Tatiana Maslany – Bitch Flicks

‘Orphan Black’ and the Breakdown of Tokenization

This scene, a scene in which an assumed-to-be heterosexual protagonist casually courts another woman, is significant because Sarah is one of three queer women – two of whom are bi – on a single television show, each of whom experiences their queerness differently. … Sarah, Cosima, and Delphine are three very different women with different narratives, inhabiting their queerness in three disparate ways.

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

[Trigger warning: Discussion of suicide and suicidal ideation]

When it comes to exciting portrayals of complex, realistic women on television, Orphan Black is a stand out. The entire premise focuses on how women are often portrayed as one-note and interchangeable, and flips that concept on its head. Similarly, the show places several exceptional queer characters front and center. Whether it’s Felix (Jordan Gavaris) painting phallus-filled murals while doing mountains of emotional labor to hold Clone Club together, Cosima (Tatiana Maslany) doing science to solve complex genetic mysteries, Tony (Tatiana Maslany) committing crimes hardcore enough to involve bullets, or Delphine (Évelyne Brochu) attempting corporate takeovers and doing even more science on the side, each queer person has a story arc and personality outside of their sexualities. In its most recent season, Orphan Black again upped the ante: they revealed that Sarah Manning (Tatiana Maslany), the clone who first introduced us to this whole, glorious mess, is also bisexual.

Orphan Black is not a perfect example of bisexual representation done right; as Erin Tatum noted in her article, season one delivered a Delphine with all the markings of the Duplicitous Bisexual trope. However, outside of her romance with Cosima, Delphine is a layered and interesting character. Her storylines are exciting; as a scientist who has been connected to Neolution from the get-go, she had the leverage to become a political player, and while she values power, she also strives to maintain her moral code. Personally, I have more of a soft spot for Cosima – dear Orphan Black writers, please know that whenever Cosima cries, I lose it – but I found the non-romantic aspects of her and Delphine’s intertwined storylines more compelling.

“The Antisocialism of Sex,” an episode from season 4 in which everyone fell apart, did away with all those “Romance? Meh,” feelings. At the beginning of the episode, it’s clear that Sarah has hit rock bottom. Her plan to barter with Evie Cho (Jessalyn Wanlim) and secure a cure backfired, resulting in Kendall (Alison Steadman)’s death and the loss of Cosima’s research data – which could mean losing Cosima and all her sisters to the illness built into their DNA. Haunted by visions of Beth (Tatiana Maslany), Sarah embarks on a reckless bender that seems to be leading her to suicide. However, as she drowns her emotions in whiskey shots, she searches for another way to drown, or perhaps to cling onto life: sex, specifically a hook-up that involves another woman.

There are several possible, trope-ridden errors that the writers could have made in this scene. At this point in the series, it would be easy to write this encounter off as a straight woman engaging in a threesome, or as writers pandering to an audience who have come to expect Sarah to have some sexy scenes. However, the entire hook-up is crafted to emphasize that Sarah’s primary interest is in Elle (Brooke Palsson), the woman. When Sarah first scans the crowd she briefly spies Tito (James Cade) – who Elle refers to as “my man” – but the camera quickly pans over to Elle, who bites her lower lip at Sarah. The camera then pulls back to give us a full body shot of Elle before cutting to Sarah, whose gaze has ceased to wander and is clearly focused on this new woman. Sarah puts her arm around Elle first, takes her hand to pull her to the dance floor, touches Elle’s hips, and even gives Tito a dark look when he breaks up their initial smooch fest. While she’s clearly invested in a threesome, her distinct attraction to Elle is distinctly present.

This scene, a scene in which an assumed-to-be heterosexual protagonist casually courts another woman, is significant because Sarah is one of three queer women – two of whom are bi – on a single television show, each of whom experiences their queerness differently.

