teen drama – Bitch Flicks

‘The Fosters,’ Sexuality, and the Challenges of Parenting While Feminist

In Stef and Lena’s case, they face the much more complicated question of how to talk to their kids about sex in a way that balances their feminist ideals of sex positivity with their parental need protect and discipline their kids. Two scenes in particular stand out to me as exemplars of the ways in which Lena and Stef strive to make sure their kids are not ashamed of their sexuality while simultaneously conveying the importance of being safe, ready, and responsible.

This guest post by Stephanie Brown appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.

In my frequent lectures to friends about why they should take time out of their busy television (and real life) schedules to watch ABC Family’s drama The Fosters (2013-present), I usually refer to an exchange from the season two episode “Mother Nature” in which Stef (Teri Polo) and Lena (Sherri Saum) have an argument born out of a season-long simmering tension over their respective parenting roles:

Stef: Please stop making me feel like I have to the disciplinarian dad in this family.

Lena: That’s awfully heteronormative thinking.

The first time I watched this episode, I actually paused the show to process my excitement over the fact that a TV show ostensibly for teenagers included a casual reference to the social construction gender roles. Can you name many other shows on basic cable in which you could hear the word “heteronormative” being thrown around? Though, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Over its first three seasons, I’ve been impressed many a time with the range of complex issues thoughtfully addressed by The Fosters, from societal issues of racism, the broken foster system, addiction, and religion to familiar teenage issues like friendship, school, and rival dance teams.

The Fosters, if you aren’t familiar, centers around Stef and Lena and their brood of biological, adopted, and foster children. I will admit that the title of the series is a little (OK, very) on the nose, but I’m willing to forgive it a series that, as you may have gathered, features characters and stories that we don’t usually get to see on TV. The inciting incident for the pilot is that Stef, a cop, and her wife Lena, a high school principal, decide to foster Callie (Maia Mitchell) and her younger brother Jude (Hayden Byerly) after they have been through a series of abusive foster homes. The Adams-Foster family also includes Brandon (David Lambert), Stef’s son from her previous marriage to her police partner Mike (Danny Nucci), and twins Mariana (Cierra Ramirez) and Jesus (Jake T. Austin and Noah Centineo due to a Roseanne-like recasting situation) who were adopted by the family when they were toddlers.

The Foster-Adams family is a big, loving, messy group, which fits well into the network’s “A New Kind of Family” brand. Since ABC Family rebranded in 2006 with this new slogan, they have produced several engaging, interesting, underappreciated dramas. From Greek (which Entertainment Weekly once referred to as “better than it has any right to be”) to Switched At Birth, a show in which scenes are frequently shot completely in sign language, the network frequently spotlights characters and storylines you won’t find anywhere else on television. Of course, as with most pop culture associated with teenage girls, the network’s innovative storytelling is often banished to the world of non-serious TV (a fate that befell the WB, UPN and now the CW as well).

Of course, as you might expect from a show that centers on a family with five teenagers, sexuality is a prevalent theme in The Fosters. Not only do the teenagers on the show deal with issues like having sex for the first time, sexual assault, the questioning of their sexuality, and love triangles, but refreshingly, Stef and Lena also deal with their own adult sex life. While same-sex couples are often desexualized (see Modern Family), Stef and Lena are given storylines that revolve around sex. In one such episode. Lena and Stef have frank discussions about the effect their busy lives and big family is having on their physical relationship and Lena’s fear of succumbing to “lesbian bed death” (2. 16). Stef and Lena not only talk about sex, they’re also shown cuddling post-sex, kissing, and generally showing physical affection for each other. Not only does the series treat sex as a multifaceted an integral aspect of adult relationships, it of course, also normalizes lesbian sex, which has historically either been ignored or relegated to the realm of the salacious male gaze.

The other notably refreshing aspect of Stef and Lena’s on-screen parenting is the way in which they often have to navigate their dual roles as feminists and parents of teenagers. As a woman who doesn’t have kids, I can’t identify with complexities of parenting while feminist, but as a feminist I can absolutely identify with the complexities of living in the world while feminist. To this point, the series raises important questions about the often challenging task of applying our deeply held feminist ideals our messy, everyday lives. I know, for instance, that the unholy alliance between advertisers, the beauty industry, and patriarchal constructions of gender and beauty have combined to make me think twice before leaving the house without putting on mascara. And yet.

In the season two finale, “The End of the Beginning” (2.21), 13- year-old Jude confides in Lena that he and his friend Connor had made out in their tent on a school camping trip. When he breaks down crying out of a mix what is likely fear, relief, and guilt at having lied to his parents about what happened, Lena makes sure he understands that he has nothing to be ashamed for acting on his attraction to Connor, while reminding him that school-sanctioned trips are not the place to fool around. Similarly, in the summer finale of season 3, “Lucky” (3.10), Lena and Jude have the sex talk after Connor’s dad finds him and Jude making out in Connor’s room:

Jude: So, I’m not in trouble?

Lena: No. No, but you’re probably going to wish you were. I think it’s time we had the talk. I’m really happy that you found someone as wonderful and as kind as Connor. I really am. And when sex is shared between two people…

Jude: OK, OK. Connor and I are not having sex.

Lena: Oh, OK, good. Good. Um, so. When any kind of physical intimacy is shared between two people who care about it each other. It’s a beautiful thing. I mean, OK look, if I’m being honest, I don’t really know a whole lot about the logistics of two men being together, but I definitely want you know how to take care of yourself, and to be safe when the time comes. Which hopefully won’t be for quite some time.

Again, Lena walks the line between reassuring Jude that sex is wonderful and normal, while at the same time making it clear that she hopes that he waits until he is mature enough emotionally, physically, and mentally.

In Mariana’s case, the conversation with her parents happens after she has already had sex for the first time, though under less-than-ideal circumstances. Mariana had planned to have sex with her boyfriend, but when he asks her to wait until he gets back from his band’s tour, she takes his delay as a rejection and ends up hastily having sex with Callie’s ex-boyfriend (“Wreckage,” 3.1).

After harboring a guilty conscience for several episodes, Mariana finally comes clean to her moms in “Going South” (3.5). Throughout the initial conversation, Mariana is defensive of her choice as her moms struggle not to shame her while simultaneously trying to understand her decision.

Stef: Losing your virginity at 15 is a big deal, Mariana.

Mariana: I thought you guys were feminists

Lena: Don’t play that card. We said the exact same thing to your brothers.

Stef: I don’t understand why you think that this is some kind of race.

Mariana: Well I did, OK? And I’m not a virgin anymore, so.

