Interracial Relationships Theme Week

Interracial Relationships: The Roundup

Check out all of the posts from our Interracial Relationships Theme Week here.

Interracial Relationships in Star Wars: The Force Awakens: The Importance of Finn & Rey by Sophie Hall

Interracial Relationships on Grey’s Anatomy by Cheyenne Matthews-Hoffman

While Grey’s Anatomy has a very large multiracial cast that leads to some impressive representation, its reluctance to discuss race doesn’t give it the opportunity to further explore intricacies of interracial relationships.

Brooklyn Nine-Nine Is Doing Something Right: How One Workplace Sitcom Shows That Interracial Relationships Can Be the Norm by Laura Power

But because the people coming into any workplace in New York City are already diverse in terms of race and sexual orientation, why would a cross-race relationship be bothersome? Brooklyn Nine-Nine doesn’t believe it should be. From the first episode, this show presents interracial relationships as an unquestioned norm, and this is what makes it stand out from all other shows of its kind on television.

No Place For Us: Interracial Relationships in West Side Story by Olivia Edmunds-Diez

Pinky and the Origins of Interracial Oscar-Bait by Hannah Graves

Pinky is best understood at the starting point for a new Hollywood trajectory for interracial relationships onscreen: the worthy Oscar-bait drama that claims to enlighten as it entertains and serves as a conduit for fostering tolerance in the presumed white audience.

Interracial Love in the Afternoon: Daytime Soap Opera Relationships by Rachel Wortherley

It is glaring that amongst soap opera supercouples, there are few pairings with people of color, especially interracial couples. … In 2016, interracial couples only scratch the surface of storylines on daytime television.

Colonialism in The King and I and Related Media by Jackson Adler

The King and I promotes colonialist and “white savior” attitudes. … Adding romantic interest to the story, showing King Mongkut as exceedingly admiring of Anna and portraying her influence in the court as more than it was, paints Western values and morals as superior to others, justifying colonialism by making it seem as though Eastern countries “need” the West.

Negotiating Race as the Female Indian Love Interest in Bend It Like Beckham and The Darjeeling Limited by Allie Gemmill

Jackie Brown: The Journey of Self-Discovery by Rachel Wortherley

By not blatantly focusing on the racial disparity between Jackie and Max, it speaks volumes in regards to who the film is about. … It is silently implied that as a Black woman, she divorces her identity from the men in her life — including a man who, as a white male maintains a sense of privilege in society — and reclaims it for her own.

Blindness, Race, and Love in A Patch of Blue by Leigh Kolb

Fifty years later, portraying disability on screen with empathy and respect is still rare. Showing an interracial couple is also extremely rare (Green says that some people sent terrible letters to him about the kissing scene; in fact, it’s reported that in some areas in the south the scene was edited out for theaters). A Patch of Blue manages to weave together themes of disability, race, socioeconomic issues and family dynamics with beauty and grace.

‘We’re Not So Different’: Tradition, Culture, and Falling in Love in Bride & Prejudice by Becky Kukla

Though clearly based on the novel, Bride & Prejudice is a successful piece of transnational cinema, which uses the interracial relationship between the Bakshi’s second eldest daughter Lalita and white American Mark Darcy to discuss differences in race, tradition, and cultural imperialism.

Endearing Interracial Romance in Flirting by Grace Barber-Plentie

It’s a true rarity to see an interracial relationship that doesn’t have at least some element of suffering in it. In Flirting, on the other hand, most of the difficulties in Danny and Thandiwe’s relationship seems to come from the relationship itself, not the color of the star-crossed lovers’ skin.

On Indie Rom-Coms, The Duvernay Test, and Already Tomorrow in Hong Kong by Candice Frederick

It was Viola Davis who commented about the lack of substantial roles as love interests for women of color on the big screen. … We see that familiar and very white narrative unfold between an interracial pair in Already Tomorrow in Hong Kong, except this time it’s infused with cultural nuances that, while they don’t reinvent the wheel, offer a fresh perspective.

Colorism and Interracial Relationships in Film: ‘Belle,’ ‘The Wedding,’ and More by Atima Omara

Into the Badlands: Will Blasian Love Last? by Lisa Bolekaja

Into the Badlands, based on the classic Chinese tale Journey to the West, is set in a futuristic dystopian world where past wars have created a new feudal society. It’s gratifying to finally get an onscreen Blasian couple where they kiss, have sex, and get to have a real relationship.

What Parenthood Taught Me About Interracial Relationships by Livi Burke

I remember watching the scene in the episode “The Talk” where Crosby and Jabbar have their first conversation about the N-word. Crosby looked so caught off guard; he knows this is a racist word he’s not supposed to say, yet at the same he has no idea how to talk about this racial slur and its ramifications with his half Black son.

Animated Love: How Anime Produced Two of the Best Interracial Love Stories of All Time by Robert V Aldrich

Two of the greatest love stories in anime are interracial relationships. … While the industry as a whole generally eschews characters of color, that hasn’t stopped some series from featuring prominent people of color characters in narratively significant stories. This has led to interracial couples being featured in two of the greatest anime series of all time: The Super Dimension Force Macross and Revolutionary Girl Utena.

Colorism and Interracial Relationships in Film: ‘Belle,’ ‘The Wedding,’ & More

This guest post by Atima Omara appears as part of our theme week on Interracial Relationships.

Race, class, and love are at the center of Amma Assante’s beautifully made film Belle. It tells the story of Dido Elizabeth Belle Lindsay, the biracial daughter of Maria Belle, an enslaved African woman in the West Indies, and Sir John Lindsay, a British career naval officer who was stationed there. Unlike many children who were the product of a slave and a wealthy white man, Dido’s white father took her back to England to be raised with her wealthy white relatives. While set in England, the film is a poignant interpretation of interracial relationships in the 18th century and how color, particularly what shade of “black,” often factored into who you loved and found desirable, a dynamic that affects many portrayals of interracial relationships in film and television.

The unique life and story of Dido Elizabeth was discovered due to a portrait that hangs in Scone Palace that intrigued many, including Belle‘s British director of African descent, Amma Asante, who told NPR:

“You see a biracial girl, a woman of color, who’s painted slightly higher in the painting, depicted slightly higher than her white counterpart. She’s staring directly out at the painter, you know, with a very direct, confident eye. … So this painting flipped tradition and everything that the 18th century told us about portraiture.”

As in real life, Dido (Gugu Mbatha-Raw) grows up best friends with her cousin Elizabeth (Sarah Gadon). When they reach their teen years, as is par for the course with any British film reflective of young women’s lives of the period, it’s time to find a husband. As such, they are introduced to the sons of a prominent family nearby, the James Ashford (Tom Felton) and Oliver Ashford (James Norton).

Oliver takes a fascination with Dido, to the chagrin of his brother James. “One does not make a wife of the the rare and exotic, Oliver. One samples it on the cotton fields of the Indies,” James says, yet Oliver dismisses his comments and pursues Dido anyway. But even Oliver’s professed love for Dido and his subsequent proposal are filled with racist undertones, commenting how lovely and intriguing she is in spite of her African heritage. Dido eventually refuses to marry Oliver when she is assaulted by his racist brother and becomes aware that James’ racist sentiments are shared by his mother; that she is only tolerated due to the sizable wealth she inherits from her now dead father.

What elevates Dido to a status where she is even pursued by white men of the British upper class is mostly her money. For example, her cousin, Elizabeth, while white, inherits less money and as a result, is viewed as a less attractive prospect for men of the English gentry looking to make a solid match. Oliver’s comments to Dido highlight that she is palatable due to her mixed heritage, a racial preference known as colorism, a prejudice or discrimination against individuals with a dark skin tone, typically among people of the same ethnic or racial group. If Dido had been as black as her mother, she would more than likely, no matter how wealthy, not have been a tenable mate for any member of the British upper class of her time.

The colorism Dido experiences is seen throughout different Western societies that had Black African enslavement as part of its world. Many stories of colorism also exist in American history and folklore and we see how it impacts romantic relationships and in American film and TV. For example, New Orleans hosted Quadroom Balls in the 19th century. The word “quadroon” refers to people of color with one white parent and one half-white parent. These balls encouraged multiracial women to form liaisons with a system of concubinage, known as plaçage, comprised of highly educated and socially refined women. They were unable to find Black men of their own social status, so they became the mistresses of white men.

The film The Courage to Love depicts a representation of this world. Vanessa Williams plays Henriette Delille, a historical multiracial woman of color expected to marry a wealthy white man as her mother had before her. These wealthy white men were attracted to quadroon women because they weren’t so obviously black and these women possessed the training and education to be partners to powerful white men. Some white men would slip away from the city’s balls for whites to attend these afterwards.

Like Oliver, these men of New Orleans who catered to the plaçage system exoticized women of color and by frequenting these balls and taking women of color as mistresses, cemented a colorism caste amongst the Black community that spread throughout the American South. It is important to note that not only did the plaçage system in New Orleans keep multiracial women a certain shade of “acceptable” black skin, but like Belle’s experience growing up with her white father’s noble family, African Americans who obviously were children of interracial relationships benefited financially, creating not only a caste system in the Black community based on the lightness of one’s skin but also on wealth.

These enclaves of lighter-skinned Black communities descended from interracial relationships have been shown in American film. Eve’s Bayou, written and directed by Kasi Lemmons (making her directorial debut), centered around a town in Louisiana’s Black community who claims descent from a French aristocrat and who founded the town of Eve’s Bayou. The residents are primarily lighter-skinned, mixed-raced people. The Batistes who are the center of that town are rather light-skinned with the exception of the father, played by Samuel L. Jackson.

In Harlem Renaissance writer’s Dorothy West’s book The Wedding, West writes about “The Oval,” an elite Black community that lives and summers on Martha’s Vineyard. While Eve’s Bayou was fictional, the Oval is an actual wealthy Black community. At the center of West’s novel adapted in to a film with the same name, a young Black woman named Shelby Coles (Halle Berry) and her fiancé, a young white man named Meade Howell (Eric Thal) come home to visit her family for the wedding in the summer of 1953. Shelby’s family is displeased that Meade is a financially strapped musician, but they are willing to make the most of it. Meade’s own family is displeased his fiancée and her family are Black, which further agitates Shelby’s family.

At the crux of it all are two issues: first, the Black community in which Shelby was raised, a community that is financially successful but primarily light-skinned, so much so, the Coles’ family maid comments “they are all high yellow up here.” Secondly, Shelby’s family questions her about whether this is the marriage she wants due to Meade’s family’s snub. The film centers around the present community reflected in interactions with neighbors and family and the past relationships of Shelby’s ancestors from both her parents and how they have impacted her family.

Shelby’s grandmother was a white Southern woman named Josephine (Margaret Welsh) who married an up and coming emancipated dark-skinned Black man, named Hannibal (Gabriel Casseus). Their daughter, Corinne (Lynn Whitfield), grows up emotionally traumatized from the fact she was never fully loved and accepted by her mother due to Corinne being part Black. Corinne’s emotional trauma is reinforced by her white Southern grandmother, Caroline (Shirley Knight), Josephine’s mother who always says to her great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren, “Where is your sun bonnet?” — an item which protects their skin from getting darker. One imagines Caroline impressed upon Corinne, who she helped raise after Corinne’s parents died, the same colorist views.

The damage of this colorism wreaks havoc on Corinne’s emotional psyche, who gets an operation to stop herself from future pregnancies, worried that any future children will “look like her father” who was dark-skinned. Corinne’s two children feel its effects: Shelby’s sister Liz (Cynda Williams) is happily married to her doctor husband, Lincoln (Richard Brooks), however Lincoln is dark-skinned. It is clear when the audience is introduced to Liz and Lincoln something terrible happened between Corinne and her son-in-law; Lincoln refuses to attend Shelby’s wedding primarily because he does not want to deal with Corinne. When Liz begs him to come with her, Lincoln snidely says, “That’s right, you need me there to prove a point to your mother, that you are happily married and that your husband is not the barbarian she imagined…I will never set foot in that house. I wasn’t good enough for her then why should I be good enough for her now? I don’t see my skin getting any lighter.”

