Are depictions of interracial relationships on the rise due to a diminished stigma around interracial dating? How much is colorism still in play? Do the success of shows with racially diverse casts and the growing success of dark-skinned performers mitigate colorism? How do the very real and present ramifications of slavery and colonialism affect these interracial dynamics?
UPDATE: We will be postponing this theme week until February 2016. So please keep sending us your pitches and submissions!
Our theme week for December 2015 will be Interracial Relationships.
Representations of interracial relationships in film and on television have seen an increase over the years. It is ever more common to see, in particular, a Black female lead or love interest dating a person (usually a man) of another race (often white) (Scandal, The Bodyguard, Parenthood). Many such productions give little mention to the interracial nature of the romance. Colorism (the practice of favoring lighter skinned people of color over darker skinned people of color) is often at play in these scenarios, as the most successful women of color in Hollywood cast to play out romances with white characters frequently have lighter skin. Conversely, race is often a major issue in productions featuring Black male characters dating white women (Jungle Fever, Othello, Save the Last Dance).
Are depictions of interracial relationships on the rise due to a diminished stigma around interracial dating? How much is colorism still in play? Do the success of shows with racially diverse casts and the growing success of dark-skinned performers mitigate colorism? How do the very real and present ramifications of slavery and colonialism affect these interracial dynamics?
Feel free to use the examples below to inspire your writing on this subject, or choose your own source material.
We’d like to avoid as much overlap as possible for this theme, so get your proposals in early if you know which film you’d like to write about. We accept both original pieces and cross-posts, and we respond to queries within a week.
Most of our pieces are between 1,000 and 2,000 words, and include links and images. Please send your piece as a Microsoft Word document to btchflcks[at]gmail[dot]com, including links to all images, and include a 2- to 3-sentence bio.
If you have written for us before, please indicate that in your proposal, and if not, send a writing sample if possible.
Please be familiar with our publication and look over recent and popular posts to get an idea of Bitch Flicks’ style and purpose. We encourage writers to use our search function to see if your topic has been written about before, and link when appropriate (hyperlinks to sources are welcome, as well).
The final due date for these submissions is Friday, Dec. 18, by midnight Friday, February 19, 2016 by midnight Eastern Time.
Gretchen leaves Jimmy and states, “Well as my grandma used to say, ‘It’s only a walk of shame if you’re capable of feeling shame.’ See you later, thanks for doing all the sex stuff on me.”
This guest post by Giselle Defares appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.
Sex is one of the strange wonders in our life. Many of us barely flinch when it comes to the sexual intrusiveness in our contemporary media. Oh, how the times have changed. Twenty years ago it would be Roseanne and Dan winking at each other. In recent years the boundaries have slowly been pushed back in our TV-landscape when it comes to the act of swapping bodily fluids– see Californication, True Blood, or The Americans. Sexual freedom is not only shown on cable shows such as HBO or FX, but also on network TV (see Scandal’s “Olitz” scenes on ABC). Everything is shown: same-sex scenes, masturbation, sex scenes from a woman’s perspective, you name it. In our modern society, it can sometimes be hard to navigate the complexity of sex, or get an accurate media portrayal of the gray messiness that sex, love, and relationships entail. Fear not, there’s the dark comedy gem of FX, You’re the Worst, which had its 10-episode debut season in 2014.
The romantic single-cam comedy is created by first-time showrunner Stephen Falk. He started out writing and producing for dark comedies such as Weeds and Orange is the New Black. Falk and his creative team specifically focused on detailed world-building in the show. He chose to divide the post-pilot episodes into three acts , each with their own director. In this way each episode can work individually (within its group) or as one part of the major arc.
It’s a surprising choice for Falk to mold his vision in the form of a modern sitcom – perhaps the redundant comparison comes as a result of the 30-minute format. After all, the format of the American sitcom, well, seems a bit dated, yet somehow it works for the show. The romantic influences in the show vary from the 1950s John Osborne play Look Back in Anger, ultimate rom-com When Harry met Sally, to the sitcom Mad About You. Falk created flawed characters, who in essence are just lovable dickheads. He commented on the beating heart of the show: “No matter how damaged we are, we all are deserving of love.”
You’re the Worst centers around Jimmy Shive- Overly (Chris Geere), a narcissistic, mediocre, English writer living in Los Angeles whose day job consists of insulting anyone he doesn’t think is as smart as him. After going to his ex’s wedding he ends up having a one night stand with the laissez-faire publicist, Gretchen Cutler (Aya Cash). Despite their differences the two decide that they don’t want to stop seeing each other. The supporting cast consists of Gretchen’s best friend Lindsay Jillian (Kether Donohue), whose marriage to nerdy husband Paul is crumbling (Allan McLeod). Jimmy’s roommate Edgar (Desmin Borges), a sweet military veteran who suffers from PTSD and dabbles in selling drugs. Gretchen’s boisterous client, the rapper Sam Dresden (Brandon Mychal Smith) and his faux Tyler The Creator gang that consists of Shitstain (Darrell Britt Gibson) and Honey Nutz (Allen Maldonado).
You’re the Worst’s honest take on modern sexuality starts right in the pilot. During a well-deserved break in their one-night stand, while they munch on pasta, Jimmy quips to Gretchen, “I’m glad that this is a one night thing so we can reveal all this awful shit about ourselves.” They high five and Jimmy drops pasta from his fork on his crotch and Gretchen quickly says, “I’ll get that.” Aha, a woman who’s not afraid to get what she wants. We see various clips in their hilarious graphic sex montage. Gretchen straddles Jimmy whilst she’s chewing gum and she pensively states, “ I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I’m not attracted to you.” Jimmy just looks at her and says “ What has that got to do with anything?!”
Yet, the most graphic and funny (sex) scene in the pilot is when Jimmy performs an oral act and spits on Gretchen’s vagina:
Gretchen: “Did you spit on it?!”
Jimmy: “It’s saliva. It’s going to get there anyway.”
Gretchen shrugs.
Well, there’s certainly a nice amount of sexual activity in the show. Girl goes down on boy, boy goes down on girl, even attempts at threesomes. It’s sad that it seems revolutionary that the characters on the show have a healthy relationship and enjoyment with sex.
Jimmy and Gretchen are commitment-phobes who are running away from responsibility in every aspect of their lives. They have absolutely no qualms with physical intimacy but they run when they develop some level of emotional intimacy. They’re self-absorbed, often engage in destructive and self-destructive activities, and struggle with the concept of adulthood and the inevitable romantic relationships that will follow. Their obnoxious behavior can be awful but Falk ensured that the moments aren’t gratuitous.
Gretchen is portrayed as a capable but laid-back publicist. She’s snarky, loud, magnetic, and complex. She’s also selfish, self-aware, and caring. Gretchen is definitely not the bumbling goody two-shoes that’s normally shown in the romantic genre. She hates that she cares about her intimate circle and tries to hide her feelings but can’t. Her quips are what make her endearing – especially her conversations with Sam and his crew. In episode 3, “Keys Open Doors,” Gretchen leaves Jimmy and states, “Well as my grandma used to say, ‘It’s only a walk of shame if you’re capable of feeling shame.’ See you later, thanks for doing all the sex stuff on me.”
Jimmy could have been one of the more one-dimensional characters. He’s sarcastic and almost shows no signs of humanity. It’s slowly revealed in defining moments that he does have feelings or even a soul. One of the top moments is when Falk toyed with one of the more cliché rom-com tropes. In episode 8, “Finish Your Milk,” Jimmy and Gretchen have a big fight when he finds out that she presents a Wasp version of herself to her parents. He tracks her down at their country club lunch (as you do) and delivers a big speech how they don’t know the real version of their daughter. In a nice twist, it turns out that “whiteknighting” isn’t what Gretchen needs and she breaks up with him for it. Well, that’s definitely a feminist silver lining in a romantic situation.
The quips and honesty surrounding sex is what sets the tone for the show. It’s not only seen in the budding relationship between Gretchen and Jimmy but also in Gretchen’s relationship with her bestie Lindsay. Falk took the stock characters from romantic comedies and flipped them upside down. Lindsay is the self-absorbed and annoying best friend. She easily could have been one-note but the writing and the comedy chops of Kether Donohue really make it work. Lindsay has heart, a lot of personality and a high sex drive. In the pilot, Gretchen is picked up after her romp with Jimmy and she spills the beans to a disapproving Lindsay. Gretchen quips, “You’re being shitty and judgmental to me. How many guys did you blow at our five-year reunion?” Ah, who doesn’t love the frankness between two good friends?
