Bi Erasure in Film and TV: The Difficulty of Representing Bisexual People On-Screen

As frustrating as our erasure and stereotyping is, however, I’d like to go beyond the question of “good” and “bad” representations of bisexual characters to ask this: exactly what it is about bisexuality which makes it so hard to represent on-screen? And why, when bisexuality is visible, is it so likely to collapse back into dominant stereotypes of bisexuality as either promiscuous or merely a phase?

How to Get Away with Murder

This guest post written by Amy Davis appears as part of our theme week on Bisexual Representation.


Positive and complex representations of bisexual and pansexual characters on-screen are so few and far between that film critics discussing bisexual representation are often left lamenting our erasure, or – on the rare occasions we are represented – our stereotyping and demonization.

In the 100 top-grossing domestic films in the U.S. in 2015, out of 4,370 characters (speaking or named), only 32 characters or .7% were LGBT, and only 5 of those characters were bisexual, according to USC Annenberg. According to GLAAD, 4% of regular characters on primetime broadcast television series are LGBT characters. Of the 271 LGBT characters (regular and recurring) on primetime, cable, and streaming television series, 76 or 28% are bisexual. According to Stonewall’s report on the representation of LGB people (unfortunately they did not include statistics on trans characters) on television series watched by young people in the U.K., in over 126 hours of programming, bisexual people were portrayed for just 5 minutes and 9 seconds, compared to 4 hours and 24 minutes for gay men, and 42 minutes for lesbian women.

When we do appear on-screen, bisexuality is often used to indicate hypersexuality, such as Bo from Lost Girl and Doctor Frank-N-Furter from The Rocky Horror Picture Show. At its most extreme depictions of reinforcing biphobic tropes, the character’s bisexuality is also used to code “evil” or “dangerous” or “murderous,” using their (hyper)sexuality as a method of manipulation and control, for instance Sharon Stone’s character in the erotic thriller Basic Instinct.

Basic Instinct

As frustrating as our erasure and stereotyping is, however, I’d like to go beyond the question of “good” and “bad” representations of bisexual characters to ask this: exactly what it is about bisexuality which makes it so hard to represent on-screen? And why, when bisexuality is visible, is it so likely to collapse back into dominant stereotypes of bisexuality as either promiscuous or merely a phase?

Narrative film and television, with its emphasis on conflict and resolution, is poorly equipped to represent bisexuality. The committed, monogamous couple continues to represent the pinnacle of romantic fulfillment in contemporary Western culture. As such the familiar romantic plot in narrative film and television involves some kind of conflict – usually an erotic triangle – which is resolved when the protagonist makes a choice between potential suitors and becomes part of a couple (see, honestly, any rom-com ever made). Within this format then, bisexuality can often only be a disturbance to the status quo. In 2010 comedy-drama The Kids Are All Right, for example, the lesbian relationship between Jules (Julianne Moore) and Nic (Annette Bening) is disrupted when Jules begins an affair with Paul (Mark Ruffalo), the sperm donor of their children. Throughout the film, Jules identifies as a lesbian, never declaring she’s bisexual or questioning her sexuality. So long as Jules’ infidelity persists, bisexuality has a spectral presence in the film. The narrative conflict presented by bisexuality/infidelity is resolved, however, when Jules ends the affair and the lesbian/monogamous status quo is restored. In the final scene, Jules and Nic are shown smiling at each other and holding hands, the threat of Jules’ bisexuality effectively repudiated. At best, bisexuality is depicted in The Kids Are Alright as a temporary phase, at worst, as non-existent; a mere moment of weakness within an overarching narrative of monogamous lesbian couplehood.

The Kids Are All Right

Of course the widespread misconception of bisexual desire as triangulated and therefore always split between two object choices is demonstrably false. Many bi spectrum individuals see themselves as attracted to people rather than genders and do not feel unfulfilled when they are in a relationship with a person of a particular gender. What’s more, many queer people reject the notion of the gender binary altogether, having relationships with people all over the gender spectrum, including genderqueer and non-binary people. Nonetheless, the notion that gender is binary and the overwhelming importance placed on (binary) gender as object choice in our society means that bisexuality is inevitably viewed as dichotomous desire within our society. In The Kids Are All Right, and numerous other films with bi potential, bisexuality then gets mischaracterized as an unstable, dichotomous desire which must be subsumed back into the monogamous, monosexual (straight or gay) status quo.

But to understand the mechanisms through which this occurs, it is necessary to understand the dominant logic of monogamy. In its most perfect and pure form, a narrative of monogamy involves the notion that there is one true partner for everyone. The truth for many of us, however, is that we have several romantic relationships and sometimes even several marriages in the course of our lives, which is described as “serial monogamy.”. For the logic of the “soul mate” to work alongside the realities of serial monogamy, however, is it necessary to de-emphasize the importance of past relationships or disregard them as mere mistakes on the road to finding one’s eventual life partner (“I thought I was in love but I didn’t know what love was”).

Within this dominant paradigm of monogamy, depictions of characters who have serial, monogamous relationships with men and women are rarely read as bisexual since their past relationships (with a particular gender) are dismissed as not meaningful. A classic example of this is Willow (Alyson Hannigan) in Buffy the Vampire Slayer, who is depicted as straight for the first few seasons, during which time she has a relationship with boyfriend Oz (Seth Green), and upon entering a relationship with Tara (Amber Benson) is subsequently depicted as a lesbian. Her past relationships with and interest in men becomes re-written as “not real” (or not as as “real” as her newfound lesbian love) and thus any potential bisexuality is erased.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Too often bisexual visibility requires individuals to trace relationship histories which subvert the dominant ideals of monogamy, even if they themselves are consistently monogamous. Alan Cumming, actor and bi advocate, said in an interview on NPR’s Fresh Air in 2014:

“I used to be married to a woman. Before that I had had a relationship with a man. I then had another relationship with a woman, and I since then have had relationships with men. I still would define myself as bisexual partly because that’s how I feel but also because I think it’s important to — I think sexuality in this country especially is seen as a very black and white thing, and I think we should encourage the gray. You know?”

I was struck, reading this quote, by just how familiar this form of bisexual storytelling is. I’ve told a version of this story myself when talking about my bisexuality, and heard it from friends and strangers alike. It’s a story designed to make one’s bisexuality visible and legitimate with full awareness that it could slip through the cracks, becoming subsumed into heterosexuality or homosexuality, at any moment. Cumming is all too aware that his expression of desire for men and women is insufficient in itself to make his bisexuality visible, and that in the context of his marriage to a man his “mere” desire could be easily dismissed to create a coherent homosexuality. His bisexual narrative instead involves emphasizing the importance of his past relationships and marriage, describing them alongside his current relationship and implying that while they are not current they are nonetheless still meaningful in his sexual identity.