Anyone fortunate enough to have many queer-identified friends will confirm that queer – and bi, pan, fluid, and gay – women are real, complex human beings with diverse personalities. As real human beings do, queer women carry their experiences differently. Some have been so comfortable with their identities for so long that it doesn’t occur to them to disclose, while others purposefully avoid labels because no label feels quite right, or because they hope to challenge assumed heterosexuality, and for myriad other reasons. Others bear the burden of internalized biphobia, anxiety, and other mental health issues tied to having a stigmatized identity. Some want to share their pride in their sexuality by discussing it loudly. However, if you look to television or film, what you generally get are bisexual characters whose main personality trait is being a Bisexual Trope. Tokenization narrows the world’s view of bisexual people, and it is so commonplace that each one-dimensional, denigrating portrayal is another kick against a bi fighter already down.

A pleasant side effect of placing multiple and unique queer women on the same screen is that tropes and stereotypes have less weight. When it clicked in my mind that Sarah is also bisexual, I immediately felt more invested in Cosima and Delphine. These are three very different women with different narratives, inhabiting their queerness in three disparate ways. Rather than seeing myself represented in a single character, I felt seen because I knew that my unique experience of my own identity was just as valid as those on the screen. I am queer and I am bi, but my queerness is not your queerness, and that is beautiful.

The only way we will reach a tipping point for bisexual representation is to put multidimensional bi characters on-screen at the same time — Orphan Black has given us a taste of the excitement and joy such representation offers. It’s time for everyone else to try harder, and do better.

See also at Bitch Flicks:

Feminism in Orphan Black
Why We Need to Stop Worshipping the Elusive Heteroflexible Femme
Trans Men on TV: Orphan Black and Tony the Trans Bandit
Orphan Black: It’s All About the Ladies

Alenka Figa is a queer, feminist, wannabe librarian. She spends her days teaching people how to attach things to their email, watching Steven Universe, and twittering nonstop about comics and her cat at @alenkafiga.

Feminism in ‘Orphan Black’

‘Orphan Black’ tackles two very different hot-button topics in a way that’s considered entertaining, insightful, and groundbreaking: the possible repercussions of cloning and the dynamics of the female personality. Show creators Graeme Manson and John Fawcett are earning praise for breaking decades of television stereotypes that resulted in most female characters either taking a backseat role or displaying a single, overriding personality trait (i.e., the ditzy blonde, the butch female, the submissive housewife). As the feminism in ‘Orphan Black’ earns praise, however, there’s been some criticism of the show’s underdeveloped male characters–a glaring contradiction that may be intentional.

This is a guest post by Maria Ramos.

Orphan Black tackles two very different hot-button topics in a way that’s considered entertaining, insightful and groundbreaking: the possible repercussions of cloning and the dynamics of the female personality. Show creators Graeme Manson and John Fawcett are earning praise for breaking decades of television stereotypes that resulted in most female characters either taking a backseat role or displaying a single, overriding personality trait (i.e., the ditzy blonde, the butch female, the submissive housewife). As the feminism in Orphan Black earns praise, however, there’s been some criticism of the show’s underdeveloped male characters–a glaring contradiction that may be intentional.

While Canadian actress Tatiana Maslany plays all five clones, she displays very different, fully developed characters. In fact, it’s the diversity among those characters that adds another dynamic to the brand of feminism portrayed in the series. This has also earned praise from members of the LGBTQA community since two of the clones are openly gay and one is transgender. It’s this same diversity that the showrunners use to make a strong case for nurture over nature by clearly showing that, even with identical DNA, the clones have different personalities, sexualities, and gender identifications obviously fueled by the environments they encountered while developing into the individuals they are now.

In order to fully appreciate the feminism in Orphan Black, it’s necessary to take a look at how female characters have traditionally been portrayed on television, with only a handful of notable exceptions. The Walking Dead presents stereotypical women ranging from the tough-as-nails female out to prove she can kick butt just as hard as any man to the pretty blonde side character apparently only around to entice men. The women on Sons of Anarchy first come off as strong and independent. However, they often lose backbone and bend to the will of the men in their lives. Even a show as groundbreaking (at least when it comes to its male characters) as Modern Family relegates the character of Claire Dunphy to the role of a nagging wife and mother striving for normalcy whose concerns are often dismissed or not taken seriously for the sake of soliciting a few laughs.

