Television – Page 2 – Bitch Flicks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Super Dimension Fortress Macross

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Revolutionary Girl Utena

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Interracial Love in the Afternoon: Daytime Soap Opera Relationships

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

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

[Trigger warning: discussion of rape]

The concept of the “supercouple” on daytime television, colloquially known as soaps or soap operas, is a romantic pairing closely associated with the following: their ability to overcome obstacles (children with other people, baby swaps, paternity tests, kidnappings, and murderous villains); a multitude of marriages (including with each other); and their love withstands the test of time. In other words, viewers are invested in watching the various iterations of the same couple. Notable supercouples in daytime culture are: Luke and Laura Spencer (General Hospital), Victor and Nikki Newman (The Young and the Restless), Jesse and Angie Hubbard (All My Children), and Bo and Hope Brady (Days of Our Lives). However, it is glaring that amongst soap opera supercouples, there are few pairings with people of color, especially interracial couples.

In the 1980s and 1990s, daytime broke ground for tackling social issues such as: HIV, rape, abortion (most notable in the 1970s with All My Children’s Erica Kane), homosexuality, and race. One of the first interracial romances on daytime television that occurred on General Hospital between characters Tom Hardy (David Wallace) and Simone Ravelle (Laura Carrington) was so groundbreaking that they appeared on the cover of JET magazine in February 1988. However, their story is one of the many interracial romances that occurred, but did not graduate to supercouple status.

General Hospital of the 1990s saw the introductions of Jason Quartermaine (Steve Burton) and Keesha Ward (Senait Ashenafi). Jason Quartermaine was the “golden boy” who aspired to be a doctor like his father, legacy character, Alan Quartermaine. He was the hope the Quartermaine’s needed when paired against Jason’s alcoholic, older brother, A.J. Quartermaine. Keesha Ward, whose family history is linked to the Quartermaines (her grandmother, Mary Mae Ward had an affair with Edward Quartermaine, Jason’s grandfather, which resulted in the birth of a son, Bradley Ward) and she is also a “good girl” who aspires to be a lawyer. Their short-lived relationship consisted of Jason constantly vocalizing Keesha’s beauty and intelligence; their shared dreams, such as marriage; they also lost their virginity to each other. Through family legacy alone, Jason and Keesha had the makings of a supercouple. They’re both attached to established characters, their families disapproved of the relationship, and they were dealt tragedy.

Jason, being the golden boy, jumps into a car with his brother who is driving drunk. This results in an accident with Jason being in a coma, sustaining a severe brain injury, and ultimately losing his memories. Upon waking, he turns into an angry, violent person. He pushes his family away, including Keesha, and turns to mobster, Sonny Corinthos (Maurice Bernard). Jason Quartermaine transforms into who viewers know today as Jason Morgan. Each encounter between Keesha and Jason Morgan is painful. He insults her and she is reduced to tears and heartache. Gone was the purity, the sweet nature of their relationship. Keesha turns to A.J. and later, the character disappears from the canvas. Jason Morgan would move on with other women: Robin Scorpio, Elizabeth Webber, Brenda Barrett, and Samantha McCall. The latter of whom he now maintains supercouple status.

In a perfect supercouple soap scenario, Jason and Keesha would somehow reunite, if only for closure. Piece by piece, memories of Keesha would bombard his mind resulting in their passionate reunion. However, Keesha and Jason would have to tearfully say goodbye to each other because neither of them is the same person they were prior to his fateful accident. Like Tom Hardy and Simone Ravelle, if viewers in 2016 were asked about Keesha Ward, their reaction would be, “Keesha who?” While Keesha was a part of Jason Morgan’s former life, she was still a significant piece. Jason, being a young, white male in a highly privileged family and Keesha a beautiful, intelligent, Black woman demonstrated that when they were together, no one else mattered. The sort of innocence or goodness that sparked their relationship, almost cancelled out the historical implications of their grandparents’ affair — Edward Quartermaine taking a Black woman, Mary Mae as his mistress, but not wife. Their bodies belonged to no one else, they were committed to each other. For writers to not develop their relationship amongst their obstacle and ultimately slam the door without a sense of closure, is a disservice to invested viewers.

On CBS, there is currently a long standing interracial couple, Lily Winters (Christel Khalil) — daughter of legacy characters Neil and Drucilla Winters, and her husband Cane Ashby (Daniel Goddard). However, the presence of interracial pairings on The Young and the Restless has been few and far between. The eldest child and daughter of supercouple Victor and Nikki Newman, Victoria Newman (then played by Heather Tom), ended her marriage to Cole Howard. Upon discovering she is pregnant with Cole’s child, she decides to venture into a relationship with Neil Winters (Kristoff St. John) and plans to raise the child with him. However, once Victoria loses her baby, their short-lived romance also ends. Their relationship is also a “blink and you’ll miss it” moment in soap history.

But amongst the barrage of missed opportunities in the arena of interracial couples, Noah Keefer and Julia Santos on All My Children stand out. Played by Keith Hamilton Cobb and Sydney Penny, they became one of daytime’s first interracial supercouples. They checked all of the boxes: strife amongst their families because of Noah’s African American heritage and Julia’s Latina (Mexican American) heritage and being able to endure hardships. Noah’s identifying character trait are his long locks. He is not shown cutting them to conform to society, nor does Julia find curiosity with his hair. They exist with each other, as is. They are enough. While their supercouple status did not span decades, as seen with Erica Kane and Jackson Montgomery, Noah and Julia brought something refreshing to the pairing.

Their relationship begins with Noah Keefer rescuing a disfigured, runaway and tornado survivor Julia Santos. As he nurses her back to health, their relationship begins to grow. As friends, Noah supports Julia’s abortion (via rape by another man) and rescues her when she is kidnapped by her rapist. The couple also endures Noah being accused of murdering Julia’s rapist (by Noah’s vengeful ex-lover, Taylor) and they go on the run until he is vindicated. Eventually, they marry; Julia becomes a nurse, and Noah a photographer. But, like any good supercouple, they are put through another test. Due to an assassination attempt by Noah’s stepfather on Noah’s mother Rose, his sisters, and Julia’s lives, the characters are placed into the witness relocation program. As a result, Noah and Julia are written off the daytime drama. A decade later, Julia returns to Pine Valley alone with the sad news that Noah has been murdered. She is out to avenge her husband’s death. Once that is accomplished, Julia allows herself to move on. She has various relationships, adopts a child, and sadly dies. But, Julia will always be associated with Noah. What allows their romance to be fresh is that their pairing was largely absent of the ugliness that often plagues supercouples: the break-ups. Unlike Jason and Keesha of General Hospital, there was closure. We imagine that Noah and Julia are reunited in soap opera heaven.

In 2016, interracial couples only scratch the surface of storylines on daytime television. The slow burn, or the build up to romance is largely absent from love in the afternoon. Viewers are now reduced to watching three different couples, making love via split screen. Perhaps the problem lies at the root. Creators must take time to invest in characters that are representative of our cultural and racial make up, as well as, develop intelligent, and socially meaningful storylines. As viewers, we must demand to see people who make up the real world.

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

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

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

This guest post by Laura Power appears as part of our theme week on Interracial Relationships.

The worlds created for workplace television shows are perfect places for people from diverse backgrounds to come together and form a 9 to 5 family. The past decade has brought great workplace comedies to television, shows like The Office, 30 Rock, Parks and Recreation, and recently Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Although The Office suffered from not enough diversity of its main characters, some new workplace comedies are racially diverse, especially Brooklyn Nine-Nine as four of the seven primary characters are people of color.

It’s because of this diversity that a workplace comedy has the ability to deal with interracial relationships as realistic and normal that race is not an issue for the characters. This approach is not a true reflection of society, and many would argue that race should be a talking point for two people embarking on an interracial relationship. But because the people coming into any workplace in New York City are already diverse in terms of race and sexual orientation, why would a cross-race relationship be bothersome? Brooklyn Nine-Nine doesn’t believe it should be. From the first episode, this show presents interracial relationships as an unquestioned norm, and this is what makes it stand out from all other shows of its kind on television.

A workplace television show has a leg up on other types of shows in terms of the variety of primary characters they can introduce; there is no familial/blood bond that must be adhered to, and a workplace cast, just like an actual workplace, will draw from multiple races, backgrounds, and ages. Other prime-time sitcoms, like Superstore on NBC, take advantage of this opportunity and star people of color, while others, such as the new Teachers on TV Land, fail miserably (Teachers, set in an elementary school in Los Angeles, stars six white women). A workplace television show can also exhibit greater realism in its characters’ personal interactions. Since there is usually such a diverse cast, opportunities exist to exploit conflicts and connections in a realistic way.

Brooklyn Nine-Nine has set itself up for success on all fronts. First, co-creators Michael Schur and Daniel Goor cast their seven primary characters with two Black men, a Cuban American woman and an Argentinian American woman (two white men and a white woman round out the main cast). By starting with this type of diversity from day one, Schur and Goor ensured they would work some kind of interracial romantic relationships into the plot. Dating coworkers is frequently frowned upon (and most people will tell you it’s a bad idea), but the workplace is clearly where people meet, get to know each other, and sometimes hook up. And this makes great fodder for television. But Brooklyn Nine-Nine doesn’t tend to portray its relationships — interracial or otherwise — as unhealthy. In fact, it’s quite the opposite: almost all of the primary characters on the show have been in or are in some kind of healthy and/or monogamous, interracial relationship.

