Tag: The 100

Call For Writers: Bisexual Erasure and Representation

People who identify as bisexual are part of an often maligned group. Both straight and queer community members frequently express discomfort with the concept of bisexuality, feeling threatened by bisexuality’s refusal to fit cleanly into an either/or binary system of sexuality.

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Our theme week for September 2016 will be Bisexual Erasure and Representation.

People who identify as bisexual are part of an often maligned group. Both straight people and queer community members frequently express discomfort with the concept of bisexuality, feeling threatened by bisexuality’s refusal to fit cleanly into an either/or binary system of sexuality. As a result, bisexuality is often depicted as voracious (Lost Girl), respecting no boundaries, and having no limits (Basic Instinct).

Conversely, many mythologize bisexuality, claiming it doesn’t truly exist. They stubbornly label bisexual people as gay, lesbian, or straight based on their current partner, effectively erasing the sexual identity of an entire group of people (The Kids Are All Right, Chasing Amy).

However, some representations of bisexuality accept it as a normal iteration of human sexuality (The 100). These examples allow for exploration and fluidity without judging or demonizing their bisexual characters (The Fall, How to Get Away with Murder). We need to see more bi characters on-screen, especially bisexual women of color (Frida, Appropriate Behavior).

Show us the best of bisexual representation and the worst of bisexual erasure. Show us the bisexual characters who break the stereotypical mold and those who define it.

We’d like to avoid as much overlap as possible for this theme, so please get your proposals in early if you know which topic you would like to write about. We accept both original pieces and cross-posts, and we respond to queries within a week.

Most of our pieces are between 1,000 and 2,000 words, and include links and images. Please send your piece as a Microsoft Word document to btchflcks[at]gmail[dot]com, including links to all images, and include a 2- to 3-sentence bio.

If you have written for us before, please indicate that in your proposal, and if not, send a writing sample if possible.

Please be familiar with our publication and look over recent and popular posts to get an idea of Bitch Flicks’ style and purpose. We encourage writers to use our search function to see if your topic has been written about before, and link when appropriate (hyperlinks to sources are welcome, as well).

The final due date for these submissions is Friday, September 23, 2016 by midnight Eastern Time.

Here are some possible topic ideas:

Lost Girl

Appropriate Behavior

The Color Purple

Broad City

Chasing Amy

Degrassi: The Next Generation

Basic Instinct

The Fall

The 100

Orlando

The Rocky Horror Picture Show

The Kids Are All Right

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Frida

Orange Is the New Black

Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

The L Word

Puccini for Beginners

Prey for Rock n’ Roll

Y Tu Mamá También

Orphan Black

My Own Private Idaho

True Blood

De-Lovely

How to Get Away with Murder

Gigli

Horrible Bosses 2

Rent

Torchwood

Jennifer’s Body

House of Cards

Glee

Grey’s Anatomy

Bones

Kissing Jessica Stein

Game of Thrones

Fangirls, It’s Time to #AskForMore

In the battle to address the staggering gender gap in women directing for film and television, there is one huge untapped resource — the passion and organizing power of fangirls.

Fangirls and TV shows

This guest post written by Alyssa Franke appears as part of our theme week on Women Directors.

In the battle to address the staggering gender gap in women directing for film and television, there is one huge untapped resource — the passion and organizing power of fangirls.

We all know the depressing statistics, we’ve seen the ACLU letter requesting an investigation into the gender biases in Hollywood’s hiring practices, and we’ve read the horrifying first-hand accounts of sexism and harassment. A long-term solution to the gender gap will probably require a combination of legal action and industry initiatives.

But fan activism can also play an important — even crucial — role. Fans can, of course, raise awareness of the problem within their communities. But even more importantly, fans have the ability to transform complex, industry-wide issues where responsibility can be hard to pin down into personalized campaigns where individuals who contribute to the problem can be held accountable.

You can see similar organizing happening already in fan communities, though these have largely focused on on-screen representation rather than behind-the-scenes representation. When studios have hired white actors to portray characters of color, Racebending has organized fan communities to protest the deliberate exclusion of actors of color and the whitewashing of beloved characters. Fans of Supernatural have confronted the writers of the show at conventions to hold them accountable for fridging nearly every female character on the show. And after a beloved lesbian character was killed on The 100 in yet another example of the “Bury Your Guys” trope, fans organized behind the hashtag #LGBTFansDeserveBetter to support LGBT fans, raise money for charity, and hold the creators accountable. The backlash grew so strong that showrunner Jason Rothenberg eventually apologized for the way the character was killed.

Whitewashing characters of color, fridging women, and sensationally killing off LGBT characters are problems which span the entire movie and television industry. But when fans had a specific instance of each of these problems to latch on to, they could begin to organize movements for change. In each case, fans raised the profile of the broader issue and were able to hold specific individuals accountable for contributing to those problems.

The same principles can apply when it comes to organizing fans to tackle the gap in women directors. When so many people have a hand in hiring directors, it is easy for everyone to shift blame onto someone else. Agents, networks, studios, producers, showrunners, and even actors are able to point fingers at each other and say that someone else is more responsible for the lack of women directors than they are. But as fans begin to notice the gender gap in their own fandoms, they can begin to hold specific individuals, studios, and networks accountable.

But first, fans need to be aware of how the gender gap impacts their own fandoms. After the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC) began investigating the systemic discrimination against women directors in Hollywood, I started looking into how many women were directing my favorite TV shows. In October, I posted a series of graphics on Tumblr highlighting some of the most surprising results I had found.

Supernatural; image by Alyssa Franke

The numbers were seriously depressing. Supernatural, with over two hundred episodes and one of the largest online fanbases, had only hired two women to direct an episode each (they’ve since hired one additional woman to direct one episode). Newer shows like Daredevil and Agent Carter had no women directors (and each show has only hired one woman director since my original piece was published). There were a few shows that had a smattering of women directors here and there, but there were often whole seasons without a single woman directing an episode.

Over twelve thousand notes later, fans are still sharing that post and adding on the number of women who have directed their favorite TV shows. American Horror Story, 0 women directors after sixty-three episodes. Hannibal, 0 women directors after thirty-nine episodes. Orphan Black, one woman directing only two of thirty episodes.

Even shows that are doing better than average are still depressingly below parity. Supergirl has had three women direct three of eighteen aired episodes. Jessica Jones had three women direct four of thirteen episodes. And Elementary has had five women direct fifteen of their ninety aired episodes.

Once fans are aware of the gender gap in directors for their favorite TV shows and movie franchises, they can begin organizing. And they are in a particularly unique position to challenge studios, networks, and creators. As television shows and media franchises have recognized the importance of interacting with fandoms for marketing and engagement purposes, they have also created spaces for fans to challenge and question them. And fans have proven to be particularly adept at getting attention for their issues thanks to that access.

Even though it resulted in no tangible changes, or even an acknowledgement from the creators that their narrative choices might have been damaging, Supernatural fans were able to draw awareness to the show’s terrible treatment of its female characters and publicly challenge the writer to justify his choices. And in The 100 fandom, access to the show’s writers on Tumblr and Twitter seems to have sparked genuine conversation between fans and the creators about the industry’s treatment of LGBT characters. This is particularly true of Javier Grillo-Marxuach, who wrote the episode that sparked the controversy and who has since been talking extensively with fans on his Tumblr to explain the process behind creating the episode and to reflect on their concerns.