Further, Cumming’s narrative involves relationships with men and women which are dispersed throughout time, rather than a series of relationships with women followed by a series of relationships with men, which could be easily subsumed into a gay (rather than bi) “coming out” narrative similar to Willow’s plotline. And although none of these relationships are depicted as non-monogamous in themselves, Cumming’s narrative disrupts the “one true love” logic of monogamy at the same time as making his bisexuality visible over time. In making explicit reference to his past relationships as significant to his current sexuality, Cummings refuses to be dismissed, revised, or excluded by monogamy’s “one true love” narrative or bi erasure.

How to Get Away with Murder

Similar disruptions accompany other moments of bisexual visibility in film and television. How to Get Away with Murder, for example, successfully depicts Annalise Keating’s (Viola Davis) character as bisexual or pansexual by bringing a past relationship into the present. In the course of season one, Annalise’s love interests are male. However, early in season two, it is revealed that she had a relationship with law school classmate Eve Rothlo (Famke Janssen) and the two briefly rekindle their relationship in the course of working together.

Given the dominant ideals of monogamy, had it merely been revealed that Annalise had a college relationship with a woman, it would have been too easy for audiences to dismiss her past relationship in order to reinscribe a current straight identity. On the other hand, had she kissed a previously unknown woman, audiences would likely have read it as a loose erotic triangle – involving the woman and on-again-off-again boyfriend, Detective Nate Lahey (Billy Brown) – probably requiring resolution into a straight or lesbian identity. However, Annalise’s sexual and emotional intimacy with Eve in the present avoids the bisexuality-as-narrative-disruption trope and instead functions to draw our attention to the importance of Annalise’s historic relationship with Eve. The previous relationship cannot (and should not) therefore be easily dismissed as a “phase,” simultaneously disrupting the logic of monogamy which relegate previous relationships to the past only and allowing Annalise to remain visible as a bi character.

As bisexual people, we get tired of the persistent association between bisexuality and non-monogamy, demonstrated through popular stereotypes which position us as promiscuous, confused, dangerous, greedy, deceptive, cheaters, and unable to commit. A familiar response to this charge is the reminder that, like straight and gay/lesbian people, bisexual people can be (and are) both monogamous and non-monogamous. While this refutes the myth that bisexual people are necessarily non-monogamous, it does little to explain how the association between bisexuality and non-monogamy emerged in the first place. And more importantly for our representation on-screen, the ways in which dominant narratives of monogamy create the conditions of both our erasure and our visibility.


See also at Bitch Flicks:

Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Bisexual Representation
Is Buffy the Vampire Slayer‘s Willow Rosenberg a Lesbian or Bisexual?

Exploring Bisexual Tension in Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Buffy the Vampire Slayer
: Joss Whedon’s Binary Excludes Bisexuality
LGBTQ Week: The Kids Are All Right
How to Get Away with Murder
Is Everything “That” New York Times Review Said It Is
How to Get Away with Dynamic Black Women Leads


Amy Davis is currently completing a PhD on bisexual erasure at the University of Wollongong. Amy is interested in feminism, queer and trans politics, animal rights, law, ethics and, most importantly, cats.

Call For Writers: Bisexual Erasure and Representation

People who identify as bisexual are part of an often maligned group. Both straight and queer community members frequently express discomfort with the concept of bisexuality, feeling threatened by bisexuality’s refusal to fit cleanly into an either/or binary system of sexuality.

Call-for-Writers-e13859437405011

Our theme week for September 2016 will be Bisexual Erasure and Representation.

People who identify as bisexual are part of an often maligned group. Both straight people and queer community members frequently express discomfort with the concept of bisexuality, feeling threatened by bisexuality’s refusal to fit cleanly into an either/or binary system of sexuality. As a result, bisexuality is often depicted as voracious (Lost Girl), respecting no boundaries, and having no limits (Basic Instinct).

Conversely, many mythologize bisexuality, claiming it doesn’t truly exist. They stubbornly label bisexual people as gay, lesbian, or straight based on their current partner, effectively erasing the sexual identity of an entire group of people (The Kids Are All Right, Chasing Amy).

However, some representations of bisexuality accept it as a normal iteration of human sexuality (The 100). These examples allow for exploration and fluidity without judging or demonizing their bisexual characters (The Fall, How to Get Away with Murder). We need to see more bi characters on-screen, especially bisexual women of color (FridaAppropriate Behavior).

Show us the best of bisexual representation and the worst of bisexual erasure. Show us the bisexual characters who break the stereotypical mold and those who define it.

We’d like to avoid as much overlap as possible for this theme, so please get your proposals in early if you know which topic you would like to write about. We accept both original pieces and cross-posts, and we respond to queries within a week.

Most of our pieces are between 1,000 and 2,000 words, and include links and images. Please send your piece as a Microsoft Word document to btchflcks[at]gmail[dot]com, including links to all images, and include a 2- to 3-sentence bio.

If you have written for us before, please indicate that in your proposal, and if not, send a writing sample if possible.

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

The final due date for these submissions is Friday, September 23, 2016 by midnight Eastern Time.


Here are some possible topic ideas:

Lost Girl

Appropriate Behavior

The Color Purple

Broad City

Chasing Amy

Degrassi: The Next Generation

Basic Instinct

The Fall

The 100

Orlando

The Rocky Horror Picture Show

The Kids Are All Right

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Frida

Orange Is the New Black

Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

The L Word

Puccini for Beginners

Prey for Rock n’ Roll

Y Tu Mamá También

Orphan Black

My Own Private Idaho

True Blood

De-Lovely

How to Get Away with Murder

Gigli

Horrible Bosses 2

Rent

Torchwood

Jennifer’s Body

House of Cards

Glee

Grey’s Anatomy

Bones

Kissing Jessica Stein

Game of Thrones

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

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

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What to Watch During TCM’s Trailblazing Women by Marya E. Gates at Rotten Tomatoes

Prompted by ACLU, EEOC Begins Investigation into Gender Discrimination in Hollywood by Melissa Silverstein at Women and Hollywood

Muted Explores What Happens When Black Girls Go Missing by Anita Little at Ms. blog

Al Jazeera Launches New Documentary Series Showcasing African Women Making Change Via Local Projects by Tambay A. Obenson at Shadow and Act

“How to Get Away With Murder” Brings an HIV-Positive Character to Primetime by s.e. smith at Bitch Media

Priyanka Chopra Talks Bollywood, Diversity on TV, and What’s Ahead This Season on Quantico by Sona Charaipotra at Vulture

A Brief History of The Queen of Sci-Fi Cinema, Sigourney Weaver by Maddy Myers at The Mary Sue

How ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ Is Embracing Female Empowerment Like Never Before by Lesley Goldberg at The Hollywood Reporter

 

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

Bad Mothers Are the Law of Shondaland

It’s fascinating that all four of Shonda Rhimes’ protagonists have strained relationships with their mothers… Shondaland’s shows work to combat the stereotype that if you don’t have a functional family unit, replete with a doting, competent mother, you’re alone in the world.