The paternal figurehead in Precinct 99 is Captain Ray Holt (Andre Braugher), who is openly gay, Black, and married to white college professor Kevin Cozner (played by Marc Evan Jackson). Captain Holt and Kevin have a long-term, monogamous, and, frankly, kind of boring marriage. It’s a wonderfully realistic relationship and keeps the tone of the show grounded in the writers’ opinion that there are other, perhaps more pressing problems in any given romantic relationship than race. The goofy man-child of Precinct 99, Jake Peralta (Andy Samberg), also has a history of dating outside of his race. In Season 2 he falls for Sophia Perez (Eva Longoria), an attorney who matches him in goofiness and his love for Die Hard. After Jake and Sophia split up, he and coworker Amy Santiago (Melissa Fumero) start a will-they-or-won’t-they dance that is a staple of workplace TV. Jake and Amy finally get together in the last episode of the second season (Amy broke up with her white boyfriend, Teddy Wells [Kyle Bornheimer] mid-season), and the two have spent the majority of the third season enjoying a committed romantic relationship. Rosa Diaz (Stephanie Beatriz), for multiple episodes in Season 2, dates Captain Holt’s nephew Marcus (Nick Cannon). Rosa and Marcus’s relationship is especially interesting, since many interracial relationships on television — in comedies and dramas — involve a white man and a woman of color.

Portraying a variety and consistency of interracial relationships is not the only thing that Brooklyn Nine-Nine is doing right; it’s also using these relationships to allow the characters to grow and learn things about themselves. Even when the relationships don’t work out — Jake and Sophia; Rosa and Marcus — the characters mature as a result of the experience. The splitting of both couples is done with a gentle hand, if not with a bit of heartbreak for all involved. Rosa wants to immediately dump Marcus because she doesn’t know how to deal with his interest in her. When she comes to grips with the fact that it’s okay to show affection, she allows the relationship to move forward in a healthy way. Even when Rosa breaks up with Marcus, she tries to go about it as gently as possible (with help from her equally stoic captain) because she realizes that although she doesn’t want to date him, she doesn’t want to hurt him. Captain Holt and Kevin’s marriage grows stronger after Kevin (who was concerned about Holt’s new job leading the 99, given his struggle against homophobia at all levels of the police department) realizes that the other police officers at the 99 are not going to bully, torture, or otherwise discriminate against Holt because he is gay. They are instead going to rally around him because he’s an excellent police officer and leader.

The writers of Brooklyn Nine-Nine focus more on the characters’ needs and motivations than on the social constructs or prejudices that might make an interracial relationship unwelcome or politicized. By writing well-developed instead of flat characters or stereotypes, they let race play second to the characters themselves. For example, in Season 3, Jake brings Amy home to meet his mom, but the idea that they’re an interracial couple doesn’t concern anyone; and why would it? Jake just learned that his estranged father is back and now dating his mother; and people-pleaser Amy is concerned with making a good impression on Mrs. Peralta (Katey Sagal), and helping Jake work things out with his dad. While race is something people of color must think about when navigating the real world (due to racism, white supremacy, etc.), the episode again supports the idea that, as individuals (and as families), we frequently have more to worry about than the color of a significant other’s skin.

Is this approach perhaps more idealistic than it is realistic? Yes, it is. In fact, the show’s optimism stretches to all of the relationships in the show: the marriage of Sergeant Terry Jeffords (Terry Crews) and his wife Sharon (Merrin Dungey) gets tense when Sharon gets pregnant with their third child, but because of their foundational stability, they’re okay; Captain Holt is a true father figure and mentor to everyone serving under him; Amy and Rosa have nothing in common but have slowly become good friends through their workplace bonding; and Jake and Charles have one of the sweetest male friendships on TV (maybe ever). It doesn’t seem that a show full of characters that like each other so much would be so funny, but it is; and this is good news for anyone hoping that television’s approach to interracial relationships (and maybe all relationships) becomes so normal that we have nothing more to write about.

Laura Power teaches English composition and creative writing at a two-year college in Illinois. You can read more of her work at Cinefilles and Lake Projects. Follow her on Twitter at @chicagocommuter.

Interracial Relationships on ‘Grey’s Anatomy’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rey Is Not the First Female Jedi Protagonist

You can thank me when you’ve finished watching ‘Star Wars: Clone Wars’ and ‘Star Wars Rebels.’ In my opinion, they’re everything ANY of the ‘Star Wars’ movies lacked in story writing, character development, and feminism. You’re welcome.

This guest post written by Estella Ramirez.

A few years ago, I wrote an article about Ahsoka Tano. I praised the animated series, Star Wars: The Clone Wars, because of its variety of female characters and how it passes the Bechdel Test, with some story arcs featuring a trilogy of women in leading roles. These often included Ahsoka Tano as our Jedi hero and Asajj Ventress as our force-sensitive villain, so powerful, only Yoda could confront her without assistance. At the start of the show, Ahsoka has been assigned as Anakin Skywalker’s Padawan. She is not presented to us as exceptionally strong with the force, the way Luke, Anakin, and most recently, Rey, were presented. Unlike these three, Ahsoka underwent a lifetime of Jedi training. This immunizes her against that ill-intentioned label of “Mary Sue,” whereby one claims that a female character is inexplicably perfect, yet she displays exhilarating super-human abilities that are in keeping with the other Jedis. She is, however, exceptional in her drive to improve as a Jedi and, as she matures as a character, to improve as a leader. Ahsoka is as confident and independently minded as Anakin, yet humble enough to take direction at crucial moments, from him, from Clone Trooper captains, from Senator Amidala, and from her Jedi fellows and elders. One gets a sense of her weaknesses as well as her strengths.

Asajj Ventress is introduced to us as an imposing villain. As her character develops, we learn that she comes from a clan called the Night Sisters. She is exceptionally force sensitive, but she is neither Jedi nor Sith. She becomes more and more compelling as the show progresses. Let’s just say Clone Wars showrunner Dave Filoni knows how to pick his writing teams.

In that article, I looked forward to a new project by Filoni and team, called Star Wars Rebels. The time has come to praise this show, especially in light of the overwhelming success in theatres of Star Wars: The Force Awakens.

It’s clear The Force Awakens captured our curiosity and our hearts. Many have pointed out what I do not need to say. Hooray for a blockbuster with a woman Jedi protagonist!!! I defend her unrealistic natural ability by pointing out that EVERY MALE HERO IN EVERY ACTION MOVIE possesses unrealistic ability and unrealistic luck. That’s the point: to see on-screen someone doing the things we could only do in our fantasies. We love our underdogs. For Star Wars in particular, it is important to note that being in tune with the force gives you the power to transcend your physical limitations. It’s what’s so endearing and inspiring about Yoda. No one questions Yoda’s power even though he is the size of a terrier and at least hundreds of years old. But Rey has no training! I feel the comment sections pulsating with the words. To that, I submit what Anakin Skywalker, barely out of toddlerhood, was able to do without Jedi training.

Star Wars tells us that to triumph you need to be strong of mind, focus, and little else. If your suspension of disbelief is only threatened when the character is a woman, then you need to reevaluate your life. I’ll add that both Rey and Finn had applicable training to explain their skills with the light saber. Rey survived as an orphan in Jakku fighting with a staff (and we don’t know all her life yet, so hold your judgment) and Finn had combat training as a Storm Trooper since childhood, so it can be presumed that his training could have been comprehensive, despite how necessary a plot point it is for Storm Troopers to be completely incompetent when faced by our heroes. Hey, it’s a movie. Finn, it’s important to note, represents an exceptional character as well. Of all the storm troopers, he has the independence of thought and strength of character to rebel against his training, on moral principle.

As lovely as it is to see the matter-of-factness with which The Force Awakens makes Rey a Jedi protagonist, and how audiences overwhelmingly embraced the movie, we have yet to reach feminist paradise. When it comes to the toys and game pieces (#WheresRey) some decision-makers decided that boys wouldn’t be interested in Rey figurines – no fair to blame the boys. They aren’t the problem; it’s our job to be the adults. Even if focus groups showed that boys preferred to play with figurines that they identified with, where were the adults to see the commercial potential of girls buying action figures because they finally could identify with them? I watched the movie…twice. And I cried quite a bit…twice. I thought about the little girls who would see the movie, for whom what’s possible drastically shifted forward, but just as importantly, the little boys, and children anywhere in the gender spectrum, who would see the possibilities for women and girls. I still remember being in second grade with my Barbies, and my classmate pulling down their tops and acting out how smitten he was. In my previous article, I wrote about how despite the show representing Ahsoka Tano as a fully realized character, fetishists managed to objectify her in their fan art. My hope is that today’s kids can see images and toys depicting women as heroes and protagonists instead, and they realize female characters are interesting for some of the same reasons male characters are – they take their imagination on a world of story and adventure.

Observing the other women in The Force Awakens, I’m looking forward to more of Lupita Nyong’o’s character Maz, because one does not hire an actress of her caliber and not bank on further developing her character in the sequels. I’d like to see more of Captain Phasma, who was severely undermined by how easily Finn and company captured her. I get that it was necessary to the plot, but is that all there is to her? Having one developed female character in Rey, and a few respectful nods to women of color in the background as military and pilots, shows a nice bit of progress, but it’s not enough.

At a talk in Georgetown University last year, Ruth Bader Ginsberg (aka Notorious RBG) said we’ll have enough female justices when all nine justices are women because when all nine have been men, no one questioned it. At the end of the movie, Rey reverently hands back Luke’s saber to him, and you know what? We’ll have enough female Jedi when one woman hands the saber to another woman, when Rey is more than just a female Luke Skywalker, when any child would love to play with a Rey figurine because, duh, she’s a hero.

To see how it’s really done, check out Rebels. Before Ezra shows up, half the Rebel team on the Ghost is comprised of women. Hera is the ship’s lead pilot and owner, and Sabine is the explosives expert, artist, and tagger.

They get shit done. In an interesting episode, Hera and Sabine bond over a difficult mission, incidentally because Ezra and Zeb failed to refuel the ship, as directed by Hera. Hera and Sabine encounter ravenous creatures, and must fight them off with limited resources and without a means of escape. Ezra and Zeb, like Finn does with Rey, rush over to save the “damsels” only to find the women found a solution themselves. They climb aboard while covering the remaining creatures with gunfire. Ezra attempts to save Sabine from one such creature, but finding him overcome, Sabine saves him. They may not be Jedis, and our protagonist Jedis are indeed men, but Hera and Sabine are equally compelling protagonists in the storytelling.

