House – Bitch Flicks

What Your Doctors Really Think About You: Fatphobia on Medical TV

Fat bodies have a curious position in medical drama, reflecting the fatphobia existing within the medical profession. Doctors tend to assume weight always a cause rather than a symptom and overweight patients are either lazy, uneducated or poor. The wealthier we are, the more opportunity we have to strive for thinness. As a class, doctors are incredibly privileged, both highly educated and wealthy, they have the privilege of deciding to be thin that many of their patients do not.

Written by Elizabeth Kiy as part of our theme week on Fatphobia and Fat Positivity.

Most medical dramas draw from a common well of plots. There’s the amnesiac, the guy who wakes up from a coma after 10 years, the deadbeat dad who wants a transplant from his daughter, and the 600-pound (or thereabouts) man who has to be cut out of his house.

Of course, this man is treated like a monster, the rare patient not worthy of sympathy because it is assumed his condition is entirely his fault, and he has chosen to be unhealthy. Fat bodies on TV as well as in Western culture as seen as shameful and disgusting. The 600-pound man on TV is treated as a medical oddity and a living freakshow that doctors within the program and viewers at home are invited to gawk at, assured that as uncomfortable we may be with our own bodies, at least we’re not that.

On House, the 600-pound man is further Othered by the assumption that he is dead when he is first discovered. When he wakes up, groaning and thrashing around, unsure what is happening to him, he is doubly monstrous, both fat and “undead.”

The 600 pound man is treated as a monster on House — The 600-pound man is treated as a monster on *House*

Fat bodies also have a curious position in medical drama, reflecting the fatphobia existing within the medical profession. Doctors tend to assume weight always a cause rather than a symptom and overweight patients are either lazy, uneducated, or poor. The wealthier we are, the more opportunity we have to strive for thinness. As a class, doctors are incredibly privileged, both highly educated and wealthy, they have the privilege of deciding to be thin that many of their patients do not.

The appearance of the 600-pound man compounds on the subtle fatphobia within the medium of television, as all the lead actors, and so all the TV doctors, are attractive and fit.

Lexie Grey’s stress eating and weight gain are treated as cute quirks

Though Grey’s Anatomy stands out from the pack with its inclusion of several lead characters who are a larger size, and are treated as positive figures worthy of love, many episodes also contain fat jokes. In several episodes, Dr. Lexie Grey (Chyler Leigh), one of the thinner characters, is experiencing extreme stress, and her way of coping with it is to binge eat junk food. When she gains a small amount of weight, other characters mock her for it, but it is never treated as a serious problem; the stress goes away and Lexi continues to be thin. The plot line was intended as an in-joke about the actress’s weight gain during her pregnancy, but it stinks of thin privilege that anyone though this was light-hearted comedy.

Fatphobia is the one acceptable prejudice on TV. Characters we are meant to continue to like and sympathize with can be exposed as fatphobic without thought of consequences, such as Dr. Chase (Jesse Spencer), House’s resident heartthrob. In the episode, Heavy, when an overweight 10-year-old girl is admitted to the hospital after having a heart attack during gym class, Chase, usually especially kind to kid patients, is incredibly cruel to her. He laughs at her and suggests that if she wants her health problems to go away, she should “stop shoving her face with food.” He also dismisses her symptoms of fatigue, muscle pain, and difficulty concentrating as due to clinical depression over her weight. The girl, Jessica, has been bullied and is isolated at school and has been abusing exercise and diet pills and the episode is very uncomfortable to watch, even triggering.

Jessica is an overweight 10 year old, treated cruelly by her doctor — Jessica is an overweight 10-year-old, treated cruelly by her doctor

When Chase’s coworker, Dr. Cameron (Jennifer Morrison) attempts to defend Jessica, he laughs at her as well, saying she is fatphobic as well, because she does everything she can to stay thin. She gets by on thin privilege and enjoys the benefits of others finding her attractive. Later in the episode, we learn that Chase himself used to be overweight and because he was able to lose weight and keep it off, believes everyone who can’t is ignorant and lazy. He continues to blame Jessica’s health problems on her weight, refusing to see that it might be a symptom.

However, the show goes on to suggest that Jessica is the rare fat person who is worthy of our sympathy because her weight is not her fault. She maintains a healthy diet and regularly exercises, but is unable to lose any weight. Because of this she is not a “real” fat person so negative stereotypes do not apply. It turns out that she has a pituitary tumor that was causing her to gain weight and the episode ends with a final triumphant shot of Jessica thin and smiling. This shot is notable as House episodes rarely ended with the “cured” patients returning to the hospital or of showing their recovery, its inclusion suggests that the writers though we needed to be reassured that Jessica eventually gets thin.

Jessica is triumphant over losing weight

In House’s 600-pound man episode, attempts are also made to deny him proper medical care as fat jokes are made about him, diagnoses are ruled out without proper consideration because of his weight and he is initially barred from their MRI machine because it is not strong enough to support him.