Lena: Honey, I think what your mother’s trying to say is that we love you and we just want to understand your choices.

There is tension not only between Mariana and her moms, but also between Stef and Lena as they negotiate how to handle the situation as parents and feminists. Mariana, knowing her moms well, goes so far as to play the “feminism” card, seemingly daring them to make her feel ashamed of her decision so she can claim the moral high ground by calling out their hypocrisy. In a follow-up conversation, the issue is resolved as Stef and Lena reassure Mariana that she should not be ashamed of having sex or of making a mistake.

Stef: I wasn’t trying to shame you, Mariana. I wasn’t.

Lena: But sex is a big deal. Every time you have sex it’s a big deal. You’re sharing a vulnerable and precious part of yourself. You should always make sure you feel good about it.

Similar to Lena’s conversation with Jude, the goal of the “sex talk” isn’t to scare or shame their kids away from sex, but rather to encourage them to take sex seriously and wait until they’re ready. Stef and Lena also want to assure Mariana that they love her unconditionally, and that our mistakes don’t make us bad people, they make us human:

Stef: My love you know what. We all do things we wish we hadn’t. But we learn from them. And if we manage not to repeat them, man, it feels really, really good.

The talks that Stef and Lena have with Mariana and Jude about sex are emblematic of the way the series treats a range of sensitive subjects with care, warmth, and complexity. As with every situation, Stef and Lena strive to ensure that their kids feel, above all else, unashamed, supported and loved. Of course, The Fosters is by no means a perfect show. It can veer into sentimentality and overwrought melodrama, but I will happily take being manipulated into tears (I was a fan of Parenthood, after all) when it comes with a side of progressive storylines about family, sexuality, and gender. As one of the few shows my mom, my sister and I all watch, The Fosters is a series I hope families across the country are also watching and enjoying together.

Stephanie Brown is a television, comedy, and podcast enthusiast working on her doctorate in media studies at the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign. You can follow her on Twitter or Medium @stephbrown.

How the CW’s ‘The 100’ Is Getting Sex Positivity Right

In fact, it’s the aspect of love and intimacy, rather than lust and sexuality, which makes Clarke’s part in Finn’s demise so difficult–the show plays with the idea that human connection, whether it’s through friendship, family, alliance or romance, is painful because it matters, not because it is fundamentally wrong.

This guest post by Rowan Ellis appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.

This article contains spoilers for the first two seasons of The 100 … be warned!

On the surface, it might seem like we live in a sex positive society already, I mean, I just wrote an article about Channing Tatum’s intimidatingly chilled torso for this very website. We hear things like “sex sells” all the time, meaning it’s clearly viewed as positive for our economy if nothing else. But the tiniest scratch below that oiled up muscly surface shows something more complex and gendered. Women’s sexualities and sex lives are viewed in turn as both precious fortresses and exploitable commodities, by a world which can’t quite make up its mind whether it wants to protect us or fuck us. But then men and boys are being taught not to respect either a “weak” woman who needs protecting, or a “slutty” woman who wants to be fucked. So it came as a ridiculously pleasant surprise to see the portrayal of sex and sexuality in the CW’s teen dystopian show The 100.

The 100 is one of those shows that snuck up on me; I watched the pilot when it first came out, and promptly dismissed it as an OK series that I might try again if I got bored and it ended up on Netflix. It’s the story of obligatory-CW-beautiful Clarke (Eliza Taylor) and 99 other teenage prisoners who lived on “The Ark,” a collection of space stations which houses all that is left of the human race, floating above the Earth. I say “lived,” past tense, because pretty much as soon as the show opens all 100 of them are blasted down onto the surface of our messed up planet to see if it’s survivable. One-hundred delinquent teenagers alone on a potentially deadly planet. What could go wrong? Honestly, I only gave the show a real chance after Tumblr excitedly informed me that the lead character wasn’t entirely straight, and it came under the radar as a show with increasingly great representation. So I gave it another chance, and by the time half a season had gone by, it was clear they were building a series that wasn’t afraid to give the middle finger to easy outs and happy endings. And yet, none of those difficult choices or moral and physical suffering were linked to the characters’ sex lives.

Although we like to talk about characters as if they were independent entities, it is the writers who choose character’s choices and the consequences of their actions; traditionally morality plays and novels had marriages to reward the good and death to reward the bad. Sometimes the only way to tell that an otherwise progressive woman was meant to be perceived as good was the fact she was allowed to marry at the end (Jane Eyre, anyone?). And so it is the consequences of sex on screen, not just the having of sex itself, which can truly show an audience how sex positive a show is. Meta-fictional films like Scream and Cabin in the Woods draw attention to this idea when they comment on the absurdity and sexism inherent in the horror trope “The Final Girl” and the importance placed on virginity, where “pure” women are allowed to survive, and having sex carries a death sentence on screen. Although in a show like The 100 the Venn diagram of “characters who have had sex” and “characters who suffer” has a lot of overlap, this is vitally not a causal relationship; the death of Finn and the horrific struggles that Clarke faces as a leader, are not because of their sexual relationship. In fact, it’s the aspect of love and intimacy, rather than lust and sexuality, which makes Clarke’s part in Finn’s demise so difficult–the show plays with the idea that human connection, whether it’s through friendship, family, alliance or romance, is painful because it matters, not because it is fundamentally wrong.

Teen shows have in the past been guilty of using sex to drive melodrama, or of using it only sparingly in “very special episodes” to give a warning. But The 100 uses its post-apocalyptic future setting to frame a version of the sexual worldview as a non-issue, suggesting that we as a collective species get the fuck over it when we have stuff to worry about like the end of the world. Is this realistic? Meh, who cares, I don’t watch sci-fi for realism, I apparently watch it for bisexual lead characters and complex moral decision-making with psychological consequences… but we’ll get on to that in a second. This lack of realism, I think, also extends into what makes the show an enjoyable watch for all its tragedy; there are some things that are safe, namely the sex. As a teenage girl being abandoned on an inhospitable planet with a number of teenage guys who all seem pretty invested in violence, gaining control, and hedonism, rape would be an immediate threat in my mind. Yet the CW set up of the show, and the storylines so far, seem to be completely removed from this fear, which gives me as a viewer a sense of security in a lot of ways. Similarly, the way the show pushes back against stereotypical or soap-like storylines, means as a viewer I am also not that concerned with the seeming lack of condoms or birth control going on, because I feel pretty secure that they won’t include “warning” storylines around safe sex with pregnancy and disease based on the tone of the show. At first, I was worried that the relative sexual freedom which the teenagers had found on the Earth’s surface would become a problem once the parents were reintroduced, with apologies and stern looks. But, again, they had more pressing matters to deal with.

