Ja’mie: Mean-Spirited Impression of a Private School Girl

Power dynamics mean something in comedy. Making fun of someone less powerful than you is sort of like beating up someone who’s small, or taking advantage of someone naive. It’s not very sporting, and it makes you look mean. The problem is that the same person can be powerful in some contexts and not in others. A rich, white 17-year-old girl, for example, might be very powerful in contexts where she’s bullying her classmates at school, but less powerful in contexts where she’s trying to meet the demands of a sexist culture. If you’re an adult man nearing 40, it’s hard to make fun of the way a teenage girl dresses, flirts, and moons over boys without starting to look kind of petty.

This guest post by Katherine Murray appears as part of our theme week on Child and Teenage Girl Protagonists.

Ja’mie: Private School Girl features a drag performance from Australian comedian Chris Lilley that’s sometimes funny and sometimes uncomfortable to watch. Join me as I do the least funny thing in the world, and try to explain how a joke works.

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Power dynamics mean something in comedy. Making fun of someone less powerful than you is sort of like beating up someone who’s small, or taking advantage of someone naive. It’s not very sporting, and it makes you look mean. The problem is that the same person can be powerful in some contexts and not in others. A rich, white 17-year-old girl, for example, might be very powerful in contexts where she’s bullying her classmates at school, but less powerful in contexts where she’s trying to meet the demands of a sexist culture. If you’re an adult man nearing 40, it’s hard to make fun of the way a teenage girl dresses, flirts, and moons over boys without starting to look kind of petty.

Currently airing on HBO, Ja’mie: Private School Girl  has plenty of funny moments as well as plenty that seem more mean-spirited, and the combination creates an uncomfortable viewing experience. Ja’mie, portrayed by Lilley, is a narcissistic and socially tone-deaf villain who was previously featured in We Can Be Heroes: Finding the Australian of the Year and Summer Heights High. Like The Office’s David Brent before her, Ja’mie craves admiration from others, but rarely does anything commendable. Instead, she inadvertently reveals herself to be racist, snobbish, bullying, and homophobic, while trying to sing her own praises. Private School Girl is the first series to focus exclusively on Ja’mie, following her through her day-to-day life as she prepares to graduate from the exclusive Hillford Girls Grammar School, and attempts to win the coveted Hillford Medal.

Ja’mie is one of Lilley’s most popular characters, and it isn’t hard to see why. A quick YouTube search returns some really funny clips from Heroes and Summer Heights High, where most of the comedy comes from Ja’mie’s hypocrisy. In Heroes, Ja’mie tries to gain recognition for her charity work—sponsoring African children through a World Vision analog—but reveals herself to be shallow and racist as soon as she tries to explain the project. She admits that she doesn’t know the names of any of the children she sponsors, because their names are “weird,” but she sings to their pictures “in their language” by making up words and clicking her tongue. When she learns that most of the children she sponsors were killed in a horrible flood, she’s devastated by the idea that this might hurt her chances at winning Australian of the Year, and calls the charity to make a customer complaint.

In Summer Heights High, Ja’mie is an exchange student at the titular public school, and she continually insults her classmates for being poor and ugly under the guise of finding common ground. She introduces herself by giving a prepared speech about how private school students are more likely to go to university and earn more money, whereas wife-beaters and rapists are statistically more likely to come from public schools. “People always go, ‘Private schools create better citizens,’”she says, “But I would say they create better quality citizens.” Later, when she campaigns for an end-of-year dance, she begins by telling everyone that dances give poor people (or “povos”), like them, something to live for. Under her leadership, the dance then becomes so expensive that no one can afford to buy tickets.

As of this writing, four of Private School Girl’s six episodes have aired, and the funniest moments rely on the same type of humour—scenes where Ja’mie congratulates herself for being nice to everyone, juxtaposed with documentary-style footage of her bullying other students. Fittingly, her nemesis at Hillford is an unpretentious girl named Erin who seems genuinely nice, and cares about helping others. Ja’mie recoils in disgust whenever Erin says or does anything heartfelt, and hypocritically accuses her of faking kindness in order to be admired. Though one might wish there were more characters for Ja’mie to play against, those scenes work really well, as do most of the scenes where we see Ja’mie whiplash between the falsely humble face she wears around people she wants to impress, and the vicious, Eric Cartman-like monster within.

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Unfortunately, there are other scenes in Private School Girl where it seems like the joke is just “Ha! She’s a girl!” which makes things a little uncomfortable. Chris Lilley also gave this cringey interview where he said that straight guys love the show, because “The show is sort of like making fun of girls. It’s doing all the annoying things that our girlfriends do.” Unless the annoying things their girlfriends do include grossly misusing charity outreach programs and tyrannizing strangers at school, I’m not sure that “annoying things girls do” is an awesome target for a grown man’s comedy—especially when the annoying things aren’t otherwise hurting anyone else.

For example, there are lot of scenes where Ja’mie and her friends talk over each other excitedly, dissolving into a wall of noise and screeching for seemingly endless minutes. In the first episode, there’s a scene where they goof around, taking a long time to say goodbye to each other, yelling back and forth about how they’ll miss each other SO MUCH, and how they’re best friends, before running back for hugs. There are scenes that are just about Ja’mie being excited because a cute boy accepted her friend request on Facebook, or because she gets to throw a party. In most of these instances, the events aren’t exaggerated to the point that they become absurd and therefore funny — instead, they feel like a fairly true-to-life impression of a certain type of teenage girlhood, and it feels like the show takes for granted that it’s OK to just make fun of that.

From a practical standpoint, the scenes aren’t particularly funny — they feel too much like watching a real reality show, where people you don’t particularly like have conversations that aren’t particularly important. At the same time, there’s an uncomfortable undercurrent, since the inclusion of most of these scenes tells us that they were supposed to be funny—that there’s supposed to be something inherently laughable in the way that (some) teenage girls talk to each other, or the way they express their emotions—so laughable that you don’t even need to make up a joke for the scene; you just have to show it. As satire, it’s a far cry from the wicked hypocrisy of Ja’mie’s charity mission in Africa.

There are other jokes, though, that cut a little closer to the bone, and most of them involve Ja’mie’s brazen but awkward sexuality. Mistakenly believing herself to be a good dancer, she repeatedly tries to gain attention by performing sexually charged (or “slutty”) choreography and undoing the top buttons on her uniform to show her bra. She flirts with her school principal and, when a boy stays over at her house, she makes sure to casually pass by his room wearing only a towel. She constantly seeks reassurance that she’s not fat, while obsessing over the idea that her breasts are too small, and there’s an ongoing plot about the etiquette of sexting. Internet spoilers assure me that the ongoing discussion of Ja’mie’s breasts, and whether or not she should flash them, is building toward conflict in the final episodes, but, as others have pointed out, it isn’t always clear whether the show is making fun of Ja’mie or of the culture that’s placed her in this position.

When it comes to sex, teenage girls are at a disadvantage. They’re subject to conflicting demands, telling them both that the need to be sexually available and that sexual availability is not OK—they inhabit a world where developing a sexual identity is a Choose Your Own Adventure that always ends in scorn. Although I’ll withhold judgement about the finale until I’ve seen it, there’s an uncomfortable sense that Private School Girl has so far treated Ja’mie’s conflicted sexuality as another instance of her personal hypocrisy—that she’s pretending to be modest when really she’s the kind of girl who wants to flash her tits, or she’s pretending to be sexually experienced when really she’s too frigid to get it on—rather than a relic of a culture that would shame her both for wanting and not wanting sex.

Altogether, Private School Girl works really well when its satire is aimed at racists, bullies, and snobs, but significantly less well when it’s aimed at the more diffuse target of “girls.” Watching it, you come away with the sense that Chris Lilley has gotten a little bit too good at playing this character; that he’s revelling in his ability to imitate a certain set of mannerisms, while the point of the joke has been lost.

 


Katherine Murray is a Toronto-based writer and couch potato who yells about TV on her blog.

HBO’s Dark Comedy of Geriatrics and the Nurses Who Love Them In ‘Getting On’

But Laurie Metcalf hammering a nail into the wall with a gynecologist’s ducklips thingy is priceless, as is a confused patient’s eyes clearing as Niecy Nash holds her hand. Here is perhaps where the show’s delicate balance between comedy and compassion becomes most apparent; the understaffed nurses are, at times, ridiculous in their adherence to bureaucracy and hospital politics, but they, and the patients they serve, are also given moments of generosity and human connection.