Fan activism for more women directors could rely on similar tactics. At conventions, fans would be able to raise the profile of the issue in front of actors, writers, and showrunners — and by extension the studios or networks behind the show or movie franchise. And on social media platforms, fans would be able to use their access to creators and official social media accounts to apply pressure to address the gender gap in directors, spark conversation about the issue, and hopefully gain pledges to address the issue.

When I have discussed this issue within my own fandoms, I often receive feedback from other fans that specific shows or movies should not be held accountable for an industry-wide issue. While I agree that one show shouldn’t be made the scapegoat for the broader problem, I do think this argument misses the point that individual franchises should be held accountable for their contribution to the problem. Each franchise — and its related fandoms — should feel invested in attempting to correct the problem where they can. Incremental change is necessary to jumpstart broader changes.

And I am very aware that fan organizing alone cannot solve the gender gap for women directors. However, combined with the threat of legal action and pressure from within the industry, I think it can play a crucial role by keeping attention on the issue and maintaining pressure on key players in the industry. My hope is that our engagement would compliment efforts from within the industry, and that our efforts would be proof that consumers are aware of the gender gap and invested in seeing it addressed.

I write this piece with the explicit aim that it act as both a guide for organizers and a clarion call for fans.

If you are a woman director, or someone within the industry looking to organize around this issue, I encourage you to engage with fan communities. They are passionate, invested in their favorite franchises, and generally committed to improving representation on and off screen. We want to help, and we can be valuable allies.

If you are a fan, then consider this your call to begin advocating for better representation behind the scenes. We talk a lot about how we want our favorite franchises to do better when representing women and their stories, and one of the best ways to do this is to ensure that a diverse group of people are involved with the crafting of those stories.

Look up how many women have been hired to direct your favorite movies and TV shows. Raise awareness in your fandom. Organize around #AskForMore, or make a specific hashtag for your fandom. And at conventions and on Tumblr and Twitter, ask for more women directors. Be respectful, and remember that the person you are talking with may want to help and is possibly being stymied by someone else involved with hiring directors (it is an incredibly convoluted process, with multiple people involved). Instead of making accusations, ask what they are doing or will do to ensure that more women are hired to direct.

As a fangirl, I am deeply invested in not just the stories that my favorite movies and TV shows are telling, but also the environment in which those stories are created. I want the franchises I love to do better by the women working in the industry, and I’m willing to hold them accountable to make it happen.

Alyssa Franke is the author of Whovian Feminism, where she analyzes Doctor Who from a feminist perspective. You can find her on Tumblr and Twitter @WhovianFeminism.

Violent Women: The Roundup

Check out all of the posts from our Violent Women Theme Week here.

The Violent Vagina: The Real Horror Behind the Teeth by Belle Artiquez

It’s a conundrum, one that Dawn faces head (or vagina) on.  She is forced to confront these opposing views, and her body reacts the only way it knows how, it bites the penis of society, it castrates the men that want to turn her into something she doesn’t want to be: a sexual young woman.

Salt: A Refreshing Genderless Lens by Cameron Airen

Violent films with a female at their center tend to be viewed differently than violent films with a male lead. When a woman is in this role, it’s controversial. When a man is in the same type of role, it’s a part of who he is as a human being. We’ve become numb to the violence that men engage in onscreen. As a result, we don’t criticize it like we do when a woman is engaging in it.

Shieldmaidens: The Power and Pleasure of Women’s Violence on Vikings by Lisa Bolekaja

In Reel Knockouts: Violent Women in the Movies, Neal King and Martha McCaughey assert that “cultural standards still equate womanhood with kindness and nonviolence, manhood with strength and aggression.” Under the Victorian cult of true womanhood, womanly virtue was supposed to encompass piety, purity, submissiveness, and domesticity. Thank goodness writer/producer Michael Hirst ignored those virtues by creating two dynamic women warriors with his historical drama Vikings.

Emotional Violence, Kink, and The Duke of Burgundy by Rushaa Louise Hamid

In much of feminist literature from the past, kink is seen an act driven by patriarchy, with submissive women reproducing their oppressions in the bedroom and capitulating to gendered norms of women as silent and subservient. Even nowadays as the tide gradually changes, there is still a large amount of ire reserved for those who practice BDSM.

Violence and Morality in The 100 by Esther Nassaris

This act of mercy killing is the first of many moments when Clarke is forced to be violent for the good of others. It not only prompts an important change within herself – she loses her idealistic ways – but it prompts a change in the group dynamics. After this moment, Clarke begins to pull away from the co-leadership she and Bellamy had operated in and moves toward becoming the sole leader of the delinquents.

The Rising “Tough” Women in AMC’s The Walking Dead Season Five by Brooke Bennett

This season seems to present a large change in representational issues by including complex characters of color that we actually know something about and care for, presenting the couple of Aaron and Eric from the Alexandria community and self-pronounced lesbian Tara, and doing away with the innate equation of vagina equals do the laundry while the men go kill all the zombies.

Nine Pretty Great Lesbian Vampire Movies by Sara Century

Almost unfailingly exploitative in its portrayal of queer women, this specific sub-genre of film stands alone in a few ways, not the least of which being that the vampires, while murderous and ultimately doomed, are powerful, lonely women, often living their lives outside of society’s rules.

The Real Mother Russia: Modernising Murder and Betrayal in The Americans by Dan Jordan

The ideological battle between the FBI and KGB is thus a gendered one, as the national characters of Uncle Sam and Mother Russia are pitted against each other on a more even world stage.

Monster: A Telling of the Real Life Consequences for Violent Women by Danika Kimball

Throughout her life, Wuornos experienced horrific instances of gendered abuse, which eventually lead to a violent outlash at her unfair circumstances. Monster vividly documents the life of a woman whose experiences under a dominant patriarchal culture racked with abuse, poverty, and desperation led to a life of crime, imprisonment, and eventually death.

Stoker–Family Secrets, Frozen Bodies, and Female Orgasms by Julie Mills

Her uncle’s imposing presence has awakened in her at the same time a lust for bloodshed and an intense sexual desire, and she promptly begins to experiment and seek out means with which to satisfy both.

Sons of Anarchy: Female Violence, Feminist Care by Leigh Kolb

At the end of season 6, Gemma violently clashes the spheres of power. She’s in the kitchen. She’s using an iron, and a carving fork. Using tools of the feminine sphere, she brutally murders Tara, because she fears that Tara is about to take control and dismantle the club—the life, the style of mothering and living—that she brought home with her so many years ago.

What’s in a Name: Anxiety About Violent Women in Monster, Teeth, and The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo by Colleen Clemens

The first college course I ever developed focuses on women and violence.  Stemming from my interest in women who enact violence on and off the page, I wanted to ask students to think about our perceptions of women as “naturally” peaceful.

Hard Candy: The Razor Blade Hidden in an Apple-Cheeked Confection by Emma Kat Richardson

Hogtying and drugging Jeff is only the tip of Hayley’s sadistic iceberg: over the course of the next several hours, she subjects him to a series of tortures more at home in Guantanamo Bay than a sleepy suburban neighborhood, including spraying his screaming mouth with chemicals, temporarily suffocating him with cellophane, and attacking him with a taser in the shower.

High Tension: Rethinking Female Sexuality and Subjectivity Through Violence by Laura Minor

Rather than pander to the male gaze, Aja decides to reject these scopophilic pleasures in favour of championing female subjectivity, but he also chooses to reject heteronormativity by having the lesbian desires of Marie drive the plot of the film. Interestingly, it is these desires and subjective experiences that both initiate the use of violence and intensify the representation of violence throughout.