Perhaps Meade’s family’s snub, and her past mistakes allowed Corinne to be honest with Shelby telling her, “I know it’s harsh when I spoke about you being a stain on your in-laws’ sheets but it’s because I was a stain on my mother’s.” Corinne’s husband and Shelby’s father, Clark (Michael Warren) is affected by family expectations on race as well. Flashbacks show his young love for a dark-skinned Black woman, deemed not the proper image of a wife he needs as an up and coming Black doctor.

Much like Corinne’s parents, Clark’s parents also struggled with their relationship due to color. His father, Isaac Coles (Peter Francis James), a light-skinned man who was a successful doctor and his wife, Ellen Coles (Marianne Jean Baptiste) who is financially successful in her own right, is also dark-skinned. Ellen is also painfully aware of her darker complexion and that it could be a liability to her husband. As a result, Ellen often hides herself away. From his personal experiences, Shelby’s father Clark, worried that perhaps his daughter Shelby is feeling familial or Black society pressure her to marry someone like Meade. He asks her “who has she brought home” that isn’t white or light-skinned that were her dates. He urges her not to make the same mistakes he did.

There is an option for Shelby to marry an eligible Black man, Lute McNeil (Carl Lumbly), a charming newcomer to The Oval. While wealthy and successful, Lute is also a dark-skinned Black man. Shelby has a great relationship with Lute’s three children and despite her engagement, Lute persists in pursuing her and Shelby finds herself attracted to him. Shelby’s mother disapproves of Lute because of his dark skin and his new money. She tells him that despite his financial success, he will “never belong” to the Oval. In the end, Shelby chooses Meade — deciding that class and race are artificial constructs and that love only matters. While I agree with this contention of Shelby’s, one is left to wonder how much of this family baggage affected her in her choices of dating and love.

It is clear that in film and television, colorism still plays a role in relationships, whether interracial or non-interracial. People have criticized the many music videos of hip hop and R&B artists that feature light-skinned or ethnically ambiguous love interests. Hollywood also faces criticism as dark-skinned Black women are more regularly cast as asexual (desexualizing Black women, portraying them with no desires) and never able to find love.

We have come a long way in having honest conversations about this in film and television and even literature. Media has progressed in portraying women of color who are darker-skinned as desirable and sexy to Black and white people, such as Viola Davis’s portrayal of Annalise Keating on How To Get Away With Murder, where she has relationships with a white man, Black man, and a white woman. However, the fact that Davis’s character is still groundbreaking shows just how far we still have to go in representing all the hues of Black women without falling victim to colorism.

Atima Omara is a political strategist, writer, activist who has served as staff on eight federal and local political campaigns and worked for progressive causes. Her writings focus on gender, race, and politics but also how gender and race are reflected in film and popular culture. In her spare time, she reads, watches movies and documentaries, and attends film festivals when she can. Read more of her feminist-friendly film, TV, and media critiques, plus other updates at her personal blog. You can follow her on Twitter.

‘Into the Badlands’: Will Blasian Love Last?

‘Into the Badlands’, based on the classic Chinese tale ‘Journey to the West’, is set in a futuristic dystopian world where past wars have created a new feudal society. It’s gratifying to finally get an onscreen Blasian couple where they kiss, have sex, and get to have a real relationship.

Written by Lisa Bolekaja, this article appears as part of our theme week on Interracial Relationships.

For the last few weeks, fans of AMC’s Into the Badlands have been waiting to hear if the series will be renewed for a second season. Its six-part first season story arc hooked a number of viewers who eagerly await more episodes of the dystopian, martial arts fantasy extravaganza. The show is a throwback to the action excitement of 1970s Kung Fu theater with large doses of mystery, adventure, beautifully choreographed fight sequences, and a forbidden romance at its core. I am a big fan and find myself constantly checking social media to see if I will be gifted with another season.

Into the Badlands, based on the classic Chinese tale Journey to the West, is set in a futuristic dystopian world where past wars have created a new feudal society divided up between seven “Barons” who run everything on various Louisiana plantations — harking back to images of a slave society and a brutally defined hierarchy. People pick poppy plants instead of cotton, and everyone’s clothing looks like updated Gone With the Wind duds, only cooler looking with lots of leather. Guns have been banished, and although people originally flocked to the various Barons for protection and guidance in a world turned upside down because of war, the “protection” eventually lapsed into forced servitude. There are townspeople; healers, merchants, bar owners, brothels etc., and then there is the warrior class who live on the plantations.

Under the leadership of the Barons are lethal trained killers known as Clippers. Children with the potential to become Clippers are called colts and go through military training in the martial arts. Everyone else who isn’t trained in the art of war is forced to work on the plantations growing the poppy plants that are harvested into opium. They are known as cogs. (read: slaves).

The top Clipper on any given plantation is known as a Regent, and action star Daniel Wu is Sunny, the baddest Clipper in all the Badlands. He has tattoos on his back for the number of people he has killed. Sunny’s Baron is the conniving and ruthless Quinn (Martin Csokas), a man determined to control all of the Badlands. Quinn doesn’t know that the other Barons are plotting to overthrow him, and his personal life is a hot mess (two wives who dislike each other, and a son itching to take over). He depends on Sunny’s loyalty and fighting prowess. All Clippers are beholden to and only live for their Baron. They are not allowed to marry, have children, or have personal lives outside of the Baron’s wishes. Everyone in this society lives at the discretion and bidding of the various Barons. To go against this hierarchy of power and position is to risk immediate death.

Orphaned as a child, Sunny only knows the life of a Clipper. When we first meet him, he has been dispatched on his motorcycle to check on a cargo of new cogs that have not arrived at Quinn’s plantation. Sunny finds that the cogs have been killed, their bodies still chained together and rotting on the side of a desolate road. He notices that there is a person missing from the shackled group of slaves and sets off to find Quinn’s stolen property.

This scenario sets into motion two events that change the course of Sunny’s life forever. The first event is finding and rescuing M.K. (Aramis Knight), a young teen who wears a mysterious pendant that represents a fabled city called Azra that lies outside of the Badlands. People don’t believe it exists, but Sunny recognizes the pendant as something that matches a compass he owns and has hidden away from his own childhood. Sunny is intrigued with M.K., curious to know why he was kidnapped and not murdered like the other cogs. The second event that shakes up Sunny’s life is that the forbidden romance he’s has been secretly having with Veil (Madeliene Mantock), a Black woman who works as a healer in town, has borne fruit: Veil is pregnant and she’s keeping their baby, rules be damned.

What makes Sunny’s relationship with Veil exciting to me is the fact that it is a unique interracial pairing between two people of color. And not just the usual (almost cliché) interracial pairing of a White person with a person of color that we often find in film and TV. (On the flip side, the real shocker would have been to cast a talented Asian actress as Sunny’s love interest. Two people of color from the same racial background who are in love and have a romance at the center of the narrative? What? I can only dream.)

My mouth literally flew open when the show premiered on the east coast first and I saw a picture posted on social media of Sunny and Veil in bed together. The first reaction was, “Wow an AMBW couple on TV in bed together! Blasian love!”, and immediately afterwards I thought, “Damn, should I even bother to be invested in that relationship? They are probably going to kill her in the first episode.” I was bummed that my reactions were excitement about a Black woman being loved on, and then automatically assuming that she would be killed off because it has been proven that Black characters tend to be bumped off first. It’s tradition; this assumption about Veil’s immediate demise had levels to it.

Typically, women are used to motivate male characters into action, via revenge or to have someone to rescue. They exist as plot devices (with tropes like Damsel in Distress or Women in Refrigerators) to help the story move along. This problem is exacerbated at times when that woman is a woman of color because they are not often deemed as important as a white female character. If Veil had been white, in my mind, she may last a few episodes. But because she was Black, I girded my loins and waited for the big chop. This saddens me because by the time I was able to watch the entire show during its west coast broadcast, I had already prepared myself to let Veil go. And praise ye old Gods, Veil has survived all six episodes, and actually has some agency.

The rare pairings of an Asian male character and a Black female character has a tenuous history in cinema. The few films that even touch upon the slightest hint of a possible romance between AMBW couples has been disappointing. The two most recent films that my cinema friends and I still complain about is Ninja Assassin and Romeo Must Die. There was obvious chemistry between Naomie Harris and Rain. There was even a rumored shower scene between them that was supposedly cut. But Ninja Assassin just toyed with us, and fans of the film created fanfiction to fill in the gaps of romance that may have been there more overtly had Naomie Harris’ character been a white woman.

The travesty that is Romeo Must Die has always irked fans of that film. Jet Li and the late Aaliyah couldn’t even get a kiss at the end? All that sexual tension, and flat out cuteness together didn’t warrant a little lip action? It has been said that there was a kissing scene at the end that was cut because a test audience didn’t like it. I don’t know who was in that test audience that ruined the earned love scene of Jet Li and Aaliyah, but in the words of Sam Jackson, I hope they die and burn in hell. We were robbed.

The closest thing that I’ve seen that even tried to have a recurring Blasian couple was Flashforward (2009) with John Cho and Gabrielle Union. But then Cho’s character ended up getting a lesbian white woman pregnant on purpose and…yeah, that sucked.

There are other films and TV shows that have had AMBW pairings:

Virtuality (2009)

Robot Stories (2003)

Catfish in Black Bean Sauce (1999)

Cinderella (1997)

Fakin’ Da Funk (1997)

But it’s a nice surprise to see a deeper relationship between Veil and Sunny. It would be great if we could see more of their love scenes developed. The arrival of M.K. and Veil’s pregnancy have created an urgency in Sunny that tests his loyalty as a Regent/Clipper. Some of the writing of the show has me questioning why Sunny is so loyal to the unstable, villainous Quinn. Quinn murders Veil’s adoptive parents. Sunny tells Veil what happened when she confronts him about it, and yet he still goes back to work like “I can’t do anything.” Sunny finally making plans to escape with Veil and M.K. come a little too late. We needed to see him stand up for his woman and baby sooner.

Thank goodness Veil isn’t allowed to be a weak damsel in distress waiting for Sunny to save her. She works through difficult situations to keep herself and her unborn child alive when he’s not around. Veil even tells Sunny that she may or may not leave with him once he secures passage on a boat for them to escape. It’s a small moment that lets the audience know that she will make it with or without Sunny.

Sunny and Veil are set up to be a surrogate family for M.K. and the boy is pretty quick to pick up on the fact that the secret affair of Sunny and Veil is pretty obvious whenever they are near each other. M.K. himself has the beginnings of his own interracial romance with Tilda (Ally Ioannides), the Clipper daughter of a female Baron known as The Widow (Emily Beecham — one of my favorites on the show), which brings on another set of problems that mirror Sunny and Veil’s forbidden union.

Into the Badlands is an imaginative show that is here for fans of dynamic martial arts, and also kickass women. More than half of the main cast is made up of women full of agency who drive the series just as much as the men. My only criticism in that respect is that Veil is the only regular cast member who is a woman of color. I see a lot of female background extras that are women of color, (just like there are tons of men and boys of color on the show, even those with regular speaking roles), so it would’ve been nice to see another woman of color who is a major player. It’s pretty lazy casting to have six female speaking parts, and only one is a woman of color? And no, The Widow being a redhead does not count as diversity in women. They could have given us at least three women of color. Asian, Native, Latinx…so easy to do. But no. There’s just Veil.