Written by Rachel Redfern

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PhGQxLFS_P4″]

It is a wide wonderful world filled with HBO. My love for the brilliantly gritty channel has grown exponentially the past three years, starting with the toe-curling, cherry-popping of my innocence that was True Blood and from there, it took over my computer screen in a way I never knew was possible: Game of Thrones, The Sopranos, Girls, Deadwood, The Wire, Veep and we haven’t even mentioned their miniseries yet.

And for every person who protests against the channel’s, hmm, illuminating use of sex and violence (and perhaps not entirely unjustly—there were a few scenes in Game of Thrones that made Quentin Tarantino raise an eyebrow) can it be denied that going back to a network show after a satisfying three-day binge of cable, feels lackluster and overly clean without the free-flowing use of the F-word?

Therefore, I give you Getting On, the latest British show to make its way across the pond in a cabled retelling, leaving us asking, is it a show ahead of its time?

Getting On is a dark comedy from creators Mark Olsen and Will Scheffer (Big Love) following the daily trials of the beleaguered Billy Barnes Extended Care Unit. There, we meet its aging female patients–ambitious director of medicine Jenna James, Laurie Metcalf (Roseanne), kiss-up head nurse Dawn, Alex Borstein (Family Guy), empathetic nurse DiDi, Niecy Nash (Reno 911), and neurotic supervisor Patsy, Mel Rodriguez (Community).

Three comediennes: Laurie Metcalf, Alex Borstein, and Niecy Nash
Three comediennes: Laurie Metcalf, Alex Borstein, and Niecy Nash

 

Obviously, the setting is a bit unusual, and potentially disturbing; some are concerned about the show trivializing a difficult time of life and the rigors of hospital work. Yet, death happens to everyone, so in the same way that we can all relate to the subject matter, it also makes us, at best, a bit uncomfortable, and for some, possibly a painful reminder of someone they’ve lost.

Which makes the whole comedy setting seem so insanely inappropriate, but perhaps brilliant at the same time? I mean, at least ER had hot doctors and a lot of people who made it out alive; you get the sense with Getting On that there won’t be that many George Clooneys and even less chance that the fountain of youth will appear in the final season.

But Laurie Metcalf hammering a nail into the wall with a gynecologist’s ducklips thingy is priceless, as is a confused patient’s eyes clearing as Niecy Nash holds her hand. Here is perhaps where the show’s delicate balance between comedy and compassion becomes most apparent; the understaffed nurses are, at times, ridiculous in their adherence to bureaucracy and hospital politics, but they, and the patients they serve, are also given moments of generosity and human connection.

getting on1
DiDi (Niecy Nash), our hero.

However, will Getting On resonate with an older audience? The original British version never made it past the third season, but I’m hopeful, as the show has some incredible dialogue and fantastic acting.

And besides its unusual setting, the show sports three main female characters (all middle-aged) taking care of elderly women. Basically, Getting On defies every statistic about women in Hollywood by single-handedly employing almost every woman over the age of 40 located in Los Angeles: women with wrinkles, saggy boobs, and poorly executed fashion choices; women of color, women with money, women without it; foul women, funny women, fantastic women. I even loved episode two’s racist, homophobic grandma that kept throwing up on everyone and then throwing things at everyone.

While the show isn’t perfect, it’s boldly treading into off-limits territory (or at least boldly following in the footsteps of it British predecessor) and exposing both funny and profound elements of growing old.

Now, let’s hope that the show isn’t cut off while still in its prime.

‘True Blood’ Season Six Kick Off!

Written by Rachel Redfern

***Spoiler (or more aptly called, rumors) alert  

With the passing of one great HBO show comes the dawn of a new one. While we all cry for the season finale of Game of Thrones and the subsequent nine months without Peter Dinklage, it means now we have True Blood to look forward to.

Starting June 16th, the next great gratifyingly guts and love HBO show will be up and running with ten episodes pleasantly filled with Eric Northman (Alexander Skarsgard), Bill Compton (Stephen Moyer), and Alcide Herveoux (Joe Manganiello); while the show has a normal run of twelve episodes a season, it’s been shortened to a soul-crushing ten due to Anna Paquin’s pregnancy.

As a little recap, season five ended with Eric yelling, “Sookie, Run!” after the creation of Billith, the lovable Bill turned into a religious vampire fundamentalist who drinks the ancient blood of Lillith and becomes an evil liturgical nightmare. 

Artwork of Lillith

As a feminist, I find it fascinating that Lillith was chosen as the starting point for the vampire religion. In the original legend of Lillith, she was created before Eve to be Adam’s wife, but she refused to be Adam’s “slave” and so rebelled against god, left the Garden of Eden and then slept with Satan. She gave birth to many children by Satan, but when god demanded she give them to him she refused. Therefore, like so many female mythic figures (and modern day ones) she has been cast as either a demonic prostitute or as a great mother figure who protects children, more commonly known as the angel on the hearth.

This obviously transitions into the use of religious themes from season five, and that will be carried over into season six. (According to the season six trailer, an incredulous Sookie tells Bill, “You really do think you’re god.”) Whether True Blood intends to cast Lillith as a demon or an angel hasn’t been entirely determined (though my money is on demon); however, it’s incredibly unique to have a woman as the savior figure in a religion (the only other film/tv show I can think of is Dogma, and I’m not sure that counts). Unfortunately though, it seems Lillith can’t just stay a woman; Bill drinks Lillith’s blood and effectively becomes a part of her,  either taking on some part of her divinity or just becoming her in flesh. While it was a bit frustrating to have her become a man at the end of the season, it’s also still interesting to have a possibly androgynous religious figure.

True Blood is a show that has consistently dealt with some of the more mythological and pagan representations of women: Holly (Lauren Bowles) as a good witch; Marnie (Fiona Shaw) and Antonia in season four as the sometimes bad, sometimes good witches; Maryann (Michelle Forbes), as the evil ancient maenad in season two; and a whole host of good, bad and flighty fairies throughout the entire show.

Of course on the surface, True Blood gets a reputation as a vampire romance with lots and lots of sex; however, the show in general has powerful themes: religious fundamentalism, terrorism, racism, homosexuality, and even PTSD. Todd Lowe and his gentle search for earthly normalcy provided a great counterpoint to the search for supernatural artifacts or dominion of the other characters. Also, Lafayette (Nelsan Ellis) is one of the most interesting homosexual characters on television; Ellis plays the role with a physical masculinity but with a more feminine wardrobe and a flamboyant sexuality. For me, Ellis’ masterful acting as a playful joining of genders and stereotypes is able to move away from a trite rehashing of more mainstream representations of homosexuality. (Note: The following clip, while representative of Ellis’ fine powers of gender melding, also contains explicit language. NSFW.)

 

True Blood also did an amazing job with firmly insinuating a real sense of place into the series; there is a gritty realism to its deep south with the humidity, rich and poor suburbs, accent, clothing and behavior. Ultimately the show portrays poverty, varying levels of education, spiritual communities, even a few crappy old cars, and unlike many other shows, characters are of varying beauty and body type, have unstylish hair cuts and ill-fitting jeans (except for a lot of the vamps–most of them are just dripping sex). So at least the show maintains some sense of realism while the main cast runs around staking vampires and strip dancing with fairies.

We also have to recognize the incredibly kick ass soundtracks that the producers bang out over every season: Beyond the bland mixes of generic pop music of most shows, True Blood features punk rock, country, folk music, fabulous jazz and sleazy hip hop in a brilliant mashup. It also has in my opinion, one of the best, if not the best, opening sequences of any tv show. 
 

The cast of True Blood


So, on to season six: what can we expect? Spoilers and rumors to follow.

Sookie and Jason: Looks like Sookie and Jason are on the trail for Warlow (Rutger Hauer), the mysterious vampire who killed their parents and to whom Sookie was apparently promised. Sookie also looks like she’s coming in to her own and letting someone (Bill? Eric?) know she doesn’t belong to anyone and that she’s getting sick of the way her life is going.

Eric and Sookie: Eric and Sookie look like they’re getting it on in a few scenes and beyond that, Eric looks sweet, and sexy and amazing. Perhaps this season we’ll get to see him in the heroes’ role as he realizes the best parts of himself? Also, apparently Nora isn’t just his sister? Supposedly, there’s a little bit more of a secret there than we originally thought. Bigger than all of that though, is the rumor that Eric might meet the true death in this season, which if that happens, would entirely change the course of the show.