The chief criticism of Orphan Black is that the male characters are given one dominating personality trait each while the female clones have complex personalities and not-so-obvious motives for why they’re doing what they’re doing. On the other hand, it doesn’t take much guesswork to figure out the motivations driving the male characters on the show. Manson and Fawcett have made no apologies for the obvious lack of male character development, instead implying that it’s a plot device meant to echo the point the show’s trying to make by intentionally playing up the female characters and downplaying the male roles. This inequality is apparently evident when it’s revealed that the male clones unveiled at the end of the second season were created for military use, suggesting a sole purpose for their existence. It remains unclear why the female clones were created and seemingly left to their devices.

For every Daenerys Targaryen (Game of Thrones) and Alicia Florrick (The Good Wife) there’s a one-note female character playing the token blonde girl or the unattractive smart girl who’s inevitably either a loner or a dateless third wheel. Even the show’s perceived flaws – underdeveloped male characters and strong female characters who sometimes resort to violence to assert their independence – are effective in the sense that these aspects drive conversations not often inspired by shows with lesser-developed female characters in either lead roles or supporting roles without much substance. Orphan Black joins shows like Orange Is the New Black in placing a long overdue emphasis on multidimensional female characters who have a story worth telling. Although the third season came to a close on June 20th, you can still follow these strong multidimensional female characters and rewatch episodes on BBC America on platforms such as Xfinity, DirecTV, or Netflix. Until the fourth season premieres next year, take a look back and appreciate the show for what it is about: women.

Maria Ramos is a writer interested in comic books, cycling, and horror films. Her hobbies include cooking, doodling, and finding local shops around the city. She currently lives in Chicago with her two pet turtles, Franklin and Roy. You can follow her on Twitter @MariaRamos1889.

Trans Men on TV: ‘Orphan Black’ and Tony the Trans Bandit

It is, apparently, very difficult to put a good trans character in your TV show. Recent attempts at portraying trans men have tended to leave something to be desired. And last week on ‘Orphan Black,’ along came Tony.

Written by Max Thornton.

It is, apparently, very difficult to put a good trans character in your TV show. Recent attempts at portraying trans men have tended to leave something to be desired. Max on The L Word perpetuated a number of troubling stereotypes about masculinity and trans men. Adam on Degrassi wound up being another in a long line of buried queers. I understand Cole on The Fosters is something of a bright spot in the trans televisual darkness, though I have not yet watched the show (I’ll report back once I have). And last week on Orphan Black, along came Tony.

Now my colleagues here at Bitch Flicks have written some great pieces on Orphan Black, drawing attention to some crucial feminist elements, from the expansive female character list to the commentary on reproductive rights. In season two, I have been particularly enjoying the camaraderie between the clones, the way that they google hangout together and claim each other as sisters.

And then Tony happened.

Here are the things I like about Tony:

His existence. Metatextually, it’s awesome to have another trans guy on TV. Narratively, it’s really intriguing. Once you think about it, the fact that there is now a trans clone and a gay clone strikes an important blow against “born this way” reductionism.

The way the other characters treated him. They were all down with his pronouns, were mildly surprised at having a male clone but didn’t make a huge deal out of it, and gave a little exposition that might catch the less-clued-in viewers up to speed without sensationalizing transness.

Here are the things I dislike about Tony:

His facial hair. The Max Sweeney School of Facepubes is not an institution anyone ever should be attending. I guess I can forgive the awful head-hair, because I’m given to understand a short-haired wig was unworkable with Maslany’s real hair, which she needs for the other parts, but the facial hair? Nope nope nope.

NO. — Daniela Sea pubing it up as Max Sweeney on *The L Word*.

His characterization. Tatiana Maslany is a monumentally talented actress, playing multiple characters with nuance, and I really think this is her first misstep on the show. Her portrayal of Tony seemed undercooked compared to how thoroughly she inhabits the other clones. There was an air of trying too hard about Tony’s masculinity, something I would believe in the portrayal of a trans guy who was just coming out, but – in a guy who had begun transition as long ago as we were evidently meant to believe Tony did (contra The L Word, testosterone doesn’t make facepubes all grow in at once; I’m rising 16 months and can barely muster an outline of straggly pubescent scruff) – it rang false. Watching the other clones, I forget that I’m watching an actor act; with Tony, I was fully conscious of it the entire time.