The season finale left us with a cliffhanger. M.K. kidnapped again, Sunny tied up on the boat and what that means for his family’s safe passage out of the Badlands, and Veil left alone in town wondering what happened to her man. The six episodes were fast and furious fun, and I hope that Sunny and Veil’s relationship continues over the long haul. It’s exciting to see a handsome Asian male actor shine as the hero, be a sexually desired hottie, and NOT be a stereotype or sidekick to a white male character. It’s also gratifying to finally get an onscreen Blasian couple where they kiss, have sex, and get to have a real relationship. At least I hope so. C’mon, AMC. Renew Into the Badlands. The fans are waiting.

Staff Writer Lisa Bolekaja is a writer, screenwriter, and podcaster. She’s an Apex Magazine slush reader, a member of the Horror Writers Association, a former Film Independent Fellow and a Twitter fiend. You can find her posted up on the AMC Into the Badlands fan page waiting for word of Season 2.

What ‘Parenthood’ Taught Me About Interracial Relationships

This guest post written by Livi Burke appears as part of our theme week on Interracial Relationships.

Growing up, I was often either one of the few Black kids in my class or the only one. So it would be no surprise that my attraction to good-looking white guys has always been so strong. When I was a young Jonas Brother-loving 13-year-old experiencing her first crush, I had no idea just how much impact race could have on my future relationships. It wasn’t until I got older that I learned about the unique and challenging aspects of interracial relationships.

TV series like Parenthood and The Fosters really helped show me what it would be like to be in a committed relationship with someone of a different race. Not only did I feel like I was learning so much by watching these shows for the first time, but I also loved the representation. The representation I saw was not just of people of color as a whole but also people of color coming together to love each other and start families together.

Now as much as I loved seeing my well-known love for vanilla onscreen, I did see some things in Parenthood that were not nearly as fun to watch. There were several times when Crosby’s very blatant ignorance of his white privilege unsettled me. It made me think of what would happen if I met someone who isn’t aware of their privilege. That person could make a great partner and even be a great parent but if they aren’t fully aware of their white privilege? Not a chance.

Parenthood is known for dealing with social issues, including racism. I remember watching the scene in the episode “The Talk” where Crosby and Jabbar have their first conversation about the N-word. Crosby looked so caught off guard; he knows this is a racist word he’s not supposed to say, yet at the same he has no idea how to talk about this racial slur and its ramifications with his half Black son. This scene became one of the many turning points of the show. Later, Crosby and Jasmine have a much more in-depth dialogue with Jabbar about racism and why the N-word is so hateful and offensive. This echoes conversations that many parents of color have had with their children. What made this discussion different to me was how this becomes a huge learning experience for both Jabbar and Crosby. When I watched this scene, I felt like I was seeing myself as a mom having that conversation with my future son.

In addition to showing examples of interracial families and adult relationships, Parenthood also depicted teens Haddie and Alex in a much different relationship that contained many relatable aspects. The moment that really stands out to me about their relationship is Alex’s arrest. When Alex picks up a drunk Haddie from a party, he gets into a confrontation with another high school student, whose parents press charges against Alex for the fight. As great as it was that the Bravermans helped him get the charges dropped, I know that if not for their help, Alex would have had to do time in jail. Why? Because Alex is a young Black man and racial bias is something that’s still very real in the U.S.

The biggest thing that I gained from watching the interracial relationships in Parenthood is that my future husband won’t fully understand what it is like to be Black in America. But as long as they are open to learning more about my struggles and aware of their white privilege, our relationship will remain strong. Just because our races and experiences may differ, it doesn’t mean we can’t still come together to love each other and raise a family.

Even though I didn’t exactly enjoy learning the hard lessons about race through these shows, I am very grateful that I did. I never thought that a family drama I started watching on Netflix when I probably should have been studying would become so much more than entertainment for me.

Livi Burke is a blogger, a student, and a long time coffee lover. Some of her biggest passions are writing, photography, and blogging. Her work can be seen on Thought Catalog, Coming of Faith, Bustle, and many other online publications. When she isn’t working on a new article or blog post, she is either rewatching Gilmore Girls or obsessing over her favorite Subway sandwich.

Animated Love: How Anime Produced Two of the Best Interracial Love Stories of All Time

Two of the greatest love stories in anime are interracial relationships. … While the industry as a whole generally eschews characters of color, that hasn’t stopped some series from featuring prominent people of color characters in narratively significant stories. This has led to interracial couples being featured in two of the greatest anime series of all time: ‘The Super Dimension Force Macross’ and ‘Revolutionary Girl Utena.’

This guest post written by Robert V Aldrich appears as part of our theme week on Interracial Relationships. Spoilers ahead.

Two of the greatest love stories in anime are interracial relationships.

Now, to be fair, that might seem a little surprising. After all, while generally being (or at least seeming) progressive on an array of social issues, the anime medium as a whole has a strained relationship with people of color, with the general absence of characters of color as, sadly, just the tip of the iceberg. When characters of color do appear, they are often highly generic (read: racist) stereotypes, although some popular anime cross the line and employ straight-up blackface antics (looking at you, Dragon Ball Z).

While the industry as a whole generally eschews characters of color, that hasn’t stopped some series from featuring prominent people of color characters in narratively significant stories. This has led to interracial couples being featured in two of the greatest anime series of all time: The Super Dimension Force Macross and Revolutionary Girl Utena.

Quick disclaimer: So, any discussion about race in anime needs to acknowledge the difficulties in identifying race in anime’s heavily stylized character designs. While some shows illustrate with more of an eye towards realism and racial distinctions can be made, most characters of white and Asian background are usually shown with nigh-identical features. This often makes distinguishing between the two races quite difficult (with nothing to say of distinctions between different ethnic groups within races). As such, it’s very easy for the token American woman to have largely the same facial features as her Japanese counterparts.

It’s for this reason that discussing interracial relationships can be a little tricky, simply because there are many more interracial relationships than first appears evident. For example, Aresene Lupin the Third (of Lupin III fame) is at the very least a quarter French (if not fully French), yet he is drawn with features comparable to fully Japanese characters (for example, his nemesis Inspector Zenigata). As such, his on-again/off-again dynamic with the patently Japanese Fujiko doesn’t seem interracial at all.

In Macross, the main protagonist Hikaru Ichijyo is drawn with features similar to his American friend Roy Focker, Russian captain Bruno Global, and even his Chinese pseudo-girlfriend Minmei.

This must be stated because it means that, technically, interracial relationships are actually quite common in anime; they are just very hard to distinguish. In order to draw attention to the very existence of interracial relationships, we will be discussing the very rare occurrences of a character of color not only being narratively significant (and not simply a one-off joke or a stand-alone episode), but involved with another equally narratively significant character of an obviously different race.

The Super Dimension Fortress Macross

Released in 1982, SDF Macross tells the story of Earth’s sole interplanetary vessel as it defends against an alien onslaught using reconfigurable aircraft. The story spans multiple years and features a wide array of characters, from grizzled war veterans to wide-eyed and naive starlets. It tells the story of survivors trying to endure the hardships that come as the cost of war, both on a community and culture and on the individual.

Most fans in the west know of SDF Macross as the basis for the first chapter in Robotech (an American product splicing together three separate Japanese shows, including Macross, to produce one three-generation narrative). Some elements of the show were amended for American/Western audiences but the vast majority of the story remained intact, including the violence and realism (well, as much realism as one can have in a show about a transforming aircraft). It would be this story that would introduce iconic anime characters like Hikaru Ichijyo (Rick Hunter in Robotech), Misa Hayase (Lisa Hayes), and many more. While Hikaru/Rick would be the main character and the story would follow his life and romances, a supporting story would be told following the tender love affair between command officer Claudia LaSalle (Claudia Grant) and ace fighter pilot Roy Focker (re-spelled Fokker in the U.S. for some reason).

Claudia is the bridge officer in charge of weapons and navigation of the Macross (the giant space fortress that serves as the set and centerpiece of the show). She’s seen as a veteran officer and a mentor/big sister to other female characters in the show (especially Misa Hayase). She’s often the level-head in the bridge crew but also has a wild side as evidenced by her oft-referenced romantic life.

Opposite Claudia, we find Roy Focker. The ace fighter pilot for the humans against the early onslaught of alien forces, Roy seems to be the action hero of the first half of the story. At first glance, Roy is little more than an American stereotype. Tall, brash, and with copious blonde hair, he seems the antithesis to Hikaru’s Japanese stature and pacifist nature. This slowly evolves into a fully-formed character as we see Roy’s fraternal feelings for Hikaru as well as his romance with Claudia.

We see little evidences of Roy and Claudia’s romance throughout the first half of the show. They flirt after combat missions and we hear about their plans to see each other (events that usually transpire off-screen). In fact, our introduction to Claudia in the first episode includes Misa chastising her for her scandalous behavior with a night out with Roy the night before the big launch at the start of the show. Later, we see Claudia butting into Misa’s official exchange with Roy to tease him about his performance. All this builds to show an idealized relationship that includes passion and commitment.

And then Roy dies. (Uh…thirty-year-old spoiler alert?)

After a vicious dogfight with the alien ace pilot, Milia Fallyna (Miriya Parina Sterling in Robotech), Roy shakes off the suggestion that he go to the hospital. He instead retreats to Claudia’s apartment aboard the Macross. Despite coming out of a fight with her from an earlier episode, she makes pineapple salad for them during what should be rare quiet time together. Strumming away on a guitar, Roy slips from life on Claudia’s couch.

The pallor of Roy’s death hangs over the characters for the remainder of the show, affecting everyone in ways big and small. Claudia grows a bit melancholy in the wake of Roy’s absence but continues to soldier on. She clearly carries warm memories of Roy, as best evidenced when she advises Misa about her romance with Hikaru. During a late-season flashback, we are treated to a full episode of Roy and Claudia’s relationship when it first blossomed. We see Claudia as a stiff junior officer and Roy as a careless and callous fighter jock. They are at odds with one another until Claudia discovers Roy at her door during a rainstorm, determined to explain to her his feelings and to make her understand why he is who he is. Their love blossoms from there and becomes the stuff of legend.

Roy and Claudia’s relationship is not perfect. It is not ideal. It is tested constantly by the working lives of two professionals in tense situations with impossibly high stakes. Yet despite their backgrounds and despite their differences, their love for one another is undeniable.

To fans in the 1980s, tuning in on Saturday mornings, this was quietly subversive. In the west, television shows were (and still are) lacking people of color, except occasionally in a single token role. To see a Black woman in a leading role (whose name wasn’t Uhura) was something many fans still remember distinctly. But an interracial love affair? There were states in the US where that was technically still illegal! And here it was, not only on a beloved cartoon, but depicted beautifully, with the respect to be realistic but also the idealism to be wonderful.

Revolutionary Girl Utena

Whereas Macross would see Claudia and Roy’s love in the background of the larger story of humanity persevering against annihilation (as well as the far less satisfying love triangle between Hikaru and Misa and Minmei), 1997’s Revolutionary Girl Utena would put the interracial relationship front and center. It did this by not just involving the two main characters of the story, but by making their love the very centerpiece of the whole story.

The story of Revolutionary Girl Utena revolves around a sword-fighting contest at an elite private school where the prize for victory is the hand of the lovely and demure Anthy Himemiya. Anthy is of indeterminate racial background, but most guesses is that she is Indian or of Indian descent. While she is drawn with dark skin tones in the comic and early episodes of the animated series, Anthy’s skin tone is noticeably lightened in later depictions, most notably the 1999 feature film.