Filoni and his team have been writing feminist stories long before The Force Awakens. I don’t know if it’s deliberate on their part, or if the stories are what I call accidentally or “casually feminist,” meaning they organically pass the Bechdel Test by virtue of including more female lead characters. In any case, this is ideal as it proves that anyone can enjoy a feminist story. The shows are meant for kids, and adults love them, too, because they are good stories, made better by having more female characters. There’s less “Mary Sue” happening because no one female character has to represent the whole of her gender.

Lastly, without spoiling the identity, I’ll hint that a female Jedi appears at the end of the first season of Rebels (squee!), and another squee-worthy female character appearing in its current second season. You can thank me when you’ve finished watching Clone Wars and Rebels. In my opinion, they’re everything ANY of the Star Wars movies lacked in story writing, character development, and feminism. You’re welcome.

Estella Ramirez is a private tutor, writing coach, and singer in Los Angeles. She has an MFA in Creative Writing, and her poetry has been featured in several literary journals. You can read her other article on Ahsoka Tano at The Toast. Read more of her feminist-friendly fandom writing, plus other updates at her personal blog. You can also find her profiles on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

‘Jessica Jones,’ The Kilgrave Mirror and the Distancing Effect of Negative Masculinity

The result is that while many viewers are no doubt cishet white men, few will truly identify with what Kilgrave illustrates not just about rapists and abusers, but about negative ideas about masculinity itself.

This is a guest post by Scott Remington.

When Netflix announced their new series Jessica Jones featured a villain who was not just evil, but an actual emotionally abusive manipulator, there was a rush on various social networks to remind fans that despite being a superhero show, his actions would not be unlike ones real people have experienced. In Jessica Jones, they seemed to suggest, we can see more than just a superhero trying to triumph over a villain, but reflections of real people’s struggle with the emotional wreckage of abuse and rape and the difficulty survivors face in having to move past it while the abusers remain at large. The show has been praised for its ability to illustrate what abusive techniques like gaslighting, victim-blaming, and emotional coercion can feel like, thanks to the way viewers identify with the title character and her struggle to overcome her PTSD. Yet Jessica Jones falters in one key area, and that is with viewer identification with the negative aspects of masculinity displayed by the abuser, Kilgrave.

Kilgrave’s ability is mind control, but within the context of the show it’s not just how he can make anyone do anything, it’s how getting anything he wants simply by asking for it has led to him growing up with an enormous sense of entitlement to the world and the people in it. Series creator and showrunner Melissa Rosenburg reflected on this in an article where she drew parallels from Kilgrave’s power to the privilege and entitlement white men have normalized for themselves through media and the principle of American bootstrap logic. When he’s denied what he believes is his (Jessica’s love), Kilgrave becomes fixated on changing her mind much the way men try to reason with women who reject their advances.

Throughout the series, Kilgrave obtains money, fancy dinner reservations, and yes, even people, with barely a thought to whether he should have them. His manipulation results in trauma and death for many of those around Jessica. While this makes him a powerful avatar of privilege and colonialism, it also has the consequence of making Kilgrave and all he represents into “the other.” As long as his actions so clearly violate laws of viewer’s morality, and are portrayed as such by the main character, it’s unlikely viewers will reflect on what they mean coming from a man motivated by ideas about masculinity and not just free will. The result is that while many viewers are no doubt cishet white men, few will truly identify with what Kilgrave illustrates not just about rapists and abusers, but about negative ideas about masculinity itself.

Kilgrave does many things representing male fantasies, such as when he joins a high stakes game of poker and forces all the other men to let him win. He eggs them on with emasculating insults, (“Where are your balls?”) and boosts his ego even further by compelling the non-participating women in the room to echo his words at them. When threatened by a man for leaving without giving them a chance to win their money back, Kilgrave slips out by getting him to pound his head against a pole. It’s a twist on the “underdog outwits the bad guys” formula, the masculine idea of triumphing against the odds through brains, not brawn, but given a bad taste when we later learn Kilgrave will use the money to buy Jessica’s old house to enact a disturbing parody of a marriage and the American Dream.

No less disturbing, but far more culturally relevant is Kilgrave’s ability to blackmail Jessica into sending him photos of her under fear of reprisal against those she cares about. While male viewers no doubt see his actions to control her via the threat of violence as abusive, it’s unlikely many would associate his desire to have them with the way men casually request similar from women on dating sites as though it were a normal and not potentially dangerous request (see the celebrity photo hack). A phenomenon often observed in scenes where women fight sexism is how male viewers identify with the character “triumphing” yet don’t see how they have more in common with the male perpetrator than the character.

Jessica Jones features several examples where men’s seemingly innocuous entitlement to a woman’s body or her attention is shown as an annoyance, such as when a man harasses Patsy and Jessica in the bar with suggestive comments, to actively dangerous, such as Simpson’s insistence that he be allowed to make up for trying to kill Patsy while under Kilgrave’s control. Simpson’s struggle to overcome his mind control manifests in increasingly dangerous ways, yet overlooks the fact that as a white male in a position of authority his insistence on being “forgiven” by Trish is a function of privilege and abuse and not just personality. When the perspective shifts to actions, viewers are often given an excuse not to identify with the masculinity the character expresses, or else they excuse it by suggesting the characters’ actions are “not what I would do.”

This is nothing new however, as the cognitive flip that allows viewers to enjoy watching and rooting for male anti-heroes/villains while ignoring their own ties to the message is so common it’s basically accepted as part of the cishet white anti-hero character. The distance viewers establish from the characters is present in the so called “morally grey character,” a simultaneously cautionary tale/wish fulfillment vessel who follows a path of masculinity leading them to make terrible decisions most viewers innately reject. Often the characters justify this as being either about “surviving” or “protecting,” two feelings viewers identify with even when the result twists into something amoral.

For examples of the dark side of control and protection, look no further than the darkly comedic serial killer drama Dexter. The series urged viewers to root for and identify with a white male anti-hero who compartmentalized his life in order to exercise the ultimate form of control by killing those who the viewer saw as “monstrous” as their actions made them unforgivable. It’s notable that the titular character always painted his targets in black and white terms based on their actions, while he (and many viewers) dismissed his own horrendous behavior as not under his control, thus absolving him from similar judgment. A closer look often revealed Dexter’s “good” side to be both a shield, as well as genuinely relatable in how he struggled with being a father and husband while hiding his need for homicidal behavior.

Throughout the series, Dexter faced other murderous men who reflected parts of him — men equally control obsessed and claimed just as many lives — yet viewers were always allowed to identify with Dexter’s paternalism and vigilantism enough to brush off lies and deceptions. This distancing from his obsession with control remained so strong that it was only by the end of the series that people saw the true damage wreaked by his attempts to hide his secret from his loved ones. Dexter’s killer masculinity may have been an exaggeration, but his selfishness is all the more dangerous because of how easily men identify with lying for the “sake” of others’ safety.

The theme of “protecting” is central to the masculinity of the “good” anti-hero, even when that protection is not necessarily wanted. For a shining example, look no further than the forever-entitled patriarch Walter White (See what they did there?) in Breaking Bad. Viewers were quick to identify with Walter’s meek, emasculated everyman who nonetheless possessed an aptitude for the sciences that made him capable in entertaining yet deadly ways. Like Dexter, the fun was seeing how Walter could regain control when under pressure. However, where Dexter kept his life secret from his loyal wife Rita, Walter’s wife bore the brunt of Walter’s anger and dissatisfaction. Skyler White was accused of second guessing and belittling her husband on numerous occasions, even while she tried desperately to free her family from the dangerous life he made them a part of. Viewers identified with Walter’s amoral antics while despising Skyler for talking back or lashing out against her husband’s poisonous control “with such venom” that actress Anna Gunn wrote an entire essay on how easily the annoyance with Skyler conflated annoyance with her in real life and what this indicates about our perspectives on gender and misogyny.

When viewers analyzed Walter’s pathological refusal to take “charity” or his pride and belief he DESERVED to be more than a high school science teacher, they rarely scrutinized the connection to masculinity. When he manipulated his former student Jesse Pinkman under the guise of security and partnership, viewers excused it as necessary to keep him safe, and rarely saw it as the same kind of entitlement that Kilgrave practiced. When Walter himself admitted he’d done what he’d done not just for his family, but because he enjoyed the power and control he got, viewers saw him as a figure consumed ambition, not a man like themselves who had grown up believing they had a right to wealth and fame simply by growing up in the “land of opportunity.”

But the most unnerving example of these toxic avatars whose critique of masculinity goes unacknowledged is the one whose popularity is itself evidence of how far male viewers will identify yet differentiate themselves from negative masculinity. Tyler Durden of Chuck Palahniuk’s ode to lost manhood and twisted revolution, Fight Club, and portrayed by Brad Pitt in the much-lauded David Fincher film. Acting as both a charismatic cult leader to young men who feel emasculated and beaten down by corporate culture, and a dangerous realization of the Alpha Male archetype, the narrator, like the audience, is at first captivated by the controlled presence of Tyler.

In Tyler’s own words he is: “smart, capable, and most importantly, I am free in all the ways that you are not,” a real life masculine fantasy being sold to the yearning men of the world, including the young cishet white viewers. Yet, the narrator’s relationship with Tyler is not portrayed as a healthy one, ranging from him excusing bruises on his face with explicit reference to domestic violence, to him tricking his boss to let him leave work by making himself look like a victim of him. As corporate skyscrapers fall, male viewers reject Tyler’s actions, but have they really understood how Tyler Durden’s masculinity exists all around us? In the white terrorism from the rage at not feeling recognized? Or in the men who see women as only virgins or whores?