Scandal Maya Lewis

This guest post by Scarlett Harris is part of our theme week on Bad Mothers.


If ever there were a TV universe replete with bad mothers, it’s Shondaland.

Of course, not all Shondaland shows exist in the same fictional world, which allows bad mothers such as Ellis Grey on Grey’s Anatomy to be reincarnated as a reprehensible Vice President of the United States on Scandal. (But don’t let the different fictional worlds fool you: Grey’s Anatomy spinoff Private Practice consistently used actors from the former to play different characters in the latter.)

It’s fascinating that all four of Shonda Rhimes’ protagonists have strained relationships with their mothers when Rhimes herself (from what we commoners can see) couldn’t be any further from that trope, having adopted three daughters as a single (and seemingly awesome) mum.

The first, and most obvious, of these Mommy Dearest connections is Meredith Grey and her aforementioned mother, Ellis. Throughout 11 seasons of Grey’s, we see Meredith’s internal struggle with the distant mother she simultaneously strives to live up to while resenting her for putting her career above her daughter and her early onset of Alzheimer’s which resulted in her death in season three. Ellis continued to haunt Meredith from beyond the grave when it was revealed that Meredith had yet another sister, Maggie, who Ellis put up for adoption when Meredith was a child.

Greys Anatomy Ellis Grey

With the sustained appearance of Meredith’s copious family members and the adoption (shout out to Shonda!)/birth of her own three children, the struggle to be a good mother and, thus, a good person is at the forefront of Grey’s Anatomy, whether it’s always palpable or not.

The somewhat forgotten Shondaland creation, Private Practice, also featured a strained mother-daughter relationship between Addison Montgomery and her mother, Bizzy, who committed suicide when her partner died. Of course Rhimes painted a more nuanced picture than this, but I imagine it’s pretty hard to forgive your mother for committing suicide and leaving you to fend for yourself, no matter your age. (Ellis also tried to kill herself when Meredith was a girl, right around the time she found out she was pregnant to Richard Webber with Maggie.)

Scandal, perhaps the crown jewel in the Shondaland empire, has a truly evil mother (and father!) in Maya Lewis/Marie Wallace, an alleged terrorist and murderer. Proving some people are never meant to be parents, last week’s season four finale showed Olivia continuing to be used as a pawn in her parent’s power games, with Maya/Marie choosing freedom over helping her daughter and Rowan/Eli thwarting Olivia’s attempts at revenge at every bloody turn.

Scandal Mellie cemetary

Mellie is another Capitol Hill resident that struggles in her motherhood. Sometimes portrayed as ruthless and vindictive, it is Mellie who expresses sensitivity when daughter Karen has a compromising video taken of her and who wallows in grief after son Jerry is murdered. Mellie is perhaps a less rigid characterisation of motherhood than Maya/Marie as she is permitted to express a range of emotions that I imagine one would experience as a mother.

Finally, we see the mother of Annalise Keating rear her head towards the end of this year’s first season of How to Get Away with Murder. In what I think is arguably the most fascinating dynamic since Meredith and Ellis, Annalise’s mother Ophelia (played by Cicely Tyson) first comes across as rigid, unfeeling and old school, guilting her daughter (formerly Anna Mae) into remembering her humble beginnings and the sacrifices Ophelia made for her. Annalise resents Ophelia (someone write a thinkpiece unpacking that naming choice!) for not protecting her from being molested by her uncle and, while Ophelia is combing her daughter’s hair, she reveals that she did indeed seek revenge by burning their house down with Annalise’s uncle inside. Talk about protecting your children!

HTGAWM Cicely Tyson and Viola Davis

Like her fondness for mistresses, you have to wonder whether Rhimes is dealing with some mommy issues of her own when she writes bad mothers so often. (Even her debut screenwriting gig featured a bad mother.) What Rhimes really excels at, though, is writing real, nuanced people who happen to be mothers. On the season 11 finale of Grey’s Anatomy, Maggie finds out her adoptive parents are divorcing while Amelia, the black sheep of her family, is still struggling with the death of her brother. Meredith, already a mother to three, takes Maggie and Amelia by the hands in a rare demonstration of something other than contempt, with the final scene being the sisters three dancing at Richard and Catherine’s wedding.

While we all have mothers in some incarnation, Shondaland’s shows work to combat the stereotype that if you don’t have a functional family unit, replete with a doting, competent mother, you’re alone in the world.


Scarlett Harris is a Melbourne, Australia-based writer, broadcaster and blogger at The Scarlett Woman, where she muses about feminism, social issues and pop culture. You can follow her on Twitter here.

Never Fear: Unlikable Black Women on ‘Orange Is the New Black’ and ‘Luther’

When I searched my mental rolodex for Black female characters in film or television who are unlikable my mind continued to circle. I was lost.

Viola Davis at the SAG Awards
Viola Davis at the SAG Awards

 


This guest post by Rachel Wortherley appears as part of our theme week on Unlikable Women.


“Thank you … for thinking that a sexualized, messy, mysterious woman could be a 49-year old, dark skinned, African-American woman who looks like me.” – Viola Davis, Screen Actors Guild Awards (2015).

Viola Davis resounded these words in her acceptance speech at the 21st Annual Screen Actors Guild Awards when she won for “Outstanding Performance by a Female Actor in a Drama Series” for the ABC hit series, How to Get Away With Murder (2014). Davis’ speech shows how images of Black women in television are only beginning to change.   Before the inception of ABC’s Scandal (2012), a Black woman in a lead television role had not existed since 1968’s Julia starring Diahann Carroll.   Since Scandal, Fox’s Sleepy Hollow (2013) and How to Get Away With Murder have been allowed to flourish on network television. Viola Davis’ portrayal of Annalise Keating is brass, vulnerable, sexy, and threatening–all of which is the complete opposite of misconceived images of Black women as docile, maternal, and continuously doting. She is usually a figure who serves others while sacrificing her personal wants and needs.