As the centerpiece of the series, Anthy is an initially enigmatic figure who appears to be little more than an abused damsel in distress, being passed around between the elites of the school. The heroine of the show, Utena Tenjou, more or less stumbles into rescuing her from the monstrous Saionji, resulting in the two being bonded to one another. Their relationship is extremely awkward at first, as much due to their same gender as well as simply being set in the adolescence of life, but their feelings slowly blossom as the series progresses, approaching thinly-veiled romantic overtones throughout the later episodes (and even explicitly stating a sexual dynamic in the film).

The issue of a sapphic connection between the two is very much a running theme in the story. Whispers of lesbianism are shared throughout the show, which makes the tomboy Utena uncomfortable and often explode defensively (at least initially). As the show progresses, the issue of same-sex love takes a backseat as the stakes raise for Anthy’s hand (and the inferred cataclysmic implications of her affection). Whatever novelty there is in their connection is lost as Utena fights for Anthy’s freedom and even her very life. When the final turn comes, the heartbreaking rejection that occurs leaves both characters transformed and arguably not for the better.

Fans of all persuasions gravitated towards the bold love story on display. As the world wrestled (and continues to wrestle) to address issues of gender and sexuality, where the words “gay” and “lesbian” were often still whispered, Revolutionary Girl Utena came out brashly, confronting these issues head-on. To do so while also tackling an interracial couple underscored the pervasiveness of many prejudices and preconceived notions. On full display was a love story that trumped many of the legends of old and simultaneously blew away every single reservation and preconceived notion along with it.

In both of these classic anime series, the racial background of the respective love interests is never made an issue. Nobody remarks to Claudia that her race is an issue in her seeing Roy. Nobody makes an issue of Anthy’s race or ethnicity as she dates Utena. Anthy and Utena don’t even see any real protest regarding their same-sex relationship (regardless of however real or imagined it is at the time). With regards to Roy and Claudia’s pairing, the only protests are internal to Claudia as the relationship begins.

While Claudia would largely disappear from the spotlight of Macross/Robotech fandom as the franchise moved on, Anthy remains a popular character, especially among non-white cosplayers. As a rare character of color in a major series, and as the cornerstone of that series, she’s seen as an icon and deservedly so. She has few peers among a vast sea of comparative homogeny when it comes to character types. While styles, personalities, and all manner of characteristics vary widely in anime, ethnicity and race seem rarely varied. Characters like Anthy and Claudia are welcome respites from that monotony.

That their relationships are unrestrained is even more noteworthy. Claudia’s relationship with Roy is never questioned, and certainly not on the bounds of their differing ethnicity. Anthy and Utena are likewise free from such criticisms (though, to be fair, they have far bigger oppositions in the story).

Anime is not free of racism. Anime, as a whole, has an uncomfortable dearth of characters of color. While that trend is changing, we still see a long way to go. It is comforting, if only a little, that what few characters are depicted and shown so prominently, are free of many of the restrictions of love we see in much of the world today. Claudia and Roy’s relationship is simultaneously realistic and perfect, striking the balance of believability and idealism that we look for in fiction. Anthy and Utena’s love starts accidentally and burns slowly, until it ignites like a flame. Their love story is the stuff of legend and will live on in the annals of great love stories in fiction, anime or otherwise.

With interracial couples sorely lacking in popular depictions in all media, it is comforting to find not only examples in anime (however admittedly rare) but to find sterling examples that inspire hope for any love, no matter the persuasion. Plus, these two love stories are set against dramatic swordfights and pronounced dogfights with transforming aircraft.

Robert V Aldrich is a novelist based out of North Carolina where he lives in denial about his bald spot. He can be found on Twitter at @Rvaldrich, Facebook, at his website Teach The Sky, and at parties talking to the dog. When he’s not writing, he works as a convention speaker, cancer researcher, and martial arts instructor.

Colonialism in ‘The King and I’ and Related Media

‘The King and I’ promotes colonialist and “white savior” attitudes. … Adding romantic interest to the story, showing King Mongkut as exceedingly admiring of Anna and portraying her influence in the court as more than it was, paints Western values and morals as superior to others, justifying colonialism by making it seem as though Eastern countries “need” the West.

Written by Jackson Adler as part of our theme week on Interracial Relationships.

“Is the King and I racist, and is it time it was put to rest?” [sic] asks Dee Jefferson of The Sydney Morning Herald. While his article is inconclusive, I strongly believe that the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical as it exists now, and other Western media telling the same story, should be “put to rest.” The way that the story of Anna Leonowens teaching at the court of King Mongkut of Siam (now Thailand) in the mid 19^th century is told in the West needs to be completely redone if it is to be told, because the way it is presented is both inaccurate and harmful. There is a reason The King and I (staged on Broadway in 1951 and adapted for film in 1956) and many other adaptations of the same story such as Anna and the King of Siam (1946) and Anna and the King (1999) either are or were banned in Thailand – because they are extremely insensitive to Thailand’s history and culture, and promote colonialist and “white savior” attitudes.

To say that The King and I and related media is racist is missing the point. This is because racism is a product of colonialism, often being an afterthought justification for stealing and controlling another peoples’ wealth, labor, and resources, or as a propagandist rallying cry to begin the colonization of another people and their land. Anna Leonowens is painted as the “white savior” in these adaptations, and shown inaccurately as the main influence behind the reforms implemented by Mongkut and his son Chulalongkorn.

Though Mongkut and Leonowens did respect one another and worked closely, a romance between them does not seem to have existed, and the invention of it in the media is a tool to better depict Leonowens “civilizing” Mongkut to the extent that he might be a “gentleman” and a romantic interest – albeit in a bittersweet “it would never work” way. Interracial relationships (however problematically written) are themes in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s work, such as in South Pacific, as interracial marriage was a hot button issue at their time, not nationally legalized until 1967. Under the guise of being “progressive,” these works actually do an incredible amount of harm.

Mongkut hired Leonowens (who was ethnically English and East Indian, but claimed to be Welsh) to teach his children “English language, science, and literature, and not for the conversion to Christianity.” He himself already knew English (and Latin) and was well versed in Western culture. The image of Mongkut in the media is a stereotypical “barbarian” and “foolish” despot, despite the efforts of talented actors such as Chow Yun-Fat and Ken Watanabe to show a complex and thoughtful human being and leader. Women’s rights were improved under his reign. For example, unlike the story of Tuptim in the musical suggests, he outlawed forced marriages and released a large number of concubines to marry whom they chose. He respected the minds and wishes of his wives. When they met, Mongkut and his family treated Leonowens with kindness and respect, while she was often rude, condescending, or sarcastic to them. She strongly believed herself superior to the Thai people due to her being (part) English and a Christian, even telling members of the royal family to their faces, “I am not like you.”

The myth of she and Mongkut emotionally having a romance is quickly debunked due to various instances and examples of her enacting and making plain her biases and self-righteousness. One such instance was when she was asked by some female members of the royal family which prince she would find more desirable to marry were she to choose. She replied, according to her first autobiography, that they “are pagans” (Buddhist) and as such, “An English, that is a Christian, woman” such as herself “would rather be put to the torture, chained and dungeoned for life, or suffer a death the slowest and most painful you Siamese know, than be the wife of either” [sic]. The words “you Siamese” naturally show her condescending tone and attitude towards Thai people, insulting their intelligence and knowledge of the world.

Aspects of Leonowens’ autobiographies have proved to be exaggerated or fabricated, and seem to have been made to make herself look better and Mongkut look cruel. Various members of the Thai royal family, from Chulalongkorn himself to more to the present, have spoken out against both the inaccuracies in Leonowens’ works as well all media representations. One example of this is the alleged execution of Tuptim, featured in many adaptations (though she is whipped in the musical). Much of Tuptim’s story was fabricated, and she in fact was not executed, but became one of the wives of Chulalongkorn. Indeed, according to Mongkut did not believe in executions, considering them not in line with Buddhism.

However, Western adaptations have been more than ready to depict the Thai as “barbarians” or as “foolish” and Anna as the epitome of Western graciousness and, indeed, womanhood. Adding romantic interest to the story, showing Mongkut as exceedingly admiring of Anna and portraying her influence in the court as more than it was, paints Western values and morals as superior to others, justifying colonialism by making it seem as though Eastern countries “need” the West. Of course, Anna and Mongkut never kiss and hardly ever physically show their romantic interest, as to do so would “corrupt” Anna, the white woman, and put someone “lesser than” above her due to gender norms.

The fictionalized versions of this story are not only problematic in how they are written, but also problematic in terms of casting. As of 2014, white men are still being cast as King Mongkut, showing little has changed since Rex Harrison played the role in 1946. When an Asian man is cast, even in film adaptations, it is an actor who is not Thai, playing into the Western myth that all Asians and Asian cultures are the same. Except for Korean-American actress Anna Sanders, who played Anna on Broadway for a total of three performances in two days, the role of Leonowens has exclusively been played by white women, and often portrayed as blonde or redhead, despite the historical figure being part East Indian and having dark hair. This whitewashing is ridiculous, and shows how little white Westerners have changed in their self-righteousness and feelings of entitlement toward other lands and cultures.

All in all, the story of Anna Leonowens teaching at the Siamese court, as it has been told by Western media, remain colonialist and otherwise harmful. Even if Leonowens and Mongkut had a particularly deep and romantic relationship, which they did not, Leonowens’ white savior attitudes and Mongkut’s (historically inaccurate) verbal and physical violence would make that relationship a terribly abusive and volatile one. This would not be the kind of relationship to be valued, making even the most redeeming qualities of these adaptions problematic at best. I am not advocating that Leonowens’ and Mongkut’s stories be silenced and untold, but instead that they be told with honesty. This was a king actively working to keep his country free from colonialism, and this was a woman whose colonialist attitudes — which kept her from interacting well with those who treated her with respect — were probably due to internalized racist biases and fears regarding her East Indian heritage (a heritage she worked hard to hide). This is in fact a story that needs to be told, and hopefully many more (and more accurate) adaptations will be made in the future.

Jackson Adler is a transguy with a BA in Theatre, a Bitch Flicks staff writer, and is a writer, activist, director, teacher, dramaturge, cartoon lover, vegan boba drinker, and proud Gryffindor. His day job is at a theatre (live, not movie), and he uses a pen name as a precaution, since he’d rather not risk getting fired. He is white and middle class, and has to remember his privileges. He is also aromantic bi/pansexual, and has an Auditory Processing Disorder and a Weak Working Memory (which does not excuse when he forgets that he has lots of privileges). You can follow him on twitter at @JacksonAdler, and see more of his writing on representation and discrimination in the media at the blog The Windowsill.

Negotiating Race as the Female Indian Love Interest in ‘Bend It Like Beckham’ and ‘The Darjeeling Limited’

Both ‘Bend It Like Beckham’ and ‘The Darjeeling Limited’ examine Indian women and their romances with white men. Within the interracial relationships explored in these respective films, both Jess and Rita… are burdened with navigating deeply impressed racial boundaries as they move through a modern society.

This guest post by Allie Gemmill appears as part of our theme week on Interracial Relationships.

Through Western lenses, Indian women are often framed as an exotic and forbidden ideal. Depicted as embodying a degree of Eastern mysticism, rooted in a culture of patriarchal duty, the Indian woman as love interest or girlfriend is often paired with a white man who views her with a sense of “otherness.” It then falls to the Indian woman to negotiate a specific kind of Eastern-Western iconoclasm — a clash steeped in racial and cultural sentiments — in order to let her romance with a white man flourish. The white male-Indian female dynamic is also often portrayed as a threat to traditional Indian expectations of a woman marrying within her racial group and the emphasized gender roles she has been raised to conform to are challenged.

