nothing less. On the subject of gender roles in parenting, C.K. has said, “Roles have all changed. There’s a lot of fathers who take care of their kids, there’s a lot of mothers who have careers. But in culture, those roles are still the same. When I take my kids out for dinner or lunch, people smile at us. A waitress said to my kids the other day, ‘Isn’t that nice that you’re getting to have a little lunch with your daddy?’ And I was insulted by it, because I’m like, I’m f**king taking them to lunch, and then I’m taking them home, and then I’m feeding them and doing their homework with them and putting them to bed. She’s like, Oh, this is special time with daddy. Well, no, this is boring time with daddy, the same as everything.” This philosophy is clear in Louie.

Louie eats dinner with his two on-screen daughters.

C.K.’s stand-up acts frame the plot(s) of each episode, which are usually independent to what has happened in previous episodes. This season alone, Louie has dealt with being sexually assaulted on a date (although some bloggers problematically downplayed the assault in semi-celebration of the challenged double standard), wrestling with a friendly attachment to a young handsome man on a trip to Miami, and experiencing awkward encounters with women as flawed as he is. He is frequently depicted as having the more stereotypically feminine role in relationships (emotional, needy, and looking for serious companionship). Previous seasons have featured him having sex with (and being inspired by) Joan Rivers, dealing with childhood issues surrounding religion and sexual awakening, and being an adequate son and brother. His daughters are continually portrayed as empowered and fully realized (including one episode in season 2 in which his youngest daughter helps scare off some teenage thugs on Halloween). As the girls grow up, their character traits become more pronounced and realistic.

Parker Posey plays one of Louie’s love interests in season 3.

Season 2’s critically acclaimed “Duckling” was an hour-long episode that followed Louie on a fictional USO tour to the Middle East. According to C.K., it was an accurate depiction of his real experiences on a USO tour to Afghanistan, and the idea for the episode came from his daughter, who was four at the time.

And for his show in general, C.K. says, “I just like listening. I try to take people who are way far away from what I think or understand and put a representative of them on my show.”

Indeed, one of the aspects of C.K. as a comedian, producer/director/writer/actor, and person that makes him who he is and Louie what it has been is that he listens. He listened to a four-year-old little girl and created a television show that is up for an Emmy. It’s also clear that he spent his original trip doing a great deal of listening to his fellow USO performers and the soldiers he met. That is what leads to great storytelling.

C.K. used his own experiences and inspiration from his daughter to create “Duckling” in season 2.

Outside of the television show, C.K. has also made it clear that listening is key to everything he does. After Daniel Tosh’s rape joke went viral earlier this summer, C.K. was brought into the spotlight after tweeting a complimentary tweet to Tosh (which he said he sent not knowing about the rape joke or the backlash). In an interview with Jon Stewart, C.K. addressed the fact that he listened to the bloggers–feminists, comedians, feminist-comedians–and altered his thoughts about the situation. He said, “I think you should listen when you read – If somebody has an opposite feeling from me, I wanna hear it so I can add to mine. I don’t wanna obliterate theirs with mine; that’s how I feel.” He went on to say that in being enlightened to the true ramifications of rape culture: “Now that’s part of me that wasn’t there before.”

In an interview with NPR last winter, C.K. was asked about his thoughts on those who identify as “right-wing” (after a discussion about Christians often stumbling across his stand-up after seeing a mild clip and asking him to “clean up” his comedy): “There’s been a lot of simple vilification of right-wing people. It’s really easy to say, ‘Well, you’re Christian, you’re anti-this and that, and I hate you.’ But to me, it’s more interesting to say, ‘What is this person like and how do they really think?’ Do I have any common ground with people like that who find me really, really offensive? Do I have common ground with them? It’s worth exploring.” C.K. clearly explores every piece of life he encounters, and that seeking, that analysis, makes all of the difference.

It’s no secret that listening to others’ stories leads to better storytelling (listening well pretty much leads to better everything). However, it’s rare that we witness that kind of storytelling on half-hour TV sitcoms. On the surface, a show produced, written, directed, and edited by one man (who also stars as the protagonist and is a comedian) doesn’t sound like it would be the panacea for three-dimensional storytelling. But as C.K. continually shows his audiences, episode after episode, listening to others and thinking about life critically has led him to accurately tell stories in a fully human way.