Mo'Nique as Mary Ann Johnson in Precious
Mo’Nique as Mary Ann Johnston in Precious

 

When I searched my mental rolodex for Black female characters in film or television who are unlikable my mind continued to circle. I was lost. With the exception of Mary Lee Johnston (played by actress and comedian Mo’Nique) in the 2009 Lee Daniels’ film Precious, I could not name one character. Writers and executives appear to have an inherent fear of writing women of color as unlikable, even evil. Often a character who looks and feels like Annalise Keating is ascribed as the “angry Black woman.” In fact, Alessandra Stanley, writer for the New York Times, attributed this ignorance in her article, “Wrought in Rhimes’s Image: Viola Davis Plays Shonda Rhimes’s Latest Tough Heroine,” in which she accuses the series’ executive producer Shonda Rhimes and Annalise Keating of being angry Black women. Meredith Grey (Grey’s Anatomy) and her angry rants should takes notes, lest she be an “angry white woman.”

Then I remembered two recent characters from television. Yvonne “Vee” Parker of the Jenji Kohan, Netflix series, Orange is the New Black (2013) and Erin Gray of Neil Cross’ BBC series, Luther. Kohan and Cross create two women, whom also happen to be Black, who are unlikable and even volatile in the perception of general audiences.

Lorraine Toussaint as Yvonne "Vee" Parker in Orange Is the New Black
Lorraine Toussaint as Yvonne “Vee” Parker in Orange Is the New Black

 

Jenji Kohan is masterful in her conception of Vee because the quality that makes her unlikable is her ability to be likeable.   In Season 2, Episode 2: “Looks Blue, Tastes Red,” we flashback to see Tasha, a chubby, little, 11-year old Black girl croons the Christina Aguilera ballad “Beautiful” to prospective adoptive parents. She can recite the periodic table and memorize up to 56-digits of pi. Yet, despite this they choose another child.   Suddenly a tall, dark figure, big hair, in sunglasses approaches, sits, and lights a cigarette.   She looks over and Tasha and recognizes that she is from a group home. The woman asks if Tasha cares to learn “the trade” (the drug trade) and Tasha refuses. She wants to find her “forever family.” In that moment, Vee awakens Tasha to the reality that she may die waiting for her forever family and in the same moment Tasha becomes “Taystee Girl,” a nickname that will follow her into Litchfield Prison.

A couple of scenes later a teenage Taystee, who dons a uniform from the local fast food restaurant, is headed to work. Once again, Vee approaches Taystee to convince her to join the business. Here, Taystee continues to be resistant. She wants to make her own way. However, the third time, Vee does not approach her, rather Taystee goes to her.   Taystee, crying and desperate, turns to Vee lamenting that her situation in the group home has worsened. This time around, Vee rejects her until Taystee proves that she can be an integral asset to the business. As in the beginning of the episode, she shows off her math skills as she did for the adoptive parent and this time it works. Vee takes Taystee under her wing.

Danielle Brooks as "Taystee" on Orange Is the New Black
Danielle Brooks as “Taystee” in Orange Is the New Black

 

Kohan uses these flashbacks in order to demonstrate the humanity beneath the face of prison. In Taystee’s flashback audience see that she was a lonely child searching for her “forever family” but she unfortunately found refuge in the wrong person. A pivotal flashback occurs when Taystee arrives from the craft store with googly eyes, owl, and horse stamps.   Her idea is to label their heroin with a stamp in order to market it better. Despite the context of the conversation, what audiences learn is that Taystee is a businesswoman with bright ideas who wants to move beyond working for a “connect.”

As Taystee vocalizes this information, Vee is in the kitchen cooking dinner for R.J. (another young employee of Vee) and Taystee. In this moment, Taystee gazes at Vee as though she is a God-send. Here, Vee is the nurturing, maternal figure that Taystee has always wanted. Another scene in which Vee’s maternity is showcased occurs in real time at Litchfield prison. Vee quickly becomes close to Suzanne who is known to fellow inmates as “Crazy Eyes.” Suzanne who is afraid of Piper—due to Piper’s brutal beat down of another inmate in the previous season—becomes withdrawn around her. Vee sees this and tells her: “at the end of the day, you are a garden rose and that bitch is a weed.” That moment allows for Suzanne to “see” herself for the first time and it solidifies her loyalty to Vee.

Uzo Aduba as Suzanne "Crazy Eyes" Warren in Orange Is the New Black
Uzo Aduba as Suzanne “Crazy Eyes” Warren in Orange Is the New Black

 

Vee’s declaration to Suzanne is the same method that allows her to insert herself into the lives of the other inmates: Black Cindy, Janae, and to some extent Poussey. Each of these women has experienced some type of loss in their past. Janae, a promising career in track and field, Black Cindy, her daughter, and Poussey her true identity. Vee is their opportunity to prove their worth at the prison amongst the women; to them she sees their purpose. She also becomes the maternal figure of the Black women in the prison where that role is vacant. The Hispanic inmates have Gloria, while the Caucasian inmates have “Red.” Vee’s ability to charmingly seduce individuals is what makes her most diabolical. Her maternity is sinister, a quality that is comparable to the description of the elms in playwright Eugene O’Neill’s play, Desire Under the Elms. Like the elms, Vee appears to “protect, yet subdue.” Vee predatorily isolates the group, specifically Taystee, from Poussey who quickly sees Vee as a danger. Vee uses her feelings of isolation in order to hurt her. For audiences the separation of Taystee and Poussey is the first offense. The second and third come to fruition in the form of injuring Red and allowing Suzanne to take the blame. As Black Cindy attempts to stand up to her, she and Janae quickly see that Vee’s physical threats are to be taken seriously. She is willing to discard of anyone in order to get what she wants. Just ask Taystee’s friend R.J. whom she sleeps with and murders all in one night.

On the flipside of this is DS/DCI Erin Gray on Neil Cross’ BBC series Luther. Erin is the only woman on the police force which includes Detective Chief Inspector John Luther (Idris Elba). She is meticulous, driven, and she follows rules by the book. Despite her name, there are no “gray” areas in her concept of the law, just black and white. Erin is the only woman in newly formed “Serious and Serial Crime Unit” therefore has to prove herself as a woman and a woman of color. The first time audiences meet her she asks DS Justin Ripley, Luther’s partner, in reference to Luther’s police tactics: “is he really as dirty as they say?” Ripley quickly comes to his defense and continues to do so as the season progresses.

Nikki Amuka-Bird as DCI Erin Gray in Luther
Nikki Amuka-Bird as DCI Erin Gray in Luther

 

Erin continues to question Luther’s methods. A prime example occurs when Luther orders her and Justin to confiscate the mobile phones of the public at a crime scene investigation. Erin questions, “On what grounds?” However, Justin explains that to Luther “confiscate” means something different. Erin does not completely understand Luther’s policing nor agree with them. This comes to a head when she witnesses Luther breaking into DSU Schenk’s computer files—in actuality he is obtaining files to set a teenaged prostitute free from her employer. As a result, she becomes suspicious and reports the case. However, she alerts Justin to her concerns, inadvertently allowing him enough time to wipe the history from Schenk’s computer. As a result, Erin is embarrassed and humiliated in front of her superior. She leaves the Serious and Serial crime unit in disgrace.