Both Bend It Like Beckham and The Darjeeling Limited examine Indian women and their romances with white men. Within the interracial relationships explored in these respective films, both Jess (Parminder Nagra) and Rita (Amara Karan) serve as love interests but not long-term romantic partners for their white male counterparts. They are burdened with navigating deeply impressed racial boundaries as they move through a modern society. Meanwhile, their white male love interests are allowed to indulge their romantic curiosities with relative ease. This is crucial to note because these white men are rarely challenged to share the burden of interracial courtship, free from the onus of cultural or racial expectations. For Indian women, as experienced here, it is difficult to separate race from amorous pursuit; race serves as a definitive and non-negotiable aspect of the relationships between the Indian women and white men.

BEND IT LIKE BECKHAM

In Bend It Like Beckham, protagonist Jess is torn between honoring her Punjabi Sikh Indian roots (as embodied in her strict parents and sister, who is marrying according to racial and cultural codes) and the English culture which she has embraced and surrounds herself with (as embodied in her love of soccer and her budding romance with her white coach, Joe). Although she bears the burden of fetishization from her English peers in conjunction with her pursuit of a soccer career and gendered/racial expectations from her family, Jess for the most part negotiates a coalition between the two insofar as she is able to pursue her personal ambitions. Jess is forced to reckon with a strict code of honor and respect for her family throughout the film, as outlined by her Indian culture, which the film positions as a threat to not only Jess’s happiness in soccer but also in her budding romance with Joe (Jonathan Rhys-Meyers).

Gender is constantly conflated with racially-based codes of conduct: Jess is repeatedly questioned by her mother and sister about why she would not eagerly desire to marry young and marry an Indian man. Her mother is quick to bawl her out for participating in soccer, here read as masculine and therefore thoroughly out of line with how Indian women should act in public. Jess is considered a reflection of her family’s morals at all times when she is in public and any time she acts according to her own desires, she risks shaming her family and threatening her sister’s impending nuptials. In this world, Jess bears the brunt of delicately mollifying her family while speaking for her “white/masculine” athletic ambitions.

Add to this a budding romance with Joe, a white Irishman, and Jess’s own racial and gender predicaments double. Through Joe’s eyes, Jess is positioned as an exotic “other,” a young Indian girl seemingly sheltered from the pleasures of contemporary British culture. During Jess’s “transformation” moment — when her friends lender her more revealing and sexy garb to wear out to a club in Berlin — the camera lingers on her body before cutting to Joe’s furtively intrigued looks. Despite there being other women of color in her soccer team, Jess is the only one treated as different from the rest, with other scenes depicting the bemusement her teammates have over her Indian culture. This moment seals the forbidden love that Jess and Joe will cultivate for the latter half of the film. As they find themselves drawn to each other, Joe is narratively allowed the ease to step in when necessary to speak on behalf Jess. Twice he makes speeches to her father about how deeply he cares for her and believes in her abilities as a soccer player. Both times Jess does not get the chance to contribute to the conversation between the men although her agreement is implied. Joe risks little in taking a romantic shine to Jess whereas Jess appears to risk everything. Furthermore, he is allowed to pursue her, however discreetly, without threat of losing his job or credibility.

As gender and race are tightly bound up together in Bend It Like Beckham, director Gurinder Chadha makes it clear that an interracial relationship of this specific dynamic (white man-Indian woman) is a sincere threat to a young Indian woman. Even when transplanted to the London suburbs, Jess and her family seem to live in a tight-knit Indian community seemingly bent on being hermetically sealed from white English life. This clash of racial and social ideologies make for the biggest villains to Jess’s own chance at happiness.

THE DARJEELING LIMITED

In The Darjeeling Limited, Rita is reduced to an object that Jack (Jason Schwartzman) is infatuated with while on vacation with his older brothers. Jack’s storyline is centered around a recent and gruesome breakup, leaving him vulnerable. Upon seeing Rita for the first time, while she makes the brothers comfortable, Jack firmly sets his sights on her. While Rita is a minor character in the adventures of the Whitman brothers, she can be read as a boldly fetishized representation of Indian women. In doing this, we place further burden on how Indian women are characterized onscreen.

Rita is presented as a modern and beautiful woman, but ultimately repressed, ostensibly by the Indian culture in which she was raised. She is seemingly trapped aboard the train, The Darjeeling Limited, with her boyfriend, an intense young Sikh man who runs the train with an iron fist. She is willing to bend the moral code by sneaking away with Jack to have sex (which she enjoys in the moment) but rebuffs him when he continues to make advances. She sneaks cigarettes in between service snacks and pouring tea. Albeit committed to her duties, she does them as if half-zombified, stating at one point that she has “got to get off this train.” She is deadened in a stylish way as only Wes Anderson creates his characters. In all of these little actions, Rita becomes Jack’s forbidden interracial-love-interest-cum-souvenir.

In addition to having little screen time, the script seems further set on reducing Rita to being a faceless trope when Jack returns to the trio’s train carriage, attempting to appear nonchalant after having sex with Rita mere moments after meeting her. Jack’s brother Francis (Owen Wilson) incredulously asks, “Did you just fuck that Indian girl?” It’s a small moment but effective in immediately redacting any shred of agency Rita may own. A white man simply lumping Rita into the throngs of Indian women that surround him betrays an intact colonial hierarchy as modern microagression. Jack does nothing to protest this categorization of his potential love interest and instead continues to pursue her, believing she may somehow heal him or make him feel better about himself for a time. Rita’s treatment as a cure-all to white male pain feels oddly preposterous, especially considering the film is set in a modern era. What right does Jack have to take so quickly to Rita in both a romantic or needy aspect? What entitles him? While Rita gives Jack a reason to believe there may be the stirrings of a romance, their love seems doomed not only because of his neediness and apathy to fully commit, but also because she seems wholly restricted by her relationship to a traditionally Indian man as well as her innate sense of duty to her work.

Amidst the flurry of lust flung upon her by Jack, Rita appears to be inured to this kind of attention. While she navigates her life in a position of literal service and subservience to the passengers of the train, she holds that place metaphorically as an Indian woman. In vocalizing her desire to escape the confines of the train, she negates a racially-inbred sense of second-class status as an Indian woman. While she is wholly defined by her race and gender in Darjeeling, she is imbued with a defiance as only modern women seem to possess. Jack is allowed to ply her with sex and cigarettes because he can temporarily indulge in the local fare; Rita, however, is living in a very real and very traditional Indian society, unable to escape or completely negotiate her duty with her desire.

It is perplexing to see that both films seem set on giving the impression that Indian society is ultimately restrictive and patriarchal to women. In reading these films (one made by an Indian woman born in Nairobi and raised in England, the other made by a white man from Texas), both exude the confinement of Indian women and their struggle to navigate a modern (read: white, Eurocentric) world amidst such strong ties to their racial background. It would be the hope that when Chadha placed Jess in the white world of suburban London and Anderson wrote Rita into her native India, we would see some characters reflective of these different but ultimately Western perspectives. Instead, both directors have unwittingly constructed their Indian women to abide by an implied universal gendered and racial code. As such, these cinematic Indian women are painted into a corner in juggling their race with their ambition and most importantly, their romantic desires.

Allie Gemmill is a film journalist based in Tampa, FL. She is the founder and creative director of The Filmme Guild, a feminist film salon dedicated to examining the intersections of women and film. Follow her on Twitter and Medium.

‘Jackie Brown’: The Journey of Self-Discovery

This guest post by Rachel Wortherley appears as part of our theme week on Interracial Relationships. Spoilers ahead.

Quentin Tarantino’s third feature film, Jackie Brown (1997), presents a shift in tone from his previous films Reservoir Dogs (1992) and Pulp Fiction (1994). Using Elmore Leonard’s novel, Rum Punch, Tarantino departs from a world largely shaped by men. Gone are the heightened sense of reality and cartoonish characters such as the color-coded thieves in Reservoir Dogs. Unlike his latter films, Kill Bill Vol. 1 (2003), Kill Bill Vol. 2 (2004), Death Proof (2007), and Inglourious Basterds (2009), his characters in Jackie Brown are not professional assassins, deadly women, or covert agents attempting to assassinate a powerful dictator. These features make Jackie Brown Tarantino’s most underrated film. Here, audiences are given characters that function in the real world.

Though Tarantino is known to use other films as a template for his original screenplays, Jackie Brown is first and foremost an adaptation. The fact that Tarantino uses Leonard’s novel as source material, gave Tarantino an opportunity to rethink the way he wrote female characters. Prior to Jackie Brown, the only significant female figures in his films are “gold-digger” Mia Wallace (Pulp Fiction), and the man-eating vampire, Satanico Pandemonium, in From Dusk Till’ Dawn: characters who lack depth and complexity. Rum Punch allowed Tarantino to write a female character who is strong, desirable, morally complex, yet vulnerable. Jackie is no “airbrushed fantasy object”— she is “real,” with real world problems, obstacles, and doubts. She simultaneously exudes a sense of sensuality and capability beyond men.

Jackie Brown, portrayed beautifully by Pam Grier, is a 44-year old Black woman with a rough past, who has been reduced to working as a stewardess for a cheap airline. It is the only job she could get after her arrest for drug possession, while serving as a mule for her pilot ex-husband at another airline. The film begins with Jackie’s physical profile on the airport moving walkway with Bobby Womack’s “Across 110th Street” playing over the credits. The lyrics, “I was the third brother of five. Doing whatever I had to do to survive. I’m not saying what I did was all right. Trying to break out of the ghetto was a day-to-day fight” establishes Jackie’s position within the film’s universe without the use of traditional exposition. The moment Tarantino focuses on her physical profile with the interspersed music, the audience projects an idea of Jackie as confident; a hard worker; someone who has to hustle to survive. Her stewardess uniform presents her as a responsible, professional: one who serves, but also provides comfort and assurance with a tone and manner that puts even panicky passengers at ease. Jackie’s legitimate job — stewardess, parallels the illegitimate one — smuggling money for petty arms dealer, Ordell Robbie (Samuel L. Jackson). He is the “pilot” of the operation, but in times of peril, she bears the brunt of the consequences while keeping everyone calm and collected.

Jackie’s involvement with Ordell gives her the financial security her other job does not provide. But, when she is caught by Detectives Dargus (Michael Bowen) and Nicolette (Michael Keaton), this threatens her livelihood. At this moment, we see her vulnerability, and how much of her troubles result from her relationships with dangerous, erratic men. There is an element of servitude in Jackie’s relationships with these men, but she is no mere victim of circumstance. She willingly acknowledges that her own choices got her to this place.

Hers is a story of self-actualization, of finding her identity. Early in the film, she confesses to a friendly bondsman, “I always feel like I’m starting over. Starting over would be scarier than facing Ordell.” Sacrifice for the sake of self-preservation defines Jackie’s life, to aid her ex-husband and Ordell. Now, she seeks self-renewal. Because of the maturity and vulnerability that she exhibits, audiences generally want her to prevail, and are “okay” with Jackie using the same men who use her to execute the film’s central caper: a high-stakes money exchange involving Ordell and the police, circumstances that Tarantino uses to give importance to Jackie’s actions and to elevate her to the status of a hero.

Most of the men in Jackie’s life want something from her. Jackie’s pilot ex-husband wanted her to smuggle drugs onto their plane; Ordell wants her to fix the problems her arrest has caused for his business; and the detectives wager Jackie’s freedom in exchange for her help in bringing down Ordell. The only exception is Max Cherry (Robert Forster), Jackie’s bail bondsman, who falls in love with her but asks nothing in return. We witness his feelings for her emerge in the first moment he sees her being released on bail. Unlike the confident, put-together stewardess in the opening shot of the film, her hair is wild and untamed, she is without makeup, and her signature stewardess uniform is disheveled. Tarantino decides to describe this moment through use of a long shot, with Jackie walking down a long path. As she advances toward Max, the artificial light of the jail illuminates her silhouette. When Max first sees Jackie, he is transfixed by her image. He sees her true beauty, beyond the mask and the uniform she wears for the world.