Grey’s Anatomy’s take on the same plot is handled with a bit more tact. The doctors, most of whom are interns and residents beginning their careers, are given a lecture about proper behavior and sensitivity before they interact with the patient and are warned that anyone who make rude comments will be taken off the case. This rule is strictly enforced, even when the doctors do not feel they’ve done anything wrong. Many of the doctors we are meant to continue to like make fat jokes throughout the episode, but are painted as being young and immature. We are meant to like them, but not support what they are doing.

Doctors are taught to be sensitive about the 600 pound man on Grey’s Anatomy — Doctors are taught to be sensitive about the 600-pound man on *Grey’s Anatomy*

Yet, the patient frequently makes jokes at his own expense and urges the doctors to lighten up, refusing to admit the seriousness of his condition. What gets through to him is the doctors joining him in making fat jokes. With this in mind, it’s difficult to tell whether the show is saying we need to be more sensitive or less sensitive about weight.

The show Nip/Tuck, focusing on plastic surgeons, already comes from a more superficial place than the typical medical drama, but contains some startling examples of fatphobia. Doctors frequently mock fat patients when they are off-screen and discuss acquaintances who need surgery to even be considered normal looking. In one early plot line, an overweight woman who wants to be thin for her high school reunion to show up her tormenters, is denied liposuction because she is also bipolar, commits suicide. This woman’s sad story is not revisited after the single episode and characters continue to exhibit incredible thin privilege. In another episode, anti-hero Dr. Troy (Julian McMahon) has sex with sex-positive, upbeat overweight woman and finds it incredibly enjoyable. He is horrified and after some soul searching, brutally drags her down into self-hatred, making her feel as unhealthy and unattractive as he believes she should feel.

Though it’s a comedy, The Mindy Project also has a conflicted relationship with fatphobia. Protagonist Dr. Mindy Lahiri (Mindy Kaling) is a bright, bubbly woman who happens to be a bit larger that most actresses on TV, and for the most part she is comfortable with her body. She sees herself as sexy and attractive and is treated as such. Still, she refuses to tell people how much she weighs, describes herself as “anorexic” and as wearing an extra small. Mindy though, is not a character who is meant to be perfect or even entirely likeable. She is instead, an exaggerated example of how many of us feel about our bodies.

If I were to chose a TV doctor, I think Mindy would make me feel the best about my body. She reserves her fatphobia for herself and tells her patients they look awesome.

Elizabeth Kiy is a Canadian writer and journalist living in Toronto, Ontario.

Gibson’s Gonna Be OK: The Comfort of Hypercompetent Heroes

The lead character in BBC’s ‘The Fall’ is impervious to fear, but that’s OK. She’s doing the modern detective’s work of making us all feel safe in a world that’s anything but.

Written by Katherine Murray.

The lead character in BBC’s The Fall is impervious to fear, but that’s OK. She’s doing the modern detective’s work of making us all feel safe in a world that’s anything but.

The second season of The Fall just finished airing on the BBC and, while there’s been a slow decline in quality since the series premiere, it remains one of the only detectives shows – if not the only detective show – to acknowledge that violence against women is a built-in feature of patriarchal cultures rather than a random, strange coincidence. (Rebecca Solnit has a good essay about this in Men Explain Things to Me, if you want to get mad.)

The Fall is about serial killer named Paul Spector and Stella Gibson, the Gillian Anderson-looking detective who hunts him down. In his own mind, Paul is a dark, fascinating genius who’s playing a clever game of cat and mouse with the Irish police force. In almost everyone else’s mind, he’s a loser who hates women, and the police figure out who he is almost as soon as they start looking.

What makes The Fall an amazing piece of television is that it spits in the face of conventional serial killer narratives. Rather than being fascinated with Paul and how tortured and interesting he is, it’s focussed on how his hatred of women fits into a larger societal pattern, and how the lessons we learn about gender inform our beliefs and behaviours in life. It can be heavy-handed, but it’s also refreshing because it’s so different from the narrative we most often see.

The show spends roughly equal time on Spector and Gibson, but it’s Gibson we’re supposed to cheer for, and Gibson who’s built up as the ideal feminist woman. In the middle of a show full of terrifying, realistic, often heart-wrenching violence against women, Gibson’s there to make us feel safe. Not only because we know she’s going to catch Paul Spector and put him behind bars, but because she is completely and utterly awesome at everything. Perhaps unbelievably so.

The main source of tension in The Fall comes from fear and vulnerability. Watching the show, as a woman, you have the same chilling thought you have, as a woman, every time you’re walking alone at night, or hear a sound in your house while you’re sleeping: “What would I actually do if someone attacked me right now?” And the answer, if you’re honest, is that, even if you learned some krav maga one time, you would be just as terrified and just as dead as one of Spector’s victims.

The fear that men will attack us is something women carry around 24/7; it’s always simmering in the back of our minds, and The Fall forces us to look at it directly. In the middle of that horror, like a lifeline, or a warm blanket, Gibson the Terribly Competent stands impervious to fear. She can’t be intimidated by a bunch of tough guys on the street; she doesn’t freeze in an emergency; she can’t be made to feel ashamed for having sex; she breaks your nose if you don’t back off when she tells you to; she isn’t scared of some guy in a bar, or some guy in a limo, or even some guy who chokes other women to death. She looks at those guys with contempt and moves on with her life, without thinking the problem is her. No matter what, we know, she’s going to be OK.