This moment is what allows Gray to join the unit that investigates police corruption and she is promoted to Detective Chief Inspector.   She joins forces with formerly retired DS George Stark to investigate Luther and bring a case against him. In the process, Gray attempts to convince Ripley that Luther needs to be stopped. Season three is when Gray begins to become unlikable for audiences. According to most audiences Gray is labeled as “annoying,” “grating,” and a “stupid bitch.” Upon my first viewing, I also found Gray unlikable. However, now I understand why audiences dislike her.

Erin Gray and Luther
Erin Gray and Luther (Idris Elba)

 

Gray’s biggest fault is that she goes against not just the main character, but a multitude of characters who support Luther. One of them being the beloved psychopath Alice Morgan (Ruth Wilson).   Audiences are quick to love the deliciousness of a possible intimate relationship between Alice and Luther and seemingly overlook the fact that when we meet her she murders her parents and the family dog, and gets away with it. She is clever, delightful, and continuously fights for John Luther. Alice like many of the women on the show has been saved by Luther (he cunningly helps Alice escape the mental institution). Erin is threatening because even as she faces the barrel of a gun in season three, she does not need to be saved by John. Erin’s ability to be independent of the main character is what makes her unlikable. She works to better herself and the law. It is also significant that the majority of women in the shows history who need saving, including the victims, are Caucasian women.   While I am not advocating that Black women or women in general, should be diminished to damsels in distress, it is obtuse that a majority of victims are of a specific demographic and gender. In a sense this disparity establishes how audiences are supposed to see Erin Gray in comparison to others. Because she is not a victim, she is other.

Though Vee’s story on Orange is the New Black is closed by Rosa, the escaped inmate who runs Vee over with the prison van, seemingly killing her, Erin’s is very much open. In the aftermath of her attack, audiences last see Erin on a stretcher, shell shocked, and speechless. For audiences her non-death may have been a disappointment, but she has been scared straight into ultimately believing in Luther. Viewers of Orange is the New Black and Luther have equally been satisfied in some capacity by each woman’s demise.

Unlikable white women characters
Unlikable white women characters

 

Claire Underwood, Maxine Lund, Mavis Gary, and Hannah Horvath are just a few of the many unlikable female characters in film and television. They are met with distaste, yet this quality places them under a microscope because they are often people we know. Viola Davis’ statement in congruence to Vee Parker and Erin Gray demonstrate that minorities, whether they are Black, Hispanic, or Asian, want to diversify their roles in film and television. While the general landscape of roles for women of color appear to be expanding on television, film continues to fall behind in the diversity of characters. She should be liked and disliked, loathed and loved, and the bitter pill to swallow, yet the one that we need.

 


Rachel Wortherley is a graduate of Iona College in New Rochelle, New York and holds a Master of Arts degree in English. Her downtime consists of devouring copious amounts of literature, television shows, and films. She hopes to gain a doctorate in English literature and become a professional screenwriter.

“Mama’s Here Now” and Dynamics of Sexual Trauma

But last Thursday’s episode, “Mama’s Here Now,” hosted a surprising masterclass on dealing with the fraught topic of sexual abuse on network television.

Cicely Tyson and Viola Davis in 'How To Get Away With Murder'
Cicely Tyson and Viola Davis in How To Get Away With Murder

 

Written by Rachel Redfern.

SPOILER ALERT

“So let’s just roll out the complicated, inter-genertional, often racially influenced, issue of sexual assault in America in about 40 minutes and be pretty much exhaustively mind-blowing,” said How To Get Away With Murder last Thursday.

I think its been universally accepted that Viola Davis is delivering some of the best acting on network TV for her portrayal of Annalise Keating in How to Get Away with Murder. The show itself is fun and entertaining, although occasionally falls into the trap of “so much drama,” in the courtroom and out. However, despite its flaws, the show boasts an expansive diversity in its character base: lots of female lawyers and judges, ethnically diverse cast, and LGBTQ relationships.

But last Thursday’s episode, “Mama’s Here Now,” hosted a surprising masterclass on dealing with the fraught topic of sexual abuse on network television.

Thursday’s episode opened with Annalise receiving a visit from her aging mother, Cicely Tyson. Hopefully you know Tyson from her work on Because of Winn Dixie and Diary of A Mad Black Woman. Tyson steps into Annalise’s house and we have the first scene of straight familial comfort, a mother holding her daughter: simple and powerful. But as with most mother-daughter relationships, it becomes apparent within the next few minutes that there is a fraught backstory between the two. Annalise’s mother insists on calling Annalise “Anna May,” a name that becomes a clear symbol for a life that she shed on her way to becoming a successful professor and sophisticated trial lawyer.

Parallel to the beginnings of Annalise’s family drama is the strange client that “the gang” and Bonnie (Liza Weil, from Gilmore Girls) decide to take on. The strange case revolves around a timid nurse accused of raping a male patient post-surgery.

And while Bonnie struggles through her own Annalise as “mommy” lawyer issues, Annalise begins to reveal that she was sexually assaulted by her uncle as a child, accusing her mother of knowing what happened to her and not caring.

Cicely Tyson brilliantly plays Annalise Keating's mother.
Cicely Tyson brilliantly plays Annalise Keating’s mother

 

During all of the personal drama is Bonnie’s courtroom case; besides the obvious similarities between the two storylines, both dealing with sexual assault, Bonnie’s case is difficult to unpack. A woman is accused of rape by man, but she claims the sex was consensual. Bonnie and “the gang” then discover that the accuser is a gay man in a relationship with hospital legal staff, in league to grab a big payout from the hospital on a falsified rape claim. I found this problematic.

Sexual assault happens to both men and women, and in an episode committed to the discussion of the ways that victims of abuse often don’t see any justice, if felt like an odd juxtaposition for the storyline. However, it could also have been read as a way of repositioning normal gender stereotypes, a switch from men as sexual aggressors to women as enactors of violence and trauma as well.

But the magic of this episode was in the complexity with which the writers and actors dove into a hugely complicated issue and emerged, not with easy platitudes of forgiveness, but rather, a more complicated evaluation of sexual (and racial) politics.

In an explosive dinner scene, Annalise–haggard and drunk–accuses her mother of not caring about what her uncle did to her. But in a surprise, Annalise’s mother delivers her mantra for the episode: “I told you, men take things! They’ve been taking things from women since the beginning of time.” She angrily lists her own sexual assault by her reverend as a child, a teacher who raped her aunt, and Annalise (and audience) sit there, horrified at the string of violence she spits out.