“It is not fitting for her to be so manly and terrifying”: Catharsis and Female Chaos in Pasolini’s Medea by Brigit McCone

Pier Paolo Pasolini’s 1969 film Medea was created in the aftermath of Italian fascism, another masculine cult of personal self-sacrifice in the interests of the state. Utilizing the operatic charisma of the legendary Maria Callas in a non-singing role, he harnesses the pitiless woman as an agent of chaos, rebelling against the dictates of the masculine state that urges her husband to discard her, in favor of a politically advantageous match.

Domestic Terrorism: Feminized Violence in Misery by Tessa Racked

Annie is a human being, dangerous not because of an evil supernatural force, but rather a severe and untreated mental illness. Although Annie is not given an official diagnosis in the film or the novel, an interview with a forensic psychologist on the special edition DVD characterizes her as displaying symptoms of several different conditions, including borderline personality disorder (BPD).

Girlhood: Observed But Not Seen by Ren Jender

Girlhood starts on a peak note: a slow-motion scene of what looks like Black men playing American tackle football on a field at night, wearing helmets, shoulder pads and mouth guards, so we don’t realize–until we notice the players’ breasts under their uniforms–that they are all girls.

Patty Jenkins’ Monster: Shouldering the Double Burden of Masculinity and Femininity by Katherine Parker-Hay

In this narrative we see masculinity float free from any ties to the male body, femininity float free from any easy connection to frailness – we see them meet in the one body of this working class woman to excruciating effect.

Feminist Fangs: The Activist Symbolism of Violent Vampire Women by Melissa-Kelly Franklin

The acts of violence by the female protagonists are terrifying, swift, and socially subversive. They target misogynistic representatives of the patriarchal society that oppresses and silences women, taking them out one by one.

Slashing Gender Assumptions: The Female Killer, Unmasked by Kate Blair

To a certain extent, the reveal of woman as killer in both films comes across as a “gotcha” moment. After an hour or so of being scared out of your wits, it’s both surprising and puzzling to see a woman emerge as the killer. In the real world, most documented violent crimes are committed by men, but in a film, where anything can happen, there’s no reason to make this assumption.

“Did I Step on Your Moment?” The Seductive and Psychological Violence of Female Superheroes by Mary Iannone

This style of fighting codes our female superheroes as half menacing and half attractive – we are meant to be afraid of them, but also enticed by them. Their violence is inextricably linked to their sexuality.

Nobody Puts Susan Cooper in the Basement: Melissa McCarthy and Skillful, Competent Violence in Film by Laura Power

As McCarthy tousles with her own nemesis in the kitchen fight, Feig uses slow motion to let us savor the violence and bird’s eye shots to let us see the controlled swings of Cooper’s arms and legs as she fights. The violence is not slapstick. The violence is not played for laughs. The violence is just flat-out cinematically terrific.

“She Called Them Anti-Seed”: How the Women of Mad Max: Fury Road Divorce Violence from Strength by Cate Young

In Mad Max: Fury Road the “strong female characters” are notable specifically for their aversion to violence. The film portrays its women as emotionally strong people who engage in violence only in self-defense, and only against the system that oppresses them.

Sugar, Spice, and Things Not Nice: Violent Girlhood in Violet & Daisy by Caroline Madden

The character of Daisy personifies the film’s juxtaposition of violence and girlhood. Daisy loves cute animals and doesn’t understand Violet’s dirty jokes. The twist is even that she has not really killed anyone, thus remaining innocent of all crimes. The opening scene displays the most daring oppositional iconography — the young girls dress as nuns, the ultimate image of pure goodness, while having a shoot ‘em up with a gang.

Children: The Great Qualifier of Female Violence by Katherine Fusciardi

True, the rape revenge trope has been put at bay, but there is still a gender issue behind the remaining motivation. It focuses around the assumption of maternity being the all-encompassing passion. Until female characters can be violent for reasons that have nothing to do with their womanhood, there still isn’t complete equality in media.

How Spring Breakers Ungenders the Erotic and Transformative Power of Violence by Emma Houxbois

The girls, driven by desperation to escape their mundane lives to take part in Spring Break, scheme a robbery of the local chicken shack to raise the necessary funds to get there. To psyche themselves up for the crime, they exhort each other to pretend it’s a video game, to detach themselves and dehumanize their victims in a hurried pep talk to the same end as the grueling boot camp scenes sequences in Full Metal Jacket.

Mad Max: Fury Road: Violence Helps Our Heroines Have a Lovely Day by Sophie Hall

Furiosa, stabbed and wounded yet still persistent, takes down the main villain Immortan Joe. “Remember me?” Furiosa growls just before ripping his breathing apparatus–and half of his face–clean off. That quip may seem like your average cool one-liner, but for me it is so much more than that. It’s Furiosa, our female protagonist, who takes out the bad guy. Not Max. Not Nux, or any other male character. Her.

Puberty and the Creation of a Monster: Ginger Snaps by Kelly Piercy

Ginger, despite morphing into a werewolf, becomes our protagonist killer in a very human way, and the complexity of her journey is a cinematic rarity. A large part of its appeal is the addictive excitement-and-relief cocktail that comes with seeing your experiences reflected on screen–to see menstruation from a menstruating perspective. Who wouldn’t see want to see the violence of their PMS daydreams being played out?

When Violence Is Excusable: Regina Mills and the Twisted Morality of Once Upon a Time by Emma Thomas

In the past, Regina’s path to control is lined with dark magic. Dark magic is fueled by her anger, and the two intersect endlessly until it is hard to tell whether Regina is controlling the anger, or the anger is controlling her. What is definitive is that the more her power grows the more violent she becomes. With the only person who offered her a loving future dead, there is no one to rein her in.

Timorous Killers: The Breach of Shyness in Polanski’s Repulsion by Johanna Mackin

The eye we see in the film’s opening credits belongs to Carol and encapsulates her relationship to the internal and external worlds. To outside observers, Carol’s large, doe-like eyes are a signifier of her feminine allure, but, as is made palpable to the viewer, they also house her intense fear and constitute a deceptive barrier against the malignant traumas that disturb her internal world.

Death of the (Male) Author: Feminist Violence in Lynne Ramsay’s Morvern Callar by Sarah Smyth

How significant it is, then, that Ramsay changes the ending from the novel where Morvern discovers she’s pregnant to instead give her a narrative of hopeful escape and adventure. Through the economic, cultural and narrative capitals gained from the violence enacted on the male author both inside and outside of the text, the female protagonist is offered a radical feminist alternative. Rather than by trapped by her class position, socio-economic position, job possibilities or pregnancy, Morvern is, instead, offered freedom, autonomy, and authority.

TV and Classic Literature: Is The 100 like Lord of the Flies? by Rowan Ellis

On the contrary, Octavia moves away from the explicit sexuality of her role in the pilot, and although her initial training is linked to Lincoln, she gravitates toward a warrior’s life to gain the respect of Indra. Although some critics have seen this as a drastic change in her characterisation, looking back at her first scene in the pilot, where she is held back by Bellamy while trying to attack the others for repeating rumours about her, it feels more like a development.

The Killer in/and the Girl: Alexandre Aja’s High Tension by Rebecca Willoughby

In High Tension, we have le tueur—the Killer—in place of the Monster, who in Shelley’s novel can be read as Victor Frankenstein’s doppelganger, that most famous of psychological devices used to illustrate the violence with which the repressed returns, doing all of the things the typical, well-socialized individual could never dream of doing. But where Victor utilizes the Monster to reject society’s expectations of him (including a traditional, heterosexual union with his adopted sister, Elizabeth), High Tension’s Marie creates le tueur because her desires do not fit within the normative world of the film.