On a side note however, the show has received some criticism for its unwillingness to kill off major characters, so while I think that Eric dying is a low possibility, (though Skarsgard’s career has been gaining recently; he might want to move on to other projects) perhaps that’s why the show might be ready to take the plunge of major character death? Also, consider this season’s tagline “No one lives forever.” 

True Blood Season 6 and tagline

Pam and Tara: Pam and Tara will continue their relationship and the two definitely seem to be going it alone. However, I have heard that Tara has a near-true-death experience, which we hope will only be an experience and not a permanent change. 

Evil: The humans might just be the villains in this season, along with Warlow, since rumors have been leaked of scary anti-vampire weapons (one of which might end up hurting Tara). It also looks like there’s some intense secret lab where humans have been conducting experiments on vampires and other supernaturals. Perhaps a vampire/werewolf alliance will be on the horizon this season?

On a happy note, everyone’s favorite pastor family is back with Sarah Newlin (Anna Camp) and Steve Newlin (Michael McMillian), and Sarah looks like she’s probably gonna be a badass. 

Trailer #2

Trailer #1 

What do you think will happen this season? Is it time for a main character to die? 


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.

 

The Butler, the Billions, and ‘Bernard and Doris’s Broken Hearts

Movie poster for Bernard and Doris
This is a guest post by Margaret Howie.
But the question, again, is do you ever really want to ever be intimate? If you do, then it might as well be this person. It’s not about gender. It’s not about race, or age, or anything. The hurdle is intimacy. –Susan Sarandon (on Bernard and Doris, from the movie’s official site).

Money changes everything, as noted by deep thinkers from Karl Marx to Cyndi Lauper. The very rich are so interesting because they seem to occupy a different world from us, one where you don’t have to worry about picking up after yourself — you have to worry about the people you’ve hired to pick up after you. Bernard and Doris’ director, Bob Balaban, encountered the dramatic potential of wealth and domesticity when he appeared in 2001’s manor house drama Gosford Park. Balaban’s movie, produced by HBO in 2006, is based on the real life relationship between tobacco heiress Doris Duke (Susan Sarandon) and her gay Irish butler Bernard Lafferty (Ralph Fiennes). Balaban and screenwriter Hugh Costello used this scenario to examine two vulnerable people who crossed class and professional boundaries to make a messy, painful, and touching drama.

Duke controversially changed her will near the end of her life in 1993, leaving Lafferty in charge of her enormous estate. After her death he was accused of manipulation, and even murder. But while the script uses some of the facts of Duke and Lafferty’s time together to begin and end the story, it’s not concerned with trying to build a case for or against him. Instead of going the Law & Order route, it affixes a great big disclaimer in the opening credits in order to play with fictional interpretations.

The result is more than a chance to gawk at the excesses and indulgences of a wealthy woman and her lavish property, or speculate as to what exactly happened in Duke’s final days. Thanks in large part to the brilliant performances by Sarandon and Fiennes, it’s an examination of a peculiar combination of people in extraordinary circumstances who develop a deep bond.

Susan Sarandon as multimillionaire Doris Duke
From the priceless opening scene, where Doris spits out an over-chilled cantaloupe and instantly fires a hapless butler without bothering to make eye contact with him, her character’s leadership is established. The rich young socialite seen in the opening credit sequence has grown into an authoritative, frugal, beautifully appointed woman. The film is careful to show early on that there’s nothing simple about having this amount of money to manage. Doris makes her decisions very quickly and very definitively, and if she doesn’t spend much of her leisure time sober, that’s no one’s business but her own.

With her elaborate outfits, fluffy dogs (played by Sarandon’s own pets), and sturdy sexual appetite, Doris could easily be shown following in the snobbish steps of 48 carat ditzes like Goldie Hawn in Overboard or Claudette Colbert in It Happened One Night. She’s rich and attractive and probably in need of being taken down a peg or two. But the film chooses to revel in Duke’s powers. She’s shown as dominating the various spheres she occupies: business, artistic, political, celebrity. Even her spiritual quest is done with distinct flair: she moves her newly found Indian guru over to America. Doris’s wealth, control and personality are all wrapped up in the New Jersey mansion she hires meek butler Bernard Lafferty to look after.

Doris may be in the habit of shedding staff like so many overchilled cantaloupes, but Bernard proves himself to have an immense practical and empathic capacity. She’s a smart woman who understands the value of a servant who quickly pays off a nurse she’s recently punched out in a plastic surgery clinic.

Bernard is a nurturer, softly spoken and with an awestruck air whenever he’s around Doris. He soaks up every crumb of her attention and is shown trying on her earrings and scarves, lighting up with the reflected glamour. When one of her business managers pushes Doris to fire him, she incredulously points out that he does embroidery.

Bernard Lafferty (Ralph Fiennes) in an early scene in Bernard and Doris
Under her instruction, he begins to grow more colourful and flamboyant. Like the orchids she nurtures in an immense greenhouse, Bernard blooms with more feminine accessories, brightly coloured shirts, a twinkling diamond earring, longer hair. It’s a sharing of Doris’s personal style, and of her funds that purchase all this glitz. The film shows that all of her relationships are guided by money, and while at first she appears to be in charge of it, it still has the power to unsettle her. In the aftermath of a furious argument with her young lover Ben (Nick Rolfe), she confesses to Bernard that her first husband asked her on their wedding night how much his allowance would be. She lost her infant daughter and her father, the two people she seems to have found unconditional love from, and the rest of the world has offered her only the love that comes with an expense account.

But while Bernard and Doris are brought together by money, they find each other a balm for their loneliness. It’s an imperfect match, as rocky and erratic as any long-term serious relationship. He falls off the wagon and loots her wine cellar. She drives drunk with him in the passenger seat. He sets her against her other advisors and monopolises her healthcare. She derides him for being needy. Neither of them maintains graciousness, for all the wealth that saturates them. This is what’s so effective about the movie–demonstrating the state of love they reach when they do get on. When Doris breaks down over Nick’s betrayal and her only child’s death, Bernard offers her pure acceptance. When his drinking lands him back in rehab, she returns it. It’s this volleying of trust back and forth that the two actors’ brilliant performances make believable. 

Doris: “I don’t get it. You don’t fuck me; you don’t steal from me. So what do you want from me?” Bernard: “I want to take care of you, Miss Duke.”

The movie has fun with traditional gender roles and domesticity. Every inch the lady, Doris is also the master of the house. She and Bernard love dressing up in beautiful things, not as mere fripperies but as the accessories of power that stuns grey-suited boardroom members. The climactic scene comes when Bernard, wearing one of her gorgeous ballgowns and jewelry, carries the infirm Doris down for a private birthday dinner. It’s a gleefully camp moment, but also a poignant one.

She knows that he’s achieved his dream of shared intimacy, but over a discussion of her funeral plans, she sharply reinstates her superiority, snapping at him, “I must really be crazy to believe a fucker like you.”

Scenes like this pose the question of how little can be known about a close relationship, even from the inside. At the end of the film, Bernard is still inside the house, now the master. Over his head hangs the question of what really passed between him and his former employer. The hothouse environment where Doris grows orchids provides an example of what could have happened, when extremes of wealth, personality, and needs are pushed together to flourish, and possibly rot. Bernard and Doris explores the ambiguities of intimacy between two imperfect people, where there is no happy ever after, but it’s nothing less than a love story to the end.


Margaret Howie is a London-based bookseller who doesn’t need a butler but wouldn’t mind a wine cellar.

The Occasional Purposeful Nudity on ‘Game of Thrones’

In fact, the difference between gratuitous nudity and artistic nudity is not that difficult to discern. Even ‘Game of Thrones,’ the show that puts the word “tit” in “titillation,” occasionally uses nudity in a way that isn’t exploitative and adds to a scene rather than detracting from it.

Written by Lady T.
Much has been said about the gratuitous nudity on Game of Thrones. Several feminist critics (such as yours truly) have written about the objectification of the female characters, and how the writers use naked women as objects for male fantasy or to develop male characters.
Challenging the use of nudity in a TV show or film will predictably result in accusations of prudishness and pearl-clutching, as though feminist critics are nothing but live-action versions of Helen Lovejoy.

 

“Won’t somebody please think of the children?!”