Melissa Rosenberg referred to Kilgrave as “Jessica’s Chinatown,” alluding to the legendarily bleak film by the convicted sex offender Roman Polanski, whose most haunting scene is the failure of the male hero Jake Gittes (Jack Nicholson) to save Evelyn Mulwray (Faye Dunaway) and her sister/daughter from the clutches of her predatory father. What the film doesn’t dwell on is how Jake learns this information: a desperate interrogation wherein his masculine desire to “find the truth” motivates him to hit a woman and (unknowingly) an abuse survivor, while ignoring her tears and pleas.

Movies are mirrors, and just because we don’t like the reflection they display doesn’t mean viewers can shatter them and then claim it’s not accurate. Because movies aren’t mirrors individually: they represent diverse people’s experience of the world and the people in it. If we’re willing to accept Jessica Jones as the story about one woman’s struggle with a male abuser, why can’t we accept that, on some level, it’s just as much a story about women’s experience with harmful masculinity as it is about “monstrous” abusers?

Scott Remington is a TV aficionado and prospective writer, currently examining privilege and gender via social media. Graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in English and multiple credits in religious studies, he analyzes movies at (https://myfearfulsymmetry.wordpress.com/) and provides support to others at @RemingtonWild on Twitter. He has no cats but would like to someday own several.

‘Jessica Jones’: A Discomforting Yet Real Portrayal of Abuse

If ever there was a personification of this psychological abuse that goes along with physical abuse, it’s in Kilgrave. … He gaslights Jessica, telling her it’s her fault he uses his powers to make people do things they don’t want to do, namely kill others and themselves.

This guest post is written by Scarlett Harris.

[Trigger warning: discussion of intimate partner abuse] | Spoilers ahead.

There’s TV that, when you watch, makes you feel all warm and fuzzy and can be likened to a hug. For me, it’s Grey’s Anatomy. And then there’s TV that doesn’t necessarily fall within this category that I still love, such as Orange Is the New Black, with its focus on crime, drug addiction, broken families and poverty, and that upon marathoning makes you ache to get back to the trials and tribulations of Sophia, Taystee, Poussey, and Red.

Despite binging Jessica Jones over my Christmas and New Year’s break, I almost dreaded sitting down for a few hours every afternoon to check into Jessica’s world. I guess that’s what a series directed so heavily at abuse is wont to do.

https://twitter.com/mojorojo/status/670495742503489537
https://twitter.com/2k16sebastian/status/676787210411208704

In the six weeks or so since Jessica Jones was released in full on Netflix, the internet has been abuzz with its brilliance. Many feminists asserted that this is what it feels like to watch content created for women, by women, while others marveled (pun intended) at the show’s gritty portrayal of New York City and an actually villainous villain, a departure from some of Marvel’s other offerings.

Jessica Jones’ emphasis on abuse was also heavily discussed. Kia Groom at The Mary Sue wrote about her experience in a similarly abusive relationship as the one central to the TV series. Stassa Edwards at Jezebel wrote:

“If Jessica Jones is a feminist show, as many critics have said that it is, it’s not simply because it presents a complicated woman, but rather because it understands how strength and control play out in the lives of women.”

To return to OITNB, for example, the fellow Netflix offering isn’t necessarily littered with likable characters (*cough* Piper *cough*), but there are enough peripheral characters whose backstories come ‘round every now and then to tide you over while the story pivots back to Piper, Alex and the more boring inmates. Despite a couple of likable characters in Jessica Jones (I can only think of Malcolm and Trish), they weren’t enough to get me excited to come back to the rollercoaster of emotions. This is understandable: pretty much all of the characters are victims of some kind of abuse, whether it be villain Kilgrave’s mind control or otherwise, so if anyone has an excuse to be pissy, it’s them.

Edwards writes:

“…[Jessica Jones’] expression of anger — her inability to contain it — is what makes Jones deeply unlikable. But then, being unlikeable is part and parcel of being a woman on the edge. The emotional expression of anger has always been coded as an indelible marker of trauma and of difference.”

But what even are “likable” characters? Roxane Gay, a couple of years ago almost to the day, wrote about this phenomenon at Buzzfeed, touching on points from unlikable female characters being perceived to be suffering from mental illness, being inconveniences and coming across as having more humanity than likable ones. (Gay, as a survivor of sexual assault herself, has also written about the futility of trigger warnings, however this piece makes the case for them in Jessica Jones.) Jessica Jones works so well because most of its characters reek of humanity, however unflattering.

What’s more important than likable characters, though, are relatable ones and Jessica Jones has that in spades. We get impressions of this when Jessica tells Trish she can’t comfort her when she’s tased in an attempt to capture Kilgrave and when Jessica pushes those close to her away.

Perhaps the most human character, despite his villainy, is Kilgrave. We are first introduced to him through Jessica’s perspective as a cold and calculating abuser, which he is. But as the season progresses, we see glimpses of Kilgrave’s humanity and that he himself was embroiled in the cycle of abuse perpetrated by his parents who performed experiments on him as a child in an attempt to understand his mind control powers. While Jessica Jones seems to want us to believe that Kilgrave’s parents were trying to protect him and others from his “gift,” to me it was unclear as to who was abusing whom.

As I started to fathom Kilgrave’s past, I was reminded of an article written in 2014 for White Ribbon, an Australian campaign for the prevention of violence against women (which has its own problems), by Tom Meagher whose wife Jill Meagher was raped and murdered in Melbourne in 2012. He asserted that, despite the attack perpetrated against Jill by a known criminal, rapists, murderers and abusers of women aren’t “monsters” lurking in dark alleyways and behind bushes in the dead of night: they’re most often known to, trusted and/or loved by those they choose to abuse. Meagher wrote:

“By insulating myself with the intellectually evasive dismissal of violent men as psychotic or sociopathic aberrations, I self-comforted by avoiding the more terrifying concept that violent men are socialised by the ingrained sexism and entrenched masculinity that permeates everything from our daily interactions all the way up to our highest institutions…

“The only thing more disturbing than that paradigm is the fact that most rapists are normal guys, guys we might work beside or socialize with, our neighbors or even members of our family.”

Groom echoes this at The Mary Sue:

“Yes, Kilgrave is a rapist, but his sexual abuse is not of the kind we often see represented on television; he abuses in the context of relationships that seem, to the outside observer, consensual, and it is this — his psychological abuse of his victims, his absolute and total control and manipulation of them, his dominance over their agency and their free will — that make[s] him so utterly terrifying.”

Edwards further expands on this at Jezebel, asserting that Kilgrave is a different kind of villain — and a more terrifying one — from your typical Marvel fare in that:

“…The mundanity of control he exercises over Jones, over nearly every woman who crosses his path, is what makes him so evil, even more menacing than the typical villain. Kilgrave is every woman’s worst nightmare: he is a rapist, an unrepentant stalker, a man who, at any moment, can exercise his power and does.”

This “monster myth” and the cycle of abuse can also be seen in Officer Will Simpson, who begins a relationship with Trish after he tries to kill her whilst brainwashed by Kilgrave. Cate Young at Batty Mamzelle (cross-posted here at Bitch Flicks) explores this in depth. The fact that the actress who plays Trish Walker, Rachael Taylor, also survived abuse by her high profile ex-partner in 2010 adds yet another layer to the series.

As these examples attest, what Jessica Jones arguably has more of than relatable characters is relatable situations.

Not everyone can relate to being in an abusive relationship, and thank god. I haven’t personally been abused by a partner, but I grew up in a violent home as well as abuse being a big part of my life in recent years in reading about it, watching it take place on screen and in the news, and working towards changing attitudes about it through my writing and in everyday conversations (though I could be doing more; we all could). One of the more pervasive attitudes surrounding intimate partner violence is asking why the survivor “doesn’t just leave” without paying mind to the isolation from loved ones and external support systems by the abuser; the abuser’s reinforcement of worthlessness in the survivor; the depletion of their resources, such as money and their ability to make a living; and the threatening of children, pets and other loved ones. If ever there was a personification of this psychological abuse that goes along with physical abuse, it’s in Kilgrave.

Kilgrave preyed on a once vibrant and happy young Jessica Jones, glimpses of whom we see in a bar scene with Trish in episode five, “AKA The Sandwich Saved Me,” trauma which caused her to suffer from paranoia and alcoholism. Even after she manages to escape him, her life in tatters and suffering from PTSD, Kilgrave infiltrates himself back into her life, turning even the most tenuously connected people to her into his pawns, such as Malcolm, her — again — once vibrant and now drug-addicted neighbor. In a metaphor for the disbelief domestic violence survivors often face, Kilgrave manipulates Jessica’s allies into helping him, as seen with Jeri Hogarth assisting him in his escape, partly of her own free will but also under his mind control. He gaslights Jessica, telling her it’s her fault he uses his powers to make people do things they don’t want to do, namely kill others and themselves. He tries to win back her affections by buying her childhood home and restoring it to its former glory, another allegory for entrapment and, frankly, is just plain creepy. He tells her he can’t live without her and how much better she makes him, exemplified in their short-lived foray into tandem superheroism in episode eight (“AKA WWJD?”) when they save a family from another, perhaps more archetypal domestic abuser. This is also a pitch perfect portrayal of the hope an intimate partner violence survivor might face in seeing the “good” side of their partner and is transferred onto the audience: maybe Kilgrave can be good, I wondered.

Hope is a guiding force in Jessica’s pursuit of Kilgrave, embodied by the character of the same name. Jessica resists the easy way out — killing Kilgrave — for much of the thirteen episode arc as she needs him alive as proof of Hope’s innocence in her parenticide charges, committed under Kilgrave’s control. Proof is also something intimate partner abuse survivors are perpetually demanded to demonstrate — by law enforcement, the criminal justice system, society, even friends and family — even when it’s on their bodies in the form of blood and bruises and, in Hope’s case, in her uterus. Also, as previously stated, not all abuse is physical and society should believe, rather than disregard or dismiss, intimate partner violence survivors.