From Ginger Snaps to Jennifer’s Body: The Contamination of Violent Women by Julia Patt

Thematically, Jennifer’s Body mirrors Ginger Snaps in many respects: the disruption of suburban or small town life, the intersection between female sexuality and violence, the close relationship between two teen girls at the films’ centers, and—perhaps most strikingly—the contagious nature of violence in women.

TV and Classic Literature: Is ‘The 100’ like ‘Lord of the Flies’?

On the contrary, Octavia moves away from the explicit sexuality of her role in the pilot, and although her initial training is linked to Lincoln, she gravitates toward a warrior’s life to gain the respect of Indra. Although some critics have seen this as a drastic change in her characterisation, looking back at her first scene in the pilot, where she is held back by Bellamy while trying to attack the others for repeating rumours about her, it feels more like a development.

This guest post by Rowan Ellis appears as part of our theme week on Violent Women.

A group of delinquent teenagers are dropped (literally) on an uninhabited hostile land and left to fend for themselves–sounds just like my GCSE English required reading Lord of the Flies, right? And, I mean spoilers, but that book doesn’t turn out great in the end; there’s fascism and death and the simulated rape of a pig, so we all know leaving teenagers on their own in survival mode doesn’t have the best track record. Sure enough, within the first 15 minutes of the first episode of the CW’s The 100, guards are pulling these teens from their cells and forcibly tagging them while there’s talk of executions, shooting them in a spaceship to Earth, and then Murphy and Wells get into a fist fight. The pilot episode of the show plays very much into what is expected- the teen boys are into violence and rebellion, the girls are giddy objects of desire or the nagging voice of reason. But then you keep watching, and the unexpected complexity of the show becomes apparent.

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William Golding, author of The Lord of the Flies, talked about his time teaching at a boy’s school as an inspiration for his novel–he saw in his young pupils the capacity for being brutal little shits (I’m paraphrasing him here), and as the thin veneer of society is removed from his characters’ lives, so too are the restraints on their innate animalistic nature. The 100, however, focuses less on the propensity for evil away from society, and more on violence as a direct product of the society they’ve grown up in; when Clarke insists in Season One that Murphy be brought to justice for killing Wells, the response is “float him,” language used to describe capital punishment on The Ark. A swift and harsh system of justice on their old satellite home is arguably about survival by reducing population, but to these teens the death on the ground seems even more justified than floating people for the smallest of crimes. But the floating on the Ark, and the hanging on the ground have another crucial difference centred around physicality, violence, and distance. The literal and figurative difference in distance between pressing a button to open an airlock, versus watching someone blooded and gasping on the end of a rope you tied, versus stabbing someone with a knife, gives an ambiguity to violence and the way it is viewed on screen.

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Violence on a basic level has unavoidable connotations of great physical force, fighting and hurting directly, but I would argue that this idea should be expanded out to include instances of harm and death doled out at a distance. The sacrificial death of the 300 citizens on the Ark might not have been in combat, but it is a vital act of violence by the Council, which further continued The 100’s breakdown of good vs bad characterisations on the show. In turn, the finale of Season Two sees Clarke’s own desperate act of violence, in a direct mirroring of her mother’s decision the previous season, to kill off a population for the good of “her people.” The show has an impressive amount of women in leadership roles, and much of its exploration of violence is around the lengths they will go to ensure the survival of their individual communities. In the world of The 100, which seems to be implicitly a world which has moved beyond modern sexism, this is removed from gender… but as viewers now, in a world which very much still has issues with gender inequality, these make for complex women with strong and uncompromising characterisation. They are allowed to make decisions which affect the plot as well as their own emotional state and relationships.

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The violence of women in The 100 is different from most female violence on screen in that it is not itself sexualised or derived from the sexual. There are no skintight leather outfits (as seen in movies like Sucker Punch), no sexual violence (every rape revenge film ever…also Sucker Punch), no girls fighting over a boy. On the contrary, Octavia moves away from the explicit sexuality of her role in the pilot, and although her initial training is linked to Lincoln, she gravitates toward a warrior’s life to gain the respect of Indra. Although some critics have seen this as a drastic change in her characterisation, looking back at her first scene in the pilot, where she is held back by Bellamy while trying to attack the others for repeating rumours about her, it feels more like a development. Her willingness to fight is not solely centred around a Father figure or the excuse of “oh, I have three brothers” to answer the question of where this unladylike behaviour stems from, as seen in films like Hanna and Kick-Ass, but instead comes from her own anger. This individualistic anger at her history with the oppressive authority of The Ark manifests itself in a breakdown of social loyalties to her Sky People and a willingness to attach her communal identity to the Grounders.

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Octavia’s identity is somewhat extraordinary, because of the immediate violence that ensues when different cultures and societies typically cross paths; from Jasper’s spearing at the end of the pilot, to the use of Grounder blood to sustain the lives on Mount Weather, the very act of creating a cohesive society seems to rely on the demonising and destruction of all others. In Lord of the Flies, the human deaths begin after the group splits themselves up into “tribes,” creating an artificial but all too real divide. Similarly, in The 100, after it is revealed that Wells was not killed by Grounders, Bellamy insists that they lie to the others, to give them a common enemy. Although at this point we are still looking to Clarke as the earnest moral compass (“The people have a right to know”), it quickly becomes obvious that this cookie cutter idea of fairness is a naivety that they can’t afford, when she inadvertently starts a murderous mob. When she boldly proclaims, “We don’t decide who lives and dies,” as if it’s her manifesto, we as an audience imagine that this is the best path forward and cheer her breaking away from the oppressive regime of The Ark. But the writers refuse such an easy way out and deny her the ability to shy away from making the harsh decisions needed in a leadership role as the world they inhabit becomes increasingly hostile. Clarke starts as a supporter of absolute morality, viewing violence as a destructive chaotic force, but her voice of reason quickly breaks down as her superior sense of morality is revealed to do more harm than good. Clarke’s first act as leader is to banish Murphy from their camp, marking him as other, essentially sentencing him to a de facto death, and ultimately becoming the start of her journey into a grey moral leadership that seems unavoidable in the world of the show.

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While the visceral and hypnotic nature of the hunting and killing in Lord of the Flies is graphically horrifying in its violence, the reality of the “distanced death” in The 100 is equally disturbing. In the Season 2 finale, Clarke forces herself to watch through security footage as her actions kill every inhabitant of Mount Weather, and through tear-streaked eyes keeps watching the scene as she says “let’s go get our people.” For her, as with so many other acts of violence in both the real and fictional world, it was a terrible decision but for the “right reasons,” because it was to protect her people, her family, her loved ones. However, the edge of bitterness that permeates Eliza Taylor’s delivery of that line suggests a growing understanding in Clarke of the arbitrary nature of these divides, particularly with the cross-population romances, Octavia’s acceptance into Grounder culture, the rift between The 100 and the Ark adults, and her own relationship with Lexa. As she walks through the room of corpses and hears Jasper’s voice crack as he asks her “what did you do […] if you’d have just given me one more minute,” you can see the mirroring of the Ark culling from the previous season, and the toll it is going to take on her. One major criticism of Golding’s novel is the “cop-out” ending where the boys are rescued from the island just as the story reaches its bloody climax, but Season 3 of The 100, at least for Clarke, looks to be ultimately concerned with aftermath. The psychological backlash that Clarke experiences after her role in the massacre will undoubtedly shape her story arc next season as she journeys off alone.