 

It’s easy to assume that critics are ranting because they’re too squeamish and repressed to look at pictures of naked women without feeling embarrassed. Leaping to that conclusion is much more comfortable than acknowledging the problematic aspects of using naked female bodies as decoration and masturbatory fodder.
The accusation of prudishness is also a strawman argument, assuming that viewers who object to objectification can’t tell the difference between gratuitous nudity (where naked bodies are used for spank bank material) and nudity that serves an artistic purpose.
In fact, the difference between gratuitous nudity and artistic nudity is not that difficult to discern. Even Game of Thrones, the show that puts the word “tit” in “titillation,” occasionally uses nudity in a way that isn’t exploitative and adds to a scene rather than detracting from it.
One such example can be found in the story of Daenerys Targaryen, a character who is more frequently naked than most other characters on the show. The very first time we see Daenerys, she is a pawn in her brother’s game to earn the throne he feels is rightfully his. Stripped naked, Daenerys steps into a bathtub, her eyes haunted and her expression blank. She is the sacrificial lamb and she knows it, and her nakedness is symbolic of her status as an object.
The last time we see Daenerys in the first season, she’s naked again–except this time, she has just emerged from flames and hatched three dragon eggs. The fire that consumed her enemy and her clothes has left her skin smudged but unburnt. Her nakedness is no longer a symbol of her vulnerability–it’s a symbol of strength.

 

The Mother of Dragons, Daenerys the Unburnt

 

Daenerys doesn’t have to be naked for the viewer to understand the change in her character, but the nudity in both scenes highlights and reinforces the dramatic growth she’s had over ten episodes.
Another scene that includes purposeful nudity takes place in the third season, where Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth, captive of Stark family allies, bathe in the tub (though sitting on opposite sides). Jaime, having lost his swordfighting hand, is even more sarcastic than usual, insulting Brienne’s prowess as a fighter and implying that her former king died because she wasn’t a good enough knight. At this, the maid of Tarth leaps to her feet, completely naked in front of the Kingslayer, staring him down until he apologizes for impugning her honor.
This is a great moment for Brienne’s character–only moments before, she was embarrassed to share a bath with the Kingslayer, but when he insults her, she wastes no time in asserting herself. When she rises to her feet, naked as the day she was born, she isn’t subject to the same male gaze as the chorus of nameless prostitutes on Game of Thrones. She’s still a warrior, and being stripped of her armor doesn’t change that fact one bit.
And the scene only gets better from there. Jaime Lannister, used to being the strongest and most skilled person in the room (in both swordplay and wordplay), is stripped in every sense of the word. He’s vulnerable in a way he’s never been before, confessing the truth about his reasons for killing the Mad King, and he eventually faints into Brienne’s arms, whispering, “Jaime. My name is Jaime.”

 

Brienne hears Jaime’s tale of killing the Mad King
Much like Daenerys’s scenes at the beginning and end of season one, the nudity in this scene represents both strength and vulnerability. In this scene, Jaime Lannister reveals more of himself than he’s revealed to any other person, and this only works if they’re both literally stripped bare.
Now imagine how much MORE powerful these scenes would be if the frequent use of gratuitous boob shots hadn’t turned this aspect of the show into a running joke.
Despite strawman arguments that claim the contrary, it’s really not all that hard to discern the difference between gratuitous nudity and nudity that serves an artistic purpose. People who claim otherwise are not confused; they’re deliberately disingenuous.

 

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

 

The Occasional Purposeful Nudity on ‘Game of Thrones’

Written by Lady T.
Much has been said about the gratuitous nudity on Game of Thrones. Several feminist critics (such as yours truly) have written about the objectification of the female characters, and how the writers use naked women as objects for male fantasy or to develop male characters.
Challenging the use of nudity in a TV show or film will predictably result in accusations of prudishness and pearl-clutching, as though feminist critics are nothing but live-action versions of Helen Lovejoy.

“Won’t somebody please think of the children?!”

It’s easy to assume that critics are ranting because they’re too squeamish and repressed to look at pictures of naked women without feeling embarrassed. Leaping to that conclusion is much more comfortable than acknowledging the problematic aspects of using naked female bodies as decoration and masturbatory fodder.
The accusation of prudishness is also a strawman argument, assuming that viewers who object to objectification can’t tell the difference between gratuitous nudity (where naked bodies are used for spank bank material) and nudity that serves an artistic purpose.
In fact, the difference between gratuitous nudity and artistic nudity is not that difficult to discern. Even Game of Thrones, the show that puts the word “tit” in “titillation,” occasionally uses nudity in a way that isn’t exploitative and adds to a scene rather than detracting from it.
One such example can be found in the story of Daenerys Targaryen, a character who is more frequently naked than most other characters on the show. The very first time we see Daenerys, she is a pawn in her brother’s game to earn the throne he feels is rightfully his. Stripped naked, Daenerys steps into a bathtub, her eyes haunted and her expression blank. She is the sacrificial lamb and she knows it, and her nakedness is symbolic of her status as an object.
The last time we see Daenerys in the first season, she’s naked again–except this time, she has just emerged from flames and hatched three dragon eggs. The fire that consumed her enemy and her clothes has left her skin smudged but unburnt. Her nakedness is no longer a symbol of her vulnerability–it’s a symbol of strength.

The Mother of Dragons, Daenerys the Unburnt

Daenerys doesn’t have to be naked for the viewer to understand the change in her character, but the nudity in both scenes highlights and reinforces the dramatic growth she’s had over ten episodes.
Another scene that includes purposeful nudity takes place in the third season, where Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth, captive of Stark family allies, bathe in the tub (though sitting on opposite sides). Jaime, having lost his swordfighting hand, is even more sarcastic than usual, insulting Brienne’s prowess as a fighter and implying that her former king died because she wasn’t a good enough knight. At this, the maid of Tarth leaps to her feet, completely naked in front of the Kingslayer, staring him down until he apologizes for impugning her honor.
This is a great moment for Brienne’s character–only moments before, she was embarrassed to share a bath with the Kingslayer, but when he insults her, she wastes no time in asserting herself. When she rises to her feet, naked as the day she was born, she isn’t subject to the same male gaze as the chorus of nameless prostitutes on Game of Thrones. She’s still a warrior, and being stripped of her armor doesn’t change that fact one bit.
And the scene only gets better from there. Jaime Lannister, used to being the strongest and most skilled person in the room (in both swordplay and wordplay), is stripped in every sense of the word. He’s vulnerable in a way he’s never been before, confessing the truth about his reasons for killing the Mad King, and he eventually faints into Brienne’s arms, whispering, “Jaime. My name is Jaime.”

Brienne hears Jaime’s tale of killing the Mad King
Much like Daenerys’s scenes at the beginning and end of season one, the nudity in this scene represents both strength and vulnerability. In this scene, Jaime Lannister reveals more of himself than he’s revealed to any other person, and this only works if they’re both literally stripped bare.
Now imagine how much MORE powerful these scenes would be if the frequent use of gratuitous boob shots hadn’t turned this aspect of the show into a running joke.
Despite strawman arguments that claim the contrary, it’s really not all that hard to discern the difference between gratuitous nudity and nudity that serves an artistic purpose. People who claim otherwise are not confused; they’re deliberately disingenuous. 

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

Infertility and Miscarriage in HBO’s ‘Tell Me You Love Me’

Tell Me You Love Me poster

Written by Stephanie Rogers as part of our theme week on Infertility, Miscarriage, and Infant Loss.

Before Lena Duhman burst onto the HBO scene and started ruining lives with her depictions of graphic and awkward sex on screen, a show existed called Tell Me You Love Me. Created by Cynthia Mort, and airing on HBO for only one season, the show centered around four upper middle-class white couples in different stages of their lives, trying to keep their shit together and their relationships functional. I tend to enjoy watching people on screen struggle with interpersonal conflict, fail miserably at resolving it, and then end up in intensive psychoanalysis and sex therapy where they experience embarrassing emotional breakdowns. YOLO, right? 