Despite Kilgrave’s rape of both Jessica and Hope, and his intention to do the same to Trish (and who knows how many others), showrunner Melissa Rosenberg was very conscious of depicting rape and abuse differently from a lot of other media that uses it as a “titillating” plot device, telling The Los Angeles Times:

“With rape, I think we all know what that looks like. We’ve seen plenty of it on television and I didn’t have any need to see it, but I wanted to experience the damage that it does. I wanted the audience to really viscerally feel the scars that it leaves. It was not important to me, on any level, to actually see it. TV has plenty of that, way too often, used as titillation, which is horrifying.”

Despite the influx of shows dealing with abuse, such as Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, Game of Thrones and mainstay Law & Order: SVU (which Emily Nussbaum and Lindy West discuss on The New Yorker Radio Hour), how often do we actually hear the confident pronouncement of the word “rape” that Jessica spits at Kilgrave in other media? Jessica Jones succeeds in depicting sexual abuse in a more harrowing and real way than shows that throw it around willy-nilly for shock value and not much else.

Scarlett Harris is an Australian writer and blogger at The Scarlett Woman, where she muses about femin- and other -isms. You can follow her on Twitter here.

‘Sharknado 3’: TV’s Guilty Pleasure

Don’t judge me.

I am a fan of the ‘Sharknado’ franchise put out by the SyFy Channel.

Don’t judge me.

I am a fan of the Sharknado franchise put out by the SyFy Channel. In a nutshell, all three of the movie plots are pretty basic. Literally there are tornadoes erupting in major U.S. cities that are filled with man-eating sharks of all types and sizes. In the first installment it was Los Angeles. The second took place in New York. In Sharknado 3: Oh Hell No!, we start out in the White House and end up at Universal Studios in Orlando, Florida. Flying sharks appear suddenly, eat, kill, and maim people, and then dissipate to form tornadoes again in another part of town. I know, stupid.

A shark taking a break from causing mayhem by visiting the Lincoln Memorial.

The quick and dirty rundown is that Ian Ziering and Tara Reid return as Fin Shepard and April Wexler who are now expecting a new baby together. Fin is accepting the “Order of the Golden Chainsaw” from the President in the White House (Mark Cuban) for saving New York in the last film. While Fin is in D.C., April is in Florida at Universal Studios Orlando with their oldest daughter and Bo Derek (who plays April’s mother, May Wexler). Storms begin eight minutes into the film and it’s the usual farce of flying shark mayhem. Fin tries to get down to Florida to save his family, and he meets up with his former bar employee, Nova Clarke (Cassie Scerbo). Nova tools around in a reinforced RV fighting sharks like a Mad Max movie reject with her nerdy sidekick Lucas (Frankie Muniz). They (minus Lucas) make it to Florida and reunite with Fin’s family. Fin soon finds his way inside a space shuttle with his father Gilbert Shepard (David Hasselhoff) to save the planet from the sharknado infestation.

The only reasons to watch Sharknado 3 (or any of them really) are:

Cameo Appearances.

There are so many familiar and sometimes controversial faces in Sharnado 3, and part of the fun is chuckling at who actually signed up to appear in it. Most known actors in the SyFy Creature Feature programming are former (minor) stars from the ’80s and ’90s, and some are even names who used to be in blockbuster films a few years ago (Vivica Fox from Independence Day and Kill Bill appeared in Sharknado 2). Sharknado 3 boasts cameos from R&B singer Ne-Yo, Lou Ferrigno (the original Incredible Hulk), Harvey Levin (TMZ host), Jackie Collins (author/socialite), Frankie Muniz (the Malcolm in the Middle star who looked so old in this), and real-life political figures like Anthony Wiener (who now works for a crisis PR firm–oh, the irony), Ann Coulter (why did she not get eaten in this thing?), and Michele Bachmann (so random).

Landmarks Destroyed

The White House, the Washington Monument, the Capitol Rotunda, and of course, if you saw the other two films set in New York and Los Angeles, you saw the Statue of Liberty lose her head and the Santa Monica Pier’s Ferris Wheel destroy the boardwalk.

Ridiculous Shark Deaths, Lack of Realism, and Poor CGI

Sharknado 3 is not afraid to show how low-budget it is and how obvious the CGI is crafted. It’s part of the joke in many ways. The producers pour on the cheap-ass quality, and we love it. As our hero Fin gets caught inside his car as a new storm rages around him, he jumps out and has to grab ahold of his car door to keep himself from flying away. Mind you, everything else around him that is heavier than his car is being lifted into the sky, but his vehicle stays put on the ground, barely shaking from the high winds of flying sharks. But we don’t care. Sharks swallow people whole, they slap people to death with their fins, and they bite off all your limbs. Some even gulp you down in outer space. They have no chill. Bonus: George R.R. Martin has a Game of Thrones bloodfest comeuppance.

Nostalgia for Old School Creature Features

If you grew up loving Lloyd Kaufman’s Toxic Avenger series, Roger Corman’s American International Pictures, or the old Hammer Film Productions, then Sharknado 3 is for you. It’s for people who enjoyed Saturday afternoon Creature Features like Godzilla and Gamera that were often followed by Kung Fu Theater classics.

That’s it.

Sharknado 3 is the Krispy Kreme donut of movies. There is no nutritional value whatsoever for a cinephile, but damn it, as soon as that “Hot Now” sign goes on, you have to have it. It is so god-awful that it’s good. I made Patron flavored cupcakes to snack on as I indulged in the sublime foolishness. Sidenote: Sharknado films are for drinking parties. It’s always better with liquor.

The actors themselves know that this awful TV movie is a fluke to be such a success. Ian Ziering has stated that he took the job only because he needed to work and support his family. The actor Steve Guttenberg reportedly was offered the role of Fin Shepard but turned it down. He regretted it later after the first Sharknado film blew up. (But no worries, he can try to make up for his faux pas by being comical in the upcoming SyFy original movie, Lavalantula. Yes. LAVALANTULA.)

You thought I was playing. Lavalantula. — You thought I was playing. *Lavalantula*.

All the Sharknado TV movies owe their popularity and longevity with their mockbuster sequels to us, the fans. We made this cultural zietgiest happen. Social media and livetweets propelled this thing into the fandom stratosphere. The SyFy network have had other audacious TV movies like Frankenfish, Sharktopus, Piranhaconda (stop laughing), Dinoshark, Sharktopus vs. Pteracuda, and a few days ago, Sharktopus vs. Whalewolf (hand to God). But somehow, only Sharknado became a thing. I confess, I own a Sharknado T-shirt, and Sharknado leggings, and wear them proudly like I would my Wonder Woman, Batman, and Loki fan gear. There’s something life-affirming about cherishing pure D-level entertainment. The collective eye-winking warms my heart.

The Shepard family reunited for a final showdown in Florida.

The PR end of Sharknado 1, 2, and 3 was smart to engage the public. As the second movie was being made, there was a contest on Twitter to name the movie subtitle. The best title winner would win actual props from the movie along with having the prestige of naming a campfest. Sharknado 3 is already priming the pump for a new installment. As the premier ended Wednesday night, the SyFy channel posted two Twitter hashtags, #AprilLives and #AprilDies. (Sorry Tara Reid, I tweeted #AprilDies because #teamnova.) The fans will decide the fate of Reid’s character April, who gave birth to Fin’s baby inside of a shark falling to earth from outer space. No, for real. That happened. This type of interaction is gold for fans like me who wonder how the writers/producers will level up from sharks in space. What could they possibly have in store for us hardcore stans in Sharknado 4? The only thing I can add is to have the producers cast me in a walk-on role, where I run from sharks and maybe bash a few upside the noggin with coconuts somewhere in the Fiji Islands. I’m just saying.

Until Sharknado 4 appears, I’ll eagerly await giant spiders spewing lava from their butts. Bring it SyFy channel. I’m a ride or die fan waiting for my close-up.

Staff writer Lisa Bolekaja is the co-host of Hilliard Guess’ Screenwriters Rant Room. When not watching cheesy SyFy flicks, she can be found in the Twitter hashtags #SaturdaynightSciFi and #Fridaynighthorror. She divides her time between Italy and several cities in California. You can read her short SF/F story “Three Voices” at Uncanny Magazine.

‘Blackstone’: Stoney Women And The Many Meanings of Sovereignty

The most remarkable feature of Ron E. Scott’s Canadian drama ‘Blackstone,’ apart from its blistering probing of Kellogg’s “ugly facts” of demoralization, is how closely it links gendered oppressions with other exploitations.

(No spoilers in the comments past Season Two please, deprived Irish viewer here.)

“It is a cause of astonishment to us that you white women are only now, in this twentieth century, claiming what has been the Indian woman’s privilege as far back as history traces.” – Laura Kellogg

The writings of pioneering suffragette Elizabeth Cady Stanton reveal that the political status of Iroquoian (Haudenosaunee) women inspired her vision of gender equality. The early 20th century Oneida political activist, Laura Cornelius Kellogg, also highlighted Benjamin Franklin’s acknowledged debt to the Five Nations’ (Iroquois) Great Law in inspiring distinctive features of American democracy. Kellogg: “have you not pauperized and debauched a whole people who were not only the richest in possessions, but whose native character has inspired those of your arts and literature which contain national distinction?”

As we in Europe benefited from peace-building through federal government, and from female emancipation, those very qualities were stripped from the civilizations that birthed them. Diverse Native cultures were reimagined as a patriarchal monoculture, iconically represented by the Plains Indian Chief, while female diplomats and political activists were reinterpreted as sexualized Indian Princesses, or silenced as “squaw” drudges. Native democracy itself was destroyed by a system of wardship, that subordinated its people to a Euro-American Bureau of Indian Affairs which Kellogg slammed as a “school for sycophants.”