Jimmy and Edgar’s relationship isn’t as tight, but whether he knows it or not, Jimmy really needs Edgar. In the first episodes it seems that Edgar is only there to lent an ear to Jimmy and cook him the most fabulous cuisine. Edgar fulfils the role of the kooky roommate but throughout the season we’re shown an heartwarming arc. He’s realistically messed up, struggles with daily social situations and is Jimmy and Gretchen’s number one fan. During the episodes we’ll see that he (well, actually both Edgar and Lindsay) becomes a fully developed character who stands on his own and doesn’t necessarily exist to serve Jimmy and Gretchen’s arc.
Why is the relationship between Jimmy and Gretchen believable? The emphasis lies on two people being present in their relationship whilst they navigate a society that has become less conversational and more self-indulgent. In their own unique way, both Gretchen and Jimmy listen, and see each other for who they really are – they don’t judge and accept the other one’s choices. This is a refreshing take on romantic relationships on TV.
You’re The Worst is a romantic comedy/mirror on our society about romantic dating. Love is exhilarating, hard, and quite often people struggle between loneliness, vulnerability, and the satisfying experience when you meet another person who just gets you. It’s not the representation for millennial dating – since there are so many different points of view when it comes to love and sex- but it certainly comes close for many of us. Jimmy, Gretchen and their squad are all messed up people. They can be snarky, manipulative and mean. You really shouldn’t, yet you care about them, even root for them and want them to do well.
You’re the Worst is an underrated show about romantic dysfunction. It’s one of the better comedy shows on TV right now; quite frankly, if you’re not watching it you’re doing yourself a disservice.
The equality of men and women on the basis of healthy and consensual sex is sex positivity according to the Women and Gender Advocacy Center. Thus, to desire sex positivity is to be inherently feminist.
This guest post by Erin Relford appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.
If TV shows were lovers, I’d argue women haven’t had great sex since Sex and the City. Much like your first time and the strategically latent mile markers you’ve placed on partners since then, you know good sex when you encounter it. From a woman’s point of view, good sex is control without judgment, a convergence of discovery, submission beyond fear, and a jungle gym full of toys where choice puts you in the driver’s seat (debauchery being an optional passenger of course).
Considering Sex and the City TV’s certifiable rubber stamp of good female sex, Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda echoed the tales of countless women, giving ode to the free missives of womanhood and female prowess. The lessons in relationships, the selfish romps of good delight, all were reasons to shout “yes, yes, yes” by virtue of sex positivity.
So why then has good female sex gone missing from television? Arguably, cable and broadcast networks have shared in their ill-fated attempts at sexploitation, mostly at the expense of women. The proof is in the pudding or pootnanny in this case. Showtime’s Californication led seven seasons of “accidental cunnilingus” and sapless sucking, while Ray Donovan’s no frills 1-2-3 pump action has left Showtime’s female audience high and dry. HBO’s Ballers is a good time in the sack, if you’re a woman willing to suffice with balls of dry humping and no “Mr. Big” (par for the course Dwayne Johnson).
Lest one forget HBO’s seduction of rape and torture porn, Game of Thrones’ female characters experience it all in guile of good TV. These depictions aren’t to suggest the storytelling behind such shows are short of genius, but remiss of variety. The female sex narrative has been relegated to an industry turned tits for trade commonwealth, a vulva and violence republic.
Sex is an inalienable right, sacred and undeniable, an equal opportunity employer that does not discriminate in its pursuance of life, liberty, and rapture. The privilege is everyone’s to be expressed as a declaration of independence and therefore should be engaged from the perspectives of both men and women. On the contrary, the Declaration of Independence was written “that all men are created equal,” yet our stories involving sex are still being viewed from the perspectives of men.
The equality of men and women on the basis of healthy and consensual sex is sex positivity according to the Women and Gender Advocacy Center. Thus, to desire sex positivity is to be inherently feminist.
However, let’s not be haste and expel the idea sex positivity has gone hiding into the forests of Westeros. Evidence exists that sex positivity is flourishing in light of TV’s new golden era and new wave of feminism. It’s come in the embodiment of female sex appeal, the brand of woman that is fabulously fierce, yet deliciously palpable. The fire of Daenerys Targaryen, the tenacity of Brienne of Tarth, or the inexplicable “Stark” of Arya and Sansa are all due a conceded applause thanks to Game of Thrones portrayal of strong, bountiful female characters. Scandal’s Olivia Pope earns top brass for her bastion of prose and breastwork, delivering willful rhubarbs to Washington’s elite though judged often and tenaciously for her challenge to disbelief that women can command power and pleasure in it from the highest tent pole in the land.
Alicia Florrick’s beau Will Gardner may be gone, but her sense of smart and sexy is almost too naughty for CBS’ The Good Wife.
And dare not forget the women of USA Network’s Suits, led by the strut, poise, and pivot of the inimitable Jessica Pearson.
Suffice to say there are many Masters of Sex on television, but does women’s exploration of sex on television have to be justified in pioneering scientists? Can the enjoyment of love and lust be equal parts man, equal parts woman? Not so, according to the 2015 Writers Guild of America TV staffing brief, where women remain underrepresented among staff writers by nearly two to one.
All things being equal, one could satiate in the fact women being 50.8 percent of the US population, would also mean a majority of female driven TV programming, written by women. But the reality is, most female characters are written by men. Some exceptionally well, as in FX’s You’re The Worst where creator Stephen Falk gives equal Judas Priest to the sexes or Darren Star’s Sex and the City. But there are more than 31 flavors to cherry popping ecstasy as proven early on by Ilene Chaiken’s The L Word. Perhaps one of the more prevailing scapes into female intimacy and feminism, The L Word managed to be intriguing and vanguard, paving the way for shows like Orange is the New Black where women could be domineering and emphatic, let alone in control of their very naturism as on Girls.
In an age of digital storytelling, where men still dominate culture and the writer’s room, we can continue to look forward to Pussy Galores.
Meanwhile, feminists and female viewers alike will revel in the Lisbeth Salanders, Olivia Popes, and Mary Janes, persevering far and wide in search of the next big “O,” that is open, outstanding, and out of the ordinary television that engages women from the female point of view. Will there ever be great sex on TV for women?
The answer may befall in there’s simply more to come…
Erin Relford is an author and screenwriter currently working in Los Angeles. Her writings involve female empowerment and engaging girls in science, technology, engineering, and math (STEM). You can follow her on Twitter @AdrienneFord or her website pinkyandkinky.com
It’s fascinating that all four of Shonda Rhimes’ protagonists have strained relationships with their mothers… Shondaland’s shows work to combat the stereotype that if you don’t have a functional family unit, replete with a doting, competent mother, you’re alone in the world.
If ever there were a TV universe replete with bad mothers, it’s Shondaland.
Of course, not all Shondaland shows exist in the same fictional world, which allows bad mothers such as Ellis Grey on Grey’s Anatomy to be reincarnated as a reprehensible Vice President of the United States on Scandal. (But don’t let the different fictional worlds fool you: Grey’s Anatomy spinoff Private Practice consistently used actors from the former to play different characters in the latter.)
It’s fascinating that all four of Shonda Rhimes’ protagonists have strained relationships with their mothers when Rhimes herself (from what we commoners can see) couldn’t be any further from that trope, having adopted three daughters as a single (and seemingly awesome) mum.
The first, and most obvious, of these Mommy Dearest connections is Meredith Grey and her aforementioned mother, Ellis. Throughout 11 seasons of Grey’s, we see Meredith’s internal struggle with the distant mother she simultaneously strives to live up to while resenting her for putting her career above her daughter and her early onset of Alzheimer’s which resulted in her death in season three. Ellis continued to haunt Meredith from beyond the grave when it was revealed that Meredith had yet another sister, Maggie, who Ellis put up for adoption when Meredith was a child.
With the sustained appearance of Meredith’s copious family members and the adoption (shout out to Shonda!)/birth of her own three children, the struggle to be a good mother and, thus, a good person is at the forefront of Grey’s Anatomy, whether it’s always palpable or not.
The somewhat forgotten Shondaland creation, Private Practice, also featured a strained mother-daughter relationship between Addison Montgomery and her mother, Bizzy, who committed suicide when her partner died. Of course Rhimes painted a more nuanced picture than this, but I imagine it’s pretty hard to forgive your mother for committing suicide and leaving you to fend for yourself, no matter your age. (Ellis also tried to kill herself when Meredith was a girl, right around the time she found out she was pregnant to Richard Webber with Maggie.)