In an interview with the New York Times last summer, C.K. said, “An uphill battle is just more interesting to me.” Choosing to not rely on tropes and recycled story lines and stock characters is an uphill battle, but as Louie demonstrates, what’s on top of that hill is well worth the climb.

—

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

2011 Emmy Analysis

More than a week has passed since the 2011 Emmy Awards, but there are a few moments I can’t stop thinking about. I live-tweeted the show this year, which is both a fun and exhausting experience, and enjoyed the interactions with other people watching and reacting on Twitter. (What?! You don’t follow us on Twitter? Go! Now!) Jane Lynch did a wonderful job hosting, and threw out some memorable zingers (The cast of Entourage!).

If your approach to awards shows is Who gives an eff? I can’t blame you, but respectfully disagree. We’ve written before about the kind of cultural work awards shows do. In short, the Emmys this year (every year?) exhibited the continued dominance of whiteness and maleness in our culture, made the implicit argument that those are the people who tell and create the important stories, and created the (false) impression that those are the kinds of stories we (should) want to see. (Check out the breakdown of people of color who were nominated this year at Racialicious. Out of 25 awards, not a single one went to a person of color.)

Here are my thoughts:

1. Only five* women gave solo acceptance speeches. These women were nominated in acting categories specifically designated for women.

Sometimes I wonder if any women at all would be recognized in film/television if the acting awards were gender neutral (and I asked earlier this year if we need a Best Female Director category at the Oscars).

Here are the winners:

Melissa McCarthy won Lead Actress in a Comedy Series for Mike & Molly
Julie Bowen won Supporting Actress in a Comedy Series for Modern Family
Julianna Marguiles won Lead Actress in a Drama Series for The Good Wife
Margo Martindale won Supporting Actress in a Drama Series for Justified
Kate Winslet won Lead Actress in a Miniseries or Movie for Mildred Pierce
Maggie Smith won Supporting Actress in a Miniseries or Movie for Downton Abbey (*she wasn’t there to accept the award)

2. The satirical beauty pageant staged by the women nominated for Outstanding Actress in a Comedy Series was both my favorite and least-favorite moment.

Here it is, in case you missed the show:

I won’t say much about this, because it’s been written about in very smart ways already (check out Opinioness of the World‘s take, for starters), but it’s interesting that this setup, planned by Amy Poehler, was one of the few moments that deviated from awards show standards. I loathed Rob Lowe’s “girls” comment, even if it was part of the plan (I don’t know if it was), and feel ambivalent about the rest. Yes, the beauty pageant spoof emphasizes the fact that these shows are often most watched and discussed for What The Women Are Wearing. For many viewers, I suspect, fashion overshadows the actual awards. Women’s bodies and apparel choices are criticized and critiqued in every imaginable way, as if they are public property. But I question how effectively that message was delivered. The moment I think worked much better was Poehler and McCarthy joking about men finally getting substantial roles this year. However, it was great to see this group of talented women up on the stage together, supporting one another, and bringing a feminist sense of humor to the show.

3. Does Modern Family teach tolerance?

In accepting Modern Family‘s Emmy for Outstanding Comedy Series, Steve Levitan relayed the anecdote of a gay couple telling him “you’re not just making people laugh, you’re making them more tolerant.” The most radical element of Modern Family, to me, is the depiction of a gay couple as loving parents. The word “tolerant,” however, is a tricky one. A person can be “tolerant” while still holding deeply seated racist/sexist/homophobic views. What Modern Family doesn’t do is challenge stereotypes or force anyone to really examine their prejudice. We still have the effeminate gay men, the feisty Latina, and the rich man with a much younger (and beautiful) woman. We have a cast of entirely upper-middle class white people, with the exception of Gloria and her son, Manny. Don’t get me wrong: I think Modern Family is a very funny show, but let’s not go off the deep end congratulating them for depicting a very narrow kind of “tolerance.”

Also, someone should tell Oustanding Supporting Actor in a Comedy Series winner Ty Burrell that repeated jokes about wearing makeup to work and being a “very masculine lady” (even in the context of imagining what his father would say about his job) doesn’t really jibe with that whole “making people more tolerant” idea.

If you haven’t already, check out our reviews of the 2011 Emmy Nominees.