The obvious anger and helplessness that both of these women feel just spills out, crossing generational borders and speaking volumes to the pervasive ugliness of sexual assault. But it doesn’t stop there–Tyson continues on, revealing more about Annalise’s past with Sam, and the reasons for her occasional disdain for Annalise: “Ain’t no reason to talk about it and get all messy everywhere. Certainly no reason to go to a head shrink or for help.”

Viola Davis and Cicely Tyson in mother-daughter mode.
Viola Davis and Cicely Tyson in mother-daughter mode.

 

Sam was Annalise’s therapist; as Annalise reveals her vulnerabilities to her mother’s disgust with her daughters weakness, so many things click into place: Sam using his place of confidant and doctor to prey upon Annalise’s belief that she “belonged in a hand-me-down box.”

After Tyson’s tirade against the nature of men, their next scene together is different: softer, stronger. Annalise seems stripped down–no makeup, no wigs, her hair bunched into a more natural ‘fro, everything from her life as a lawyer pushed to the side as she sits on the floor between her mother’s knees while she brushes her daughter’s hair. For me, this was the most telling scene; not only is it an iconic image, but it also takes Annalise back into her older self, and we see her, confused, half in and half out of her old world and her new one. But despite the fancier settings than the ones she obviously grew up with, women’s problems are the same, and so are the solutions.

It is in the safe and familiar image that Tyson reveals the truth about Annalise’s uncle and what happened to him. Annalise’s mother saw the man emerge from Annalise’s room and knew what had happened, and so days later, while he was passed out drunk on the couch, she took a long match, and burned the house down, fixing the problem the only way she knew how. Tyson now repeats the refrain, “Only God can judge.”

Conclusion: Men take, women fix things?

 


Rachel Redfern is a traveler and teacher who spent the last few years living in Asia. Now back in her native California, she focuses on writing about media, culture, and feminism. While a big fan of campy ’80s movies and eccentric sci-fi, she’s become a cable acolyte, spending most of her time watching HBO, AMC, and Showtime. For good stories about lions and bungee jumping, as well as rants about sexism and slow drivers, follow her on Twitter at @RachelRedfern2.

Call For Writers: Unlikeable Women

Call For Writers: Unlikeable Women

Call-for-Writers-e1385943740501

Our theme week for February 2015 will be Unlikeable Women.

Representations of female antiheroines are on the rise. Contemporary audiences love morally ambiguous female characters who are hard, powerful, and determined. The soft-spoken but ruthless Claire Underwood of House of Cards is a prime example of women we love to hate, who push or ignore boundaries to get what they want. The elegant antiheroines who tend to be wealthy, goal-driven, and charismatic (Olivia Pope of Scandal, Patty Hewes of Damages, or Angelina Jolie’s Maleficent), while comparable, are a slightly different breed from the outright unlikeable women who are popping up all over film and television.

Whiny, self-obsessed Piper Chapman of Orange is the New Black and Hannah Horvath of Girls are perfect examples of these downright unlikeable female characters. What sets them apart from the traditional antiheroine archetype? Michelle Jurgen of Mic posits,

“It’s alienating simply because we’re not used to being served up unpalatable women: women who are naked just because, who give themselves terrible haircuts, and who are frank, judgmental and do whatever they want without regard for others. Women who act in a way we’re used to seeing only male characters act, which has unfairly branded them unlikable rather than well-crafted and complex.”

Jurgen further goes on to suggest that it is the humanness of these antiheroines that is difficult for audiences to stomach. Along with Piper and Hannah are characters like Cersei Lannister of Game of Thrones and Annalise Keating of How to Get Away with Murder who are equally vulnerable. They’re petty, manipulative, and needy. They make mistakes, often stupid mistakes, and they’re usually in damage-control mode, putting out the fires they either set or caused to be set.

If these unlikeable women are so “unpalatable,” why are they still being created? Why are we still watching them? Why are these productions winning so many awards and accolades?

Feel free to use the examples below to inspire your writing on this subject, or choose your own source material.

We’d like to avoid as much overlap as possible for this theme, so get your proposals in early if you know which film you’d like to write about. We accept both original pieces and cross-posts, and we respond to queries within a week.

Most of our pieces are between 1,000 and 2,000 words, and include links and images. Please send your piece as a Microsoft Word document to btchflcks[at]gmail[dot]com, including links to all images, and include a 2- to 3-sentence bio.

If you have written for us before, please indicate that in your proposal, and if not, send a writing sample if possible.

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

The final due date for these submissions is Friday, Feb. 20 by midnight.

House of Cards

Damages

Scandal

How to Get Away with Murder

Game of Thrones

Girls

Orange is the New Black

Dangerous Liaisons

Once Upon a Time

Maleficent

Fatal Attraction

Breaking Bad

Revenge

Sex and the City

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘How to Get Away With Murder’ Is Everything “That” ‘New York Times’ Review Said It Is

Fortunately for everyone, the show deliberately plays with archetype. She’s introduced as a singular image we all know, and over the course of the episode is shown to be sexy, amoral, vulnerable (Or is she? This is that kind of show; who knows!?), and an effective, if unorthodox, mentor. She’s a three-dimensional character that happens to fit the description.

This cross-post by Solomon Wong previously appeared at Be Young & Shut Up.

Like everyone else on the Internet, I heard about the New York Times review of the first episode of How to Get Away With Murder, wherein the author used the phrase “Angry Black woman” to describe Viola Davis’ character in the show. Shonda Rhimes, show-runner of Grey’s Anatomy and Scandal, probably didn’t need anyone’s help getting her new project tons of viewers, but the furor certainly got me to check it out. Here’s the short version: I love it. It’s a really fun program, and there’s a good stable of characters that, despite their archetypal presentations, break out and distinguish themselves. Which brings me back to the Times review. While the actual phrasing leaves a lot to be desired, it’s kind of just that—bad phrasing.

“Oh wow, she wrote Crossroads!” – Me, researching Shonda Rhimes
“Oh wow, she wrote Crossroads!” – Me, researching Shonda Rhimes

 

Viola Davis’ attorney/professor character Annalise Keating introduces herself to her new class as pretty much the professor from hell. She’s Professor Snape, if you’re one of the students that isn’t a little snot like Harry Potter. There’s a chance to learn a lot, but you’re going to work really, really hard and she isn’t going to coddle you or be nice (at all) when you screw up.

“I don’t know what terrible things you’ve done in your life up to this point, but clearly your karma’s out of balance to get assigned to my class….”