Chief Andy's Boys' Club — Chief Andy’s Boys’ Club

“If I did not believe enough of you remain staunch to our ancestral standards of truth, to stand the ugly facts that concern us now, I should not speak.” – Laura Kellogg

The most remarkable feature of Ron E. Scott’s Canadian drama Blackstone, apart from its blistering probing of Kellogg’s “ugly facts” of demoralization, is how closely it links gendered oppressions with other exploitations. Bad government is represented by the chuckling boys’ club of Band Chief Andy Fraser, who hold meetings at the Roxy Rolla strip club, joke about screwing each other’s wives, and dismiss female opponents with gendered slurs like “cow” and “bitch.” The takeover by Leona Stoney and Victor Merasty therefore represents not only a return to idealism, but to gender-balanced leadership. Blackstone explores the toxic legacy of abuse within Canada’s residential schools, in which Irish religious orders played a major role, replicating our own traumatic legacy of institutional abuse and even perpetuating linguicide and colonial stigma, despite their demoralizing impact in Ireland. “Falling under the spell” of priests in his residential school shaped Tom Fraser’s bitter resentments and resistance to taking responsibility, which he has passed on to his son, Chief Andy (who, my God, is such a better portrait of Charlie Haughey than the recent Irish biopic. Period end). Blackstone also acknowledges the crushing impact of mainstream Canada’s indifference to the “fucking waste of time” of “this Indian bullshit,” but suggests that renewal must ultimately come from within. Its villains have internalized the colonizer’s gaze to the point that they reflexively worry “this looks bad” rather than acknowledging and tackling problems, perhaps anticipating criticism of the show’s own negative portrayals.

Just as the exaggerated domestic dramas of soap operas and telenovelas offer their mainly female audiences an important forum for processing their own frustrations, so the condensed and intensified social problems of Blackstone‘s fictional reserve are not simply a negative distortion of reality, but a basis for developing discussion and self-advocacy. The series’ opening sets the tone: over confrontational images of teen drug-taking, an elder tells a creation story, evoking nostalgia for the “real Indian.” But the elder, Cecil Delaronde (Gordon Tootoosis), challenges the disconnect between theory and practice: “if you look around you, culture is on display every day. Family violence, alcoholism, drug abuse, incest, suicide, corruption… that’s our culture now.” The show’s English title grows out of black roots in Cree, embodying both continuity and linguicide. Connecting political sovereignty, mental sovereignty and bodily sovereignty, Blackstone centers women in its hopes for renewal. Stoney women are the community’s bedrock.

Chief Leona Stoney

“More schooling than usually falls to the lot of an Indian woman and more contact with Caucasian artificiality and insincerity have graduated me into what might be called a polite Indian, and the process, I sometimes think, has taken a lot out of me” – Laura Kellogg

Leona Stoney is the daughter of a deceased chief. After sobering up from youthful addictions, her father entrusted the nation’s treaty pipe to her, representing her duty to lead. Leona lives off-reserve and works in addiction counseling with urban kids that her white boyfriend, Chris, charmingly calls: “kids who are ready. Ones who’ve escaped Blackstone.” Chris voices the defeatism that Leona must confront inside herself. Like historical allotment schemes, Chris associates redemption with assimilation into the white mainstream and “escape” from an irredeemable culture. As Chief Andy’s wife, Debbie, snarks to Chris, “it’s not easy being a chief’s wife, is it?” the show implies that his patriarchal pride is as threatened by Leona’s leadership as his Euro-American culture. In herself, Leona embodies the recovery narrative that the reserve needs: she has taken responsibility for her actions, she has integrated respect for traditional culture with adaptable openness to modernity, and she has cultivated compassion.

Her off-reserve status and white boyfriend are repeatedly used to question her right to lead, but Cecil Delaronde, representing the community’s conscience, affirms “we do need someone like you. A healer, someone who’s been elsewhere.” Leona’s fictional chiefdom recalls Wilma Mankiller’s legacy (see The Cherokee Word For Water), though Leona is overwhelmed by a nightmare reserve combining issues from across Canada. Her status as an educated activist for territorial sovereignty, with one foot off the reserve, also echoes the relentless activism of Laura Kellogg, who once sarcastically described herself as “a product of almost every institution on the outside except the insane asylum and Tammany Hall.” Leona applies an addiction recovery narrative to self-government: “we can’t keep blaming Ottawa for all our problems, it’s a flawed system we have to navigate.” Faced with a revelation of child abuse, however, her defensive reaction is tragically typical: “I’ve known that man since we were kids,” before growing into a real ally for justice (sexual violence is a major theme, handled with refreshing emphasis on victim/survivor impact, though Scott’s filming of the strippers is predictably male-gazey). Leona’s struggle to keep faith with the reserve is embodied in her painfully personal struggle with her elder sister, Gail.

Gail Stoney

“If the American Nation… charges to the Indian all the demoralization it has brought upon him as his inheritance, it has heaped upon him not only plunder and outrage but the stigma of inferiority.” – Laura Kellogg

Gail Stoney is a chronic alcoholic. Where Leona embodies the reserve’s recovery narrative, Gail is Blackstone: “it’s where I belong.” Gail is sharply intelligent, sarcastically cynical, fundamentally generous and warm-hearted, with a resilient will to live, but she is also a selfish addict who combines paranoia with deeply internalized negative self-image. Michelle Thrush’s raw performance adds layers with every episode, growing into the heart of the show (plus, I would watch Michelle Thrush read a laundry list). As Leona despairs of turning the reserve around, Cecil asks, “in your counseling experience, does an addict make a turnaround overnight?” By embodying the renewal of the reserve in the personal journey of an addict, Blackstone illustrates that the perseverance to withstand setbacks, and the fortitude to resist instant gratification, are key to the entire community’s recovery. It is Cecil who most empathizes with Gail’s solitary struggle for sovereignty over herself: “please do not self-destruct… if you look really deep inside, you will find that you have your father’s strength and determination. I know it,” implying that all of her father’s qualities as chief are equally needed in this personal struggle. Whenever Chief Leona approaches Gail with assumed superiority, she is resented and rejected. Conscious of her public image, she tries to censor Gail’s problems: “everybody is watching me right now, I need you to make an effort,” which only drives Gail to give up on herself: “I quit. Save you the embarrassment.”

In moments like this, Leona’s silencing and dismissive attitude to Gail almost echoes Chief Andy’s treatment of the entire reserve. Leona also struggles to take her own advice and forgive her alcoholic mother. Complexities like this elevate Blackstone above a simplistic battle between good and evil. The enemy is within, and right next door. Leona is urged to neglect Gail by sympathetic characters, because she has “bigger problems”. Yet, if a community is a collection of individuals, what problem can be bigger than any individual’s deepest crisis? As Leona is praised for her counseling skills, she says, “there’s a lot of need for it here. Our previous chief didn’t see it as a priority,” before the show cuts to Gail’s secret drinking, that Leona herself cannot see as a priority. As Gail collapses in a ditch, the song “I Won’t Be There For You” plays. Saving Gail requires nothing but the deepest love and solidarity, to believe that Gail is capable of saving herself. Gail demands that onlookers face her pain and loss, leaving the noose which hung her daughter, Natalie, to confront Andy “every time he drives by in his fancy truck.” As Leona counsels, over a montage that includes Gail’s hospitalization and Andy’s painful relationship to his father, “what we’re trying to do here is to locate that point of brokenness. Start to find a connection to ourselves again. So we can start to be who we were truly meant to be.” Keeping faith and believing in Gail’s potential is an emotionally bruising challenge, but it is the heart of the show’s opening season.

Natalie Stoney

“They don’t know us; they don’t know what it means to be killed alive.” – Laura Kellogg

Natalie Stoney haunts Blackstone, as Laura Palmer haunts Twin Peaks. For her mother, Natalie represents the guilt of Gail’s neglect, as well as her own possible doom. Natalie’s ghost becomes the taunting voice of Gail’s negative self-image, as Tom Fraser will be for his son Andy, or as boyfriend Chris voices Leona’s urge to abandon Blackstone. For Leona herself, Natalie’s suicide is her catalyst to submit to the duty of leadership. Leona fights to challenge the social narrative that victims like Natalie are inevitably doomed: “they are not ghosts. They are children.” As a ghost, Natalie makes the trope of the “vanishing Indian” into a visible presence to be resisted. As played by Roseanne Supernault, star of Jeff Barnaby’s Rhymes For Young Ghouls, Natalie is as smart, fundamentally sweet and sarcastic as her mother. Though rape was the catalyst for Natalie’s suicide, her filmed interview with Victor, before the rape, points to deeper issues. As Victor approaches, a drugged-out Natalie slurs “you wanna fuck me too?” already understanding sexual exploitation as her only value, or her inevitable treatment. When asked about her dreams for the future, she mumbles “what future?” Her rape was an unjustifiable assault on her bodily sovereignty, but her suicide is a choice to surrender that sovereignty, inspired by this internalized sense of futurelessness. Believing that any group is inevitably doomed, whether that belief is triumphalist or pitying, is an act of psychological violence against them. Chief Andy may try to appropriate Natalie’s silenced body, to point the finger at “victimization by an apathetic, indifferent administration in Ottawa” in his neverending search for funds, but on Blackstone, Natalie will speak for herself.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Osr4GmPsmQ”]

Acing the Bechdel, confronting rape apologism, modeling female leadership… in just the trailer

Blackstone is available to watch on hulu

Brigit McCone is mad that hulu is unavailable in Ireland and hopes Blackstone gets a distribution deal with TG4. She writes and directs short films and radio dramas. Her hobbies include doodling and telling people to check out the carvings of Susan Point.

One to Watch Out For: HBO’s ‘Bessie’

There is, nevertheless, something magical about Bessie’s life and career. How did an impoverished, orphaned Black girl who spent her childhood singing on the streets not only survive but succeed in a land that still lynched its Black citizens? There is something profoundly modern and heroic about the woman herself. An independent woman with attitude and talent, she has to be one of the most charismatic feminist icons of the 20th century.