It’s not actually unusual for the hero of a genre story to be hypercompetent. Like, we all understand that Jason Bourne is not realistic, right? And the guy from Mission Impossible? And that one detective from True Detective who said that time was round like a beer can? He was also improbably good at things.

What interests me about Gibson isn’t that it’s weird for the hero to be competent – it’s that, in this instance, her competence speaks to me and comforts me in way that Rust Cohle didn’t manage. She reminds me of another detective I like.

Appropriately, since Veronica Mars is set in high school, the tension in that story’s less about the fear of being killed and more about the fear of public humiliation. And Veronica, its hero, is impervious to all embarrassment.

In The Fall, it’s been implied that Gibson may have been assaulted at some time in the past, and that that’s what motivates her to work with female victims of violence. In Veronica Mars, it’s made explicit from the start that Veronica was the victim of the cruellest forms of high school bullying before she became the cynical, hypercompetent girl we know.

Whenever someone tries to insult, intimidate, or make fun of her, she has a snappy comeback to put them down. Whenever someone seems to get the upper hand against her, she manages to turn the tables somehow, making them look foolish in her place. In maybe the most blatant example, some popular boys she’s investigating put her name on the karaoke list in an attempt to embarrass her and make her back off. With only seconds to think it over, Veronica jumps up and sings the Blondie song “One Way or Another,” turning potential humiliation into a triumph as literally no real person could do.

Knowing that Veronica’s going to land on her feet whenever someone tries to bully her has the same warm blanket effect as knowing that Gibson can’t get scared. It’s not entirely realistic – for all of us, life involves at least some moments of fear and humiliation – but it gives us safe harbour in stories that are otherwise designed to make us anxious. In these particular contexts, Gibson and Veronica always know what to do, and the things they do always work. They allow us to confront the things that make us anxious with the safety net of knowing that it’s going to be OK.

And, if you’re going, “Katherine, that’s what all detectives do,” you’re sort of right.

Part of the point of detectives – at least modernist, soft-boiled detectives – is that they bring order to chaos and therefore restore our sense of safety. When Sherlock Holmes became popular, in Ye Olde Victorian England, it was in a context where urbanization, industrialization, and the expansion of the British empire had made people feel uncertain about what was happening. The world was changing really fast, there were a bunch of strangers around, and it felt like some random person could just murder you or steal your stuff and disappear into the crowd. (From a more racist point of view, it also seemed like a wizard from India could slip some potions in your tea, but that’s a different discussion from this.)

The calming figure of that era was a man with the superhuman ability to piece together tiny bits of information, and an encyclopaedic knowledge of literally everything that ever was, including scary foreign cultures. He was the safe harbour in the storm of modern living.

Flash forward about 100 years, and the same hero is reincarnated as House, a doctor who knows what’s wrong with you even when Web MD has no idea. Like Sherlock Holmes, House taps into our general fear that there is too much information for any one person to crunch. And, in a world where we are terrified that everything from our water bottles to our genes is trying to kill us in new, incomprehensible ways, the House version of Sherlock Holmes provides some safety, because House can see the pattern, House can understand what’s happening, and House can make some order out of chaos. Even if the MRI machine makes all your veins explode exactly in time for commercials, House will have the answer by the end.

The comfort of watching Gibson is both similar and different to the comfort of knowing that puzzles get solved. It’s the comfort of saying, “There’s someone who looks like me and, day to day, is not afraid to be alive. Someone who lives in the world I live in, that’s full of the terrors I face, and – realistically or not – is showing me what it could be like if I didn’t have to be scared.”

It’s a powerful counterpoint to the Man Kills Loads of Women – Is Special, Tortured Genius story that Spector thinks he’s starring in. This is Woman Is Not Afraid to Walk Down the Street; Woman is Not Afraid to Say No; Woman Isn’t Worried That She’ll Be a Total Drag if She Points Out What a Sexist Jerk You’re Being. It’s a different kind of fantasy than Knowing Lots or Solving Things – it’s Having a Right to Exist, opposite the story of a man who chokes women to death to feel strong. It’s the writers consciously and deliberately preventing this from being a story where you should have carried some mace to the bathroom, if you didn’t want to get killed in your house.

What’s different about Gibson isn’t that she’s extra specially good at stuff – it’s that the forces she’s facing off against are specifically aimed at women. The fear that she’s shielding us from is a fear that most men don’t carry around. The Fall, in its graphic and terrifying depictions of violence, would be unbearable to watch if Gibson wasn’t always at the centre, reminding us what life would be like if we didn’t have to feel afraid.

Different monsters require different kinds of heroes to defeat them. Gibson is the right kind of hero to face this kind of monster, and the strength of The Fall may be that it’s the first show to know which monster we’re trying to fight.

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