Dave and Katie in Tell Me You Love Me
David (Tim DeKay) and Katie (Ally Walker) represent the typical married couple in their 40s: busy with work, busy with children, who’ve lost the “fire” in their marriage. The sex fire. They manage to talk about it openly with each other, but they eventually end up seeing a therapist to help them work through that year-long lovemaking lull. Carolyn (Sonya Walger) and Palek (Adam Scott), both in their 30s, want a baby but struggle with infertility issues, which also sends them to therapy. The not-yet-married Jamie (Michelle Borth) and Hugo (Luke Farrell Kirby), the youngest members of the ensemble, seem to have the exact opposite problem—they sex it up so much in public, in private, wherever the fuck, that they’re each convinced the other will eventually cheat. Similar to HBO’s In Treatment, the show connects these storylines together by sending all three couples to the same therapist—Dr. May Foster (Jane Alexander), whose own relationship struggles with her partner Arthur (David Selby) occasionally surface. 
Dr. Foster and Arthur in Tell Me You Love Me
The show raised all kinds of eyebrows in 2007 because of the very real sex scenes. The show creators countered any arguments that a cast fuckfest had ensued with “IT’S SIMULATED,” but I distinctly remember seeing penetration. That was six years ago, so, like, Lena Dunham ain’t got nothin’ on Cynthia Mort. 
Of all the couples on Tell Me You Love Me, Palek and Carolyn—and their struggles with infertility—enthralled me the most. 
Jamie and Hugo in Tell Me You Love Me
Sidenote: I love Parks and Recreation, especially Ben and Leslie’s adorable relationship. But before Adam Scott landed the role of Ben Wyatt and became part of the most wonderful couple on TV, he got super naked a million times on Tell Me You Love Me. (According to an interview with Scott, that penis was hardcore prosthetic. Still, sometimes, when I look at Ben Wyatt, I accidentally think about Palek’s fake penis.) 
Admittedly, I haven’t seen the show since it first aired, but I remember finding Palek and Carolyn so compelling. I was 28 years old at the time, but for some reason, I found less interesting the couple in their 20s fucking in cars every five minutes and more interesting the professionally successful couple in their 30s, who deeply loved each other but for whom sex had become a means to an end. They wanted a baby. And each time Carolyn failed to become pregnant—and both Carolyn and Palek viewed their potential infertility as an individual failure—their relationship suffered. 
Palek and Carolyn in Tell Me You Love Me
Perhaps what I found interesting, and even important, especially as a woman starting to understand how feminism fit into my life in a practical way, were the gender dynamics at play in Palek and Carolyn’s pregnancy struggles. Throughout the ten-episode arc, Carolyn basically treats Palek as a sperm donor, and his complaints about the lack of intimacy in their relationship stem from that—he wants feeling and emotion attached to making love with his wife; yet Carolyn sees that as unimportant, often demanding that he provide her with sex whenever she asks for it. 
In one pivotal scene, after an argument about their sex life and possible infertility, Palek and Carolyn get rough on the couch, with Palek saying, “I’ll get you pregnant,” every time he thrusts inside her. I remember feeling sick to my stomach as I watched that scene. The anger Palek felt toward his wife, accompanied by his own feelings of inadequacy as a man unable to perform an exclusively male function, manifested as a borderline violent sex scene that, frankly, scared me a little. 
Palek and Carolyn in Tell Me You Love Me
At the same time, I found the on screen gender dynamics fascinating between them: Carolyn becomes the stereotypical man demanding sex from his wife; Palek becomes the stereotypical woman who desires emotional intimacy with her husband; they end up in therapy as a result, and they’re both sympathetic characters. I like that the show flips this conventional portrayal of married couples, and, while I know this either/or, Mars/Venus shit ain’t true, and that we’re all complex fucking human beings with a spectrum of similar physical and emotional needs, it’s necessary to see a man on screen who’s up in arms about the lack of emotional intimacy in his relationship with his wife. Somehow, it’s still a rarity to see nuanced portrayals of sensitive men. 
I don’t want to give anything else away about this show, particularly about this couple. It ended after only one ten-episode season, and I think people need to revisit it. The best teaser I can give you is the fan vid below. That is all. 

Gratuitous Female Nudity and Complex Female Characters in ‘Game of Thrones’

Yes, ‘Game of Thrones’ is a show that loves its nudity. HBO is known for gratuitous displays of naked ladies in many of its show, but ‘Game of Thrones’ might as well exist on a network called HBOOB.

Written by Lady T
Ros from Game of Thrones. Full frontal nudity in 3… 2… 1…
[Yes, I have read the books.]
Game of Thrones, the HBO series based on George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire novels, premiered in April 2011. Since then, the show has received attention for its sprawling scope, large cast, morally complex characters, strong acting (particularly the performance of Peter Dinklage as Tyrion Lannister), and the numerous shots of prostitutes and naked boobs in almost every episode.
Yes, Game of Thrones is a show that loves its nudity. HBO is known for gratuitous displays of naked ladies in many of its show, but Game of Thrones might as well exist on a network called HBOOB. The series premiere alone had more boob close-ups than a Girls With Low Self-Esteem video (yes, that was an intentional reference to Arrested Westeros!) Numerous feminist writers have commented on the gratuitous nudity of the show, with Melissa McEwan at Shakesville and Madeline Davies at Jezebel nicknaming the program “Game of Boners.” (I prefer Game of Tits, myself).

 

Doreah: not nude in this scene, but give her a minute
Now, Game of Thrones is hardly the first show or film to show a lot of gratuitous female nudity, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. What I find interesting about the criticism of Game of Thrones’ gratuitous female nudity is that it’s not limited to feminist outlets and blogs. Mainstream television critics and humor outlets are talking about the soft-porn quality of the nudity and sex scenes:
  • Myles McNutt, critic and academic blogger, coined the term “sexposition” to describe the nudity on Game of Thrones, a term adopted by Alan Sepinwall and used in other criticisms of the show.
  • Someecards came out with a Game of Thrones-related “romantic” card that reads, “I want to get you as gratuitously naked as a Game of Thrones character.”
  • The Onion wrote about the season premiere with an article entitled, “Game of Thrones’ Season 3 Opens with Every Character Getting Fingered While Discussing the Arrival of Winter.”
  • Saturday Night Live did a sketch last year about Game of Thrones and its two creative consultants: author George R.R. Martin, and a 13-year-old boy who adds naked women in the background of every scene.
Apparently, all this talk of sexposition displeases and even offends the producers:

“A frustrated Weiss responded to a question about the amount of sex and nudity on the show, and the commentary about it, by saying, ‘We put in the show what we think belongs in the show. There are going to be people who think there’s too much of something, or not enough. If you create a show with a committee of a million people, you’re not going to make a very good show. We do what’s right to us.'”

Well. I’m satisfied. *cough*
Still, even though I’m glad to read these criticisms, I can’t help but wonder–why this show? Why is Game of Thrones unable to escape the “sexposition” jokes when other shows with gratuitous nudity are praised for grim dark realism?
I have a couple of theories about that, but I think the main reason Game of Thrones‘ nudity has become a popular punchline has to do with the show’s wide array of complex female characters.

 

Daenerys Targaryen, between one nude scene and another

 

Game of Thrones is not like Lord of the Rings or other popular fantasy series that forget that women exist. Women are prominent in the society of Westeros, whether behind the scenes or fighting on the fields.
Game of Thrones has traditionally feminine characters like Catelyn and Sansa Stark, Cersei Lannister, and Margaery and Olenna Tyrell, queens and noblewomen who exist mostly in the domestic sphere but also show keen shrewdness about the way the world is stacked against them.
Game of Thrones also has female characters who break traditional gender roles, who would rather fight with a sword or a bow and arrow than get married and have children: Arya Stark, Osha, Yara Grejoy, Ygritte, Meera Reed, and Brienne of Tarth.
Game of Thrones has Daenerys Targaryen, a woman who combines traditionally feminine traits and a fierce warrior spirit by coining herself as the Mother of Dragons. (She’s also one of the few female characters who has had nude scenes that actually served a purpose.)
Game of Thrones even allows some of its female characters more complexity and development than they received in the book. Shae, a prostitute and Tyrion’s paramour, is a giggly non-entity of a character in the novels. On the show, she is a sharp observer of human behavior and compassionate to Sansa.
Game of Thrones has a scene where a female knight pledges fealty to a woman. How many times has that occurred in television history?