 

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

 

Violence and Morality in ‘The 100’

This act of mercy killing is the first of many moments when Clarke is forced to be violent for the good of others. It not only prompts an important change within herself – she loses her idealistic ways – but it prompts a change in the group dynamics. After this moment, Clarke begins to pull away from the co-leadership she and Bellamy had operated in and moves toward becoming the sole leader of the delinquents.

This guest post by Esther Nassaris appears as part of our theme week on Violent Women.

We see violence on screen a lot. In fact, some would argue we’ve become desensitised to it. And in a way I think that’s true. After all, a lot of the time it is used solely for shock value, something to make the audience gasp during sweeps week. Or in the case of women, a vile way to sexualise a character further and to feed into the male gaze. Yet violence on The 100 isn’t like that. It’s ingrained in the plot because of the world the show is set in, not thrown in to shock or titillate. It’s explored in an intelligent and thought provoking way. In short, it’s one of the many things that The 100 is doing right.

The premise of the show was brilliant from day one and from the moment one of the leads, Wells (Eli Goree), was killed off in episode 3 “Earth Kills” I knew that this show was different. The show picks up 97 years after a nuclear war is thought to have destroyed all life on earth. The rest of humanity survives on a massive space station, known as The Ark. Yet when resources run low and systems begin to fail they send a group of 100 expendable juvenile delinquents to Earth to see if the land is survivable. The delinquents quickly find out that they are not alone on Earth, and from day one have to fight to survive. In the futuristic world of The 100, discrimination has become a non-issue. The only way to differentiate between people is what clan you’re part of. Everything else just simply doesn’t matter. It’s the shows modern approach to gender, race, and sexuality that allows us a wealth of well-written women who encompass violence in different ways.

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Like many sci-fi shows, The 100 is no stranger to violence; however, its relationship with it is complex and ever-changing. As Clarke (Eliza Taylor) is the protagonist of the show, we first consider violence from her perspective. Clarke is initially seen as a more idealistic character, hesitant to use violence and more likely to resist the use of force. This is shown through her immediate disagreements with Bellamy (Bob Morley) when he becomes a leader of the delinquents in a very Lord of the Flies-esque way. However, when one of the delinquents is critically injured in episode 3 “Earth Kills” and begs Bellamy to kill him, Clarke is the one to do it. This act of mercy killing is the first of many moments when Clarke is forced to be violent for the good of others. It not only prompts an important change within herself – she loses her idealistic ways – but it prompts a change in the group dynamics. After this moment, Clarke begins to pull away from the co-leadership she and Bellamy had operated in and moves toward becoming the sole leader of the delinquents.

As a leader Clarke swiftly becomes a much more pragmatic character, understanding that violence is a necessary part of life on the ground. In episode 7 “Contents Under Pressure” we can already see the change in her character as she authorises the use of violence against an enemy clan member. And while she is hesitant at first, she allows it to happen once she realises that it’s necessary to gain the information that she requires. Although she isn’t the one to directly inflict the violence, as a leader of her people it is her that is directly responsible for the actions of her people. While this is a more calculated version of the violence that Clarke has adopted, we see a more instinctual version in episode 11 “The Calm.” While captured by the Grounders, in a desperate attempt to escape Clarke brutally attacks and kills her guard. In this moment violence is clearly the resourceful thing to do. It is a sign of intelligence and strength of character that Clarke not only recognises that she must act quickly, but that she has the ability to do so.

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As a sharp juxtaposition to Clarke, we have Octavia (Marie Avgeropoulos). An outsider from day one, Octavia is the first to adapt to the harsh way of life on the ground and is the first to transition into the Grounder clan. This is mainly because of her early acceptance of violence. While Clarke is a master of the calculated and strategic violence; Octavia is a front line kind of fighter. Yet even when Octavia finds her way into the Grounder clan we still see her as an outsider. The 100 plays with the idea that this type of violence isn’t appropriate for femaleness. It makes us challenge our own perceptions. If women are unable to be so powerfully violent, then why does Octavia thrive this way? It’s a very typical male role, and thus The 100 subverts expectations of traditional gender roles.

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The Grounders offer the audience yet another viewpoint into violent women. As survivors of the nuclear war, The Grounders have adapted into a survival first way of living. In episode 11 “The Calm” we see that violence is taught from a young age when Anya’s (Dichen Lachman) second is a young girl. Violence is intrinsic for them. They know no other way. In the midst of their fight for survival, concepts of gender, sexuality, and race have largely fallen away. This allows many of the Grounder leaders to be women. Most notably Commander Lexa (Alycia Debnam-Carey), who leads the Grounder clans. However like the Sky People do, we initially distrust the Grounders. We see them as an enemy, and their way of living barbaric and ruthless. While Clarke has some clear reservations about making the harsh decisions to kill or torture, Lexa makes them without questioning it. She knows when these methods are necessary. It is interesting to consider if perhaps this is why some people dislike the character. It is harder to accept a violent woman who is completely committed to these acts. There’s no softening of the blow for the audience. This is who she is and these are the harsh actions that she will not hesitate to make.

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As the stakes are raised in season 2, the level of violence also increases and thus morality becomes an even more prominent question on the show. It’s not just the characters that are left wondering whether their choices were right, the viewer is forced to ask the same question. Would we go to such a dark and brutal place? Could we? Often times when you watch a show or a film in which violence is a main theme, there’s a clear right and wrong, a good and evil. We don’t feel bad rooting for someone who’s inflicting so much damage because we know they’re on the good side. But violence on The 100 is presented in a morally grey area. Most importantly, there’s never a separate type of violence for men and women. When Clarke kills hundreds of people to save less than 50 of her own it doesn’t take away from her femininity. It doesn’t make her a masculine character. In fact gender is not taken into account. It makes her a good leader, and perhaps a flawed person, but never any less female.

 

Esther Nassaris is a Media and Communication student at Glasgow Caledonian University who is passionate about all things television, feminism, and pop culture. She spends most of her time either writing about, or watching television, and would like to become an entertainment journalist. Find her on twitter at @EstNas or blogging on https://tvforfeminists.wordpress.com/

 

 

Sex Positivity: The Roundup

Check out all of the posts from our Sex Positivity Theme Week here.

Virtue, Vulgarity, and the Vulva by Erin Relford

The equality of men and women on the basis of healthy and consensual sex is sex positivity according to the Women and Gender Advocacy Center. Thus, to desire sex positivity is to be inherently feminist.

Clitoral Readings of The Piano, Turn Me On, Dammit, and Secretary by Brigit McCone

But how can female arousal be visually expressed? If women stereotypically prefer to read literary erotica over watching porn, with erotica’s descriptions of the interior sensations of female arousal, is that because many women imagine that female performers of porn are uncomfortably simulating their pleasure? Can there be a clitoral cinema of female arousal, and what would it look like?

Let’s Talk About Sex (Positivity for Women) in Animated Comedies by Belle Artiquez

There are animated shows that do present female sex positivity and appear to subvert the current patriarchal control of female sexuality in media. Archer and Bob’s Burgers are both refreshing examples of portrayals of positive female sexuality.

Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries: Killing the Stigma of Sex by Emma Thomas

Besides occasional sex jokes, Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries features episodes about vibrators, abortion, and women’s rights. It also highlights a wealth of one-night stands, and while the men are attractive, the camera glances over the bodies of Miss Fisher’s lovers as lovingly as it does her gorgeous outfits. It is, in an odd way, the perfect combination of the male and female gaze.