A negativity around women and sex is not just doled out from those in positions of power, the “I’m not like other girls” phenomenon between female peers is rooted in ideas around sexual promiscuity and femininity being lesser. This negativity towards sex is a tool used to pit women, and girls, against each other, rather than being a tool for raising up fellow men or boys because of their perceived sexual prowess. The double standard is hardly new and can be seen in real life as well as being played out on screen in films like Gone Girl, where Flynn criticises the idea of the “cool girl” aesthetic as creating a personality and way or acting based on your desirability to men. This is why it was so refreshing to see the treatment of Clarke and Raven’s relationship, as two women who were interested in the same guy, be secondary to their other connections. There is no passive aggressive MeanGirl-esque in fighting fraught with jealousy; Clarke can’t turn off her feelings for Finn, but immediately understands she can’t be with him, and gets on with what needs to be done. This decision is completely in line with her nature as someone who sees things as they are as far as she can, who is practically minded, who corrects Finn even as he is trying to be romantic when seeing that Raven falling to Earth isn’t a shooting star at all. Clarke is the first person to see Raven on Earth and witnesses her essential rebirth on the planet, they share an interesting relationship in their different ties to Abby, Clarke’s mother, and their friendship is of vital importance based on their respect for each other. The show ultimately rejects the jealous ex paradigm which it seemed to be setting up, and identifies itself as unexpectedly progressive in its portrayal of female friendship.

The portrayal of bisexual women in society at large, is one of “greedy” girls showing off for the attention of men. They are often viewed as more likely to be unfaithful or “slutty,” and both the straight majority and gay community seem to be wracked with worry that their bisexual partners are secretly monosexual. The portrayal of Clarke (the clear lead of the show) being attracted to and forming relationships with, both men and women, plays away from these shallow stereotypes, while not denying her an active sex life. The tragedy in the storylines with both her partners is not caused by her sexuality, although her very real feelings for them heighten the pain for both her and us as an audience. Killing Finn and having to watch as Lexa betrayed their political alliance, took a huge psychological toll on the teen, but ultimately her hardest decision- to kill the population of Mount Weather- was connected to familial and friendship based bonds that created the community of the 100. However, historically the b-word has been conspicuously missing from the screen, even in forcefully progressive shows like Orange is the New Black, and so it is too for The 100. This can be explained away with the idea that the future is as liberated about sexual orientation as it is about sex, and that labels are no longer used or required. But that reduces the real need for bisexual viewers right now to have representation on screen and arguably contributes to the bi-erasure which it could so easily be combatting.

Ultimately, this is a show that features some really beautiful humans having sex, and in that way it isn’t unusual. What The 100 is getting right is creating a narrative where the usual toxic cliches are subverted, and the characters are all the better for it, rather than ignoring sex and praising characters for that instead. There are of course ways to improve: I hope that next season we have Clarke voice her sexuality specifically, because that explicit labeling would be a pioneering act in representation. I would also like to see more diversity, particularly in body type, having an active sex life on the show, which is often missing or played for lazy and crude laughs on screen more widely. How likely is that to happen? My experience with shows in the past tells me, not very. But at the start of The 100 I’d never have guessed they would make any characters queer, and look what they did with their lead. So, if you’re reading this writers of The 100, I’d really love for you to prove me wrong again.

Rowan Ellis is a British geek using her YouTube videos to critique films, TV, and books from a queer and feminist lens.

Binge Watch This: ‘Dance Academy’

‘Dance Academy’ is a teen soap opera set at a ballet school. So basically, it’s ‘Degrassi’ meets ‘Center Stage.’ That should be enough to have you diving for your remote right now.

The central female characters of 'Dance Academy' — The central female characters of *Dance Academy*

Netflix subscribers, as soon as you’ve gotten through Gilmore Girls (or maybe sooner, should you get GG fatigue once Logan gets in the picture), you need to watch the Australian TV series Dance Academy. My Cape Town bestie KDax has been telling me to watch Dance Academy for months, and now that I’ve finally taken her advice I can only think “so much lost time!” I could be through my third rewatch by now, instead of only having seen one of the three available seasons! Don’t make my mistake: watch this series NOW.

Dance Academy is a teen soap opera set at a ballet school. So basically, it’s Degrassi meets Center Stage. That should be enough to have you diving for your remote right now, but if you need more convincing, here are some more details:

Psst... the joey is a metaphor for Tara! — Psst… the joey is a metaphor for Tara!

Tara Webster is a naive 15-year-old girl from the Australian Outback whose talent for ballet has her plucked out of her small-town life and brought to the National Academy of Dance in Sydney. We see her adjust to life in the big city and going from being the best dancer for miles to a small fish in a big, ultra-competitive pond, while going through the standard coming-of-age drama with the rest of her teenage classmates.

The cast of Season One of 'Dance Academy' — The cast of Season One of *Dance Academy*

There’s her best friend Kat, who grew up in the industry as the daughter of the Sydney Ballet’s prima ballerina, who is as loyal to her friends as she is rebellious against authority. Kat’s older brother, Ethan, is the self-serious choreographer and apparent ladies’ man who Tara instantly crushes on. Kat and Tara’s platonic dude friend is Sammy, equal parts awkward and earnest. Christian, the troubled kid from the wrong side of the tracks, is out on bail after robbing a convenience store (also, distressingly, the only PoC in the main cast of the first season). And finally Tara’s roommate Abigail, the Queen Bitch antagonist, who remains a sympathetic character despite all her cruel manipulations.

While the teen drama plots of Dance Academy are not particularly original, the cast is so natural and likable that the even the most standard material feels fresh. The first season relies very heavily on two intersecting love triangles (I’d say love quadrilateral if two of the points were not siblings, and Dance Academy is not enough of a soap opera to head down Incest Drama Lane). I would have said that another teen love triangle was number one with a bullet on my list of things I never needed to be asked to care about again. But Dance Academy made a liar out of me, by making every character involved compelling, every relationship plausible, and all the shifting degrees of attraction and loyalty make sense within the story.