 

 

Considering the presence of so many complex women in Game of Thrones, it seems like critics might save their nudity-related complaints for other programs that populate their shows with mere ciphers (if they cast any women at all). So why are we still talking about nudity on THIS show?
I think our culture has become so accustomed to seeing naked women used as props in advertising, film, television, and in other forms of media, that we don’t always notice objectification anymore. Those of us who are actively feminist will notice unnecessary boobage in a show, but more casual consumers of media and popular culture might not pick up on the objectification in such displays of nudity, because the objectification is everywhere.
Game of Thrones, however, gives us scenes with characters like Cersei and Catelyn and Arya and Brienne and Daenerys, shows them as complex and complicated and morally gray as any male character on the show–and two minutes later, gives us a scene where a male character talks to a woman who exists as nothing more than a naked giggling prop.
The shift is jarring, as if the show is saying, “Women are complex, just like men–now here are some more boobs in soft glowy lighting, brought to you by The Male Gaze™.” It’s jarring enough that even a casual viewer is more likely to notice. You can’t be oblivious to the naked giggling props when there are so many fully-clothed, complex human beings around, reminding us that women are people.
Or maybe the most casual of viewers can look at a scene where a man exposits all his schemes and dreams to one prostitute finger-fucking another prostitute and think, “Okay, that’s a little too much, even for me.”

———-

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

Gratuitous Female Nudity and Complex Female Characters in ‘Game of Thrones’

Written by Lady T  

Ros from Game of Thrones. Full frontal nudity in 3… 2… 1…
[Yes, I have read the books.]
Game of Thrones, the HBO series based on George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire novels, premiered in April 2011. Since then, the show has received attention for its sprawling scope, large cast, morally complex characters, strong acting (particularly the performance of Peter Dinklage as Tyrion Lannister), and the numerous shots of prostitutes and naked boobs in almost every episode.
Yes, Game of Thrones is a show that loves its nudity. HBO is known for gratuitous displays of naked ladies in many of its show, but Game of Thrones might as well exist on a network called HBOOB. The series premiere alone had more boob close-ups than a Girls With Low Self-Esteem video (yes, that was an intentional reference to Arrested Westeros!) Numerous feminist writers have commented on the gratuitous nudity of the show, with Melissa McEwan at Shakesville and Madeline Davies at Jezebel nicknaming the program “Game of Boners.” (I prefer Game of Tits, myself).

Doreah: not nude in this scene, but give her a minute
Now, Game of Thrones is hardly the first show or film to show a lot of gratuitous female nudity, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. What I find interesting about the criticism of Game of Thrones’ gratuitous female nudity is that it’s not limited to feminist outlets and blogs. Mainstream television critics and humor outlets are talking about the soft-porn quality of the nudity and sex scenes:
  • Myles McNutt, critic and academic blogger, coined the term “sexposition” to describe the nudity on Game of Thrones, a term adopted by Alan Sepinwall and used in other criticisms of the show.
  • Someecards came out with a Game of Thrones-related “romantic” card that reads, “I want to get you as gratuitously naked as a Game of Thrones character.”
  • The Onion wrote about the season premiere with an article entitled, “Game of Thrones’ Season 3 Opens with Every Character Getting Fingered While Discussing the Arrival of Winter.”
  • Saturday Night Live did a sketch last year about Game of Thrones and its two creative consultants: author George R.R. Martin, and a 13-year-old boy who adds naked women in the background of every scene.
Apparently, all this talk of sexposition displeases and even offends the producers:
“A frustrated Weiss responded to a question about the amount of sex and nudity on the show, and the commentary about it, by saying, ‘We put in the show what we think belongs in the show. There are going to be people who think there’s too much of something, or not enough. If you create a show with a committee of a million people, you’re not going to make a very good show. We do what’s right to us.'”

Well. I’m satisfied. *cough*
Still, even though I’m glad to read these criticisms, I can’t help but wonder–why this show? Why is Game of Thrones unable to escape the “sexposition” jokes when other shows with gratuitous nudity are praised for grim dark realism?
I have a couple of theories about that, but I think the main reason Game of Thrones‘ nudity has become a popular punchline has to do with the show’s wide array of complex female characters. 

Daenerys Targaryen, between one nude scene and another

Game of Thrones is not like Lord of the Rings or other popular fantasy series that forget that women exist. Women are prominent in the society of Westeros, whether behind the scenes or fighting on the fields.
Game of Thrones has traditionally feminine characters like Catelyn and Sansa Stark, Cersei Lannister, and Margaery and Olenna Tyrell, queens and noblewomen who exist mostly in the domestic sphere but also show keen shrewdness about the way the world is stacked against them.
Game of Thrones also has female characters who break traditional gender roles, who would rather fight with a sword or a bow and arrow than get married and have children: Arya Stark, Osha, Yara Grejoy, Ygritte, Meera Reed, and Brienne of Tarth.
Game of Thrones has Daenerys Targaryen, a woman who combines traditionally feminine traits and a fierce warrior spirit by coining herself as the Mother of Dragons. (She’s also one of the few female characters who has had nude scenes that actually served a purpose.)
Game of Thrones even allows some of its female characters more complexity and development than they received in the book. Shae, a prostitute and Tyrion’s paramour, is a giggly non-entity of a character in the novels. On the show, she is a sharp observer of human behavior and compassionate to Sansa.
Game of Thrones has a scene where a female knight pledges fealty to a woman. How many times has that occurred in television history?

Considering the presence of so many complex women in Game of Thrones, it seems like critics might save their nudity-related complaints for other programs that populate their shows with mere ciphers (if they cast any women at all). So why are we still talking about nudity on THIS show?
I think our culture has become so accustomed to seeing naked women used as props in advertising, film, television, and in other forms of media, that we don’t always notice objectification anymore. Those of us who are actively feminist will notice unnecessary boobage in a show, but more casual consumers of media and popular culture might not pick up on the objectification in such displays of nudity, because the objectification is everywhere.
Game of Thrones, however, gives us scenes with characters like Cersei and Catelyn and Arya and Brienne and Daenerys, shows them as complex and complicated and morally gray as any male character on the show–and two minutes later, gives us a scene where a male character talks to a woman who exists as nothing more than a naked giggling prop.
The shift is jarring, as if the show is saying, “Women are complex, just like men–now here are some more boobs in soft glowy lighting, brought to you by The Male Gaze™.” It’s jarring enough that even a casual viewer is more likely to notice. You can’t be oblivious to the naked giggling props when there are so many fully-clothed, complex human beings around, reminding us that women are people. 
Or maybe the most casual of viewers can look at a scene where a man exposits all his schemes and dreams to one prostitute finger-fucking another prostitute and think, “Okay, that’s a little too much, even for me.”

———-

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

Let’s All Take a Deep Breath and Calm the Fuck Down About Lena Dunham

Lena Dunham and the cast of Girls

Written by Stephanie Rogers. 

Dear Lena Dunham Haters,
I’m sick of the Lena Dunham hate.
I’m not referring to the criticisms of Dunham, which are—in most cases—valid and necessary critiques of her privilege, especially how that privilege translates into her work. The first season of Girls in particular either ignored people of color entirely, which is problematic enough since the show takes place in Brooklyn (a predominantly Black neighborhood), but when it did include people of color, they tended to appear as stereotypes (nannies, homeless, etc), and Dunham absolutely deserves to be called out for that.
But I’m sick of the Lena Dunham hate
Just take a moment and Google the phrase “I hate Lena Dunham.” Feel free to spend some time browsing through the more than a million results. Searches related to “I hate Lena Dunham” include such gems as “Lena Dunham annoying,” “how much does Lena Dunham weigh,” and “what size is Lena Dunham.”
We live in a society that constantly undervalues and devalues the work of women while simultaneously expecting that the work we do—from mothering to directing movies—is performed fucking flawlessly. That said, we can’t sit back and pretend the vitriol directed at Dunham isn’t largely about a young woman breaking barriers in an industry that doesn’t like women (especially women who aren’t conventionally attractive and who aren’t gasp! spending all their waking hours apologizing for it). We shouldn’t pretend either that we, as a culture—and that includes women and feminists—haven’t internalized a little bit of this uneasiness surrounding successful women. It makes sense, then, that the undercurrent bubbling beneath all this Dunham hate is the very sexist notion that somehow Dunham doesn’t deserve her success.

Lena Dunham, looking all ungrateful for her unearned success

Elissa Schappel wrote an interesting piece for Salon two weeks ago, right after the Golden Globes ceremony, called “Stop Dumping on Lena Dunham!,” in which she puts forth some excellent counterarguments that a hater might want to consider.
On how Dunham doesn’t deserve the gigantic advance she got for her book deal:
I have yet to hear anyone react to the news of an advance with, “Yep, that seems about right.” It would be great if the writers and books that deserved the most money got it—ditto the same amount of attention and praise. And all the gripe-storming about how slight her book proposal was, and how she’ll never make back her advance—when did we start reviewing book proposals? When did writers start caring so passionately about publishers recouping their losses?