Yas Queen!: In Praise of Female Friendship and Sex Positivity on Broad City by Alexandra Shinart

As emerging adults, Abbi and Ilana are free to explore their sexuality as they choose. Choosing to be sexually active means the women have the possibilities of exploring love and sex, casual or within a relationship, in a way that best serves them as 20-something single women. Although Abbi and Ilana each explore their sexuality differently, the women share a common mentality- that they will embrace the many sexual adventures they embark on and support and empower each other every step of the way.

The Audacity of Sex and the Black Women Who Have It by Reginée Ceaser

Being Mary Jane provides the dialogue and the safety net in saying out loud ,”I see you, I’ve been there too and you are not alone.” The embracing of positive sexuality of Black women on television is not progressive feminism. It is the hope that future depictions of such will not be labeled progressive, but just as common as the stereotypes that have lingered for too long.

Slaying Dudes and Stealing Hearts: The Tell-All Sexuality of Mindy Lahiri by Shannon Miller

Sex positivity, for instance, is frequently presented in an oversimplified, inaccurate package of rampant promiscuity and generally assigned to a side female character, like a free-spirited best friend or sister. Meanwhile, the main character frequently serves as the antithesis to said behavior who is later rewarded with “true love.”

The To Do List: The Movie I’ve Been Waiting For by Leigh Kolb

And then I saw it–a film that extols the importance of female agency and sexuality with a healthy dose of raunch, a film that includes a sexually experienced and supportive mother, a film that celebrates female friendship and quotes Gloria Steinem, a film that features Green Apple Pucker and multiple references to Pearl Jam and Hillary Clinton.
Yes. This is it.

Concussion: When Queer Marriage in The Suburbs Isn’t Enough by Ren Jender

This film about a queer woman is, unlike the same year’s Blue Is The Warmest Color, directed and written by a queer woman (Stacie Passon who was nominated for “Best First Feature” in the Independent Spirit Awards and will be will direct an episode of Transparent this coming season), and in many aspects is the answer to those who dismissed Blue as a product of the male gaze.

The Day Mindy Lahiri Ate Seashells and Called Me Immature by Katherine Murray

I like Mindy Kaling and I like her show, but the season premiere demonstrates how, like many series, The Mindy Project has ambivalent feelings about what kind of sex is OK.

To Boldly Go: Star Trek: The Next Generation Explores the Limits of Sexual Attraction in “The Host” by Swoozy C

Once Beverly decides that so little of her attraction to Odan was wrapped up in his host body, the floodgates of sex, sexuality, gender, and physical attraction were wide open.

The Fosters, Sexuality, and the Challenges of Parenting While Feminist by Stephanie Brown

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

Starlet and Tangerine: A Look At the Sex Work Industry Through the Lens of Chris Bergoch and Sean Baker by BJ Colangelo

Sean Baker and Chris Bergoch are spreading an important truth with their films: that sex does not have to be definitive. Tangerine and Starlet are two monumentally groundbreaking films, and they should be required viewing for all.

“I Want to Slap His Hideous, Beautiful Face”: Sexual Awakenings and First Crushes in Bob’s Burgers by Becky Kukla

Honestly, Tina Belcher is the role model young girls have been waiting for, and I’m so glad she’s finally arrived. However, “Boys 4 Now” – the episode that made me really believe Bob’s Burgers is *probably* the best show I’ve ever watched – deals with Louise getting her first crush. Rage-filled, insane, absolute genius Louise gets a crush on a boy. Unsurprisingly, she does not take this news well.

How the CW’s The 100 Is Getting Sex Positivity Right by Rowan Ellis

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

Sex Worker Positivity in Satisfaction by Cameron Airen

Normalizing all sexual fantasies seems to be one of the main themes of the show. ‘Satisfaction’ offers a lot of varied sex positivity onscreen that centers on women. The show sets an example for what more television shows and films could portray when it comes to women, sexual desires, and sex work.

The Honest Sexcapades in You’re The Worst by Giselle Defares

Gretchen leaves Jimmy and states, “Well as my grandma used to say, ‘It’s only a walk of shame if you’re capable of feeling shame.’ See you later, thanks for doing all the sex stuff on me.”

Unity Through Differentiation: The Radical Sex Positivity of Sense8 by Emma Houxbois

The net effect, woven throughout the series, is a sex positivity that both embraces differentiation and recognizes the universal experiences that can work to close gaps of gender, orientation, and race that routinely stymie the discourse.

Living Single and Girlfriends: The Roots of Sex Positivity for Black Women on TV by Lisa Bolekaja

There were never any shows that centered happy, single, child-free Black women that prioritized good sex as part of successful living. That is until two television shows came on the scene, Living Single (1993-1998, created by Yvette Lee Bowser) and Girlfriends (2000-2007, created by Mara Brock Akil).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

Dystopias: The Roundup

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

Terminator Genisys: Not My Sarah Connor by Liz LaBrocca

Sarah meets Reese (Jai Courtney) knowing that she will need to have sex with this man, regardless of how she feels, to save the human race. It’s an awkward problem that’s dealt with in Schwarzenegger one-liners about mating and a weak attempt at a narrative theme of free will versus destiny.

Failed Revolutions in Imaginary Cities by Olga Tchepikova

How do you solve a problem like dystopian science fiction? It’s been around for about as long as the film industry and yet, politics and society still won’t stop producing warning signs for the decay of humanity, providing directors, writers, and “artists” with almost inexhaustible opportunities for critiquing the current state of the world community, or showing what the present state of things might turn into if not handled consciously and carefully.

Killing Time: The Luxury of Denial in Dawn of the Dead by Jennifer Krukowski

While the men are shopping, Francine is left alone to fend off a zombie with no means of self-defence. As she attempts to escape onto the roof, the others return to save her from the zombie and bring her back inside. She is dismayed to realize that they intend to stay there indefinitely. While the men enthusiastically describe the mall as a “kingdom” and a “goldmine,” Francine describes it as a “prison.”

Advantageous: Feminist Science Fiction At Its Best by Holly Derr

Though this happens in a future in which cosmetic surgery has become much more than a matter of lift and tuck, Koh’s struggle with whether and how to change her body for the sake of her daughter and her career, combined with the behind-the-scenes machinations of the corporation, casts a complicated light on the present struggles of women trying to succeed in both career and motherhood while facing the social pressure to stay young and be perfect.

Death and Dating: Love, Hope, and Millenials in Warm Bodies by Emily Katseanes

R and Julie have opted out of the capitalist conveyor belt that turns humans into braindead zombies and or war-mongering huddled masses. While it could also be read as a fundamental laziness to even stand up for themselves, the two succeed by not fighting.

Learn from the Future: Battle Royale by Belle Artiquez

And just as the film articulates these contrasting attitudes and dilemmas with regard to controlling powers and zero sum attitudes, so too does it address these issues within themes of gender, sexuality and authority.

Can a Dystopian Society Be Redeemed? Lessons from Mad Max: Fury Road by Gabrielle Amato

And, although The Citadel is ruled by powerful men with disabilities, we understand it to be a fundamentally ableist society. Immortan Joe is questing for a “perfect” son and has clearly chosen The Wives for their beautiful, unblemished, able bodies in an attempt to breed one. We understand that this is a patriarchy in its most extreme form where women have no personhood at all.

Advantageous: The Future Is Now by Leigh Kolb

“Are women really going backwards going forward?”

Mockingjay — Part One: On YA Dystopias, Trauma, and the Smokescreen of the “Serious Movie” by Charlotte Orzel

Though we get a sense of District Thirteen’s manipulations in the novel, Katniss savvily negotiates with them, resists their orders, and remains distrustful of their motivations, in contrast to her comparatively slight unease in the film. While these changes leave most of the major plot elements intact, they undermine our sense of Katniss as an intelligent political actor who is connected to and moved by the revolution itself, rather than just her personal stake in the events.