Scandal, perhaps the crown jewel in the Shondaland empire, has a truly evil mother (and father!) in Maya Lewis/Marie Wallace, an alleged terrorist and murderer. Proving some people are never meant to be parents, last week’s season four finale showed Olivia continuing to be used as a pawn in her parent’s power games, with Maya/Marie choosing freedom over helping her daughter and Rowan/Eli thwarting Olivia’s attempts at revenge at every bloody turn.
Mellie is another Capitol Hill resident that struggles in her motherhood. Sometimes portrayed as ruthless and vindictive, it is Mellie who expresses sensitivity when daughter Karen has a compromising video taken of her and who wallows in grief after son Jerry is murdered. Mellie is perhaps a less rigid characterisation of motherhood than Maya/Marie as she is permitted to express a range of emotions that I imagine one would experience as a mother.
Finally, we see the mother of Annalise Keating rear her head towards the end of this year’s first season of How to Get Away with Murder. In what I think is arguably the most fascinating dynamic since Meredith and Ellis, Annalise’s mother Ophelia (played by Cicely Tyson) first comes across as rigid, unfeeling and old school, guilting her daughter (formerly Anna Mae) into remembering her humble beginnings and the sacrifices Ophelia made for her. Annalise resents Ophelia (someone write a thinkpiece unpacking that naming choice!) for not protecting her from being molested by her uncle and, while Ophelia is combing her daughter’s hair, she reveals that she did indeed seek revenge by burning their house down with Annalise’s uncle inside. Talk about protecting your children!
Like her fondness for mistresses, you have to wonder whether Rhimes is dealing with some mommy issues of her own when she writes bad mothers so often. (Even her debut screenwriting gig featured a bad mother.) What Rhimes really excels at, though, is writing real, nuanced people who happen to be mothers. On the season 11 finale of Grey’s Anatomy, Maggie finds out her adoptive parents are divorcing while Amelia, the black sheep of her family, is still struggling with the death of her brother. Meredith, already a mother to three, takes Maggie and Amelia by the hands in a rare demonstration of something other than contempt, with the final scene being the sisters three dancing at Richard and Catherine’s wedding.
While we all have mothers in some incarnation, Shondaland’s shows work to combat the stereotype that if you don’t have a functional family unit, replete with a doting, competent mother, you’re alone in the world.
Scarlett Harris is a Melbourne, Australia-based writer, broadcaster and blogger at The Scarlett Woman, where she muses about feminism, social issues and pop culture. You can follow her on Twitter here.
When I searched my mental rolodex for Black female characters in film or television who are unlikable my mind continued to circle. I was lost.
Viola Davis at the SAG Awards
This guest post by Rachel Wortherley appears as part of our theme week on Unlikable Women.
“Thank you … for thinking that a sexualized, messy, mysterious woman could be a 49-year old, dark skinned, African-American woman who looks like me.” – Viola Davis, Screen Actors Guild Awards (2015).
Viola Davis resounded these words in her acceptance speech at the 21st Annual Screen Actors Guild Awards when she won for “Outstanding Performance by a Female Actor in a Drama Series” for the ABC hit series, How to Get Away With Murder (2014). Davis’ speech shows how images of Black women in television are only beginning to change. Before the inception of ABC’s Scandal (2012), a Black woman in a lead television role had not existed since 1968’s Julia starring Diahann Carroll. Since Scandal, Fox’s Sleepy Hollow (2013) and How to Get Away With Murder have been allowed to flourish on network television. Viola Davis’ portrayal of Annalise Keating is brass, vulnerable, sexy, and threatening–all of which is the complete opposite of misconceived images of Black women as docile, maternal, and continuously doting. She is usually a figure who serves others while sacrificing her personal wants and needs.
Mo’Nique as Mary Ann Johnston in Precious
When I searched my mental rolodex for Black female characters in film or television who are unlikable my mind continued to circle. I was lost. With the exception of Mary Lee Johnston (played by actress and comedian Mo’Nique) in the 2009 Lee Daniels’ film Precious, I could not name one character. Writers and executives appear to have an inherent fear of writing women of color as unlikable, even evil. Often a character who looks and feels like Annalise Keating is ascribed as the “angry Black woman.” In fact, Alessandra Stanley, writer for the New York Times, attributed this ignorance in her article, “Wrought in Rhimes’s Image: Viola Davis Plays Shonda Rhimes’s Latest Tough Heroine,” in which she accuses the series’ executive producer Shonda Rhimes and Annalise Keating of being angry Black women. Meredith Grey (Grey’s Anatomy) and her angry rants should takes notes, lest she be an “angry white woman.”
Then I remembered two recent characters from television. Yvonne “Vee” Parker of the Jenji Kohan, Netflix series, Orange is the New Black (2013) and Erin Gray of Neil Cross’ BBC series, Luther. Kohan and Cross create two women, whom also happen to be Black, who are unlikable and even volatile in the perception of general audiences.
Lorraine Toussaint as Yvonne “Vee” Parker in Orange Is the New Black
Jenji Kohan is masterful in her conception of Vee because the quality that makes her unlikable is her ability to be likeable. In Season 2, Episode 2: “Looks Blue, Tastes Red,” we flashback to see Tasha, a chubby, little, 11-year old Black girl croons the Christina Aguilera ballad “Beautiful” to prospective adoptive parents. She can recite the periodic table and memorize up to 56-digits of pi. Yet, despite this they choose another child. Suddenly a tall, dark figure, big hair, in sunglasses approaches, sits, and lights a cigarette. She looks over and Tasha and recognizes that she is from a group home. The woman asks if Tasha cares to learn “the trade” (the drug trade) and Tasha refuses. She wants to find her “forever family.” In that moment, Vee awakens Tasha to the reality that she may die waiting for her forever family and in the same moment Tasha becomes “Taystee Girl,” a nickname that will follow her into Litchfield Prison.
A couple of scenes later a teenage Taystee, who dons a uniform from the local fast food restaurant, is headed to work. Once again, Vee approaches Taystee to convince her to join the business. Here, Taystee continues to be resistant. She wants to make her own way. However, the third time, Vee does not approach her, rather Taystee goes to her. Taystee, crying and desperate, turns to Vee lamenting that her situation in the group home has worsened. This time around, Vee rejects her until Taystee proves that she can be an integral asset to the business. As in the beginning of the episode, she shows off her math skills as she did for the adoptive parent and this time it works. Vee takes Taystee under her wing.
Danielle Brooks as “Taystee” in Orange Is the New Black
Kohan uses these flashbacks in order to demonstrate the humanity beneath the face of prison. In Taystee’s flashback audience see that she was a lonely child searching for her “forever family” but she unfortunately found refuge in the wrong person. A pivotal flashback occurs when Taystee arrives from the craft store with googly eyes, owl, and horse stamps. Her idea is to label their heroin with a stamp in order to market it better. Despite the context of the conversation, what audiences learn is that Taystee is a businesswoman with bright ideas who wants to move beyond working for a “connect.”
As Taystee vocalizes this information, Vee is in the kitchen cooking dinner for R.J. (another young employee of Vee) and Taystee. In this moment, Taystee gazes at Vee as though she is a God-send. Here, Vee is the nurturing, maternal figure that Taystee has always wanted. Another scene in which Vee’s maternity is showcased occurs in real time at Litchfield prison. Vee quickly becomes close to Suzanne who is known to fellow inmates as “Crazy Eyes.” Suzanne who is afraid of Piper—due to Piper’s brutal beat down of another inmate in the previous season—becomes withdrawn around her. Vee sees this and tells her: “at the end of the day, you are a garden rose and that bitch is a weed.” That moment allows for Suzanne to “see” herself for the first time and it solidifies her loyalty to Vee.
Uzo Aduba as Suzanne “Crazy Eyes” Warren in Orange Is the New Black
Vee’s declaration to Suzanne is the same method that allows her to insert herself into the lives of the other inmates: Black Cindy, Janae, and to some extent Poussey. Each of these women has experienced some type of loss in their past. Janae, a promising career in track and field, Black Cindy, her daughter, and Poussey her true identity. Vee is their opportunity to prove their worth at the prison amongst the women; to them she sees their purpose. She also becomes the maternal figure of the Black women in the prison where that role is vacant. The Hispanic inmates have Gloria, while the Caucasian inmates have “Red.” Vee’s ability to charmingly seduce individuals is what makes her most diabolical. Her maternity is sinister, a quality that is comparable to the description of the elms in playwright Eugene O’Neill’s play, Desire Under the Elms. Like the elms, Vee appears to “protect, yet subdue.” Vee predatorily isolates the group, specifically Taystee, from Poussey who quickly sees Vee as a danger. Vee uses her feelings of isolation in order to hurt her. For audiences the separation of Taystee and Poussey is the first offense. The second and third come to fruition in the form of injuring Red and allowing Suzanne to take the blame. As Black Cindy attempts to stand up to her, she and Janae quickly see that Vee’s physical threats are to be taken seriously. She is willing to discard of anyone in order to get what she wants. Just ask Taystee’s friend R.J. whom she sleeps with and murders all in one night.