Similarly, Dance Academy successfully takes on many After School Special-esque “Issue” storylines by committing to the emotion at their core. I was particularly impressed with the handling of the seemingly inevitable eating disorder plot when Abigail responds to her growing breasts with extreme calorie restriction. Dance Academy is able to condemn the ballet world’s absurd body standards without falling into the insulting oversimplification that ballet causes anorexia, and never blames the victim even though she’s the ostensible “villain” of the series. Her eating disorder isn’t confined to a single “Lesson Episode” along the lines of DJ Tanner’s exercise bulimia or Jessie Spano’s “I’m so excited I’m so scared” caffeine addiction; Abigail’s recovery and how it effects her relationships and other emotional issues is an ongoing plot.

Oh, and did I mention how whatever ballet they are working on always has symbolic parallels to the plot? I love this show.

Dance Academy does have a handful of awkward fumbles, though, like the cringe-inducing episode where Christian takes Ethan to “the hood” to show him what Real Hip Hop Moves look like. As painful as that was, I wish the series didn’t shy away from class commentary so much. For the first half of the season it feels like Christian only exists as a character so they can “address” class, which is as unfair to the character as it is to the issue. There’s also a huge contrast between Tara’s rural upbringing and the world of privilege most of her classmates come from, but it is rarely acknowledged. The one episode that really deals with Tara’s embarrassment over her “simple country folk” parents swiftly overshadows cultural class differences by making the story about cold hard cash, when Tara’s mom asks her to defer school to save their finances. This problem is immediately solved with a scholarship and never mentioned again. Meanwhile, Kat and Ethan are never called out on their bratty entitlement (Kat’s my favorite character, but when she complains about traveling the world with her famous mother I seethe).

Pretty much any time they do hip hop it is awkward.

But this is just season one, and every time I’ve made a criticism of Dance Academy, KDax has said, “just you wait.” For example, this would be the paragraph where I’d complain about the universally cis-het cast and grumble some more about the general excess of white people, but I know the subsequent seasons are going to attempt to correct these problems.

Given how much I’ve loved this first season of Dance Academy despite its failings, I have high hopes for my ongoing obsession over the next two seasons. Won’t you come and dance with me?

Robin Hitchcock is an American writer living in Cape Town who had bits of Swan Lake stuck in her head the entire time she was writing this.

High School Hospital: ‘Red Band Society’

‘Red Band Society’ presents the high-school dynamic explored in a sick-lit microcosm. It’s largely fluff and nonsense, but it’s quite entertaining nonsense on the whole – not least because Octavia Spencer is a treasure and is marvelous as the superheroic Nurse Jackson.

Written by Max Thornton.

A TV dramedy about teens who live in a hospital is perhaps the logical next stage in a culture where The Fault In Our Stars was such a phenomenon. In fact, I would guess that someone pitched it as “Breakfast Club meets TFIOS.” Red Band Society presents the high-school dynamic explored in a sick-lit microcosm. It’s largely fluff and nonsense, but it’s quite entertaining nonsense on the whole – not least because Octavia Spencer is a treasure and is marvelous as the superheroic Nurse Jackson, while it’s an absolute joy to see My So-Called Life‘s Wilson Cruz back on TV.

Because of my interest in disability theory, I was interested to see how the high-school dynamic might play out in a hospital context, but to be honest the show isn’t doing as much with it as it could. Not least this is because of the show’s metaphysics, which it lays out there both in the premise – it’s narrated by a comatose boy who can see and hear everything that goes on around the hospital, and interact with the other patients when they are under for surgery (though not when they’re asleep, for some reason) – and in an explicit statement of mind-body dualism made by one character to another: “Your body isn’t you. Your soul is you.”

I’m so involved in body-affirming scholarship, including disability and crip theory, that it kind of shocks me when I hear such forthright statements of dualism in pop culture. Rejecting mind-body dualism wasn’t just an abstract philosophical decision for me; it dramatically changed my life. While I know (oh God, how I know) that telling yourself, “I am not my body, I am just in it” can be a life-saving consolation in times of extreme bodily distress, I don’t think it’s ultimately a tenable way to understand your existence in the world. In many ways, this is what crip theory (and its intertwined conversation partner, queer theory) is about: refusing to accept mind-body dualism and its passive reinforcement of a normative narrative about what constitutes a healthy, whole, socially acceptable body.

My point is that, despite its setting, thus far Red Band Society hasn’t shown much interest in engaging with disability tropes beyond letting its characters take time out from being ~brave and inspirational~ to be snarky, bratty, illegal-substance-pursuing teens. Which, to be fair, is a great step up from classic media portrayals of disabled people as either inhumanly angelic or miserably bitter: at least these characters are the center of their own drama, not vehicles for the edification of able-bodied people.

There are six members of the titular society:

Seen here in no way invoking The Breakfast Club. — Seen here *in no way* invoking *The Breakfast Club*.

Charlie, our comatose narrator, offers commentary primarily in the form of zingers. He has a Tragic Backstory of which every single beat has been wholly predictable, although the latest episode ended on a Charlie-related moment that was ridiculous even for this show, so who knows what’s ahead.

Leo is a recovering cancer patient whose leg had to be amputated. At least once per episode, one of the characters will remind us that pre-cancer Leo was a stereotypical jock who wouldn’t have given these people the time of day, and look how he’s grown through adversity! Soccer was Leo’s jam, and because Nurse Jackson is not bound by the laws, rules, and circumstances governing us mere mortals, she happens to know an amputee athlete who agrees to train Leo. However, Leo ultimately decides against the training, because he doesn’t want to be known as an amputee athlete. Honestly, this smacks of the writers not wanting to deal with actual amputee athletics training: wouldn’t he at least try one training session before giving up on his lifelong passion and imagined future?

Dash is Leo’s BFF. It took until the most recent episode, the fifth, before Dash finally got some characterization of his own, beyond how he relates to the other characters. Dash is also Black. JUST SAYING. When he’s not trying to seduce the young nurse, smoking weed with the ward’s resident hippiechondriac, or getting jealous over Leo (which causes all the other characters to tease him about being in love with Leo, because boys can’t have close friendships without it being gay, and everyone knows homosexuality is hilarious), Dash is a graffiti artist extraordinaire. Also his lungs don’t work right or something, but who knows, it never seems to impede his life in any way.

Emma is my favorite. She’s bookish and smart, and she tries to do what she thinks is right by people, but she has a streak of fire in her which can sometimes lead to poor decisions. She’s in hospital for anorexia, and stays in a ward with cancer patients and people needing transplants, because… reasons, I guess? Whatever its logic, this juxtaposition does make for interesting possibilities in exploring the stigmatization of mental illnesses and psychological disorders, which can occur even among communities of the sick and the disabled: Leo yells at her that she doesn’t need to be in hospital, she’s only there by her own choice.