Reflecting on True Detective‘s First Season by Lisa Shininger

But, at the end of the day—at the end of a lot of days—I’m tired of watching these shows and seeing women as props and symbols used to push the hero along his way. I’m tired of watching these shows and seeing the massive chasms between what they present, what they claim to represent, and what their fans insist they represent.

The Margins of Dystopia: Darren Aronofsky’s Noah by Rebecca Willoughby

It certainly isn’t a feminist world she lives in, but she does her level best to undermine her husband in an enclosed space. As Noah himself veers away from his family tradition of life-supporting environmental husbandry, Naameh continues to practice what he (used to) preach, preserving her daughter-in-law, the animals, and the land once they find it again.

The Burden of Carrying On: The Currency of Women in Dystopian Films by BJ Colangelo

I can’t keep count of the number of times the fact that women menstruate has been used as a reason to render us incapable of doing something. However, the fact women can have children (while cis-men cannot) is arguably our greatest power in a time of crisis.

When Skies Fall, Bodies Fail: Gender and Performativity on a Dystopian Earth by Sean Weaver

In rejecting Lexi, Anne perpetuates the false solidarity and universal acceptance Butler points out in the above passage. Anne sees Lexi as failing to perform the necessary gender of her body. Lexi is the very symbol of a failed body, the failed universal woman Anne has expected of her daughter.

Totally Radical Girls and the Bitchin’ Burden of Civilization by ThoughtPusher

I mean, she doesn’t wrap her arms around some guy’s waist to hold on for the ride of her life or even jump onto a Vespa or something weak. Nope, she’s a zombie-fightin’ shoulder-padded biker who escapes danger on her own and looks just as feathery-haired good when she gets to her destination as when she put down her attacker in the alley (although this was the early 80s while CFCs were being phased out, so big hair treated with a half-bottle of AquaNet always had some hold).

Dystopia Within Neon Genesis Evangelion by CG

What helps ‘Evangelion’ continue to grow its popularity is not the focus on religious or sci-fi elements, but its commitment to showcasing the fragility of humanity through its flawed and destructive characters tasked with saving the world and themselves. And how does the franchise show this? By literally placing the future of what’s left of the world in the hand of dysfunctional and emotionally fragile children.

Manic Pixie Revolutionary Awakenings by Julia Patt

Maria essentially makes Freder the chosen one—she inspires him to go underground and gives him his purpose when he awakens to the dystopian system in which he lives. Without her, the story does not proceed and the system continues unopposed.

Hell Is a Future We Make for Ourselves: The Many Dystopias of The 100 by Deborah Pless

As she has an older brother, her birth was unauthorized and when she was discovered she was sent directly to the SkyBox. And so on. While some of the crimes are legitimate, many are the result of children growing up in a totalitarian state. So clearly it’s going to be better here on the ground, right?

Ha!

The Hunger Games: Proving Dystopia Is the Best Young Adult Genre by Rowan Ellis

Dystopia, in its futuristic escapism and its contemporary relevance, is an ideal genre for the young adult demographic. By pushing the boundaries of disturbing content and reflecting on youthful idealism, dystopian narratives trust the YA consumer to be both literary in their consumption of the book or film, but also socially and morally insightful in their view of the imagined world they hold.

“You’re Not My Mother!” Bodies, Love, and Survival in Advantageous by Colleen Martell

In these moments, and in those unspoken moments when she savors placing long sweet kisses on Jules’s cheek, we see Gwen’s resistance. “Know your value,” Gwen tells Jules. It’s not found in good grades, not in getting into the best school, not in a newer and “better” body, but in sensory and emotional human pleasures.

The Making of a Caribbean-Canadian Sci-Fi: Brown Girl in the Ring by Amanda Parris

When speaking over the phone, Sharon’s enthusiasm for this pioneering adaptation of a Caribbean Canadian sci-fi novel emanates as though this was a fresh and newly discovered idea. In fact, Sharon has been working on creating this film for the past 15 years (while also establishing herself as a published playwright, writer, actor and award winning director) and although the journey has been long, she strongly believes that now is the perfect time to transition this well-nurtured idea into tangible reality.

Empowerment in the Imaginary Spaces of Zach Snyder’s Sucker Punch by Toni McIntyre

By creating her own worlds where she is a force to be reckoned with, Babydoll reclaims that very thing that was taken away from her by her stepfather and the hospital: her humanity.

 

Hell Is a Future We Make for Ourselves: The Many Dystopias of ‘The 100’

As she has an older brother, her birth was unauthorized and when she was discovered she was sent directly to the SkyBox. And so on. While some of the crimes are legitimate, many are the result of children growing up in a totalitarian state. So clearly it’s going to be better here on the ground, right?

Ha!

Clarke Griffin (Eliza Taylor) and Anya (Dichen Lachman) in one of The 100’s many dystopias
Clarke Griffin (Eliza Taylor) and Anya (Dichen Lachman) in one of The 100’s many dystopias

 

This guest post by Deborah Pless appears as part of our theme week on Dystopias.

The first scene of The 100 makes it pretty freaking clear that this is a show about dystopia. We are introduced to a pretty blonde girl drawing a landscape scene using only the dirt and grime of her prison cell. The voiceover narration informs us that this picture, and all of the other pictures that ornament her solitary confinement, is drawn from imagination. She has never set foot on Earth, and she will almost certainly die in space like all the rest of her people.

Cheerful stuff, huh?

The girl, Clarke Griffin (played by Eliza Taylor), is our main character and the voice of reason in The 100, a CW show that came on as a midseason replacement last year to middling reviews, but has continued to improve and now, after the completion of its second season, officially qualifies as a “cult hit.” Based on the novel series of the same name by Kass Morgan, you would be forgiven for assuming this is just another Hunger Games ripoff. It isn’t.

The 100 is a show ostensibly about teenagers falling in love and making poor choices against the backdrop of an ever-changing dystopian landscape, but in reality the show is far less concerned with emotions than with social commentary. The dramas and frivolities of the first few episodes fade away as the show goes on, being replaced instead by a compelling and gripping drama about political power, the ethics of war, medical experimentation, torture, the values of indigenous cultures, imperialism, and, occasionally, hope for the future.

It is also unquestionably a show about dystopia. Though evident in the first scene, it wasn’t until well into the second season that I realized that the show wasn’t just an exploration of one particular dystopian future, however, but instead an exploration of all of them. Really. All of them. Every organized culture or civilization that our heroes encounter in the course of the series is a different exploration of dystopia. And while this can make the show rather bleak and hard to watch, it’s fascinating.

The Ark
The Ark

 

The basic premise of the show is inherently dystopian. Our heroes all live on the “Ark,” a cobbled together mush of space stations in orbit over the Earth. They’ve lived there for 97 years, since a nuclear war wiped out all life on Earth. The people of the Ark know that they are just a waiting generation who will live and die on the Ark with the understanding that in another hundred years their descendants will be able to go down and live on the planet once the radiation levels have decreased.

Because they have limited supplies, the Ark is run as a totalitarian dystopia. There is never enough food, water, air, or medicine. All food is rationed, all parents may have only one child, and medicine is reserved only for cases when the alternative is death. Even their shoes and underwear are handed down from one generation to the next. Break a law on the Ark – and there are many – and you die. No trial, no reprieve, just a sad farewell to your loved ones, the removal of all shoes and useful clothing, and then a swift death being shot out the airlock.