On the flipside of this is DS/DCI Erin Gray on Neil Cross’ BBC series Luther. Erin is the only woman on the police force which includes Detective Chief Inspector John Luther (Idris Elba). She is meticulous, driven, and she follows rules by the book. Despite her name, there are no “gray” areas in her concept of the law, just black and white. Erin is the only woman in newly formed “Serious and Serial Crime Unit” therefore has to prove herself as a woman and a woman of color. The first time audiences meet her she asks DS Justin Ripley, Luther’s partner, in reference to Luther’s police tactics: “is he really as dirty as they say?” Ripley quickly comes to his defense and continues to do so as the season progresses.
Nikki Amuka-Bird as DCI Erin Gray in Luther
Erin continues to question Luther’s methods. A prime example occurs when Luther orders her and Justin to confiscate the mobile phones of the public at a crime scene investigation. Erin questions, “On what grounds?” However, Justin explains that to Luther “confiscate” means something different. Erin does not completely understand Luther’s policing nor agree with them. This comes to a head when she witnesses Luther breaking into DSU Schenk’s computer files—in actuality he is obtaining files to set a teenaged prostitute free from her employer. As a result, she becomes suspicious and reports the case. However, she alerts Justin to her concerns, inadvertently allowing him enough time to wipe the history from Schenk’s computer. As a result, Erin is embarrassed and humiliated in front of her superior. She leaves the Serious and Serial crime unit in disgrace.
This moment is what allows Gray to join the unit that investigates police corruption and she is promoted to Detective Chief Inspector. She joins forces with formerly retired DS George Stark to investigate Luther and bring a case against him. In the process, Gray attempts to convince Ripley that Luther needs to be stopped. Season three is when Gray begins to become unlikable for audiences. According to most audiences Gray is labeled as “annoying,” “grating,” and a “stupid bitch.” Upon my first viewing, I also found Gray unlikable. However, now I understand why audiences dislike her.
Erin Gray and Luther (Idris Elba)
Gray’s biggest fault is that she goes against not just the main character, but a multitude of characters who support Luther. One of them being the beloved psychopath Alice Morgan (Ruth Wilson). Audiences are quick to love the deliciousness of a possible intimate relationship between Alice and Luther and seemingly overlook the fact that when we meet her she murders her parents and the family dog, and gets away with it. She is clever, delightful, and continuously fights for John Luther. Alice like many of the women on the show has been saved by Luther (he cunningly helps Alice escape the mental institution). Erin is threatening because even as she faces the barrel of a gun in season three, she does not need to be saved by John. Erin’s ability to be independent of the main character is what makes her unlikable. She works to better herself and the law. It is also significant that the majority of women in the shows history who need saving, including the victims, are Caucasian women. While I am not advocating that Black women or women in general, should be diminished to damsels in distress, it is obtuse that a majority of victims are of a specific demographic and gender. In a sense this disparity establishes how audiences are supposed to see Erin Gray in comparison to others. Because she is not a victim, she is other.
Though Vee’s story on Orange is the New Black is closed by Rosa, the escaped inmate who runs Vee over with the prison van, seemingly killing her, Erin’s is very much open. In the aftermath of her attack, audiences last see Erin on a stretcher, shell shocked, and speechless. For audiences her non-death may have been a disappointment, but she has been scared straight into ultimately believing in Luther. Viewers of Orange is the New Black and Luther have equally been satisfied in some capacity by each woman’s demise.
Unlikable white women characters
Claire Underwood, Maxine Lund, Mavis Gary, and Hannah Horvath are just a few of the many unlikable female characters in film and television. They are met with distaste, yet this quality places them under a microscope because they are often people we know. Viola Davis’ statement in congruence to Vee Parker and Erin Gray demonstrate that minorities, whether they are Black, Hispanic, or Asian, want to diversify their roles in film and television. While the general landscape of roles for women of color appear to be expanding on television, film continues to fall behind in the diversity of characters. She should be liked and disliked, loathed and loved, and the bitter pill to swallow, yet the one that we need.
Rachel Wortherley is a graduate of Iona College in New Rochelle, New York and holds a Master of Arts degree in English. Her downtime consists of devouring copious amounts of literature, television shows, and films. She hopes to gain a doctorate in English literature and become a professional screenwriter.
And if you’re anything like me, every reader of this site wants the same thing: to see more portrayals of women on film, televisions, and beyond that reflect their complexities, strengths and weakness alike. We want a greater range of body types, a greater representation of lifestyle choices, a broader world of occupations and skill sets and backstories and destinies.
This guest post by Jessica Carbone appears as part of our theme week on Unlikable Women.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” This expression is meant to remind those who hear it not to conflate a beautiful face with a beautiful soul. However, when it comes to starring roles for women on television, the most important tool an actress can bring to the table is traditional, indisputable beauty. Why is this so valuable? Because from a storyteller’s perspective, it’s the perfect narrative loophole—if your main character is physically gorgeous, no matter what horrendous moral or criminal violations she might commit, viewers are still going to be hungry to see her on screen. Some newer anti-heroines deliberately break this mold (see Hannah Horvath on Girls), and we should be happy about that—whether she’s the hero or the villain, a female character can be much more than eye candy. But a beautiful actress unlocks some very interesting plotlines in the modern television writer’s rooms, and with the rise of the antiheroine, a woman on television can now get away with murder—literally and figuratively. But to do that, she can’t just be smart, funny, and fierce—she’s also got to be HOT.
Just a few of the pretty TV heroines who escaped criminal punishment for their murderous deeds over the last decade. From left to right, Blake Lively as Serena van der Woodsen, Gossip Girl; Evangeline Lilly as Kate Austen on Lost; Tatiana Maslany as Sarah Manning from Orphan Black
A pretty girl on television has never been an oddity—but it used to be easier to know that the attractive lead character was virtuous, just as the mustache-twirling side character was the villain. But with the first appearance of Tony Soprano, a violent gangster we could root for, writers began to craft all main characters as internally conflicted and morally compromised, crime-fighter and criminal, mama bear and femme fatale. (See Dexter, Hannibal , and Mad Men for more of this archetype). Audiences are willing to tolerate a lot from male antiheroes, partially because of historical precedent—as men have traditionally been in power, we expect our leading men to wield their power both for good and evil. But a good woman who goes bad? That prototype is sexy and revolutionary as hell—and we see that reflected in the constant shaping of the beautiful villainess, a woman who gets by being bad because she looks so good doing it. To be a woman aware of and in control of her sexuality is to be newly powerful, potentially dangerous, and thus, perfect material for the perfect anti-heroine.
Nancy Botwin
The introduction of Weeds, a half-hour comedy about a pot-dealing widow, shone a whole new light on the suburban femme fatale, especially one who comes into her own by way of her criminality and who, newly single and newly living a life of crime, gets to be a fully sexualized force of nature. Nancy Botwin (played by the radiant and ballsy Mary-Louise Parker) would do anything to keep her upper-middle class lifestyle in check—be it selling dime bags to teenagers, collaborating with a Mexican drug cartel, or romantically tie herself to any number of criminals (a fraudulent DEA agent, the murderous mayor of Tijuana, a sleazy insurance magnate). Through everything, Nancy kept her family safe with her sexuality—even in the first season, Nancy has sex with a competing dealer to defend her territory. In many ways Nancy acts as though she’s invincible—something she believes because society confirms her ability to pass unnoticed through the criminal underground. When you’re an attractive prosperous white woman in a world dominated by impoverished non-white men, it’s easy to escape because you don’t look like a criminal. And yet Nancy’s good at her job because she’s selling herself as part of the product. Hell, Snoop Dogg even names her product “MILF weed,” because its delightful effects are exactly like Nancy. What makes Nancy an admirable yet deeply troubling anti-heroine is that she doesn’t mind being objectified in order to get what she wants—sometimes she even embraces it, because it’s an effective method of negotiation. In Season 3, she literally shakes her moneymaker to get a brick of product from another dealer.