Kara is my other favorite, the bitchy cheerleader who is completely self-aware of her role as gratuitously mean hot girl. On the whole, she revels in taking the other characters down a peg or two, though it has been hinted more than once that massive self-esteem issues underlie her unpleasantness. She has an almost symptom-free heart condition, but isn’t on the donor list because of her pill-popping. Also she has awful power lesbians for moms, because, as Charlie says in a line that is certainly a verbatim quote from the writer who suggested it, “What? Dads fall for a nanny all the time. Why not moms?”

Jordi is the new kid. (Kara is technically a new kid as well, but she can’t be the Everyman character because she’s a girl, and not just a girl but a mean girl.) He’s boring and annoying, and I feel like he and his abandonment issues walked straight off The Fosters and into this show. It’s cool that the Everyman is Latino, but I am super done talking about Jordi and his annoying hair and dumb personality.

There are some adult characters other than Octavia Spencer, too: a Dr. Sexy type who is even more annoying than Jordi (but thankfully gets less screentime); a ditzy nurse; assorted parents floating in and out – but none of them are all that interesting.

It’s not clear yet whether Red Band Society will last out the TV season. I hope it does, because, for all its faults, this show can be very charming, and I think there’s potential for something new and exciting beneath the cheese.

Also, somebody thought this ad was a good idea. It was rightly pulled after complaints.

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Max Thornton blogs at Gay Christian Geek, tumbles as trans substantial, and tweets at @RainicornMax.

Pretty Little Friendships

This guest post by Victor Kirksey-Brown appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

I don’t know where to start, because I don’t totally understand Pretty Little Liars. This show blows my mind in both good ways and horrible ways. And the show isn’t over, so I can’t say for sure how the themes and lessons will ultimately play out.

The show, based on a book series of the same name, centers around four girls: Emily, Spencer, Hanna, and Aria. After the disappearance and assumed death of their friend and ring leader Alison DiLaurentis they have a falling out, but are reunited a year later when they start receiving threats from an anonymous someone who goes by “A.”

And then shit goes crazy. “A” has done so much shit to these teenage girls and I don’t understand any of it, but I digress.

When the show starts out, they’re all estranged and I wouldn’t really classify them as friends. Aria is just moving back to Rosewood (the fictional town where the show takes place) after a year of traveling in Europe with her family, Spencer is heavily focused on school and extracurriculars, Emily is dealing with figuring out her sexual identity as well as maintaining her top ranking on the swim team, and in the absence of Alison, Hanna is the new “Queen Bee” of Rosewood High.

So they’re all in different places, but are forced to rely on each other and come back together because of “A” and her?…his?..their? goons. “A” is constantly pitting the four girls against each other, trying to use their secrets and desires to exploit them and break them apart. “A” exploits Emily, promising her secret of being a lesbian will remain so if she does what “A” wants. “A” does the same to Aria with her relationship with her teacher Ezra (by the way my feelings on their relationship are pretty well summed up by Gaayathri Nair here.) “A” also does this to Hanna when her mom is stealing money from her work, and multiple times with Spencer because of her family’s many secrets. However, “A” always either then forces them to divulge their secrets or, more often, the girls find that they must trust in each other to make any progress.

Eventually the girls learn that keeping secrets from each other is counterproductive, especially when people are crashing cars into your house, blowing up houses, hitting you with cars, filling your mom’s car with bees, basically TRYING TO KILL YOU 24/7. Albeit it took until season 5 for that to really sink in.

No matter what happens, they’re forced to fully trust each other. When other relationships come in between the core four–like when Spencer’s boyfriend Toby was working with “A” because “A” had information on his mother’s death that he badly wanted and Spencer found out but kept it secret–the group is mad when they find out, but ultimately understanding and compassionate. They accept Spencer back and eventually Toby, because they’ve all been in the same place. They’ve all been pressured by “A” to do things they regret and instead of pushing each other away, they try and understand and stay together.

Because EVERYONE is a suspect, the suspects are often each other’s loved ones and this causes tension with the group. But again, because it happens to all of them, they all give each other the opportunity to prove their loved one isn’t really involved (though they usually are). And if it is discovered said person is involved, everyone in the group knows that they owe it to each other to allow the group to pursue said loved one to find answers.

Also, they never really fight over boys. (And on a side note it’s actually kind of amazing how long lasting the relationships in this show are given it’s a teen drama, even if they are highly problematic.) Whenever a boy or love interest comes between them it’s because one of them is hiding something from the rest of them to protect the love interest. They don’t get into “cat-fights” with each other over guys, they don’t gossip behind each other’s backs, they don’t get jealous of one another, they do sometimes judge each other, but eventually realize that they all have faults and again they need to trust each other. When they fight with each other it’s because they’re genuinely concerned for each other, like when Spencer gets addicted to Adderall or this season when Hanna has a drinking problem, or it’s because someone has been hiding crucial information from the others, information that could mean life or death.

Ultimately, this teaches the audience what every drama, especially teen drama, I think deep down wants to teach but never fully does: that you have to be vulnerable with your friends, and lying, even when you’re doing it because you think you’re helping, only ends up hurting in the long run. It also teaches that you shouldn’t let boys or gossip come between you and your friends, and if it does, communicate with them and confront it. This is something that is normal in teen dramas, but on Pretty Little Liars the importance of trusting and relying on each other is emphasized because they’re dealing with HEAVY shit. People are constantly harassing them and trying to kill them. The girls don’t have time to dwell on petty things, they’re always trying to figure out who’s trying to hurt them and why. In fact, the times they do dwell on petty things it’s pretty distracting, I have to remind myself that these are high school girls and they have a right to concern themselves with things the average high school girl thinks about.

Another thing is they never slut shame each other, a common thing that will come between female friends in teen dramas. When the group finds out about Aria dating their English teacher Ezra, they’re concerned because of the age difference, but they never attack Aria. They’re eventually very supportive of Aria and Ezra’s relationship. I personally hate Ezra with a deep passion to the point where I yell “Fuck you” whenever he’s on screen, but think it’s amazing that Emily, Hanna, and Spencer are so understanding about it all. And when Emily comes out to them all, again, they’re all very supportive and none of them treat her any differently than they had before.

I mean, even when Alison DiLaurentis is found to be alive and has had a hand in putting them through all the shit they go through, they try to help her and protect her, and they have no reason to even like her. Throughout the show we’re shown flashbacks of their interactions with Alison and they are all of her being horrible and manipulative. But they see that Alison has been through a lot and is maybe in the same boat as they are, so they take her back in. They’re not completely trusting of her, but the point is they give her a chance.