A portrait of Bessie Smith by Carl van Vechten

Written by Rachael Johnson.

HBO’s Bessie has to be one of the most exciting offerings on 2015’s cultural calendar. Helmed by Dee Rees and starring Queen Latifah in the title role, the telefilm will recall the extraordinary life of the “Empress of the Blues,” Bessie Smith. It has all the makings of a quality production. Dee Rees impressed us back in 2011 with her well-observed coming-of-age drama, Pariah. An attractive, charismatic presence, Queen Latifah is, equally, an excellent casting choice. But who was Bessie Smith? Although hugely respected by musicians throughout the generations, many of us remain unfamiliar with the entertainer. In anticipation of Bessie, let’s remind ourselves of the exceptional life and career of the “Empress of the Blues.”

Born in Tennessee in 1894, Bessie Smith was one of the greatest Blues singers of the 20s and 30s. Her childhood was marked by poverty and she lost both of her parents by the age of 9. She sang on the streets before performing in touring groups. A dancer, at first, she was a member of the Rabbit Foot Minstrels, the same minstrel show as the great Ma Rainey, another Blues singer, by the way, who deserves her own biopic. Bessie signed a contract with Columbia Records in 1923 and was soon catapulted to fame–and riches. Earning an astonishing $2,000 a week, she became, in fact, the highest-paid Black entertainer of her era. She had her own show and her own railroad car.

Her private life was, by all accounts, pretty lively. Her marriage to husband Jack Gee was turbulent and she was particularly fond of gin. She broke many of the rules of her day. Reportedly bisexual, she had affairs with women during her marriage. Bessie Smith was sexual and successful as well as, of course, immensely gifted. The extraordinary depth and power of her voice is evident from this following clip from the short film, St Louis Blues (1929).

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JpVCqXRlXx4″]

“Downhearted Blues,” “Nobody knows You When You’re Down and Out,” and “Baby, Won’t You Please Come Home” are among some of the songs Bessie recorded. Her popularity waned–music historians cite the Depression and changes in musical taste–but there were, it seems, indications that she was on the verge of a comeback. Tragically, Bessie Smith was killed in a car accident in 1937 at the age of 43.

Another portrait of the "Empress of the Blues" by van Vechten — Another portrait of the “Empress of the Blues” by van Vechten

Bessie is a refreshing, tantalizing prospect. God knows, of course, that dramatizing the lives of female cultural heroines doesn’t seem to be much of a concern to the powers that be. This is particularly the case, let’s face it, with women of color. But that must change. Movie studios and television companies, moreover, need to pay tribute to people who create more instead of offering romanticized, revisionist accounts of snipers. The Empress of the Blues’s commanding voice and pioneering spirit resonate today. Hopefully, Bessie will help restore her to our collective memory. She occupies a unique, vital place in 20^th century popular culture.

“Men’s Vows Are Women’s Traitors”: Helen Mirren Runs the Chastity Gauntlet in Shakespeare’s ‘Cymbeline’

After recalling his greatest tragedies, Shakespeare suggests that all could end well, if men loved without defensive cowardice. “Some griefs are med’cinable.” Rising to such newfound greatness of heart, King Cymbeline describes himself as becoming “mother.” William Shakespeare: feminist punk?

Helen Mirren rocks. Just sayin'. — Helen Mirren rocks. Just sayin’.

Written by Brigit McCone.

Plots were not Shakespeare’s strong point. He borrowed most from history or other authors, before illuminating them with psychological insight and philosophical depth. One of his final plays, 1611’s Cymbeline, is particularly jarring because the Bard is actually plagiarizing (“reimagining”?) himself: King Cymbeline (King Lear) becomes enraged and imprisons his only daughter, Imogen (Desdemona/Cordelia), for daring to marry “poor but worthy gentleman” Posthumus (Othello), who is exiled and meets cynic Iochimo (Iago), provoking Posthumus to bet that Iochimo can’t seduce super-chaste Imogen. Iochimo fakes proof of Imogen’s infidelity, being Iago and all, so Posthumus flies into Othellish rage and orders Imogen killed. Imogen discovers the order and flees in drag (she’s also Portia and Viola) as “Fidele” (she’s faithful, get it?), taking a death-simulating drug along the way (did I mention she’s Juliet?) There’s a wise woman and a cryptic tree prophecy that comes true unexpectedly (unless you’ve seen Macbeth). We’re one suicidal Dane short of a Greatest Hits album here.

After five or six more annoying coincidences, the plot somehow resolves. But hang in there because, as ever, there’s human truth lurking in Shakespeare’s narrative tangle, and Cymbeline is probably his most feminist play. In theaters now: a radical new version with Ethan Hawke, that aims to prove the play really is interesting, by burying its interesting exploration of female fidelity and male double standards under guns! Bikers! Testosterone! And soldiers! If you watch the trailer closely, you may briefly glimpse Dakota Johnson, playing Shakespeare’s lead:

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ulaGT6b8tgg”]

Grit! Shakespeare! Guns! Blank Verse! Testosterone! Manpain! Grrr!

Centering the woman is admittedly a dramatic weakness of Cymbeline, though not as dramatically weak as its plot. The crushing double standards of Shakespeare’s age demanded purity from a heroine, unstained by the fascinating flaws of Lear, Othello, Hamlet or Macbeth. Imogen is, honestly, a little dull. Shakespeare’s good servant, Pisanio, pointedly calls Imogen “more goddess-like than wife-like” in her endless forbearance. But crucially, jealous Posthumus repents his rage before discovering Imogen’s innocence. Where murder was the conventional response to female infidelity, at least on stage, Shakespeare has his hero turn on the audience, while still believing his wife guilty, and demand, “you married ones, if each of you should take this course, how many must murder wives much better than themselves for wrying but a little?” (Screw biker gangs; where’s Deepa Mehta‘s update confronting arranged marriage and honor killing?)

Though Shakespeare is limited to absolute chastity in his heroine, he subversively tests the play’s men with Imogen’s dilemmas, demanding female fidelity be equated with male. Luckily for Bitch Flickers, there’s a 1982 BBC adaptation smart enough to cast Helen Mirren and let her rip. Mirren breathes full-blooded life and passion into Imogen, adding conflict and doubt to her dull purity. Her Imogen is faithful, not by natural chastity, but by choice. From the opening, Shakespeare evokes possessive claustrophobia, with Posthumus gifting Imogen “a manacle of love. I place it upon this fairest prisoner.”

Posthumus' manacle of love — Posthumus’ manacle of love

For her loyalty to Posthumus, Imogen is condemned as “disloyal thing” by her father, King Cymbeline, who demands that she marry his royal stepson, Cloten. Yet, when Cymbeline hears his own wife’s deathbed confession that she never loved him, only “affected greatness” (wanted his rank and wealth), he gasps: “but that she spake it dying, I would not believe her lips in opening it.” King Lear’s expectations clash with Othello’s. Imogen’s conflicting loyalties are embodied by Pisanio, a servant forced to swear loyalty to two masters, who justifies choosing the heart over vows: “wherein I am false, I am honest. Not true, to be true.” Compare Lady Macbeth: though stereotyped as a scheming manipulator, her inner monologues are devoid of personal ambition and filled with her need to fulfil her husband’s desires, taking the burden of his guilt upon herself. In her sleepwalking, she feels Macbeth’s victims sticking to her hands, even those of which she had no warning. Lady Macbeth ruins her husband, not out of selfishness, but out of a love so selfless that it sacrifices her moral judgment and her very identity. If only she had known when to be “not true, to be true.”

Imogen: "what is it to be false?" — Imogen: “What is it to be false?”

As Iochimo claims Imogen has cheated with him, our “worthy” Posthumus seems eager to believe the oath of this stranger over his wife’s vows, even when reminded by bystanders that the proofs are not absolute. Convinced of Imogen’s guilt, Posthumus launches into a misogynist rant, revealing paternity fraud as the root of his anxiety – “we are all bastards!” – as well as scapegoating male flaws on women – “there’s no motion tends to vice in man, but I affirm it is the woman’s part.” But his bet’s true motive is rather suggested by Iochimo: “he must be weighed by her value.” Imogen’s virtue is Posthumus’ status symbol, while Iochimo himself seems driven to prove the falsity of all womankind, as if the mere possibility of female loyalty would imply Iochimo’s responsibility for provoking past disloyalty. As objectifying is a classic strategy for denying your own impact on another, so Iochimo longs to “buy ladies’ flesh” in some way that will guarantee its not “tainting.”

This insecure craving for guaranteed affection becomes the counterproductive engine of his repulsiveness. Robert Lindsay’s Iochimo is like polished igneous rock: the hard, glittering bitterness of a cooled eruption. As he smuggles himself inside Imogen’s bedchamber, to memorize its decorations and the moles of her body as proofs of infidelity, Iochimo even peers into her bedside book, finding “the leaf’s turned down where Philomel gave up.” Philomel was a mythical Grecian heroine raped by her brother-in-law, whose tongue was torn out to prevent her testifying, an image central to Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus. Lindsay’s choked gasp makes it clear that his character interprets Imogen’s reading matter as rape fantasy. Is she reading Philomel’s story as a cautionary tale, or has the pressure of stifling chastity really provoked “hot dreams” (Iochimo’s words) about the release of imaginary ravishment? Is it any of our damn business?