On how Dunham doesn’t deserve her success because she has inside Hollywood connections:
The entertainment industry is not a meritocracy. From before the days of Barrymore to our present age of Bacons and Bridges, Sheen-Estevezes and Zappas family has, for better and worse, equaled opportunity. The Coppola family’s connections and influence are so vast they’d make the mob envious.

On how Dunham doesn’t deserve her success because her show lacks diversity:
I hear the diversity criticism. However, to suggest that “Girls”—a show whose charm lies in part in its documentary-like feel—presents the universe these young women inhabit, working in publishing and the arts, as rich in racial diversity, would be, sadly, to lie. Besides, did anyone ever kvetch about Jerry Seinfeld’s lack of Asian friends?

To take the conversation surrounding non-progressiveness of television in general a bit further, Carly Lewis wrote last April about the sexism behind the Dunham/Girls backlash, and I agree with her:
It’s cute (read: pretty hypocritical, actually) to see this sudden spike in concern over television’s portrayal of women, but this fixation is propelled by the same sense of threatened dudeness that makes a show written by and about women so “controversial” in the first place. If television were an even playing field, Dunham would not be on the cover of New York magazine atop the subheading “Girls is the ballsiest show on TV,” nor would the debut of this series be such a massive deal. (Where are the cultural dissections of CSI: Miami?) The critics calling Girls disingenuous because it stars four white women should redirect their frustration toward misogyny itself, not at the one show trying to fight it.

Lena Dunham, probably getting ready to annoy people with her incessant whining

Admittedly, I have a soft spot for Dunham, having written about her wonderful film Tiny Furniture way back in 2011, before she’d manage to offend the entire nation with her giant thighs and sloppy backside. I think she comes across as genuinely funny and interesting, and I hope that her success—and the hard hits she’s taking because of it—will make the next woman who dares to step out of line (where “line” means “the patriarchal framework”) do so with just as much fearlessness.  

Girls continues to evolve in season two, although I haven’t seen the new episodes yet, and it seems that Dunham has taken the criticisms of racism and lack of diversity seriously. In response to the question from the New York Times Magazine, “Should we expect to see an episode in which the girls get a black friend in Season 2?” she said:
I mean, it’s not going to be like, “Hey guys, we’ve been out looking for a black friend or a friend in a wheelchair or a friend with a hat.” The tough thing is you kind of can’t win on that one. I have to write people who feel honest but also push our cultural ball forward.

And people already have lots of opinions about Dunham’s attempt to accurately represent Brooklyn’s diversity in the second season with the casting of Donald Glover as Sandy, Hannah’s love interest, so I’ll treat you to a few.
Here’s what I think, after watching the first half hour of the season: I admire that Dunham took the criticism she got last year to heart. There are so many examples of how Hollywood ignores this type of thing. In fact, there are whole websites devoted to it. It really seems like she listened; I can’t tell from thirty minutes that everything has been solved, but it seems to be off to a good start? Lena Dunham isn’t so bad? Maybe? I say that with reservation but enthusiasm. Before I go, a couple thoughts on the good and the bad:

Good: I’ll start with positive reinforcement: Girls is definitely more diverse this season!

Bad: That definitely wasn’t the hardest thing to do.

Good: Donald Glover as Sandy! Hannah’s new, fleshed-out, not at all T-Doggy boyfriend.

Bad: I’m just hoping Donald Glover won’t simply be this show’s Charlie Wheeler.

Good: About the extras: A marked improvement in the representation of Brooklyn’s racial mix. So, Lena Dunham created a popular show, a critically acclaimed show, and instead of being, like, “Whatever. They’re all going to watch me anyway!” she actually made an effort to improve her show. That’s good. Very good. And to be honest, she probably realizes that a more realistic mix equals a more realistic world for her characters to live in.

Bad: Again, this is about the extras: There are definitely more black people on the show, but … I mean … I’ll put it this way. Realistic diversity is definitely not in your first season, girl. But it also not this. It’s definitely realistic here. But—it’s not this either, so don’t go overboard.

White Women

Laura Bennett at The New Republic said this:

Dunham uses the Sandy plot line as an opportunity to skewer both the complaints of her critics—Hannah herself echoes them with the misguided assumption that her essays are “for everyone”—and her characters’ blinkered worldview. Glover’s arc on the show is brief, but he is key to illustrating the limited scope of Hannah’s experience. “This always happens,” Sandy tells Hannah during their fight. “I’m a white girl and I moved to New York and I’m having a great time and oh I’ve got a fixed gear bike and I’m gonna date a black guy and we’re gonna go to a dangerous part of town. All that bullshit. I’ve seen it happen. And then they can’t deal with who I am.” Hannah responds with an explosion of goofy knee-jerk progressivism: “You know what, honestly maybe you should think about the fact that you could be fetishizing me. Because how many white women have you dated? Maybe you think of us as one big white blobby mass with stupid ideas. So why don’t you lay this thing down, flip it, and reverse it.” “You just said a Missy Elliot lyric,” Sandy says wearily.

It is wholly unsubtle, but it is still “Girls” at its best, at once affectionate and credible and lightly parodic. There is Hannah: impulsive, oblivious, tangled up in her own sloppy self-justifications. And then there is Lena Dunham, the wary third eye hovering above the action. “The joke’s on you because you know what? I never thought about the fact that you were black once,” Hannah tells Sandy. “I don’t live in a world where there are divisions like this,” she says. His simple reply: “You do.”

Feministing, of course, has been talking about the show since its inception, and Sesali Bowen had this to say about “Dunham’s attempt to introduce racial discourse into her show”:
And I find myself back at the same place I was when Maya and I talked about Beyonce. No, Dunham’s attempt to introduce racial discourse into her show doesn’t suddenly make it diverse, but I think she still deserves some credit. If it sounds like I’m saying: the white girl gets a pass for not painting an accurate portrait of Blackness because she doesn’t have lived context/experience, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Why do we expect “all or nothing” from anyone who dares to align themselves with a few feminist values, even if they don’t call themselves feminists? When will we begin the process of meeting people where they are?

And, as Samhita wrote on this topic, maybe we should spend less time “scrutinizing [Dunham’s] personal behavior instead of looking at the real problem—the lack of diverse representations of women in popular culture.” Do we need to see realistic representations of Black girlhood on television? Yes, that’s why we need more Black girls writing shows. *raises hand* Do we need examples of diversity in film? Yes, that’s why we need more people from diverse backgrounds writing them. Truthfully, I’d rather not leave that task up to a white girl with “no Black friends.”

I love these important conversations! Please, let’s keep having them!
But how about we leave the I HATE LENA DUNHAM BECAUSE SHE SEEMS ENTITLED AND KINDA HORRIBLE AND WHINY AND ISN’T DOING THINGS THE WAY I WOULD DO THEM IF I WERE LENA DUNHAM grossness off the table for five seconds.

Lena Dunham, being all entitled and shit
When I was 26, I was spending my fifth year failing undergrad, drowning in student loan debt (that’s still happening), smoking pot incessantly, binge-eating pepperoni rolls, sleeping through most of my classes on a broken futon, and shoving dryer sheets in my heating vents because my shitty always-drunk neighbors wouldn’t stop chain smoking. Occasionally, out of nowhere, a giant fly would swoop down from some unseen cesspool where flies live and attack me. Those are my memories of being 26. Maybe your memories of being 26 suck way less, and if so, congratulations! But you’re allowed to make mistakes at 26. You’re allowed to learn from those mistakes and evolve into a person who looks back and thinks, “Wow, 26 was rough, and I sucked at it.” That’s a general goddamn life rule, and we aren’t taking it away from Lena Dunham just because she’s a young woman who dares to make her mistakes in public. (Read Jodie Foster’s thought-provoking essay on society’s disgusting unsurprisingly misogynist reactions toward young women acting like young women in public.)
I mean, just to double check, we’re all still cool with Louis C.K., right? I haven’t yet seen season three of Louie, that award-winning show that C.K. writes, directs, produces, edits, and stars in (sound familiar?), but I remember the first few episodes or so of this New York City-set critics’ darling being fairly fucking White, except for a few peripheral characters outside of Louie’s inner circle. And the Black people who do exist (at least in the first season) pretty much serve as vehicles to illustrate Louie’s uncoolness by comparison. (Has anyone given a name to that trope yet?) So, did I miss the accompanying INTERNET FREAKOUT, or does this bro maybe represent—I dunno—society’s favorite quintessential middle-aged, balding white dude who can’t get laid, that we all find so endearing and impossible not to love?
Did I also miss the 100% JUSTIFIED NOT REALLY BECAUSE IT NEVER HAPPENED OUTRAGE over C.K. exposing his huge gut and sloppy backside to the masses—whether he’s climbing on top of hot women (duh) or getting a totally unnecessary (because assault is funny!) rectal exam from doctor-character Ricky Gervais? And we’re all still cool with his awkward and embarrassing sex scenes, right? Because they’re just … so … what’s that word people keep railing against when it’s used to describe the sex scenes in Girls … oh yeah … “REAL” … ?