This is unfortunate, because there’s already a terrible cultural misperception that trans people are faking it, acting, deceiving, putting it on. I don’t think this is helped by continuing to cast cis people of the wrong gender as trans characters (Daniela Sea on The L Word, Jordan Todosey on Degrassi, back to Hilary Swank in Boys Don’t Cry, and that’s not even getting into the much longer and more offensive list of men playing trans women… thank God for Tom Phelan, at least).

A trans person playing a trans character! Will wonders never cease?? — Tom Phelan as Cole on *The Fosters*.

A show about clones has pretty much the best possible justification for casting a cis woman as a trans man, but Maslany’s failure to really nail the character, as she does all the rest, kind of makes this portrayal seem like it belongs on that list.

Here is a thing I am still on the fence about:

The decision to show Tony injecting T. You could make an argument that it was a bit of gratuitous, othering exploitation; you could also make an argument that it was a normalizing teachable moment for your average non-trans-adjacent viewer. I haven’t decided yet which side I come down on.

In the end, I am glad Tony exists. He’s an important contributor to the still-tiny demographic of trans guys on TV, and the show didn’t get anything majorly wrong about transness (apart from the facepubes). Tony did not return in this week’s episode, but I hope he will be back on our screens in future, and I hope that next time around Tatiana Maslany will have nailed down the character and will play him more convincingly.

Max Thornton blogs at Gay Christian Geek, tumbles as trans substantial, and is slowly learning to twitter at @RainicornMax. He absolutely did not name himself after Max Sweeney.

Reproductive Rights in ‘Orphan Black’ Season 2

What’s shaping up to be the forefront theme in ‘Orphan Black’ season two is reproductive rights. Of all the clones, Sarah is an anomaly because she was able to give birth to Kira when all her clone counterparts are infertile. The seemingly impossible birth of Kira has the forces of science and religion both vying for access and control over clone bodies.

Written by Amanda Rodriguez.

I’m sure it comes as no surprise that I continue to be a fan of Orphan Black into its second season. My review of season one—Orphan Black: It’s All About the Ladies–focuses on the strength and wide range of female characters that the show revolves around (not to mention Tatiana Maslany‘s formidable acting talents as she portrays all of the clones). In season two, the compelling female relationships continue to be integral to the heart of Orphan Black‘s plotlines. In particular, we see a deepening of Cosima’s connection to and lingering distrust of her monitor, Delphine.

Can Cosima trust her lover and monitor Delphine?

We also delve into the dark past of Sarah’s foster mother Mrs. S, full of secrets, violence, and questionable intentions.

Is Mrs. S helping or hurting Sarah and Kira?

We also meet a new and powerful clone, Rachel, who works for the dubious cloning research corporation, Dyad, and who doesn’t seem to feel a kinship with her fellow clones.

Sarah and Rachel get off on the wrong foot — Clone-Off: Sarah and Rachel

We also see more of Sarah coming into her own as a responsible, present parent for her medical miracle daughter, Kira. Though Felix is not a woman, his close relationship with foster sister Sarah and his queerness seem to get him into the inner circle of Clone Club, and it’s always a pleasure to watch scenes where he calls Sarah on her shit, is nurturing to Kira, is hilarious, and remains fabulous the whole time.

What’s shaping up to be the forefront theme in Orphan Black season two is reproductive rights. Of all the clones, Sarah is an anomaly because she was able to give birth to Kira when all her clone counterparts are infertile. The seemingly impossible birth of Kira has the forces of science and religion both vying for access and control over clone bodies. Yes, a pitched battle between science and religion is mounting over the reproductivity of female bodies. Sound familiar? Art imitating life perhaps…

The Prometheans, a religious cult, attempt to bind Helena to their cause

Both the Prometheans (religious nutjobs) and the Dyads (cold, calculating scientists) are deceptive, selfish, and don’t see the clones as autonomous human beings. Our heroines must navigate these treacherous forces that seek to exploit them. Even more remarkable is the way in which the clones fight back by using these forces for their own gains by gathering, stealing, and manipulating resources and information in order to better understand themselves: their origin, DNA, and purpose. From within a system that attempts to abuse and dehumanize them, these woman are making their own way, living by their own rules, and relying on their collective strength to survive. Now that, my friends, is a feminism.