Iochimo, wearing Imogen's stolen manacle while being a creeper — Iochimo, wearing Imogen’s stolen manacle while being a creeper

Though restraining himself from rape, Iochimo’s compulsive need to test and “prove” Imogen’s virtue is itself a violation. By referencing Philomel, Shakespeare reminds us of Imogen’s vulnerability, which the 1982 production underlines by Iochimo’s hovering shirtless over her as she sleeps, monitoring her every sigh. We must remember that our noble hero, Posthumus, has given letters of recommendation to this total stranger, along with a hefty bribe to rape his wife (theoretically, “seduce” her), because Posthumus is willing to accept proof of sex (not of consent) as evidence of Imogen’s betrayal. Though Posthumus swears the deepest love for Imogen, his underlying misogyny (“there’s no motion tends to vice in man, but I affirm it is the woman’s part”) has driven him to betray her utterly, ironically to test her faithfulness. As Imogen howls, when she discovers his suspicion: “men’s vows are women’s traitors!” Posthumus’ vow of love betrayed Imogen into believing herself exempted from his misogyny. But conditional pardons are no security. As Mirren mutters, ripping up love letters, all his scriptures are turned to heresy. There are many ways to break faith.

Tragically, Imogen lived before the invention of chocolate chip ice cream

Meanwhile, in another part of the forest… meet Belarius, Cymbeline’s bravest soldier who, maddened by false accusations of treachery, kidnapped the king’s infant boys and raised them as his own. This apparently irrelevant subplot introduces the idea of unjust suspicion avenged by paternity fraud, just as Pisanio voiced Imogen’s divided loyalty. Belarius’ motive, “beaten for loyalty excited me to treason”, equally justifies Imogen in infidelity, by masculine logic. When his sons are returned to Cymbeline, the king asks if they are indeed his. Belarius does not answer “yes,” but “as sure as you your father’s.” Shakespeare proposes that no-one, male or female, can ever truly be verified. At least, not by the objective measure that Iochimo aspires to. Trusting their hearts alone, Imogen and her long-lost brothers love each other, without knowing their kinship.

Belarius, meanwhile, proves his “honest” courage fighting Romans, rallying fleeing Britons by yelling that only deer should be slaughtered while running away: “Britain’s harts die flying, not our men.” The pun is appropriate. Male culture promotes valor in warfare, but justifies defensive cowardice in love, provoking the very ruin it most fears. Britain’s hearts die flying, like its harts. Bayonets, bullets or biker gangs, they’re still metaphors for sexual insecurity. As in the battle, where some were “turned coward but by example” and needed only a rallying cry to regain courage, so Posthumus’ blistering “you married ones…” speech rallies Shakespeare’s audience to a more courageous love, where chastity is a faithful heart, not a flaunted status symbol: “I will begin the fashion, less without and more within.”

In a blind chaste test, 3 out of 4 women preferred Posthumus — In a blind chaste test, three out of four women preferred Posthumus

Shakespeare not only explores the hypocrisy of chastity testing and daughterly duty, but the exhausting demands of unwanted attention. Imogen’s suitor, Cloten, seeks to win her by conventional expressions of love, serenading her with music to make her obligated. Tellingly, he describes this wooing as battle – “I have assailed her with musics” – urging his fiddlers and singer “if you can penetrate her with your fingering, so we’ll try with tongue too” to emphasize the violation of his unconsensual serenading. If she yields, Imogen betrays Posthumus. If she remains silent, her silence will be taken for yielding. Finally, she is provoked into telling Cloten that she hates him, that if every hair of his head were a man like him, she would prefer Posthumus’ rags to the lot of them. Cloten takes this insult as provocation to plot the rape of Imogen. There’s just no escaping the bind of his manacle of love. At least, not until he tries that arrogant attitude on a man, and gets his head lopped off. Gotta love Will. A fiery Helen Mirren dominates, as she battles through Shakespeare’s chastity gauntlet. If only her exasperated “but that you shall not say I yield, being silent, I would not speak” felt less familiar to today’s woman.

By the finale, the Queen and Cloten, heartless plotters of murder and rape, are dead. But what of Posthumus, whose insecurity would enable a stranger to rape his wife? What of Cymbeline, shocked at his own wife’s lovelessness, but demanding loveless marriage for his daughter? What of Belarius, honest warrior but paternity fraudster? What of Iochimo, self-loathing “tainter” of womankind? Forgiveness is their punishment, conscience their natural judge. Though Iochimo stole Imogen’s “manacle of love” as false proof of her infidelity, he accepts his heart must bleed in its trap. Karma’s a bitch. Britons make voluntary peace with Romans. King Cymbeline declares: “pardon’s the word… to all!” After recalling his greatest tragedies, Shakespeare suggests that all could end well, if men loved without defensive cowardice. “Some griefs are med’cinable.” Rising to such newfound greatness of heart, King Cymbeline describes himself as becoming “mother.” William Shakespeare: feminist punk?

Aren't double standards some bullshit, for sooth? — Aren’t double standards some bullshit, for sooth?

Brigit McCone can rant for days about how misunderstood Lady Macbeth is. She writes and directs short films and radio dramas. Her hobbies include doodling and working “a breach in nature for ruin’s wasteful entrance” into everyday conversation.

‘Daredevil’ and His Damsels in Distress

The new Netflix original series ‘Daredevil,’ about Marvel’s blind defense-attorney-by-day-vigilante-by-night Matt Murdock, surprised me. It’s extremely different from the other Marvel Studios properties. First, it has the “dark, edgy” tone normally associated with Warner Bros. DC movies, particularly the Nolan Batman films. Second, it is really, REALLY violent (like, graphic decapitations violent) in a way that Marvel’s PG-13 movies cannot be. Finally, ‘Daredevil’ is almost a complete disaster when it comes to its female characters. Marvel’s track record with female characters isn’t perfect, but I’ve come to expect much better than what we get here.

Poster for Marvel's new Netflix series 'Daredevil' — Poster for Marvel’s new Netflix series *Daredevil*

Written by Robin Hitchcock.

This review contains spoilers for Daredevil and some graphic images of violence against women.

The new Netflix original series Daredevil, about Marvel’s blind defense-attorney-by-day-vigilante-by-night Matt Murdock, surprised me. It’s extremely different from the other Marvel Studios properties, the MCU films and the broadcast television series Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D and Agent Carter. First, it has the “dark, edgy” tone normally associated with Warner Bros. DC movies, particularly the Nolan Batman films. Second, it is really, REALLY violent (like, graphic decapitations violent) in a way that Marvel’s PG-13 movies cannot be. Finally, Daredevil is almost a complete disaster when it comes to its female characters. Marvel’s track record with female characters isn’t perfect, but I’ve come to expect much better than what we get here.

Deborah Ann Woll as Karen Page in 'Daredevil' — Deborah Ann Woll as Karen Page in *Daredevil*

The first woman we meet on Daredevil is Karen Page, the most prevalent if not necessarily the most important female character from the source comics. Karen Page is a notorious example of women being treated horribly in comics, with Frank Miller writing an arc where she’s addicted to drugs and “tragically” became a porn star, and Kevin Smith later fridging her and then having himself drawn into her funeral. She does better in this series, but that’s not saying much.

Panel from Daredevil comics where Karen is killed — Panel from *Daredevil* comic when Karen is killed

In the first episode of Daredevil, Karen is set up for murder in a complicated cover-up that’s tied into all the series’ other complicated criminal ongoings (which are hard to keep track of even when marathoning the episodes). Do-gooding lawyer noobs Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson take on her case, and protect her from all the bad guys who want to kill her, with legal jujitsu as well as the actual kind from Matt in his masked vigilante alter ego that will become Daredevil. They take her on as their assistant, so she can continue to be imperiled.

In the comics, she’s a love interest of Matt’s, but many of the early episodes give her nothing more to do than be made goo goo eyes at by Foggy. (Nearly every female recurring character on this show is a love interest for someone.) Later, Karen is given “something to do” as she conducts her own investigation of the Kingpin alongside journalist Ben Urich. Naturally, this makes her a damsel in distress once again, but at least she’s given the opportunity to save herself.

Rosario Dawson as Claire Temple in 'Daredevil' — Rosario Dawson as Claire Temple in *Daredevil*

Next up is Claire Temple (Rosario Dawson), a nurse who drags a half-dead Matt out of a dumpster and tends to his wounds. Their relationship grows because Matt loses and a lot of fights and falls out of a lot of buildings and regularly needs patching up. But it only takes a couple of episodes before she’s kidnapped, beaten up, and rescued by Matt. Who she’s falling in love with, which makes no sense (I mean, dude is fine, but he’s also seems to be pretty much wrecking her life). Claire peaces out for pretty much the rest of the season, probably because Rosario Dawson was too expensive to have in many episodes. The role is really a waste of her talents.

The third and final female character in the main cast is Ayelet Zurer’s Vanessa, the romantic interest of the Kingpin, Wilson Fisk (Vincent D’Onofrio). I can’t decide if I should call Vanessa “complicated” or just “confusing.” I really do not understand why she falls for Fisk, and grows closer to him the more she learns about his criminal lifestyle. Vanessa feels more like a construct designed to humanize Fisk than a character in her own right. And of course she also functions to give Fisk angst when she inevitably ends up in a hospital bed, because this show sure does love its damsels in distress.

The minor female characters continue the depressing trends: Elena, a friendly elderly client of Nelson & Murdock, is murdered to draw out Daredevil. Evil drug dealer Madam Gao is one of two villainous East Asian characters who just happen to be martial arts experts. And Ben Urich has a dying wife, because not only violence imperils the women our male heroes love, but also the cruel fates of sickness and natural death!

Nice old lady Elena, killed to "get to" Daredevil — Nice old lady Elena, killed to “get to” Daredevil

And to answer your burning question, no, there’s no Elektra. (Not even a teaser in a post-credits scene, which I was suspecting we’d get at the very least.) I guess they’re saving her for season two.

Ultimately, I still enjoyed Daredevil enough to watch the whole season in two days (it helped that I’m nursing a cold and didn’t feel up to much more than curling up in front of the TV). But I’m terribly let down by its treatment of women, and hope Netflix’s forthcoming Marvel series do much better.

Robin Hitchcock is a writer based in Pittsburgh who actually liked the Ben Affleck Daredevil movie, so you should possibly disregard all of her opinions about everything, ever.