“Eh, what are you gonna do?” –privileged White dudes everywhere, in response to rarely getting called out for their bullshit

My bad. I’m probably missing something, since Chuck Bowen called Louie “possibly the most racially integrated television show ever made,” (I’ll admit “Dentist/Tarese” is an interesting episode toward the end of season one) and there isn’t at all an inkling of a double standard at play here regarding what we consider “acceptable” bodies to display onscreen. (Sidenote: I love, not really, how groundbreaking it is that C.K. cast a Black woman to play his ex-wife in season three of Louie, yet we’re still treated to that “schlubby dude landing a hot lady” trope. I can’t keep suspending my disbelief forever, boys.)
Sorry, tangent. But seriously.
If I sound like a Lena Dunham apologist aka “a fucking pig who can go to hell,” let me clarify (again): Lena Dunham should be—and certainly has been, I mean fuck—criticized for her show’s failings. Most television shows and films for that matter would benefit even from a miniscule amount of the kind of intense anger flung at Girls over its racism and lack of diversity. But I’m angry that people—including women and feminists—can’t seem to criticize Lena Dunham’s show without launching into sexist attacks against Lena Dunham, in the same way I was angry when people couldn’t (and still can’t) separate their criticisms of Sarah Palin’s conservative policies from their sexist attacks against Sarah Palin.
So, if nothing else, I give you these few words and phrases to move away from when talking about Lena Dunham: “whiny” … “annoying” … “ugly” … “gross” … “frumpy” … “hot mess” … “neurotic” … “slutty” … you get the idea.

NEPOTISM NARCISSISM LENA’S BODY UGH

The truth is, ultimately, it doesn’t matter to me who likes Girls and who doesn’t. For what it’s worth, I liked the first season, mainly because I’ve been writing about representations of women in film and television for five years, and it was nice for once to know I wouldn’t have to analyze every scene to figure out whether this show passed The Bechdel Test. It sort of blew my mind to hear women talk to one another about abortion, HPV, colposcopies, virginity, and menopause, like, repeatedly—and with no unnecessary mansplainy perspective involved. I think the show actually makes a pretty serious case against living like an entitled, culturally insulated hipster, while still managing to love its characters. But I understand, even excluding the criticisms regarding lack of diversity, that people still legitimately dislike the show for other reasons. That’s allowed. I hate Two and a Half Men and Family Guy and The Big Bang Theory and How I Met Your Mother and every other White-dominated show on television that keeps pretending women exist merely as fucktoys and mommies to their manchildren, and that’s allowed too.
But if you’re having an epic conniption over HOW HORRIBLE GIRLS IS OMG WHY DOES ANYONE LIKE IT LENA DUNHAM IS THE WORST, maybe it’s time to evaluate the hate—not dislike of, or boredom with, or ambivalence toward—but the actual hatred of Girls Lena Dunham, and why it’s really there.

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

I am a great man.

Written by Leigh Kolb

During the first episode of HBO’s The Newsroom, news anchor Will McAvoy (Jeff Daniels) delivers a rousing monologue about why America is not the “greatest country in the world.” He renders the crowd of college students speechless as he lashes out at the “sorority girl” who asked the question, bashing America’s current “WORST-period-GENERATION-period-EVER-period.” Soft piano music plays in the background as he laments America’s past greatness:
“…We reached for the stars, and we acted like men. We aspired to intelligence; we didn’t belittle it; it didn’t make us feel inferior. We didn’t identify ourselves by who we voted for in the last election, and we didn’t scare so easy. And we were able to be all these things and do all these things because we were informed. By great men, men who were revered.” (emphasis added)

Most of the speech is eloquent, and will have audiences of all political persuasions nodding in agreement (as they should–American exceptionalism is misguided). 
What the audience of college students can’t see, and what no one seems to focus on, is the fact that Will, in all of his “great men” bravado, got this idea from a woman.
I’m not sure if Aaron Sorkin, The Newsroom‘s creator and writer, got the memo either. In  “How to Write an Aaron Sorkin Script, by Aaron Sorkin,” by Aaron Sorkin in GQ, AARON SORKIN (in case you missed it) writes:
“A student asks what makes America the world’s greatest country, and Will dodges the question with glib answers. But the moderator keeps needling him until…snap.”

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

“IT’S NOT. BUT IT CAN BE.”

Then he launches into his “great men” manifesto, and the story begins.
IT WAS HER IDEA!
Much has been written about the “hostile” misogyny of The Newsroom (see here, here, here and here), and rightfully so. 
While all of the characters are flawed, Will is a hero, but the female characters are incompetent, clumsy and hysterical. Will goes on the air stoned, is condescending toward dates, tricks MacKenzie into thinking he was going to propose to her years ago, changes MacKenzie’s contract to allow him to be able to fire her every week, but he is our good guy, our hero.
The women? Again, critics have been deconstructing the show’s misogyny from its inception, but the women are unbelievable. Will’s ex-girlfriend and new executive producer MacKenzie is especially baffling. She has returned to America after reporting in Afghanistan and Iraq for two years to serve as the executive producer of News Night. She’s a well-respected reporter and producer, but throughout the first season she consistently unravels into a heap of one-dimensional stereotypes. Is it believable that an esteemed journalist doesn’t understand how to work email? That she doesn’t know anything about economics? 
MacKenzie frequently has emotional breakdowns in front of her staff.
It doesn’t make sense. Unless you’re Aaron Sorkin–then this is who women are. They are the flighty associate producer who mixes up the state Georgia and country Georgia and writes “LOL” on a funeral card. They are the gorgeous woman with a PhD in economics who is only convinced to anchor after being seduced by the Gucci wardrobe. They are the women who think an important news tip is a pick-up line, don’t understand the acronym or are too preoccupied with being jealous to get the news (thank goodness there were men to decode the message). They are the women who love Sex and the City and blow up if Valentine’s Day doesn’t go their way. They are purveyors of gossip, and love reality TV.
Maggie earned her position at News Night by being promoted accidentally before McHale promotes her for being “loyal.”
Will has flaws, of course. However, he is consistently portrayed as competent and heroic.
After Maggie’s (Alison Pill) roommate is a guest on News Night and goes on a tangent about abortion rights (which would have been a welcome conversation had it made any sense), her boutique is emblazoned with “Baby Killer” graffiti. Will literally walks out of the steam of the streets to go comfort her. It was was an overly dramatic visual reminder that he is a hero–in fact, he is a “great man.” 
“Don’t worry. I got this.”
If Sorkin’s sexism isn’t clear enough in his writing, an interview with The Globe and Mail serves as a persuasive character study. He refers to his interviewer as “Internet girl,” and tells her:
“I think I would have done very well, as a writer, in the forties. I think the last time America was a great country was then, or not long after. It was before Vietnam, before Watergate.”

There it is. Greatness was a time before women’s liberation and before the civil rights movement. And while I’m sure he wouldn’t admit to meaning that, there is clear white male American privilege and hubris that allows someone to truly believe that America was greatest in the 1940s. 
In the final episode of the season, Will ends up hiring the “sorority girl” from the beginning (after accusing her of ruining his life) and telling her she is what makes America the greatest country. He learns that seeing MacKenzie in the audience wasn’t his imagination–she was there with the prompts. She shows him the signs, and he says, “It was you?” She says,

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

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

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

Is The Newsroom the best dramatic television series?
It’s not. And unless Sorkin quickly figures out his issues with women, it can’t be.

—–


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

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

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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.
Selina-Meyer

 

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.

veep3

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.