Max and Jackie’s interaction is interesting because it contrasts with the romantic male/female relationships portrayed in Tarantino’s other films, which either center on the revenge narrative (Kill Bill, Death Proof, Inglourious Basterds), or a woman in peril (Pulp Fiction, Django Unchained). In Jackie Brown, the central romantic relationship occurs between two mature adults, entering the next phase of their lives. Rather than lovers, they become confidantes, emotionally vulnerable to each other. They barely know one another, yet Jackie almost immediately feels comfortable allowing Max in her home, where her reduced circumstances are apparent. But Max respects Jackie, rather than pitying her. He wants to help her without relegating her to the role of a damsel in distress. He stands at a comfortable distance, but is present in case her plan goes awry. As he watches her successfully execute her plan, Max admires her determination and bravery.

Jackie Brown also marks the first time there is more of a presence of an interracial relationship in a Tarantino film. While Ordell has a “relationship” with surfer-stoner-girl, Melanie (Bridget Fonda), it is reduced to using the other person for personal gain — financially and sexually. Essentially, Ordell and Melanie are the anti-couple in comparison to Jackie and Max. Tarantino gives us two glimpses of interracial romance in Pulp Fiction: Mia Wallace (Uma Thurman), a white woman married to a Black man, Marsellus Wallace (Ving Rhames), as well as, the “blink and you’ll miss it” moment in the chapter titled, “The Bonnie Situation,” where Tarantino’s character is married to Bonnie, a Black woman. In fact, Bonnie’s role is so minimal that it is non-speaking, and consists of a brief image of her walking toward the camera. These dynamics are not fully captured onscreen and there is not enough time spent amongst these couples. Although, the same can be argued for Jackie and Max.

Max purchases the Delfonics record, “Didn’t I (Blow Your Mind This Time)” after hearing it at Jackie’s apartment, because it reminds him of her: not just as she is now, but of her youth, as she was when she first bought the album. It is as though Max hopes to know her by listening to the song repeatedly, while simultaneously maintaining the image of her the first night of their meeting, when he first heard it. In the last scene of the film, Jackie announces her intention to travel around the world — to Spain. She invites Max to come, but he politely refuses. They share a brief kiss and Max returns to business as usual. But, when Jackie drives off, he watches her leave. His face registers one of immediate regret, or longing. Max’s choice is significant for two reasons. By staying behind, he will not risk tarnishing his image of Jackie. Secondly, he allows Jackie to have the freedom, independence, and fresh start that she desires. Jackie finally has a life for herself, and if Max went with her, he might prevent her from living it. She must cut all ties to the past.

The last scene of the film is a tight close-up of Jackie’s face as she drives off, with the familiar sound of “Across 110th Street.” While the song previously existed outside of the universe of the film, this scene depicts Jackie mouthing the lyrics:

Across 110th street
Pimps trying to catch a woman that’s weak
Across 110th street
Pushers won’t let the junkie go free
Oh, across 110th street
A woman trying catch a trick on the street, ooh baby
Across 110th street
You can find it all
In the Street

Through Jackie’s acknowledgement, the song becomes a part of the film’s universe and it represents Jackie’s continued ability to overcome “the pushers” and “the pimps” largely represented by the men, save Max, who underestimated her. Although Jackie experiences a sense of freedom, tears well in her eyes, but the scene cuts and the film ends before they fall. Audiences are left to interpret this in a multitude of ways. The tears can be construed as “happy tears” that speak to the beginning of a new chapter; the idea of loss, or as a bittersweet moment. Jackie is free (and wealthy), but she leaves a decent man behind. The sense of it being a bittersweet moment is sanctioned by the audience. While we waited for Jackie to win against Ordell, we also wanted to see her “win” in love. Their relationship may be viewed as undeveloped, when it is in fact underdeveloped. Their chemistry implies that beyond the narrative of the film, or in a fantasized sequel, Jackie and Max as a romantic unit is possible.

By not blatantly focusing on the racial disparity between Jackie and Max, it speaks volumes in regards to who the film is about. Jackie’s motivations and plans are not demonstrative; they are quiet. These characteristics only add to her mystery. It is silently implied that as a Black woman, she divorces her identity from the men in her life — including a man who, as a white male maintains a sense of privilege in society — and reclaims it for her own.

Rachel Wortherley earned a Master of Arts degree at Iona College in New Rochelle, New York. She currently teaches English at Iona College and hopes to become a full-time screenwriter.

Interracial Relationships on ‘Grey’s Anatomy’

While ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ has a very large multiracial cast that leads to some impressive representation, its reluctance to discuss race doesn’t give it the opportunity to further explore intricacies of interracial relationships.

This guest post by Cheyenne Matthews-Hoffman appears as part of our theme week on Interracial Relationships.

It’s been more than a decade and Grey’s Anatomy still thrills us with harrowing medical mysteries, last minute life-saving surgeries and, of course, surgeons hooking up in on-call rooms and falling in love from across the OR table. The TV series has always been as much about its surgeons’ personal lives as it has been about the medicine. With an ever-growing cast of colorful characters, it’s no wonder why the show still pulls great ratings week after week. The show has been praised numerous times for its diversity, heralding Shonda Rhimes for her use of colorblind casting, not assigning a specific race to the characters she writes, which created a racially diverse fictional world. While colorblind casting promotes a greater variety of races on screen and normalizes diversity, erasing a character’s color can lead to other issues; issues made all the more noticeable in the heart of Grey’s Anatomy’s most prominent narrative: relationships.

From I Love Lucy‘s Lucy and Ricky to Boy Meets World‘s Angela and Shawn, interracial relationships aren’t new to television and have been on the rise in recent years. From 30-minute comedies to hour long dramas, interracial relationships are becoming more common to see on TV. Brooklyn Nine-Nine, The Mindy Project, The Walking Dead, and The Fosters to name a few all feature interracial couples that are fundamental to their shows. However, Grey’s leads the pack by miles on the amount of interracial pairings featured in comparison to shows that can boast only one or two. Granted, it’s easier for Grey’s Anatomy to contain a multitude of interracial relationships because of its famed colorblind casting. The cast has been racially diverse since its inception in 2005 and a cornerstone of the show is the tumultuous relationships the surgeons have with each other, so it only makes sense that the two would overlap. While Grey’s Anatomy has a very large multiracial cast that leads to some impressive representation, its reluctance to discuss race doesn’t give it the opportunity to further explore intricacies of interracial relationships.

Out of the 39 major, plot-related relationships that have been featured on Grey’s since season one, 14 of them have been interracial, putting them just over 35%. Comparatively, according to the Pew Research Center, in 2013 interracial marriages were at a record high of 13%. Not every interracial pairing is or has been married, but the percentage of interracial couples on Grey’s is pretty substantial in comparison to both real-life statistics and other television shows.

Despite the diversity of the cast, the majority of the characters are white and the majority of the relationships have one white person in them. According to Vulture, it would seem that “interracial pairings in popular culture still tend to necessitate one white person.” There have only been two interracial relationships on the show that weren’t half white; Cristina’s tumultuous broken engagement to Burke and her on-call room hook ups with her intern Shane Ross in season 10. Callie, the only Latinx character on the show, has also only ever slept with, dated, and married white people, while Cristina, the only Asian American main character on the show, has dated, hooked up with, and married men of different races.

Just like every relationship in Grey-Sloan, every interracial relationship is laced with explosive drama; Grey’s Anatomy has never shied away from important and sometimes uncomfortable topics. Cristina and Owen’s relationship is full of disagreements and tense arguments over their different stances on having kids and her subsequent abortion. Callie and Erica catalyzed Callie discovering her sexuality. Callie and Arizona share similar problems to Cristina and Owen: both couples disagree (at least initially) over children, and both couples deal with a partner’s infidelity. Jackson and April argue about how to raise their children and deal with her enlisting in the army, leaving him to deal with his grief over the death of their son by himself. Jo and Jason break up after Jo kicks his ass, with a brief dialogue about male victims of domestic violence. Strangely enough, although Richard faces some subtle racism in “The Time Warp,” when an attending tells him that “ten years ago, [he] wouldn’t have even been allowed in this program” after arguing about whether or not to treat a patient with AIDS, race isn’t a factor when it comes to his relationship with Ellis Grey. Their relationship also leads to myriad other problems, including Richard’s alcoholism, the tension over the two each cheating on their respective spouses, and eventually, more relevant to the present time in the show, how Ellis’s cheating and her relationship effects Meredith’s own life.

From Cristina and Owen’s explosive argument over her abortion to Arizona’s occasional annoyance with Callie’s bisexuality, these couples deal with a wide spectrum of issues. It isn’t like serious and sometimes touchy subjects are off-limits inside of these relationships. So why is race never discussed?

The show doesn’t usually avoid difficult or complex situations (in fact, it more often than not capitalizes on them), which is why it’s so bizarre that after 12 years, the instances race has come up in an episode can be counted on one hand. A recent season 12 episode, “Something Against You” had a subplot where Maggie tells Amelia to check her white privilege. It was certainly progressive, but not necessarily a bold move considering the caliber of handling racism and race relations and discussions elsewhere on television. With other instances being a patient bearing a swastika tattoo in season 4 and Bailey teaching Derek about Zola’s kitchen in season 8, dialogue on race hardly ever enters the personal lives of the surgeons. After a decade of skirting around the subject when brought up, and for the most part ignoring it completely, I wouldn’t be surprised if Maggie’s speech remains the last and only in-depth discussion regarding race we see at Grey-Sloan Memorial.

The avoidance of discussing race on Grey’s Anatomy makes the representation of interracial relationships on the show incomplete and unfinished.

Interracial couples comprise over a third of the romantic relationships that have appeared on the show, but never does the nature of the relationship come up. Mentions of race are already few and far between and these rare conversations never occur between or about an interracial pairing. Interracial relationships happen so frequently and race is already treated as such a low-key subject on the show that the relationships are characterized by the personalities of the couples and their subsequent personal (and medical) drama rather than racial and cultural differences or misunderstandings. The roles these characters play are essentially racially neutral on purpose, so racially specific conversations and problems aren’t created.

Because the show doesn’t address race, the positive and negative aspects intrinsically attached to interracial relationships are missing. Characters don’t learn about their partner’s differing culture and aren’t shown a new perspective through the lens of their significant other. Ethnocentrism goes unconquered because these characters’ ethnicities are erased inside of their narrative. There are no story lines of a characters’ parents and families being resistant or dismissive of the relationship because of their race. There’s no subtle racism in the snide, judgmental comments of friends. There are no instances of one’s race being used against them by their partner, like other identities have been bitterly brought up in arguments, like Arizona inferring Callie’s bisexuality makes her untrustworthy and Jackson calling April’s Christianity unintelligent. These interracial relationships don’t exist to push a commentary about themselves onto the audience.

Even Sandra Oh, who played Dr. Cristina Yang for 10 seasons, said she wished race was brought up on the show more. She told KoreAm Journal, “It bummed me out because I feel like, this could be a great story idea, or even like a joke. But [Grey’s Anatomy’s producers] would not go for it, because it was a show choice.”

For such a large dynamic on a show as diverse as Grey’s Anatomy, it is a bit odd that the ever-present relationship drama never revolves around race.

This is neither good or bad. The argument can be made that it’s commendable that interracial and same race relationships are made to be equal, none are shown to be more superior or inferior in quality than the other based on race. Sex and love are treated just as importantly as the medical drama these surgeons deal with everyday and is explored just as intricately. Because of the series’ reluctance to bring up race, no problems inside of interracial relationships differ from same race relationships. Every couple faces the same incredibly dramatic roller coaster (or carousel, if you will), race notwithstanding; butting heads over surgeries, living together, jealousy, cheating, and everything in between.