This show is constantly breaking my mind because I have no idea why anything that is happening is happening and it’s all horrible, and there are a lot of problematic relationships and situations, but also there are a lot of progressive things. All of them equally rely on each other and get themselves out of trouble, they’re usually the ones who have to protect their boyfriends and family members, and they aren’t afraid to confront their enemies. Their parents are pretty open minded; Emily’s mother was unsupportive at first about Emily coming out, but then became very loving and understanding. Even Aria’s parents became understanding of her relationship with Ezra to the point of him being invited to family functions. And as I’ve shown you, the girls’ friendship is very progressive.

I don’t know if the writers portray this type of friendship and steer away from many of the harmful female friend tropes on purpose, or if it’s just because there’s no way to fit them in with all the other crazy shit that’s going on, but the strong and positive friendship these girls share is one of the reasons I enjoy Pretty Little Liars. Now, I’m not saying that there aren’t a slew of negative things about the show, or that I even know what my feelings for this show are, it’s constantly doing really progressive things for teen dramas while also doing regressive things, like having every person of color (aside from Emily) ending up being villainous and killed or just killed. I’m just saying that I love teen dramas and I think it’s awesome to see a female led teen drama with strong friendships.

Oh, and another way this show fosters friendships is that you should not watch it alone; you definitely need watching buddies. I don’t know how teenagers can watch this show. I’m 22 and I can’t even fathom it half the time, but I definitely wouldn’t make it through without my friends Laura and Elisha. So if you plan on checking it out, find someone who’ll plunge into the deep end with you.

Victor Kirksey-Brown lives in Minneapolis, Minn.

“She’s My Best Friend”: Friendship and the Girls of ‘Teen Wolf’

The girls of Beacon Hills, especially Allison and Lydia, are loyal, dedicated friends. They help each other out and they encourage each other. They stand up for each other. They’re best friends with all the complexities that relationship implies. There are better, or at least more consistent, examples in media to turn to, but the perfect moments of female friendship in ‘Teen Wolf’ mean a lot to me.

This guest post by Andrea Taylor appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

Teen Wolf may not seem the most likely show to find a celebration of female friendship, but one of my favourite pairs of TV best friends resided in Beacon Hills, the fictional town where Teen Wolf is set. This show has many issues, particularly with representation, but the friendship between Lydia (Holland Roden) and Allison (Crystal Reed) kept me hooked, and I was always hanging on for more scenes with these badass BFFs.

Lydia is introduced as the classic “rich bitch” who befriends shy, new girl Allison, seemingly with the ulterior motive that all popular girls have: keeping one’s (potential) enemies closer.

But Allison and Lydia become true best friends through the course of the show. Their friendship develops from something out of necessity to a deep bond; the climax of their friendship is Allison giving her life in the fight to save Lydia from the Nogitsune. Due to the format of Teen Wolf – several main characters and multiple plots – Lydia and Allison didn’t spend as much time onscreen together as I would have liked (OK, I would have watched a spinoff all about Allison and Lydia). But their moments together are some of the best. Their relationship with each other, and the ones with other girls, are just as important as the relationships they have with boys.

Allison and Lydia not long after they first meet. — Allison and Lydia, not long after they first meet.

Allison’s sweetness complements Lydia’s sarcasm; both girls are strong-willed but are still able to be vulnerable. They can’t do it all alone, and that’s OK. (Teamwork and friendship are prominent themes in the show, overall.)

Lydia’s motives for befriending Allison may have been more strategic than altruistic, but if you look beneath the surface she is a character in need of love, support, and friendship, just as Allison needed a friend when she didn’t know anyone. They supported each other from the outset. Allison encouraged Lydia not to act dumb for her boyfriend, Jackson (although Lydia was never that great at acting dumb, anyway), easily seeing through Lydia’s front. There are a lot of moments like this that I love but I’ll highlight just a few.

Allison provides moral support for an anxious Lydia returning to school.

At the beginning of season two, after Lydia has gone missing from hospital, Allison tells Scott (Tyler Posey) and Stiles (Dylan O’Brien) she is going with them to find Lydia for the simple reason that “she is my best friend.” Her delivery puts emphasis on the importance of “best friend” and makes it clear that she isn’t making a request. When Lydia is found and returns to school, Allison is with her for moral support. As they often do, they stand shoulder to shoulder, neither one in front of the other.

Physical signs of affection can be important in television friendships.

In season three, Lydia tries to help Allison find her archery skills again after the consequences of some magic saw three of the main characters losing their defining skills/characteristics. Lydia’s strategies may not help, but the scene is another illustration of her love for her best friend. Later in the season, Allison accompanies Lydia to confront Peter (Ian Bohen). As they leave, they are holding hands. I love little details that show physical affection between friends and the comfort they can offer. It makes a TV friendship seem more real.

Lydia encourages Allison to keep trying when she loses her faith in her archery skills.

Lydia and Allison may bond mostly through supernatural encounters, but they still have time to do “normal” teenager stuff we’d see in other shows: they go shopping, have sleepovers and, yes, talk about boys. It does get old when girls talk about boys, but I feel that talking about romance and sex (if you’re interested in either) with your friends is an important part of being a teenager.

Doing 'regular' teenage things: Lydia helps Allison pick out clothes and paint colours. — Doing “regular” teenage things: Lydia helps Allison pick out clothes and paint colours.

I was disappointed when, in season one, Lydia makes out with Scott, motivated by jealousy over Jackson’s (Colton Haynes) attentions toward Allison. However, I like that it didn’t ruin Allison and Lydia’s friendship. Another show may have Allison forgive only Scott, but Allison forgives both of them. She doesn’t do it straight away, though. Lydia offers to buy Allison a dress by way of apology. Allison says “as far as apologies go this is more than what I was expecting … but not as much as I’m going to ask.” She tells Lydia to go to the formal with Stiles. This jumping-through-hoops kind of apology bothers me yet it is obvious Lydia regrets what she has done. And Allison isn’t really mean-spirited. There is a lot to unpack here – more than I can in this piece – but that it happens early on, and that there is no more tension as a result of boys is, at least, something.

Lydia feels her own betrayal when she realises that Allison, as well as the rest of the gang, have been keeping secrets from her (you know, werewolves and whatnot). These betrayals are just as important as other moments in the development of their friendship. People don’t always have to forgive those who hurt them, but I think it’s important to see flawed characters who make mistakes. It’s also important that characters find the capacity to forgive each other when their friendship is more important than their mistakes, so long as they are acknowledged.