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.

Why We Need to Stop Worshiping the Elusive Heteroflexible Femme

Queer inclusion has become downright trendy lately. Even Disney has jumped on the bandwagon. However, as we all know, just because a minority makes an appearance in the media doesn’t mean the mainstream won’t continue to compulsively shape their narratives. One thing show-runners can’t seem to get enough of is sad lesbians (and I say lesbians because according to most representation, bisexuality clearly doesn’t exist!).

Written by Erin Tatum.

In the event that these go-to methodologies of misery are rightfully perceived by the powers-that-be as cheap and melodramatic, they’ll opt for the next best thing–an unrequited crush on a straight girl!

Our beloved lesbian (usually endowed with enough snark, swagger, or sheer adorableness to easily claim her place as estrogen brigade bait among the queer fandom) will pine her little heart away, hoping that the object of her desire will see the rainbow-tinted light. She may also spend a lot of time wallowing in self-loathing for loving someone who could never love her back.

Crushes on straight girls are a pretty common occurrence among queer women, and I’m sure it’s comforting to be able to relate to what the characters are going through. However, sexually incompatible crushes between women are used to codify some pretty unfortunate biases around gender, orientation and sexual expression that are frankly hella problematic.

I couldn’t think of a better segue to discuss Betty and Kate from Bomb Girls.

Bomb Girls is set in early 1940s Canada, about a group of women who work in a munitions factory during the war. Its storylines are almost exclusively focused on feminist issues and female empowerment, so of course it had to be canceled. But I digress. One of the central B-plots of the series involves the relationship between Kate Andrews (Charlotte Hegele), a wide-eyed runaway who fled the clutches of her abusive pastor father, and Betty McRae (Ali Liebert), a deeply closeted lesbian who also works in the factory. The two quickly become close friends, and Betty even helps Kate protect her false identity. Naturally, Kate’s strict religious upbringing makes her very naïve, giving her a fixed worldview of how things are supposed to operate in society. Betty feels incredibly protective of her. Can you see where this is going? Unable to hold back her growing feelings any longer, Betty impulsively tries to kiss Kate, much to the latter’s shock and disgust. Kate is so rattled that she contacts her father to take her back home and tearfully leaves the factory in spite of Betty’s desperate last-minute declaration of love.

Betty and Kate share a seemingly platonic moment in bed together at the end of season 2.

The second season renders them even more ambiguous, if that’s possible. Betty rescues Kate and they become friends again, with Kate doing her best to pretend nothing ever happened. Betty briefly dates her other coworker, Ivan (Michael Seater), in an effort to deflect growing suspicions around her sexuality and as a means of denying it to herself. Although she quickly drops the ruse and actually manages to find a girlfriend, Theresa (on the DL), it’s clear that Betty still harbors unresolved feelings for Kate. Making matters more complicated, Kate begins dating Ivan soon after Betty dumps him. It also doesn’t take Kate long to connect the dots between Betty and Teresa, but it remains deliberately unclear whether or not her apparent discomfort with Teresa stems from homophobia, friendship possessiveness, romantic possessiveness, or some combination of the three. Needless to say, it’s all confusing and resolves nothing. When Betty’s crush does creep indirectly into the conversation, Kate either dodges the topic or something will conveniently interrupt them. The season two finale kept them firmly within the same innocent cat and mouse territory that they’d been in since the beginning.

Betty gets up close and personal with Kate.