Grey’s Anatomy definitely displays interracial relationships more frequently than other shows. While it’s not up to one show to single-handedly address or fix every single iteration of racial issues, it does bear a responsibility to retain a modicum of believability within the parameters it set for itself.

One aspect I can appreciate is that Grey’s Anatomy approaches what could be perceived as polarizing social issues non-politically. Queer relationships, interracial relationships, multiethnic families, and co-parenting, all different types of romantic and familial relationships, are normalized and substantially accepted by both the characters on the show and the audience. So why stop pushing the envelope at examining race, especially when interracial relationships already act as the perfect vehicle to carry out the discussion?

Grey’s Anatomy certainly isn’t known for its realism; no hospital witnesses as many life-altering disasters and miracle cases as Grey-Sloan Memorial, so it may not be the best place to go looking for an accurate portrayal of…anything, really. But there’s something to be said that the large ensemble of characters have tread around the issue for so long. Grey’s Anatomy is racially diverse in physical representation only, with narrative and storyline inclusion regarding race nearly non-existent.

Cheyenne Matthews-Hoffman is a freelance entertainment writer who is obsessed with an absurd amount of television shows. She is an advocate for accessible entertainment and sometimes develops websites. You can find her at @heycheyennehey on Twitter or cheyennecheyenne.com.

No Place For Us: Interracial Relationships in ‘West Side Story’

‘West Side Story’ could be read as a warning to Latinas: stay away from white men. If María listened to her older brother, obeying his wish to keep her obedient and virginal, María would be safe and free from grief. This notion is exceedingly disappointing, especially considering that there are not many Latina main characters in Hollywood movies.

This guest post written by Olivia Edmunds-Diez appears as part of our theme week on Interracial Relationships.

I grew up watching mainstream movie musicals. From The Sound of Music to Grease, my five-year-old self’s dramatic play ranged from pretending to be a Nazi to swiveling my hips singing along to “Look At Me, I’m Sandra Dee.” Oh, the joys of blissful ignorance. But the one movie musical I was not allowed to watch as a child was West Side Story. My mother always passed it off as “too sad and too violent.” As a stereotypical first born, I knew better than to question my mother’s infinite wisdom. It wasn’t until I turned fifteen that I finally sat down to watch West Side Story, and promptly cried through the entire second half, wailing about the deaths. My mother responded with a simple, “I told you so.”

Despite my strong emotional response, I would continue to watch West Side Story over the years. It quickly became one of my favorite musicals, and I would even see it on Broadway (with my mother!) when it was revived in 2009 with Lin Manuel-Miranda adding Spanish to both the book and lyrics. It is unsurprising that I would love this musical so much, for as a Latina theatre major, how could I resist the infectious score, vibrant costumes, and astounding choreography? But it wasn’t until college that I really started to look at the musical’s content, and quickly grew displeased with what I found. My favorite colorful musical about people who looked like me became a musical about racism, sexism, and colonialism.The love story between Tony and María, that I used to admire so, became depressing. After all, María’s life goes downhill once she meets Tony.

Colorism is very much alive in West Side Story, to the point that the film casts white actress Natalie Wood as the Puerto Rican María. Heaven forbid that an actual Puerto Rican be cast! Granted, this casting choice was partly related to Hollywood wanting a big name to draw bigger box office numbers. But because this Romeo and Juliet interpretation features a white boy and a Puerto Rican girl, there is the chance that their mixed-race union could result in mixed-race children. The horror! To ease the minds of Hollywood’s target white audience, Wood was considered a great substitute to allow white audiences to delve safely into the Puerto Rican barrios. After all, María isn’t really Puerto Rican, she’s just a white girl with an on-again off-again Puerto Rican accent!

Of the two featured Puerto Rican women, María is the virgin trope to Anita’s whore trope. María’s virginity is emphasized to make her a safe choice for Tony, lest our white knight be swept into a ‘dirty’ Puerto Rican’s bed. One obvious manifestation of this is her white dress for the dance. Despite María’s wishes for a shorter red dress, like her role-model Anita, Anita ensures María’s virginity by keeping the dance dress white and at a ‘respectable’ length. Anita’s hard work pays off as the white knight Tony only has eyes for María, who visually stands apart from the crowd.

One alarming component to West Side Story is that María does not feel pretty until noticed by a white boy. This is unsurprising, given María’s wish to fit in with mainstream American culture. Living under her older brother’s protective gaze, María longs for independence. Much like Cinderella, all she really wants is a night off and a fancy dress. María is largely uninterested in boys, shunning her brother’s chosen mate for her, until she stumbles upon Tony at the dance. Suddenly, María’s independence flies out the window. Over the span of 72 hours, María gets ‘married’ in an adorable play-wedding that quickly turns serious, has sex for the first time, and becomes a widow.

Within West Side Story, everyone stands against María and Tony’s interracial relationship. Anita makes it clear that she thinks María is out of her mind, and Tony’s boss, Doc, tries to persuade Tony that his interracial relationship will never work. It is interesting that this is one clear distancing move from Romeo and Juliet, in which the Nurse and Friar Lawrence quickly come around to support the couple. But when race enters the picture, Anita, Doc, and the other characters cannot support María and Tony. In the song “Somewhere,” our main love duo sings about a magical place far away where they can be together. They plan to run away to this “Somewhere.” But it is clear by the end of the film that “Somewhere” does not exist, as María and Tony will never be free from racism.

West Side Story could be read as a warning to Latinas: stay away from white men. If María listened to her older brother, obeying his wish to keep her obedient and virginal, María would be safe and free from grief. This notion is exceedingly disappointing, especially considering that there are not many Latina main characters in Hollywood movies. West Side Story came out in 1961, and remains celebrated and remembered to this day. The take-away, then, for Latinas, is to heed our families’ advice and stay within our culture. Maybe someday, interracial stigma will dissipate. But until then, “Somewhere” seems to be the only place interracial couples can live happily.

Olivia Edmunds-Diez is a senior at Northwestern University, double majoring in Theatre and Gender and Sexuality Studies, with a certificate in Theatre for Young Audiences. She loves cats, Beyoncé, and spends her free time listening to the Hamilton cast recording on repeat. You can find her on her blog, Tumblr, Twitter, and Instagram.

Endearing Interracial Romance in ‘Flirting’

It’s a true rarity to see an interracial relationship that doesn’t have at least some element of suffering in it. In ‘Flirting,’ on the other hand, most of the difficulties in Danny and Thandiwe’s relationship seems to come from the relationship itself, not the color of the star-crossed lovers’ skin.

This guest post by Grace Barber-Plentie appears as part of our theme week on Interracial Relationships. Spoilers ahead.

It’s easy to assume as soon as a film starts with a pining white boy’s voiceover, that we’re in for the same tired story that we’ve seen a million times. A sad, pasty white boy is lonely and sexually deprived and meets a cool, edgy white girl that’s way too good to be true, but against the odds, falls for him. So far, so “adaptation of beloved John Green novel.” When John Duigan’s Flirting starts, it seems all too inevitable that this is the direction that the film is taking. And yet, to at least this viewer’s surprise, the film is actually a sweet and nuanced “coming of age” romance more in the awkward vein of Gregory’s Girl than any whiny love story we’ve been fed over the last decade. All that, and it features an interracial love story.

The film focuses on two same-sex boarding schools on either side of a lake in rural Australia. In one, is the film’s protagonist, Danny, star of Flirting’s prequel, The Year My Voice Broke. And in the other is new arrival Thandiwe, the daughter of a Ugandan academic who lectures in Australia. With Thandiwe’s arrival onscreen, the film becomes less the monologue of a whiny white boy, and more an interracial love story like few others that I’ve ever seen.

Let’s face it, in most stories of interracial love, similarly to those of gay relationships, something’s always gotta give. So much screen time in these films is given over to the suffering that comes with being in love with someone of the opposite race or gender (and god forbid your story is same-sex AND opposite race, you’re really doomed then), and a seeming inevitability that things are never going to last because of this. It’s a true rarity to see an interracial relationship that doesn’t have at least some element of suffering in it. In Flirting, on the other hand, most of the difficulties in Danny and Thandiwe’s relationship seems to come from the relationship itself, not the color of the star-crossed lovers’ skin. Thandiwe’s race is, naturally (as the film is set in the 1960s) brought up time and time again by the couple’s peers, throwing various unimaginative insults at her. But the real challenges for the couple seem to be with their separate boarding schools, and the film sees them getting into various scrapes trying desperately to communicate with one another in an unimaginable time pre-mobiles and Facebook.

Even Danny, delivering a wistful voiceover, doesn’t fetishize Thandiwe’s blackness. Yes, he does fetishize her female form: “Sometimes I wouldn’t listen to what she was saying… Instead I’d be looking at her legs. They were very comforting,” he delivers in one such voiceover — but this seems inevitable from a horny teenage boy. In fact it’s Thandiwe’s knowledge that seems to really ignite Danny’s fire — the pair first really connect at an inter-school debate on whether academic pursuits can be held higher than others, in which Danny gives a droll speech on the pros of Rugby, and Thandiwe scandalizes her school by reciting lyrics to “I Just Wanna Make Love to You” and “Tutti Frutti” with a knowing smirk.

Thandiwe is a true joy to watch. She seems, for the most part, to have the upper hand in the relationship, and Thandie Newton’s performance refuses to let her become merely an object of desire. On discovering a Jean-Paul Sarte book in Danny’s room, she casually informs him that she’s conversed with the man himself, on the flaws of marriage of all subjects. She’s clearly an intellectual match for Danny, and never allows herself to be passive — when she wants something, she goes for it. It’s Thandiwe who initiates the relationship with Danny by asking him to the dance, and when it seems that he’s stood her up, she hunts him down. When it appears that Danny embarrassed her by reading out a letter she sent him to his classmates, it’s Thandiwe who cuts off contact and Danny that must woo her back. While nowadays perhaps, with characters such as Samantha White in Dear White People, and even “bougie” independent Black female leads in rom-coms like Love Jones and Brown Sugar, Thandiwe wouldn’t stand out, but in a small Australian film, she makes a hell of an impact. Thandiwe is as well-rounded a character as a girl in a coming of age drama can be — she has interests and passions outside of her male love interest.

As well as the unique character of Thandiwe, the innocence of Danny and Thandiwe’s relationship really makes it stand out from other films depicting interracial love. It’s very easy for these relationships to be fetishized not just by the characters in a film, but also by its directors. As surely any filmgoer will by now be aware of, the Black female body is a commodity that is sexualized again and again — one only has to think of the fact that the sex scene in Monster’s Ball, another film about an interracial relationship, starring the only Black woman to have ever been awarded the Academy award for Best Actress, Halle Berry. It’s become almost inevitable that any sex scene starring a Black woman will lewdly gawp at her simultaneously “perfect” and “taboo” female body, reducing her essentially to “tits and ass.” Flirting luckily takes a very different approach. In a deeply endearing scene in the middle of the film, Thandiwe and Danny sit on a wall talking, while Danny monologues via voiceover. When the film’s diegetic sound returns, the couple’s friends join them. “What have you two been up to?” their friends question them, shooting them inquisitive looks. “Oh, just flirting,” replies Thandiwe with a knowing smile.