These are complex young women; they subvert (some) media stereotypes (but of course are still heterosexual cis-women).

Lydia appears to be the stereotypical rich bitch but she’s better described as a “bratty intellectual girl” who is a lot more complex than she first appears. In an interview, actress Holland Roden said that she asked creator Jeff Davis if Lydia could “the smartest girl in school” because she was frustrated at the overwhelming portrayal of “cool, popular” girls as not being academically intelligent.

Allison is the badass babe who can shoot a bow and arrow, but when she’s introduced she’s shy and uncertain; she’s the typical new girl. Her vulnerability doesn’t disappear, and the balance of this side with her physical prowess serves to create a character with depth.

This trend of subverting stereotypes follows through to many other characters. Kira (Arden Cho), although also a fighter, is not just an Allison clone as seen in her clumsiness and awkwardness. Malia (Shelley Henig), having been in coyote form for many years, is learning to be human. Her lack of instinctive nurturing is a refreshing depiction of a girl who’s not meant to be the bitchy girl everyone loves to hate.

They’re all flawed but none of these things make them horrible people and it’s refreshing to see interesting, imperfect girls. But they are still conventionally attractive, heterosexual cis-women, and Teen Wolf has a long way to go in terms of representation.

It’s important to note that there is little in the way of friendship between the older women of Beacon Hills, whereas the men, at least, have one or two examples, which is disappointing. Going back to the younger girls, there are some nice moments between Lydia and Kira and Kira and Malia in season four but, overall, nothing like what Lydia and Allison had. In a panel at Melbourne’s Creatures of the Night Convention, actress Holland Roden explained that Lydia puts up walls around herself. She’s not an unkind person, but it takes her a while to warm up to new people, and, after Allison’s death, she tends to be distanced from the other characters, especially Malia.

I hope that in future seasons Lydia’s walls are able to come down again as I would love to see Lydia, Kira, and Malia as awesome BFFs giving hell to the baddies of Beacon Hills. I’m sure it’s just what Allison would have wanted.

Andrea Taylor lives in South Australia. She holds a Master of Arts degree in Art History, which is currently gathering dust somewhere in her house. Her passions include all things kitsch, trashy TV, pizza, and she basically just loves movies. She blogs about clothes and stuff on Andi B. Goode and you can follow her on twitter (and most social media) @andibgoode.

In Spite of Mean Girls: The Radical Vision of ‘Pretty Little Liars’

In her bestselling collection ‘Bad Feminist,’ Roxane Gay starts the listicle entitled “How to Be Friends with Another Woman” with this as the very first item: “Abandon the cultural myth that all female friendships must be bitchy, toxic, or competitive. This myth is like heels and purses—pretty but designed to SLOW women down.”

This guest post by Jessica Freeman-Slade appears as part of our theme week on Female Friendship.

In her bestselling collection Bad Feminist, Roxane Gay starts the listicle entitled “How to Be Friends with Another Woman” with this as the very first item: “Abandon the cultural myth that all female friendships must be bitchy, toxic, or competitive. This myth is like heels and purses—pretty but designed to SLOW women down.”

Pretty Little Liars, a show on ABC Family that just wrapped its fifth season, looks on the surface to be all about the things that slow female friendships down, especially in high school—the fabulous heels, the purses, the toxicity of secret-keeping and back-stabbing. (For a long time I assumed it was Gossip Girl in suburbia, all about teenagers behaving badly and looking great while doing it.) Yet upon closer inspection, it presents itself as the most radical show about women, and specifically female friendship, on television, a treatise on what might happen when four friends refuse to become mean girls, and choose something to embark on something far more difficult: genuine support of each other. That might explain why the show is the most Tweeted-about series of all time (yes, surpassing Scandal, with 11.7 million Tweets sent during its season 2 finale in 2013), and why it’s proven to be much more than just a pretty teenage drama.

Based upon the YA series by Sara Shepard, PLL takes place in the fictional town of Rosewood, Pennsylvania, where queen bee Alison (Sasha Pieterse) has been missing for almost a year, and her formerly tight clique has broken up as they enter their junior year of high school. Star swimmer Emily (Shay Mitchell), who once nursed a deeply closeted crush on Alison, is just starting to assert her sexuality and independence. Straight-A student Spencer (Troian Bellisario) is tiptoeing around her uber-competitive sister Melissa (Torrey DeVitto). The fashionista Hanna (Ashley Benson) spends most of her time shoplifting and looking the other way while her single mother cleans up her messes. And artistic Aria (Lucy Hale) has just returned from a year abroad with her family, and immediately falls for Ezra (Ian Harding), a cute guy who—tada!—turns out to be her English teacher. These characters seem like archetypes (jock, Type-A, ditz, flower child) with very little beyond typical teenage drama to concern them. But then Alison’s dead body is discovered, and the girls start receiving texts from a mysterious “A” who seems to know all their unflattering secrets, lies, and desires, and worst, the details that could easily nail them for a terrible crime. But rather than turn away from each other, the girls immediately come back together, breaking those archetypes open and forming an alliance to uncover their texting tormentor and bring Alison’s killer to justice. As its millions of rabidly texting fans would attest, Pretty Little Liars has become the rare teen-oriented show that embraces all types of girls, the importance of supporting your friends and how they choose to be happy, and most importantly, how to fight against a bully who keeps you down.

Initially it seems that the villain is the mysterious “A,” whose threats scare the girls into silence or keep them at a distance from what makes them happy. (One of the gentler A threats is in Season 1, when A steals photographs of Emily kissing her new girlfriend and threatens to reveal them to her family.) But the real spectre of terror over the entire series is Alison: the glamorous, manipulative, power-hungry, and freakishly intelligent teenage girl who can bend anybody to her will.

In life, Alison bullied and teased her so-called friends and kept them from showing their own strengths. Hanna in particular withered under her rule, as Alison called her “Hefty Hanna” until she became bulimic. And even after death, the secrets that Alison had kept for the girls serve as A’s material for ripping their lives apart—to reveal Aria’s relationship with Ezra as well as her father’s (Chad Lowe) infidelity, to expose Spencer’s plagiarism of an award-winning essay, and to send Hanna’s mother to jail for stealing money as they’re on the verge of foreclosure. The villainy at the core of PLL is Alison’s undue influence, the one cool girl who rules over other girls and takes away their power.