While many viewers expressed frustration with Kate for leading Betty on, this follows the same whiny friend-zoning logic that we see all the time in any portrayal of heterosexual friendships. Kate doesn’t “owe” Betty anything for being treated kindly, and Betty’s actions post-kiss make it clear that she she loves Kate independently of romantic ulterior motives. On the flipside, I still find Kate to be a pretty shitty person, not because she might not reciprocate Betty’s feelings, but because she continues to knowingly deny Betty formal closure. Betty remains totally helpless, and the outcome of the whole scenario hinges on Kate’s every whim. I know you can try to pass it off on the fact that it’s a period piece and homosexuality was a criminal offense, but why is Betty’s lack of control so romanticized? Just kidding, we all know the answer to that. Kate’s a pretty femme straight girl, and Betty will always be socially perceived as a grotesque deviant, no matter how many friends she has! Hell, Betty herself validates the gay inferiority complex by repeatedly putting someone on a pedestal who she knows full well has zero implications of returning the same level of emotional investment, whether romantic or otherwise. But it’s okay, because we can always hope against hope that Kate will turn out to be queer, right?

And that’s the problem. We can’t keep worshiping straight femme agency as central to our validation. If they choose women, it’s some impossible Herculean feat that solves all of the lesbian’s problems forever. If they don’t, you’re still expected to trail after them like a lost puppy at their every beck and call because they’re clearly superior to you, and you’re just perennially unlovable. Why is that noble or sympathetic in any way? Neither outcome reflects a coherent grasp of self-worth or healthy relationships. Don’t let women who aren’t even in our community dictate the way you view yourself.

Another radically different example can be pulled from Orphan Black. The relationship between everyone’s favorite dreadlocked scientist Cosima (Tatiana Maslany) and sexy French biologist Delphine Cormier (Evelyne Brochu) quickly became a fan favorite. Orphan Black handles the subject of sexual fluidity very well, which is one of the many reasons that you should be watching it, if you aren’t already. Following an awkward failed first move, Cosima apologizes for assuming Delphine was gay. Delphine says that while she’s never considered bisexuality, she can’t deny her attraction to Cosima. Refreshingly, none of the angst in their relationship is caused by gay panic. However, all of that is tarnished when it’s revealed that Delphine has betrayed her by orchestrating their relationship as a pretext for spying on her (trying to avoid too many spoilers). This drags the authenticity of her queerness into question because it raises the real possibility that she was faking her feelings for Cosima. The storyline may not villainize straight/fluid/questioning women explicitly, but you can’t deny that Delphine’s moral duplicity serves as a fairly obvious metaphor for cautionary tales against the untrustworthy bisexual or the illusory, unattainable straight girl. Faced with the reality of Cosima’s discovery and understandable outrage, Delphine insists her feelings for her are genuine and begs forgiveness. Cosima is heartbroken, but unmoved.

By the end, after seeing Delphine’s remorse, the audience is arguably compelled to feel more sympathy towards her than Cosima herself. As usual, it’s supposed to be incredibly romantic, playing on common themes of finding love with the wrong person and love conquering all. I like them together and think there’s still potential, but I’m not digging the free pass and endless showers of adulation Delphine receives from the fandom. She fucked up massively and that shouldn’t be forgiven in the span of an episode because of some tears and melodrama. Who’s to say she isn’t still lying? What if she isn’t even queer? Who am I kidding? They’ll end up together next season with minimal reconciliation because they’re obviously ~meant to be~!

Delphine tries to explain herself to Cosima.

I don’t mean to pour on the cynicism, but we can’t let our cravings for sentimentality obscure our perspective. Love stories formed on the premise of sexual incompatibility should not be idealized. The only message that it sends to queer women is that it’s noble to martyr your own happiness by wishing for the improbable. Not only does it build up your unrealistic expectations, but it’s also kind of uncomfortable for your crush if you persistently carry a torch for them based on the off-chance that you could turn them one day. Sure, feelings oftentimes can’t be helped and it can be cathartic to see characters sharing your experiences onscreen, but treating potentially heteroflexible straight girls as the Holy Grail of love objects doesn’t exactly set yourself up for the most positive of queer futures. You don’t need their validation, and for the media to suggest otherwise is counterintuitive because straight girls have absolutely no bearing on our sexuality. If they want us, cool. If they don’t want us, that shouldn’t inherently make us pathetic.

You might not flip her, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be a confident, kickass queer woman.

_________________________________________________________________________

Erin Tatum is a recent graduate of UC Berkeley, where she majored in film and minored in LGBT studies. She is incredibly interested in social justice, media representation, intersectional feminism, and queer theory. British television and Netflix consume way too much of her time. She is particularly fascinated by the portrayal of sexuality and ability in television.