When the pair do inevitably have sex, it’s very much the yin to Monster’s Ball’s yang. Thandiwe is forced to return to Uganda and before she is forced to part with Danny, they rent a motel room and have sex for the first time. While the motel room setting may immediately ring alarm bells in a viewer’s head and seemingly cue some kind of lewdly graphic sex scene — the last time I saw a motel feature in a film was one of the numerous explicit scenes in the brilliant Tangerine — it’s actually quite the opposite. The couple kiss in bed in their underwear, as the camera slowly pans away until the scene disappears entirely. The next time we see them, their shared state of post-coital bliss is interrupted by the headteachers of Danny’s school who have caught them. Tender and cutesy love scenes in “coming of age” films may be ten-a-penny, but it’s important to remember that these scenes are nearly always focused on white teenagers. To have one of these scenes featuring an interracial couple may not seem so much of a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but to play it contextually within the film industry, it is.

Much like couples in same-sex romance films, interracial couples rarely meet a happy end. And even if they do, it’s clear that their relationship may still be fraught with difficulties — take for example the couple in Amma Asante’s Belle. The film ends with the couple in a happy embrace, both finally acknowledging their feelings for each other; a lovely and sentimental ending, yes, and one that is perfectly fitting for a petticoat drama, but one only has to remember the time setting of the film, and the couple’s interracial romance, and their path to happiness becomes perhaps a little more fraught. Like the ending of Todd Hayne’s Carol, Flirting chooses a somewhat ambivalent ending that hints but does not solidify happiness. Danny waits for a message from Thandiwe in Africa, and just as he is at the point of almost giving up, she writes and tells him that she is hoping to see him again and tell him everything that’s happened to her. We never see the couple reunite, and in fact there’s no definite answer that they ever will. But, just as Carol’s half sad, half smile across a restaurant to Therese says more about the future of their relationship than words ever could, Thandiwe’s letter suggests rare hope.

Grace Barber-Plentie is a film student, writer, and one third of Reel Good Film Club, a film club dedicated to showing films by and about people of colour in inclusive and non-profit environment. Her passions in writing and programming are depictions of women of colour, issues of “high” and “low” culture, and the merits of Channing Tatum.

Interracial Relationships in ‘Star Wars: The Force Awakens’: The Importance of Finn & Rey

This guest post by Sophie Hall appears as part of our theme week on Interracial Relationships.

It’s been over a month since Star Wars: The Force Awakens was released. Nonetheless, it’s still being discussed as if people just got out of its opening midnight screening, high on sleep depravity and Red Bull. The most popular topics seem to be that Han Solo scene, Rey’s parentage, Kylo Ren’s tantrums, etc. However, one of the topics that I feel hasn’t received the acknowledgment, let alone coverage, that it deserves, is Finn and Rey, the film’s two young leads, as a romantic couple. Sure, the pair have received attention (and controversy) over their race and gender. But them as a couple? Not so much. And I feel that’s a shame as for me, they’re a major step forward for portrayals of interracial couples in mainstream cinema.

Not only is it great to have two franchises dominate the box office featuring prominent interracial relationships in the same year (the other being Fast and Furious 7), but The Force Awakens also delivers on another level. Whenever children are treated to a trip to the cinema, they are almost always fed the same message from the big screen — that the most important love exists between two straight white people. More often than not, those on-screen romantic relationships are unhealthy or downright toxic. Finn and Rey aren’t part of the typical ‘Blockbuster Couples Club’, where the man is a lovable misogynist and the woman is a sexualized ‘badass’ who still needs saving. Not only does The Force Awakens show children that relationships can actually exist outside of two white people, but more importantly, it demonstrates that they can have emotionally healthy ones too.

Let’s start by analyzing one of the most refreshing aspects of this burgeoning relationship: Finn’s treatment of Rey. Soon after they first meet, Finn grabs Rey’s hand to escape an oncoming group of Stormtroopers. However, Finn’s intention isn’t asserting his masculinity as expected. He knows that Rey can handle herself, as he already witnessed her putting two attackers in their place single-handed. The reason he takes her hand is because, as he confesses to her later on, she had “looked at me like no one had.”

If you consider Finn’s backstory, this line is very vital to his character arc. Separated from a family he can’t remember and having been raised and trained to kill, Finn had been stripped of all identity. When Rey thinks that he is in the Resistance and looks at him with admiration and respect, little does she know that she is the first person to ever do so. From that one act, Finn becomes irrevocably tied to Rey. When Finn saw danger approaching he took her hand, but he did it because he will protect her at all costs but doesn’t doubt that Rey is capable of protecting herself. He may even have wanted her to protect him.

Now, let’s compare this scene to the main couple of Jurassic World’s introduction, Owen and Claire. When Claire arrives at Owen’s house to talk business, Owen suggests they take it into the bedroom. Claire says that his remarks aren’t funny, while Owen disagrees. Now, imagine how easy it could’ve been for Finn to lie to Rey about being in the Resistance to get into her pants rather than being afraid of rejection because that’s the intention of most heroes, isn’t it? Look at Peter Quill with Gamora in Guardians of the Galaxy, Captain Kirk with any female character in Star Trek, James Bond with, again, any female character in any of his films. With The Force Awakens though, children not only witness a man of color being a hero; the film also tells them there is more to seeing your potential love interest than as a sex object.

This mutual respect and commitment is evident throughout the entire film. When he sees Rey taken hostage by Kylo Ren, Finn discards his weapon (even with Stormtroopers still present) and futilely chases after her. When Kylo Ren knocks Rey unconscious, he again drops his weapon and rushes to her side, even with the enemy a meter or so away. When the Resistance tries to figure out how to disable the weapons on Starkiller Base, Finn lies and says that he knows how, just so he can go and help Rey escape. The need to ensure Rey’s safety overwhelms his own survival instinct every time.

For a leading man to treat the leading woman in this way is a feat in itself, but it’s also important for interracial relationship representation in cinema. On the website Fat Pink Cast, there is an article titled ‘Yes, Finn/Rey is heteronormative, but not all straight romances are created equal.’ One of their writers Jonelle states:

“Black male characters aren’t always like Finn, who is well-rounded; fearful, yet brave, gentle, but strong, earnest and a total goofball at the same time. He’s the antithesis of a tertiary smooth-talking walking racial stereotype.”

To have a Black character like this to not only be the co-lead in an iconic franchise but to also include him in a healthy, positively portrayed relationship with a white woman is a brilliant statement. Finn and Rey can be just as adventurous as William Turner and Elizabeth Swan, bicker as much as Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, wax as poetic as Aragorn and Arwen and take as many names as Rick O’Connell and Evy Carnahan. Finn and Rey’s difference in race doesn’t put any limitations on what this couple can and do achieve.

While Rey treating Finn with kindness is what won him over, this isn’t just a one-sided relationship. When Finn recovers from unconsciousness after an explosion on Jakku, he immediately asks Rey if she is okay. In the script, it states that, “And that very question touches her — having never in her life been asked it.” Like Finn, Rey grew up in an environment void of love, having to depend on herself for survival. Also like Finn, this is her first experience of intimacy and after that exchange, it is she who offers him her hand. When Rey discovers that it was Finn’s idea to go back to Starkiller Base to save her, the script states that, “She is speechless — this is all she’s ever wanted anyone to do,” and Finn is the first one to do it.

Their longing for affection is something that they recognize and connect with in each other, but they don’t hold this over each other to emotionally manipulate one another. Chewbacca tells Rey that it was Finn’s idea to come back for her while, when Rey saves Finn from the rathtars, she doesn’t divulge that she did. Rey reciprocating Finn’s caring concerns helps to make this relationship so special. This isn’t a Black character worshiping the white lead; their feelings are mutual. They both recognize how significant they are to each other, they both face their fears for each other, and they both make sacrifices for each other. Finn returns to the place he’s been running from the entire film for Rey, and Rey finally embraces the force that she’s been running from the entire film in order to save Finn.

Finn and Rey’s relationship is a step forward for portrayals of interracial relationships, and relationships in general, as it doesn’t diminish Rey’s agency. Even though Finn consistently tries to save her throughout The Force Awakens, that doesn’t mean Rey isn’t capable of saving herself. She’s able to withhold information from Kylo Ren and break herself out of his cell without Finn’s — or anyone’s — aid. The film depicts positive representation for both the men of color and the women characters.

Again, let’s compare Rey and Finn’s relationship to some other recent blockbusters. In Avengers: Age of Ultron, Bruce Banner had to save Natasha Romanoff from a cell in order to make him seem the hero, even though it makes no sense that Natasha’s character wouldn’t have been able to break out of there herself (she’s a skilled enough spy to be an Avenger!) The film forsakes Natasha’s agency in order to progress her romantic relationship. The Force Awakens doesn’t make these compromises; Rey’s character never weakens in order for her counterpart to succeed, and vice versa with Finn.

For Finn and Rey, their relationship can also be seen as a timely arrival, and hopefully their relationship can pave the way for other cinematic interracial relationships. Yes, the Harry Potter franchise may have been an integral part of our generation’s childhoods, but that doesn’t erase the fact that the film adaptations’ treatment of people of color wasn’t the best.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x67OjOLj11g

With such a wide range of characters, not one of the characters of color was given a substantial role. We barely even know anything about Harry’s first love interest, Cho Chang. She exists as more of a reaction to ‘It’s about time for Harry got a girl’ than actually about fleshing out why they were attracted to one another. As you can see in the video above, Cho had Harry at, “two pumpkin pasties please.”

The Force Awakens features more than one central interracial relationship. There’s also Finn and resistance pilot Poe Dameron, and I swear there is more to it than Poe biting his lip at the sight of Finn wearing his leather jacket. In the Marvel cinematic universe, we see plenty of interracial relationships… between supporting characters who are people of color and the white superheroes of the films. Every Falcon has his Captain America, War Machine his Iron Man, Luis his Ant-Man…

But this time, it’s not just the fact that it’s a Black man who has the superior narrative role in a relationship; it’s that his friend is a person of color too (Poe is played by Guatemalan American actor Oscar Isaac). Very rarely are people of color friendships showcased in blockbusters, so to have it in 2015’s most anticipated film is a welcome surprise. Their relationship doesn’t solely exist to fill the bromance quota, as it holds crucial significance for each character. Poe continuously helps Finn with his identity narrative and as for Finn on Poe’s behalf; we’ll get to that in a minute. We don’t witness a person of color existing onscreen to support a white character, but rather two characters of color build each other up.

Despite the similarities this pair shares with other male friendships in cinema, what sets Finn and Poe’s relationship apart is that their bromance could possibly turn into a romance. Even though Finn expresses a romantic interest in Rey (“You got a boyfriend? Cute boyfriend?”), on more than one occasion, Poe seems to express a romantic interest in Finn. Critic Helen O’Hara points out in an article for The Telegraph that:

“Poe gives Finn his name, replacing the Stormtrooper designation FN-2187, and then gives him a jacket. When reunited after believing one another dead, Poe runs towards Finn and throws himself into an embrace; if Finn were a woman, we’d be in little doubt that that was enough to signal interest. Should we doubt it just because they’re both men?”

If Disney romantically connected Finn and Poe in the next Star Wars, it would be yet another achievement in giving people the LGBTQ representation that the mainstream media deprives us from seeing onscreen. Even if the next Star Wars doesn’t pair the two men but acknowledges Poe’s queer sexuality and displays a straight/gay friendship between two men of color — that would still be a major accomplishment.

Ultimately, this leads us to what makes The Force Awakens so special; the effect the trio will have on the younger generation. A woman is a Jedi in training, a Black man is a Resistance fighter and a Latino man is the greatest pilot in the galaxy. More importantly, they all helped each other fulfill these roles. The sky is the limit for these characters, and the sky should be the limit for the children watching too.

Sophie Hall is from London and has graduated from university with a degree in Creative Writing. She is currently writing a sci-fi comic book series called White Leopard for Wasteland Paradise Comics. Her previous article for Bitch Flicks was ‘Mad Max: Fury Road’: Violence Helps Our Heroines Have a Lovely Day.