What starts as a dance of awkward desperation very quickly becomes something fun for her—another moment for Nancy to hold all the cards, and get what she wants.
“Get a good look at me”
While Nancy discovers her powers of seduction on Weeds, many of our best antiheroines stride into view fully aware of their desirability. Fiona Goode, of American Horror Story: Coven, is a new version of the Wicked Queen prototype, updated and empowered for a 21st century kind of sexuality and MILF-status. As portrayed by the eternally flawless Jessica Lange, Fiona is the reigning Supreme (head witch) of the Salem coven, a inherited title passed down to a witch who shows mastery of her craft (which includes the power of concilium, mind-control, often demonstrated as flirtation and coercion) as well as blossoming health and beauty. Power and beauty are inextricably linked in Coven, and so Fiona is obsessed with her looks, to the point where she tries to sell her soul to a voodoo spirit to guarantee “life everlasting—no aging, no decrepitude, forever.” Fiona knows exactly how powerful beauty is, because she’s wielded it from a very young age—at age 17, she killed the reigning Supreme so she could claim the title, and given that the lone witness was in love with her, she had someone to cover up the crime (and future crimes as well). Fiona’s desire to eliminate all competition is strengthened by her love affair with the Axe Man, a murderous ghost who can be summoned to do Fiona’s bidding. (All the men on Coven are sidekicks or love interests, never once dominating the storyline, and that’s radical all by itself.) Whether Fiona is actually in love with the Axeman is unclear, but one thing is for certain—Fiona’s best weapon throughout her life has been her beauty and desirability. Whether or not the writers of Coven stand behind Fiona’s deeds, there is no question that she holds the screen, as well as all the other girls in the coven, in her thrall—when you hand a role like this to Lange, it comes a performance that’s part camp, part feminist tour-de-force, and you can’t help but admire it, even when she slaughters everyone in her wake.
“Who’s the Baddest Witch?”
It’s one thing to wield beauty deliberately, to bend the universe to your will the way Nancy and Fiona can. But can a beautiful anti-heroine ever accidentally wield this power? Even with intelligence, ingenuity, and fearlessness to wield, does beauty become the most defining characteristic of an anti-heroine?
Olivia Pope
The last thing a real anti-heroine wants to be is a “damsel in distress,” and yet Olivia Pope, Scandal ’s most morally messed-up “gladiator,” is constantly finding herself in scenarios where being an object of lust is the only thing that will actually rescue her. Olivia Pope (played by the fiercely intelligent Kerry Washington) conceives of herself as a hero, a champion for the underdog, someone who “wears the white hat” and has an unfailingly good gut sense of right and wrong. But whatever ivory, bone-white, or champagne-colored hat she wears, Olivia is almost never championing the underdog. In fact, for the first two seasons of Scandal, the vast majority of her clients are powerful people needing a “fixer” to protect their image. And what better champion to call upon then, than a woman who is all perfect surface and no moral core? True, Olivia is constantly calling people out on their vile actions, but very often she is speaking more to the Scandal audience (or to her adoring employees) than to the actual person needing a shakedown. Yet Olivia is never punished for this hypocrisy because, as the series progresses, she is primarily valued for her beauty and the influence it wields—specifically, on the men who can’t resist her. But she never fully understands what that power means.
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Fitz and Olivia
We know that Shonda Rhimes writes brilliant, passionate women of all orientations, races, ages, and life experiences. (We’ll be thanking her for Cristina Yang for years to come.) The development of the Rhimes heroine prototype makes for better and better television, and there’s no question that Olivia is part of that tradition—but she’s also a setback. Because every time she is imperiled, every time it looks like she will finally receive some comeuppance for any of the multitude of crimes she has committed, there’s a guy who loves her ready to swoop in and protect her. What the show does by making Olivia so desirable is actually reduce her exceptional qualities, and treats her more like a cardboard damsel in distress. (Unlike Fiona and Nancy, Olivia doesn’t suffer from the same delusions of untouchability, and that’s a byproduct of knowing just how hard she’s had to work as a black woman—class and race are a huge yet currently unexplored part of the Scandal storyline.) And while we’d like to say that Olivia’s love interests are merely incidental (and make for great soapy plotting), you could practically write a drinking game around what I call the “Pope” test. (Take a drink for any scene where two men talk to each other for more than a minute about someone other than Olivia. That’s one sober hour of television.) If Olivia really is claiming to choose herself, you’d think that would also mean choosing to take back the conversation about her own beauty, and what it can do. But instead of reckoning with that power, she constantly tries to throw it off, to disregard it or dismiss it as unimportant. And that doesn’t make her look strong—it makes her look naïve.
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Start at 0:52
So when we talk about television’s anti-heroines, which would we rather have—women behaving badly who are also, conveniently, beautiful? Or women who go full anti-heroine, knowing that they can be pretty when they need to? Making a female protagonist unaware of her own power, wherever it comes from, neuters her strength as a character. If Nancy didn’t know that she could get away with being a drug dealer, she’d never discover how much she could fight her own battles. If Fiona hadn’t known she was beautiful, she never would’ve become supreme. When will Olivia sit up and realize just how much she can take control of the men in her life, and use or discard them as she needs to? Rhimes has said repeatedly that she never intended Olivia to be a role model, that she “has always been an antihero,” and maybe that’s true. But maybe Olivia needs to realize that she might not be bad at the core, but being drawn that way sure makes being bad easier. And taking ownership of her sexuality, her allure, her ability to draw people in and make them love her isn’t a sign of weakness—it would be a sign of self-knowledge, and a new coat of armor. Just ask Amazing Amy. Or Cersei Lannister. Or Six.
Cersei Lannister, Six from BSG, Rosamund Pike as Amy
Of course, it does pain me to think that we need more beautiful villainesses, more femme fatales, more female bodies on screen to ogle over and objectify. Haven’t we had enough of that? And if you’re anything like me, every reader of this site wants the same thing: to see more portrayals of women on film, televisions, and beyond that reflect their complexities, strengths and weakness alike. We want a greater range of body types, a greater representation of lifestyle choices, a broader world of occupations and skill sets and backstories and destinies. But if we’re going to ask for more valid portraits of strong women, we also have to validate more sources of power—and maybe in looking at television’s most beautiful antiheroes, we have to consider the value of beauty as a legitimate weapon, used for both good and evil. When it comes to my nightly viewing schedule, I’d rather have lots of beautiful girls acting out across the moral spectrum than simple pretty ingénues any day.
Jessica Carbone spends her days researching food history and editing cookbooks, and her nights writing film, television, and literary think pieces for The Rumpus, The Millions,and The Los Angeles Review of Books, among others. She lives in Washington, D.C.
While villainesses often work at cross-purposes with our heroes and heroines, we love to hate these women. They’re always morally complicated with dark pasts and often powerful and assertive women with an indomitable streak of independence.
As a follow-up to my post on the Top 10 Superheroines Who Deserve Their Own Movies, I thought it important to not neglect the bad girls of the superhero universe. I mean, we don’t want to piss those ladies off and invoke their wrath, do we? While villainesses often work at cross-purposes with our heroes and heroines, we love to hate these women. They’re always morally complicated with dark pasts and often powerful and assertive women with an indomitable streak of independence. With the recent growing success of Disney’s retelling of their classic Sleeping Beauty, the film Maleficent shows us that we all (especially young women) are hungry for tales from the other side of the coin. We want to understand these complex women, and we want them to have the agency to cast off the mantle of “villainess” and to tell their own stories from their own perspectives.
1. Mystique
The shapeshifting Mystique
Throughout the X-Men film franchise, the blue-skinned, golden-eyed shapeshifting mutant, Mystique, has gained incredible popularity. Despite the fact that she tends to be naked in many of her film appearances, Mystique is a feared and respected opponent. She is dogged in the pursuit of her goals, intelligent and knows how to expertly use her body, whether taking on the personae of important political figures, displaying her excellent markmanship with firearms or kicking ass with her own unique brand of martial arts. As the mother of Nightcrawler and the adoptive mother of Rogue, Mystique has deep connections across enemy lines. X-Men: First Class even explores the stigma surrounding her true appearance and the isolation and shame that shapes her as she matures into adulthood. The groundwork has already been laid to further develop this fascinating woman.
2. Harley Quinn
The playful, demented Harley Quinn
Often overshadowing her sometime “boss” and boyfriend The Joker, Harley Quinn captured the attention of viewers in the Batman: Animated Series, so much so that she was integrated into the DC Batman comic canon and even had her own title for a while. She’s also notable for her fast friendship with other infamous super villainesses, Poison Ivy and Catwoman. Often capricious and unstable, Harley always looks out for herself and always makes her own decisions, regardless of how illogical they may seem. Most interestingly, she possesses a stark vulnerability that we rarely see in villains. A dark and playful character with strong ties to other women would be a welcome addition to the big screen.