But instead of becoming more like their tormentor, Pretty Little Liars gives its characters the choice of telling the truth, trusting each other, and taking on the consequences of their mistakes rather than lying their way out of them. Aria confronts her father about the infidelity, and Spencer withdraws her essay from the competition and disappoints her family in the process. Emily comes out of the closet, despite her fears—and her friends are genuinely happy and supportive of her. And to earn back the balance of her mother’s stolen money, on A’s orders Hanna consumes a dozen cupcakes, triggering a flashback to her days of binge eating. Yet when A texts her to do what Alison taught her, to “get rid of it,” Hanna refuses to go down the same old road. Instead of becoming more like Alison, the girls decide to become more like themselves, the selves that they know to be powerful and beautiful, inside and out.

Let’s revisit that #1 rule of female friendship from Roxane Gay—too often we ascribe a kind of inherent toxicity to female friendship, to the way women negotiate power dynamics and competition amongst themselves, as though there was a finite amount of beauty, intelligence, and influence in the room. The perpetuation of “girl-on-girl” crime doesn’t have as much to do with actual criminality or offense (when a cheating boyfriend is caught, why do we blame the other woman?), as it does with the notion that only one girl can win at any given moment. Yet in embracing the differences of the four Liars, the show allows a kind of multiplicity in its portraits of good girls who are not goodie two-shoes, and what winning in a community of women can look like. These girls kick butt together, and they do it with strengths drawn directly from their personalities, without the supernatural powers or exceptionally strong kickboxing or archery skills that we expect from other heroines of pop culture. For Emily, it’s her disarming honesty and candor that allows people to trust and open up to her.

Aria is small but fierce, and her wisdom beyond her years empowers her to make decisions that she can stand by.

Hanna is loyal to the core, and because she herself had been an outsider, she refuses to tolerate deceit from the people around her.

And for Spencer, in a constantly evolving and Emmy-worth performance by Bellisario, it’s her supreme intelligence and drive makes her the perfect troop leader, galvanizing her friends to stop settling for misery and start exposing the threats around them.

To be sure, the show has plenty of faults: the various relationship between teenage girls and some much-older love interests gives me plenty of heebie-jeebies, as do the increasingly improbable plot twists and the immaculate wardrobe, hair, and makeup choices on display at all times. (When, in all that mystery solving and running around in the woods, do they have enough time to pick out such cute outfits?) And, if you agree with A.O. Scott’s recent handwringing over the “death of adulthood” in contemporary media, you might wonder why so much of this positive friendship conversation has to be about teenagers rather than grown women. But these girls are exactly at the age where major decisions about character are made—when you move from childhood into adulthood, you stop absorbing information from your role models and start making your own choices. And the choice—to be a mean girl, and rule over everyone else, or to be a kind girl and to form meaningful relationships—is at the very center of Pretty Little Liars.

Most importantly, the stakes for these friendships are truly, massively high. These girls are literally saving each other FROM DEATH—breaking each other out of cages, chasing down bad guys, and fighting back against people who would like to silence them. While the plotting of the show may be highly tongue-in-cheek in treating death-defying an extracurricular activity, you have to admire how high the stakes have been placed. Without having each other’s backs, without their friendships, these girls would be dead—friendship is not only a positive choice, it is a lifesaving choice. And that is a pretty darn heroic proposition, especially for teenage girls.

Jessica Freeman-Slade is a cookbook editor at Random House, and has written reviews for The Rumpus, The Millions, The TK Review, The Los Angeles Review of Books, and Specter Magazine, among others. She lives in Morningside Heights, NY.

Facing Down the Devil in ‘The Lesser Blessed’

Dreamlike images of a body immersed in bathwater intermingle with images of fire and shadowy figures running. The camera settles clearly on the deeply scarred back of the young man in the tub as the opening sequence to The Lesser Blessed comes to a close and the camera travels across a remote landscape split by a single road. The narrator, also the protagonist, tells us we are in Fort Simmer, Northwest Territories where “there’s not much to do if you’re not into booze or sports.” Hero and protagonist Larry Sole (Joel Evans), a kid from the Dagrib (Tlicho) First Nation in Canada, “has to face down the devil right in the eyeball before he can set free his romantic heart,” according to director Anita Doran.

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

Based on Richard Van Camp’s (Tlicho) novel of the same name, the dramatic film tells the story of a kid who runs when threatened by a bully, who dreams of a girl who doesn’t love him back, and who quietly lives with his past and his stories until Johnny Beck (Kiowa Gordon) comes to town and suddenly Larry’s past explodes into his present. When Larry tells Jed the story of his tapeworm with complete deadpan delivery, Jed chuckles and says, “Larry Sole, the most interesting thing in this shit town.”

Joel Evans is Larry Sole in *The Lesser Blessed*

Soon after, Larry’s dream girl, Juliet (Chloe Rose) pays $200 for Jed at a charity slave auction that is raising money for the school dance. Larry closes his eyes and thinks, “I bet she would have paid more.”

Chloe Rose plays Juliet Hope in *The Lesser Blessed*

The devil that Larry must face is the story of why he burned his dad. After Larry punches his tormenter, Darcy McManus (Adam Butcher), at a party, Darcy tells everyone at school that Larry set his father on fire. The entire school shuns him and Larry must face his past, his truth, his story. No matter how painful, Larry must confront his truth. When his mother’s boyfriend, Jed (Benjamin Bratt) finds him in the wilderness, Larry says, “We both burned to death that night. Except I’m still alive.”

Benjamin Bratt plays Jed in *The Lesser Blessed*

This story is as much about compassion for self as it is for reconciling the past. Larry’s journey is moving and relatable for anyone who has suffered a traumatic experience, especially sexual abuse, and found a way to survive it. On the surface, the friendship and love triangle of three teenagers is as serious and angst-filled as any teen movie, but The Lesser Blessed offers something more. It offers the viewer a glimpse at redemption on a very human level.

The Canadian Film Review spotlighted this film in 2013, interviewing the cast and Richard Van Camp, and providing some insights about the making of the picture:

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yNtgsT5JjPk”]

Winner of the Best Picture and Best Lead Actor at the Red Nation Film Festival, winner of the Best Supporting Actor at the American Indian Film Festival, and an Official Selection for the Native Cinema Showcase at the National Museum of the American Indian, The Lesser Blessed would be an excellent addition to any classroom discussing film, contemporary Native peoples, sexual abuse, or teenage experiences. The film handles its serious subject matter with honesty and lyricism; it is poignant and a joy to watch.

The Lesser Blessed is available to stream on Netflix, Amazon, iTunes, and Vudu.

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Dr. Amanda Morris is an Assistant Professor of Multiethnic Rhetorics at Kutztown University of Pennsylvania with a specialty in Indigenous Rhetorics.