Speaking of Harry Potter, the protagonist of the show is played by the former actor of Dean Thomas!
Speaking of Harry Potter, the protagonist of the show is played by the former actor of Dean Thomas!

If this show were badly written, if all Keating did was be incredibly stern and severe to her students, it would have gotten tons of criticism from the same people criticizing the Times writer, saying that the character is an “Angry Black woman” and nothing more. That’s just the impression you get when she walks in and gives her first-day-of-class spiel. Fortunately for everyone, the show deliberately plays with archetype. She’s introduced as a singular image we all know, and over the course of the episode is shown to be sexy, amoral, vulnerable (Or is she? This is that kind of show; who knows!?), and an effective, if unorthodox, mentor. She’s a three-dimensional character that happens to fit the description.

Which is what the Times review was attempting to say. Black women are in a restricted cultural space, and representations of them are rather pigeonholed. Showing anger, period, is a risk, because it opens up the very real possibility of people labeling and dismissing the character as one of three types they’ve already assigned to black women. So to see the show’s writers rise to the occasion and go with a cold, borderline evil Black female lead is really quite heartening.

This doesn’t change the review’s incredibly bad opening line:

“When Shonda Rhimes writes her autobiography, it should be called “How to Get Away With Being an Angry Black Woman.””

Wow. Much inadvisable. Phrased in a less eye-jabbing way, it encapsulates what makes How to Get Away With Murder special. This show’s headlining character freely admits to defending guilty clients, and as her students see as they assist with her case, has no qualms about illegal or immoral methods of securing the not-guilty verdict. She sets murderers free because that’s how she’s chosen to make money.

**SPOILER ALERT** This guy gives a network-friendly rimjob to secure case-winning information
**SPOILER ALERT** This guy gives a network-friendly rimjob to secure case-winning information

 

There’s a pretty rich tradition of this kind of character; it’s basically all we’ve gotten in the past decade or so of award-winning cable dramas. But like Broad CityHow to Get Away With Murder is an entry into an established genre by a group (or two) generally shut out. By circumstance, by the genre’s conventions, or by the fear of falling into a stereotype, Black women don’t play the anti-hero role. Now we’ve got one, and she’s attached to a rip-roarin’-fun show.

I still haven’t gotten to the rest of the characters I like, but how much more do I need to say? Trashy legal drama with sexy law students behaving badly! At the end of the day, I just want everyone to watch this show so we can geek out about it.  As for 11-year TV crit veteran Alessandra Stanley, go back…to…writing…school?

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dbSl-SPyHtg”]


Solomon Wong is a writer and a graduate of UC Santa Cruz. He is the co-editor of Be Young and Shut Up, author of the cyberpunk serial novel Stargazer. He likes cooking, fishkeeping, and biking around Oakland.

How to Get Away with Dynamic Black Women Leads

Not only does this kind of stereotyping delegitimize Black women’s feelings, but it functions as a racist and misogynistic social policing tactic that pressures black women to self-censor their opinions, feelings and needs, or else be written off as a “type.” In fictional representations, the Angry Black Woman labeling and policing limits the types of black women we see in film, literature, comics, television, and other media.

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This guest post by Corinne Gaston previously appeared at the Ms. blog and is cross-posted with permission.

After the weeks of hype and speculation leading up to the premiere, How to Get Away with Murder has been the show to watch on Thursday nights. Viola Davis stars as Annalise Keating, a law school professor and criminal defense attorney, whom you can tell from the get-go is not a person to be crossed.

She expects 100 percent from her students when she walks into Middleton Law School’s Criminal Law 101–or, as she likes to call the class, How to Get Away with Murder. Their first assignment? Come up with a defense for the attempted murder case she is working on. The only catch is that not one of the dozens upon dozens of students can repeat another student’s idea. She takes these students under her wing but she does not mother them; after all, the business of defending criminals is a hard one.

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While many have praised Davis’ characterization of Keating, others, such as The New York Times critic Alessandra Stanley, boxed-in Keating as an “Angry Black Woman” before a single episode of the show had even aired. Keating was portrayed as “strong” and confident in the show’s trailer, which was enough for some folks to write her off. But in the pilot we see her actual character, and from the second she steps in front of the camera she is a force to be reckoned with. Keating’s gaze is unflinching and penetrating, her voice unwavering and, I must admit, I found her character to be menacing. But that does not obscure her creativity, brilliance and charisma. She openly expresses anger, dissatisfaction, sexuality and high expectations, and it should go without saying that stereotyping her would be a huge misstep.

Given the relative lack of diversity on television, particularly with show leads, characters like Davis’ Keating already have the limited representation of Black women in television (and film) working against them—it leads to extra pressure to “represent” or act as “spokespeople” for Black women, even if that is an unfair expectation. But then the double whammy comes in the form of racial biases. If you’re a Black woman actor and your character is too sexual? Jezebel. Cares too much for others? Mammy. Loud or expressive? Ratchet. Reveals any emotion that can be linked to displeasure OR (and here’s the kicker) personal standards? Angry Black Woman.

larme_annalise_keating

Not only does this kind of stereotyping delegitimize Black women’s feelings, but it functions as a racist and misogynistic social policing tactic that pressures black women to self-censor their opinions, feelings and needs, or else be written off as a “type.” In fictional representations, the Angry Black Woman labeling and policing limits the types of black women we see in film, literature, comics, television, and other media.

Despite the public criticisms that are sure to arise over Davis’ character—that she is too tough or aggressive—I am personally thankful that her character exists and that Davis plays Keating the way she does. It’s not often you see a Black woman character exude so much fearsome, respected power and confidence and not be portrayed as an over-the-top Sapphire stereotype, like many of the women in Tyler Perry’s movies. She is a hard, dynamic, and mysterious person. However, she does have her moment of vulnerability when one of her students finds her crying over the state of her strained marriage–because, of course, she’s human.

How-to-get-away-with-murder

Oftentimes it feels like writers, producers and directors are afraid to show truly complex depictions of Black women for fear that audiences will not accept them. Which is funny, because white men are given huge amounts of freedom to depict complex, questionable and even immoral protagonists. Beyond that, these white male characters are often praised, loved and lionized—all without being written off as Angry White Men (even when they are very, very angry). Characters like Walter White from Breaking Bad and Dexter Morgan from Dexter, for example, amassed huge fan followings, even though one is a meth kingpin and the other is a straight-up murderer.

White male television characters can be crime bosses, murderers, meth manufacturers, drug dealers, drug users and thieves and be lauded, while in real life some of those identities (such as drug user and thief) have been used to dehumanize Black individuals and argue away their murders. Clearly there’s a racial representation issue that goes deeper than television, but as it stands, Black women actors should have the freedom to play as complex and troubling characters as white men and have their acting expertise applauded.