3. Ursa
Kneel before Ursa!
Ursa appears in the film Superman II wherein she is a fellow Krypontian who’s escaped from the perpetual prison of the Phantom Zone with two other comrades. As a Kryptonian, she has all the same powers and weaknesses of Superman (superhuman strength, flight, x-ray vision, freezing breath, invulnerability and an aversion to kryptonite). Ursa revels in these powers and delights in using extreme force. Ursa’s history and storyline are a bit convoluted, some versions depicting her as a misunderstood revolutionary fighting to save Krypton from its inevitable destruction, while others link her origins to the man-hating, murderous comic character Faora. Combining the two plotlines would give a movie about her a rich backstory and a fascinating descent into darkness in the tradition of Chronicle.
4. Sniper Wolf
“I watched the stupidity of mankind through the scope of my rifle.” – Sniper Wolf
Sniper Wolf from Metal Gear Solid is one of the most infamous and beloved villainesses in gaming history. A deadly and dedicated sniper assassin, Sniper Wolf is ruthless, methodical and patient when she stalks her prey, namely Solid Snake, the video game’s hero. Not only that, but she has a deep connection to a pack of huskies/wolves that she rescues, which aid her on the snowy battlefield when she faces off with Snake in what was ranked one of gaming’s best boss fights. In fact, Sniper Wolf has made the cut onto a lot of “best of” lists, and her death has been called “one of gaming’s most poignant scenes.” Her exquisite craft with a rifle is only one of the reasons that she’s so admired. Her childhood history as an Iraqi Kurdish survivor of a chemical attack that killed her family and thousands of others only to be brainwashed by the Iraqi and then U.S. governments is nothing short of tragic. Many players regretted having to kill her in order to advance in the game. She is a lost woman with the potential for greatness who was manipulated and corrupted by self-serving military forces. Sniper Wolf is a complex woman of color whose screenplay could detail an important piece of history with the persecution of Kurds in Iraq, show super cool weapons and stealth skills while critiquing the military industrial complex and give a woman a voice and power within both the male-dominated arenas of spy movies and the military.
5. Scarlet Witch
One of the most powerful mutants in X-Men lore, Scarlet Witch
Scarlet Witch, the twin sister of Quicksilver and daughter of Magneto, is one of the most powerful mutants in the X-Men and Avengers universe. With power over probability and an ability to cast spells, Scarlet Witch is alternately a valuable member of Magneto’s Brotherhood of Mutants as well as the Avengers. She can also manipulate chaos magic and, at times, control the very fabric of reality, such that she can “rewrite her entire universe.” Um, badass. She’s also one of the most interesting characters in the X-Men and Avengers canon because she’s so deeply conflicted about what she believes and who she should trust. Eventually coming around to fight on the side of good, Scarlet Witch has a true heroine’s journey, in which she has a dark destiny that she overcomes, makes choices for which she must later seek redemption, finds her true path as a leader among other warriors, and she even becomes a mother and wife in the process. Despite her extensive comic book history (first appearing in 1964) and the fact that she’s such a strong mutant with such a compelling tale of the journey from dark to light, Scarlet Witch has only been a supporting character in video games, TV shows, and in movies (most recently set to appear in the upcoming Avengers: Age of Ultron). That’s just plain dumb.
6. Ursula
The ominous, magnetic sea witch, Ursula
Ursula, the sea witch from Disney’s The Little Mermaid, is so amazing. Part woman, part octopus, she has incredible magical powers that she uses for her own amusement and gains. With her sultry, husky voice and sensuous curves, she was a Disney villainess unlike any Disney had shown us before. What I find most compelling about Ursula is that her magic can change the shape and form of anyone, and she chooses to maintain her full-figured form. Though she is a villainess, this fat positive message of a magnetic, formidable woman who loves her body (and seriously rocks the musical number “Poor Unfortunate Souls” like nobody’s business) is unique to Disney and unique to general representations of women in Hollywood.
Now that Disney has made Maleficent, they better find a place for this octo-woman sea witch, and they better keep her gloriously fat, or they’ll be sorry.
7. Evil-Lyn
Evil-Lyn
Evil-Lyn was the only regularly appearing villainess on the 80’s cartoon series He-Man and the Masters of the Universe. Unlike its blissfully female-centric spin-off, She-Ra: Princess of Power, He-Man was pretty much a sausage-fest. Much in the way that Teela and the Sorceress were the only women representing the forces of good, Evil-Lyn was the lone lady working for the evil Skeletor. As his second-in-command, she proved herself to be devious and intelligent with a gift for dark sorcery that often rivaled that of the seemingly much more powerful Skeletor and Sorceress. There appears to be no official documentation of this, but as a child, I read Evil-Lyn as Asian (probably because of her facial features and the over-the-top yellow skin tone Filmation gave her). I love the idea of Evil-Lyn being a lone woman of color among a gang of ne’er-do-wells who holds her own while always plotting to overthrow her leader and take power for herself. (Plus, she has the best evil laugh ever.) I have no illusions that she’ll ever get her own movie (despite Meg Foster’s mega-sexy supporting performance as the cunning Evil-Lyn in the Masters of the Universe film). However, I always wanted her to have more screen time, and I always wanted to know more about her, unlike her male evil minion counterparts.
8. Knockout and Scandal
Knockout and Scandal are bad girls in love
Scandal Savage and Knockout are villainess lovers who appear together in both comic series Birds of Prey and Secret Six. As members of the super-villain group Secret Six, the two fight side-by-side only looking out for each other and, sometimes, their teammates. Very tough and nearly invulnerable due to the blood from her immortal father, Vandal Savage, Scandal is an intelligent woman of color who’s deadly with her Wolverine-like “lamentation blades”. Her lover Knockout is a statuesque ex-Female Fury with superhuman strength and a knack for not dying and, if that fails, being resurrected. I love that Scandal and Knockout are queer villainesses who are loyal to each other and even further push the heteronormative boundaries by embarking on a polygamous marriage with a third woman. I generally despise romance movies, but I would absolutely go see an action romance with Scandal and Knockout as the leads!
9. Lady Death
Lady Death overcomes her status as eye candy
Lady Death has evolved over the years. Beginning her journey as a one-dimensional evil goddess intent on destroying the world, her history then shifted so that she was an accidental and reluctant servant of Hell who eventually overthrows Lucifer and herself becomes the mistress of Hell. Her latest incarnation shows her as a reluctant servant of The Labyrinth (instead of the darker notion of Hell) with powerfully innate magic that grows as she adventures, rescuing people and saving the world, until she’s a bonafide heroine. An iconic figure with her pale (mostly bare) skin and white hair, Lady Death has had her own animated movie, but I’m imagining instead a goth, Conan-esque live action film starring Lady Death that focuses on her quest through the dark depths of greed, corruption and revenge until she finds peace and redemption.
10. Asajj Ventress
The Dark Side has Asajj Ventress. #win
Last, but not least, we have Asajj Ventress from the Star Wars universe, and the thought of her getting her own feature film honestly excites me more than any of the others. I first saw Ventress in Genndy Tartakovsky’s 2003 TV series Star Wars: Clone Wars, and she was was mag-fucking-nificent. A Dark Jedi striving for Sith status, Ventress is a graceful death-dealer wielding double lightsabers. Supplemental materials like comic books, novels and the newer TV series provide more history for this bald, formidable villainess. It turns out that she’s of the same race as Darth Maul with natural inclinations towards the Force. Enslaved at a young age, she escaped with the help of a Jedi Knight and began her training with him. She was a powerful force for good in the world until he was murdered, and in her bitterness, she turned to the Dark Side. Her powers are significant in that she can cloak herself in the Force like a mist and animate an army of the dead (wowzas!). Confession: I even have a Ventress action figure. The world doesn’t need another shitty Star Wars movie with a poorly executed Anakin Skywalker; the world needs a movie about Asajj Ventress in all her elegantly brutal glory.
Please bring Asajj Ventress to life on the big screen!