‘Orphan Black’: It’s All About the Ladies

‘Orphan Black’ is gritty sci-fi with layered mysteries, mistaken (and impersonated) identity, and lots of complicated female characters. The most intriguing part of the show is that many of those multifaceted female characters are played by the same woman, Tatiana Maslany. She portrays all the clones involved in a seemingly nefarious scientific experiment.

Spoiler Alert

Canada’s compelling show Orphan Black will be airing its second season on BBC America this spring, and though Ms Misanthropia reviewed it on Bitch Flicks, I had to weigh in now that I’ve finally had a chance to finish watching the series! Orphan Black is gritty sci-fi with layered mysteries, mistaken (and impersonated) identity, and lots of complicated female characters. The most intriguing part of the show is that many of those multifaceted female characters are played by the same woman, Tatiana Maslany. She portrays all the clones involved in a seemingly nefarious scientific experiment.

At first, I was skeptical of Maslany’s acting abilities because there’s a lot of subtlety and nuance required to play at least nine characters with different upbringings, nationalities, socioeconomic backgrounds, and habits. Not only that, but the clones do a lot of impersonating each other. I was sold when I could tell one clone was impersonating another before the narrative announced it. Each clone’s mannerisms, body language, and even facial expressions are different. Damn. My hat’s off to Maslany who can make her smile different enough that I can tell which character she is without context.

Bravo, Tatyana Manslany. Bravo. — Bravo, Tatiana Maslany. Bravo.

In Orphan Black, the clones are often wildly different from one another, really hammering home the nature over nurture angle, which is an important representation of how women (and other marginalized groups) are affected by their environment. Orphan Black shows us women who thrive due to their environment (Cosima with her scientific brilliance), struggle because of it (grifter Sarah Manning), or become deviant and destructive as a result of it (religious serial killer Helena). There are tweaks made to each of their genetic code that explain away Katya’s respiratory disease, Cosima’s need for glasses as well as her gayness, and perhaps other anomalies among the clones yet to be introduced, but the message is clear that the DNA of these women is virtually identical making the entirety of their development environmentally-based.

The show even tries to give social reasons for the expression or dormancy of homosexuality. — The show gives social reasons for the expression or dormancy of homosexuality.

I also want to take a second to talk about big brained science nerd Cosima, my favorite clone.

Maybe it’s because I, too, am a queer nerd girl, but Cosima’s aptitude for science and her lesbian sexuality are awesome. Where Sarah must use her body to get what she needs (like seducing Paul to distract him from realizing she’s not Beth Childs), Cosima uses her intellect. Cosima is the glue. Without her, the clones wouldn’t be able to do DNA testing or crawl down the rabbit hole of the scientific experimentation that created them. Not only that, but she is the one who discerns that each known clone has a “monitor” to observe and report back on clone activities. This means that Cosima is also capable of understanding and anticipating the psychological factors involved in genetic testing and cloning. It’s great to get to see the nerd girl shine and not be deemed sexless because of her brain power, as her affair with her monitor Delphine is the most engaging of the romances played out in the show.

Delphine & Cosima bond over science geekoutery

Orphan Black showcases great female characters who are strong or interesting or smart or even infuriating, but they’re all unique and full of depth. The series also shows that the path of each clone’s development is dependent upon her environment, which is a huge statement about how oppression and opportunity are what shape us. In order for women to succeed, we must cultivate an environment that encourages achievement, and that means we’ve got to bust up gender norms.

Aggressive & unpredictable serial killer clone Helena — Aggressive and unpredictable serial killer clone Helena

Orphan Black exists on the strength of one actress’s ability to play multiple characters convincingly. Most importantly, it’s a show about a group of women: their lives, their families, their loves, their history, their interaction with each other, their deaths, and, most poignantly, their quest to solve the mystery of their existence. Good stuff, no? It’s getting harder and harder for the media to claim that people won’t watch stories about women, especially in the face of Orphan Black‘s gripping action, great story telling, and superb acting.

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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.