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The first episode of How to Get Away with Murder laid the groundwork for twisting story lines to come: murder, affairs and, of course, more murder. If the plot line follows the path I think it will, the second murder, supposedly committed by four of Keating’s students, will be discovered, the four will go to trial and Keating will end up either defending or prosecuting her very own students. The show has the flexibility to go in many directions and so does Annalise Keating, who doesn’t tolerate the word “failure” in her personal dictionary, but will be forced to reckon with her own secrets.

At this point, I don’t know much of who she is, to which side her complex character skews in terms of general morals, or even if I’m rooting for her yet in the storyline. What I am rooting for, however, is her existence.

 


Corinne Gaston is an editorial intern at Ms. Follow her on Twitter @elysehamsa or go to her personal blog.

 

Bitch Flicks’ Weekly Picks

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

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6 topics for an HBO TV series on Brazil more original than “high end (white) sex workers” by Juliana at Feministing

Where The (Queer) Girls Are Gonna Be On Your TV This Year by Riese at Autostraddle

Cover Exclusive: Jennifer Lawrence Calls Photo Hacking a “Sex Crime” at Vanity Fair

Malala’s Nobel is ‘for all girl students of Pakistan’ by Naila Inayat and Caesar Mandal at USA Today

 

 

 

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

 

Angry or Complicated?: Misrecognizing Black Women

At best, the White Gaze can be challenged on Twitter (see: #lessclassicallybeautiful); at worst, it can get you killed (see: Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Ezell Ford, Renisha McBride, Trayvon Martin). And for black women, in particular, our complex experiences disappear in the crossroads of intersectional oppression. Where racism and sexism meet, we fall through the cracks.

Shonda Rhimes
Shonda Rhimes

 

This guest post by Janell Hobson previously appeared at the Ms. Blog and is cross-posted with permission.

Anyone who may have seen interviews with Shonda Rhimes, read her forthright speech on diversity on television, or watched her hit TV show Scandal, would not recognize her in Alessandra Stanley’s description of an “angry black woman.”

It would be easy, actually, to become an “angry black woman” after reading Stanley’s New York Times review, but what such descriptors ultimately reveal is how certain critics fall back on readily available stereotypes and misrecognize the complexities of black womanhood.

Rhimes has rightly been lauded for bringing much nuance to her portrayals of black female characters in her television shows: the brilliant and assertive Dr. Miranda Bailey on Grey’s Anatomy, the ultra competent but vulnerable, wine-guzzling Olivia Pope on Scandal, and now the take-charge but flawed Annalise Keating in the new murder mystery, How to Get Away with Murder. Such characters have demonstrated a wide array of emotions on screen. Yet, Stanley reduced them all to “Angry Black Women.”

Chandra Wilson as Miranda Bailey on Grey's Anatomy
Chandra Wilson as Miranda Bailey on Grey’s Anatomy

 

In her clumsy attempts at praising Rhimes for enabling more complicated portrayals of black womanhood, Stanley revealed the often difficult task of transcending the White Gaze, which has a long history of racial distortion and misrecognition. “Confidence” or any behavior not characterized as servile from a black woman becomes “angry” and “scary.”

These distortions often manifest in other ways too, so that dark-skinned Viola Davis becomes “less classically beautiful” and “menacing” in her sexiness, and Nicole Beharie, who stars in the Fox TV show Sleepy Hollow, is reduced to a “sidekick.” Even when these women land leading roles in their respective TV shows, Stanley reduces their star power (through looks or character status).  No wonder, then, when black women assert themselves, appear confident, or fail to merely be “of service,” they can only become the “Angry Black Woman.”

At best, the White Gaze can be challenged on Twitter (see: #lessclassicallybeautiful); at worst, it can get you killed (see: Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Ezell Ford, Renisha McBride, Trayvon Martin). And for black women, in particular, our complex experiences disappear in the crossroads of intersectional oppression. Where racism and sexism meet, we fall through the cracks.

Kerri Washington as Olivia Pope on Scandal
Kerry Washington as Olivia Pope on Scandal

 

This is why so many have been eagerly awaiting Shonda Rhimes’ latest drama to arrive at Shondaland. We know she will feature shows that reinforce black women’s humanity.

In a culture where Janay Rice‘s suffering at the hands of her husband, Ray Rice, was only believed once her privacy was breached by TMZ’s release of a video illustrating her husband’s violence—and not when earlier video showed him dragging her out of an elevator, which merely prompted conversations that she must have “deserved” his treatment (i.e. a black woman’s “anger” instigates domestic violence)—and in a society where Oklahoma City police officer Daniel Holtzclaw can have his bail reduced when he is accused of raping and sexually assaulting eight black women, the “Angry Black Woman” trope makes it difficult to view these women as “victims.”

And even when black women’s bodies become the site on which national outrage and public conversations emerge to address problems such as domestic and intimate partner violence, they are still excluded from the table, as occurred when the NFL’s attempts to form an advisement panel—in the wake of the Ray Rice scandal—failed to include women of color. If we are not readily recognized as “victims,” we are also not recognized as “experts” or sources of knowledge and wisdom. And when we complain of this unfair treatment, we once again become “Angry Black Women.”

Viola Davis as Annalise Keating in How to Get Away with Murder
Viola Davis as Annalise Keating on How to Get Away with Murder

 

Of course the media landscape does not have sole power to transform our society and change what ails us. However, media normalizes concepts of race and gender, and any portrayals that advance our humanity can help us unpack our assumptions and challenge the racialized and gendered gazes that we bring to such images.

Will we recognize complex characters when we see them? Or will we resort to convenient stereotypes, as Stanley did in her review?  And I don’t wish to only single out this one New York Times writer.  Recently, advertisements for Fox’s new TV show Red Band Society, featuring Octavia Spencer as Nurse Jackson, described her as a “scary bitch“; they were eventually pulled from Los Angeles public buses after complaints from community members. Obviously, this rush to stereotype manifests not only in the pages of a widely read newspaper.

We need more diverse stories and more complex characters and images of black womanhood in media. But more than that: We need viewers to push themselves to interpret what they see on screen beyond recognizable stereotypes.

Octavia Spencer in one of the "scary bitch" ads for Red Band Society
Octavia Spencer in one of the “scary bitch” ads for Red Band Society

 

Fortunately, Rhimes has led the way. It’s time the rest of us learn to complicate our views.

 


Janell Hobson is an associate professor of Women’s, Gender and Sexuality Studies at the University at Albany, State University of New York. She is the author of Body as Evidence: Mediating Race, Globalizing Gender and Venus in the Dark: Blackness and Beauty in Popular Culture, and a frequent contributor to Ms.