Peeling back the layers of these reviled women of pop culture is an important step in relaxing the binary that our culture forces women into. Showing a more nuanced and empathetic version of these women would prove that all women don’t have to be good or evil, dark or light, right or wrong, virgin or whore. Why do we love villainesses? Because heroines can be so bloody boring with their clear moral compasses, their righteousness and the fact that they always win. When compared to their heroine counterparts, villainesses have more freedom to defy. In fact, villainesses are more likely to defy expectations and gender roles, to be queer and to be women of color. In some ways, villainesses are more like us than heroines because they’re fallible, they’ve suffered injustices and they’re often selfish. In other ways, villainesses are something of an inspiration to women because they’re strong, confident, intelligent, dismissive of the judgements of others and, most importantly, they know how to get what they want and need.
Bitch Flicks writer and editor Amanda Rodriguez is an environmental activist living in Asheville, North Carolina. She holds a BA from Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio and an MFA in fiction writing from Queens University in Charlotte, NC. She writes all about food and drinking games on her blog Booze and Baking. Fun fact: while living in Kyoto, Japan, her house was attacked by monkeys.
Firstly, a definition of sorts: the myth of the “strong Black woman” is loosely defined as a Black woman who is emotionally hardy to the point of feeling no pain. She is never fazed or hysterical. She is cold and calculating. She has no personal needs or desires and doesn’t complain. She can take a beating and come out on the other side unharmed. This is supposed to be seen as a good thing. Black women are “so strong” that no amount of abuse will break them. They will always keep plodding on. “Strong black women” are superhuman.
This guest post by Cate Young previously appeared at her blog, BattyMamzelle, and is cross-posted with permission.
Last week, I read a great article by Nichole Perkins on Buzzfeed that talked about the way the character development of the leading ladies of both Scandal and Sleepy Hollow were working toward dismantling the harmful depictions of “strong Black women” in media. It was a great read, and I loved that someone else shared my conclusions about Olivia Pope’s characterization.
What stuck out to me however, was Perkins’ characterization of Gabourey Sidibe’s character Queenie on American Horror Story: Coven as a negative embodiment of the “strong Black woman” stereotype. She says:
Then there is Gabourey Sidibe as Queenie on American Horror Story: Coven, a “human voodoo doll” whose supernatural power is the inability to feel pain, even as she inflicts said pain onto someone else. […] These Strong Black Women feel no emotional pain, tolerate severe physical trauma with no reaction, and menace others with stone faces.
I love American Horror Story: Coven. But even though I had immediately made the connection to the racialized violence against Black bodies this season, I hadn’t picked up on Perkins’ perspective of Queenie as an SBW. After seeing the episode “The Replacements,” I not only vehemently agree with her, I also want to expand on her observations.
Firstly, a definition of sorts: the myth of the “strong Black woman” is loosely defined as a Black woman who is emotionally hardy to the point of feeling no pain. She is never fazed or hysterical. She is cold and calculating. She has no personal needs or desires and doesn’t complain. She can take a beating and come out on the other side unharmed. This is supposed to be seen as a good thing. Black women are “so strong” that no amount of abuse will break them. They will always keep plodding on. “Strong black women” are superhuman.
Immediately, we can see the issues with this so-called “positive stereotype.” It paints Black women as unfeeling, and incapable of emotional pain. It justifies abuses perpetuated against them as “not as bad” because “they can take it.” In essence, it makes Black women a target for “warranted” violence, because the belief is that said violence will not affect them.
Now, on Perkins’ original point, AHSC‘s Queenie is a Black witch (superhuman) whose magical power is to literally injure herself without feeling pain. The only way she is able to inflict pain on other people is to inflict it on herself first. Her suffering is part and parcel of her experience. And yet, she feels no pain, therefore hurting her isn’t really hurting her is it? She can take it! With Queenie, Ryan Murphy has conceived of a character that is the literal embodiment of a harmful stereotype.
That’s not all. In “The Replacements,” Fiona Goode (Jessice Lange) appoints the racist Madam LaLaurie (Kathy Bates) as Queenie’s personal slave as punishment for her bigotry. LaLaurie is openly racist towards Queenie and uses every opportunity she can to demean her, and “remind her of her place” even though their “traditional roles” have been effectively subverted. Queenie takes it all in stride until she realizes who exactly LaLaurie actually is and recalls her reputation for torturing her slaves.
Later though, the minotaur that LaLaurie created comes back to haunt her, sent by former lover Marie Laveau (Angela Basset). Terrified, LaLaurie begs Queenie to protect her. The very same woman who she said wasn’t worthy to be served at breakfast, should put her own safety on the line to save her. And she DOES. Despite all of LaLaurie’s ill treatement, Queenie still feel compelled to protect her against the present threat. This plays into ideas about Black women being in service to white women, but never equal to them. Think The Help and Hilly Holbrook‘s “Home Health Sanitation Initiative.”
The other major issue I had with this episode was the presentation of Queenie’s sexuality. Queenie is presented as being the only one unworthy of love or sex. Early on, we learn that Queenie is the only virgin in the house. Later she tells LaLaurie that she is fat because “Dr. Phil says that kids from broken homes use food to replace love,” indicating quite explicitly that love is not something she feels she as access to. After confronting the minotaur to save LaLaurie, she offers to have sex with him as she masturbates:
You just wanted love, and that makes you a beast. They called me that too. But that’s not who we are. We both deserve love like everybody else. Don’t you want to love me?
So, not only is Queenie not worthy of love or sex, the only love/sex is entitled to is from a literal beast. And let’s not even get into the demonization of black sexuality by literally and figuratively turning a Black man into a beast. Queenie’s sexuality is degraded as being less than, a fact that she seems aware of. She is so “desperate and deranged” that she loses her virginity to an animal.
The use of the word “we” is significant to me also. Not only does Queenie see the minotaur as a beast, she sees herself as one too. She has internalized the idea that her blackness correlates to bestiality, and has now literally given into that characterization. The fact that she sees herself as equal to an animal that is subhuman and that that idea isn’t challenged in any way is a very problematic and racist way to portray black sexuality.
There is a lot of anti-Black sentiment tied up in Queenie’s character and it makes me uncomfortable and unhappy. It could be argued that half the story is about a racist slave owner who was renowned for her cruelty, and so anti-Blackness is to be expected in the narrative. But in my opinion, not enough is done to subvert those stereotypes. Having Fiona declare that she hates racists simply isn’t enough if every interaction of Queenie’s upholds the existing status quo. It is a disservice to have a talented actress like Sidibe, who has already been heavily maligned because of her weight, be characterized in a way that reinforces ideas about why she isn’t suitable for better more complex roles in Hollywood.
This isn’t the first time that AHS has had a problem with women. The show has a long history of disempowering women through rape, so it’s not surprising that it would also have a problem with Black women specifically. But to play into deeply racist ideas about Black womanhood is unsettling to me in a completely personal way. Having Queenie be characterized as a superhuman beast who is unworthy of love is a powerful message to send in a world rife with anti-Blackness where #stopblackgirls2013 can trend for an entire day. I can only hope that the rest of the season gets better.
Cate Young is a Trinidadian freelance writer and photographer, and author of BattyMamzelle, a feminist pop culture blog focused on film, television, music, and critical commentary on media representation. Cate has a BA in Photojournalism from Boston University and is currently pursuing her MA in Mass Communications so that she can more effectively examine the symbolic annihilation of women of colour in the media and deliver the critical feminist smack down. Follow her on twitter at @BattyMamzelle.
Gareth does not “happen to be Black”; the pressure on him to conform to white culture, to avoid limiting his own narrative, mirrors the show’s own need to conform to that culture, to avoid limiting its audience. This conflict is slyly embodied in plausibly deniable food metaphor.
Prince-Bythewood’s ability to draw commentary about the Black family experience in America is so well-integrated we, as the audience, are able to enjoy the emotional ride the characters take us on without the feeling that we’re watching a heavy-handed representation of the social issues of the time.
While the show is not overt, at its core the story is about race and gender relations. Race- and gender-specific language is often omitted from the dialogue, yet the meaning is there. Rhimes takes the White patriarchy of America and individualizes its contributors so that neither (most of) the characters nor the audience realizes that they are contributing to harmful White patriarchal norms and internalizing them until the rare moments when they take a step back from the action.
The son then picks on other kids, including his younger sister. Stan’s (nameless) wife yells at the kids too, because of her own frustrations, both with Stan’s depression and the “friends” of his who stop by, like the ones who talk about killing someone they know and ask for his help. After he turns them down she goes off on them, shouting, “Wait just a minute you talk about being a man. Don’t you know there’s more to it than your fists?”
What makes Desmond’s unique is its layered and often nuanced portrayal of immigrant Afro-Europeans and their assimilating progeny that are more closely connected to their African roots than any African American TV show I’d ever seen. It also has a cross representation of class in Black British society by showing retired, working class, upper-middle class, college-educated, college-bound, and not college-bound Black people interacting together all the time. Not only are different classes intermingling, but there are also four series regulars who are white, and their whiteness is not the punchline of tired racial jokes.
While many of the film’s events differ from Gardner’s memoir, the film compensates for this with its extremely authentic and loving portrait of a Black father/son relationship that is rarely seen in mainstream media.
When Solomon, Eliza, and her two children are both sold, she is sold away from her children. Their new slave owner, William Ford, (Benedict Cumberbatch), feeling guilty when he hears Eliza’s sobs of protests, tries to buy the children, but the auctioneer refuses to sell the them. William Ford takes Solomon and a devastated Eliza to his plantation, where she continues to cry on the journey to the plantation. When Ford’s wife, Mistress Ford, hears of new slave Eliza’s plight she callously responds, “Oh poor thing, well she’ll get over it in a day or two.”
The humor isn’t meant to put down white folks, but rather poke fun at the very real actions of white guys who attempt to adopt Black culture simply because it’s “cool.” This sort of behavior has existed in “white sitcoms” for nearly a century (making the Back character the “token” of the show) and it seems the only reason ‘Smart Guy’ comes under fire is because white critics are now seeing the characters they identify with in positions that aren’t of power or virtue.
There is a lot said in this film without dialogue, and without anything spoken within the first few minutes of the film. Most of the African American characters have an unspoken sense of solidarity, one which Will eventually learns to hear. The film explores how Black families are often torn apart and turned against each other by the pressures of a white patriarchal society.
While the show is not overt, at its core the story is about race and gender relations. Race- and gender-specific language is often omitted from the dialogue, yet the meaning is there. Rhimes takes the White patriarchy of America and individualizes its contributors so that neither (most of) the characters nor the audience realizes that they are contributing to harmful White patriarchal norms and internalizing them until the rare moments when they take a step back from the action.
This guest post by Jackson Adler previously appeared at his blog, The Windowsill, and appears as part of our theme week on Black Families. Cross-posted with permission.
Shonda Rhimes’ TV series Scandal is a political thriller about “fixer” Olivia Pope (played by Kerry Washington), who gets scandals in Washington, DC “handled.” All of the characters in the show have terrible flaws, do terrible things, question what is right, and whether the ends truly do justify the means. While the show is not overt, at its core the story is about race and gender relations. Race- and gender-specific language is often omitted from the dialogue, yet the meaning is there. Rhimes takes the white patriarchy of America and individualizes its contributors so that neither (most of) the characters nor the audience realizes that they are contributing to harmful white patriarchal norms and internalizing them until the rare moments when they take a step back from the action. Some of the characters claim to be colorblind, while others experience the effects of race in their everyday lives the way Black families across the country experience it.
Neither Olivia, nor her parents, nor the people she loves are free from this. The central relationship of the show is between Olivia Pope and U.S. President Fitzgerald (Fitz) Grant, with whom she has an ongoing affair. When Olivia, whose influence and position as a powerful African-American woman has often been challenged, confronts him about whether or not he is using her and in a position to control her (“I’m feeling very Thomas Jefferson/Sally Hemmings about this”), he skeptically responds, “You’re playing the race card on the fact that I’m in love with you?” and says that a comment like that “belittle(s)” their relationship and is “insulting and beneath [her].” “We’re in this together,” he says. However, he is in a more powerful position than she is, and he uses it. When he wants to speak with her and she doesn’t want to see him, he sends a private jet and secret service to collect her and bring her to him. He seems to claim to be colorblind in how he sees their relationship, and that he thinks of himself as just “a man,” but in other scenes proclaims himself as “the Leader of the Free World” in order to privately intimidate others and get his way. He says he would “give up” his position and influence to prove his love for her and start their life together, but each time it comes down to it, he chooses power – he chooses to be president instead of a loving and loyal husband to her.
Olivia’s father, Rowan, is often the one to point out these problems in their relationship. Rowan calls Fitz a “spoiled, entitled, ungrateful little brat,” to his face, and says that he is not “a man” but “a boy.” Rowan reminds Olivia that “[white] power got [Fitz] elected” in the first place, and that Fitz will always choose his white male power over her well-being. Fitz’s words and actions are highly reminiscent of white #AllLivesMatter hashtaggers who are stubbornly ignorant about the dangers of being Black in America, and of members of the GOP who say that Obama supporters use “the race card” (thereby attempting to silence the argument) when they treat Obama worse compared to how they would treat a white president. Olivia’s parents call out Fitz’s behavior, but while Rowan mostly verbally attacks it, her mother Maya physically attacks it.
Maya Lewis (Khandi Alexander)
Olivia’s father, Rowan Pope, achieved a powerful position in the government as Command of a CIA subdivision called B613, through sheer ruthlessness and brain power. Olivia calls her father and his position “the thing that goes bump in the night” – he is someone who does all the behind the scenes dirty work (including assassinations) for the government. He was the first in his family to go to college, and got his daughter into “the best schools” through his own hard work. He regretted not spending more quality time with her when she was younger, but – in Rhimes’ riff on the narrative of the absent Black father – he was not very present in her life because he was so protective of her. He kept her from seeing the terrible things he did as a part of his work and his attempts to gain influence, and ended up sending her to the same boarding schools as “the children of kings” because of it. One of the main reasons Olivia achieved her powerful place in DC is because of him, and he never lets her forget it. While Rowan technically works for the government, unseen but literally calling shots, Olivia’s mother, Maya Lewis, is a terrorist mercenary whose main goal is to take out the patriarchy/white male presidency of the United States. While Rowan pushed Olivia to participate in/assimilate into the government/patriarchy in order to further herself and gain influence of her own, Maya wishes Olivia was not involved in it at all, and says she wished “better for [her].” In one scene, Maya only refrains from blowing up the president and his family because Olivia puts herself in the way. Though Rowan and Maya have very different approaches in how to deal with the government/white patriarchy, they each remind their daughter that being colorblind will only lead to her getting hurt before she even realizes what has happened – “Whose victory do you think they will fight for [when it comes down to it]? Whose body do you think they will bury?”
Olivia’s relationship with her parents is beyond dysfunctional, but her parents still love her very much and make their love known. Rowan alternatively helps Fitz and her other love interest, Jake Ballard, due to Olivia’s affection for them. However, Olivia believes her parents are dangerous and cannot always trust them, let alone support them in their violence. When Olivia teams up with Fitz and Jake, two white and powerful men, to assassinate Rowan, he gives her the benefit of the doubt. He provides her with a gun and the chance to kill him in order to test her loyalty to family, as well as race. The gun turns out to be bullet-less, so Olivia does not succeed in killing Rowan. However, the pain in his face and entire body is evident in the scene as he says, “Are you kidding me?!” He is angry and deeply hurt that his own daughter would have killed him were the gun loaded. For the first time, he tells her “Now you’re on your own.” Olivia turns away from Black patriarchy, but her actions benefit white patriarchy.
Jake Ballard (Scott Foley), Olivia Pope (Kerry Washington), and President Fitzgerald Grant (Tony Goldwyn)
Olivia is constantly asked to choose and re-choose sides, and race is not something she can or even is allowed to ignore in those decisions. Her father particularly challenges her to think in terms of race and familial loyalty in his numerous aggressive monologues. Meanwhile, her mother does what she wants regardless of what anyone thinks – even shooting and killing her white male lover when forced to choose him or give up her goals. Olivia despises the aggression of her parents, and loves the white men in her life who continually hurt and use her. Her dream is to go to Vermont with Fitz, settle down and “make jam” in their perfect home in a small town, but she has come to realize that her dream of Vermont might never become a reality. Fitz is drawn to the presidency/power, and Olivia is compelled to continue being the powerful “fixer” that she is – firmly establishing herself as an African-American woman in control of her own destiny. The Pope family loves each other, but their different approaches to white patriarchy turn them against each other. Whether or not Olivia will “fix” the white patriarchy, or continue to inadvertently contribute to and be crushed by it, remains to be seen – though I’m certainly hoping for and excited to see the manifestation of the former. Scandal challenges the members of its audience to think of institutionalized and internalized patriarchal norms, and how best to face them – and to what lengths they will go to do so.
Jackson Adler is a transmasculine aromantic bi/pansexual skinny white middle class dude with an Auditory Processing Disorder and a Weak Working Memory who enjoys cartoons, musical theatre, and vegan boba drinks. Jackson has a BA in Theater, and is a writer, activist, performer, director, teacher, and dramaturge.