If a minor commits a crime, then they are sent to the “SkyBox,” a holding detention center where they await turning 18. Once 18, they face a panel, and that panel will decide if they should be “floated” or returned to the Ark’s main population.

Our story starts when Clarke and her fellow inmates in the SkyBox are hustled out of their cells and onto a dropship. Confused and terrified about what is happening, the teenagers (and children) soon realize that they are going down to Earth. Why? Well, as they and we learn, because the Ark can no longer support life and they must find out if the Earth has healed enough to sustain them. In other words, Clarke and all of her friends, 100 of the most vulnerable members of this society, are used as canaries in a coal mine.

The Ark kids reach the ground.
The Ark kids reach the ground

 

So obviously the Ark is a dystopian place. As the show goes on – obviously the kids survive their trip to the Earth’s surface – it become increasingly clear that the governmental situation on the Ark is hellish at best. One child was incarcerated for hitting the guards who held her back as her parents were executed. Another character, Octavia (Marie Avgeropoulos), committed no crime but being born. As she has an older brother, her birth was unauthorized and when she was discovered she was sent directly to the SkyBox. And so on. While some of the crimes are legitimate, many are the result of children growing up in a totalitarian state. So clearly it’s going to be better here on the ground, right?

Ha!

As the kids quickly learn, the ground is no more hospitable than the Ark was. While there is no totalitarian rule, their society quickly devolves in a Lord of the Flies situation. A hundred teenagers and children who have been locked up in prison and forced to live in a police state their whole lives suddenly have complete freedom? Yeah, it goes pretty Lord of the Flies. Then, just when they’re starting to get their act together, it becomes clear that the Ark children are not the only ones alive on the ground. There are others.

That brings us to the Grounders, as the people of the Ark come to know them. The Grounders represent another form of dystopia, this one more similar to Mad Max. The Grounders are the humans who developed an immunity to the radiation poisoning the Earth and so rebuilt society.

Grounder leader Indra (Adina Porter) and her warriors
Grounder leader Indra (Adina Porter) and her warriors

 

They hunt with bows and arrows and spears, wear an amalgamation of clothes they found and animal leathers, paint their faces to look scarier, and even speak a completely different language. Heck, they even have a village called “ton DC” built in the bombed out ruins of Washington DC. In other words, they appear at first to the Ark kids as “savages,” a dystopian view of who they could become if they lose all of their “civilization.”

Fortunately, the truth turns out to be much more complicated than that. While the Grounders are genuinely savage, they also have an artistic and healing tradition that is complex and beautiful, as well as a culture that is distinct and clearly quite functional. Though tribal and very divided by factions, the Grounders quickly become the least dystopian society on the show, and the Ark kids even cease their war and try to make a truce.

Unfortunately for our heroes, though, the Grounders are the least of their problems. As the story progresses, the kids run into another dystopian hellscape, this one called “Mount Weather.” Mount Weather is a bunker, or system of bunkers, hidden inside a mountain and home to a large population of seemingly nice, decent people. They’ve lived inside the mountain, sheltered by its radiation shields, for the past hundred years. They have abundant food, shelter and safety, and even flourishing art and culture. It’s the first place the kids go that is, well, beautiful.

But that beauty covers over the horrible truth that Mount Weather is just another dystopia. This time it’s a medical one, where the people of Mount Weather are basically vampires, kidnapping Grounders and draining them of their blood in the hopes of building up a radiation immunity. When the scientists at the mountain discover that the Ark kids have an even better immunity, they decide to harvest the kids’ bone marrow, whether they consent or not.

Inside Mount Weather’s medical research facility
Inside Mount Weather’s medical research facility

 

Not to be outdone, by this time the bulk of the Ark’s population has reached the ground and formed a camp called “Camp Jaha,” which operates under the same dystopian rule as the Ark did. And across the mountains we discover a desert wasteland of outcasts and landmines and pilgrims searching for the “City of Light.” That City of Light? Turns out to be just another terrifying technological dystopia.

What’s the point of all of this? Well, aside from the writers of The 100 clearly enjoying the bleakness of their world, these competing dystopian futures actually manage to form a cohesive picture not of dystopia but of how we ought to respond to it.

Like I said above, our main character for the show is Clarke. Clarke is smart, caring, incredibly pragmatic and kind of scary. She quickly becomes the leader of the kids she came down with, but goes on to become the leader of all of the people of the Ark, a symbol of resistance for Mount Weather, and more. While there are other characters whose lives we follow, the story revolves around Clarke, particularly around how Clarke reacts to dystopian societies. Namely, how she never reacts well.

On the Ark, Clarke was locked up in solitary confinement for the crime of treason. She and her father discovered that the life support of the station was failing and tried to warn everyone. He was executed; she was locked up. At the dropship, when the kids go all Lord of the Flies, Clarke is the voice of reason, foraging for food and medicine while the others let the world burn.

Clarke and her mother, Abby (Paige Turco)
Clarke and her mother, Abby (Paige Turco)

 

When captured by the Grounders, she resorts to diplomacy. When captured by Mount Weather, she speaks out against their propaganda and escapes, taking a former enemy with her. She quickly establishes herself as the real power of Camp Jaha and, with the help of her friends, brokers a deal with the Grounders to go to war against Mount Weather. Not bad for a 17-year-old girl. Not bad for anyone.

Clarke clearly believes in the values of a good society, but what makes her a fantastic character is how strongly she believes in speaking out against a bad one. She has no qualms about speaking truth to power. And she will not abide a dystopia. By showing Clarke butting heads with so many different kinds of failed societies, we’re given a look at what it means to stand up for our own rights and the rights of others in any situation. I’m not saying that the show is perfect or completely unproblematic, but I do think that it has something very interesting to say when it comes to how we ought to react to dystopian landscapes.

It says that we should react with understanding. We should figure out what’s wrong, what about the society is making it so unbearable, and then seek to fix that. Clarke doesn’t believe necessarily in blowing up bad societies, though she does sometimes do that. Literally. It’s more that her arc is about seeking the good and using these visions of failed places to figure out what will work and what should be.

This is especially meaningful considering that Clarke is, well, a teenage girl. She’s the demographic of our society that we pay the least attention to and give the least credence. And yet the whole show is centered around proving how much value Clarke and the other kids that society originally deemed expendable actually have.

Maya (Eve Harlow), Octavia (Marie Avgeropoulos), and Monty (Christopher Larkin) fight together in Mount Weather
Maya (Eve Harlow), Octavia (Marie Avgeropoulos), and Monty (Christopher Larkin) fight together in Mount Weather

 

It’s not just Clarke, either. The show centers on the kids the Ark sent down, the ones society had abandoned, as they explore different kinds of dystopias. They’re a pretty diverse bunch and their reactions to these different situations give us a wealth of commentary on those dystopias.

So while Clarke’s not perfect and neither is the show, they’re clearly trying. Clarke sometimes falls into white savior behavior, and the show occasionally tries to force storylines that feel disingenuous and frankly kind of weird. But whatever. I don’t need a perfect show or a perfect heroine. I’d rather have this, a meta-commentary on the different types of futures we envision for ourselves as a species. Even better, it’s a meta-commentary where each future is torn down and reassembled by the children who will actually inherit it.

As The 100 shows us, the point of dystopia isn’t to look at the future and weep. The point of dystopian landscapes is to give us a vision of what our future could be and then to explore how to make sure it never is.

 

Deborah Pless runs Kiss My Wonder Woman and works as a freelance writer and editor when she’s not busy camping out at the movies or watching too much TV. You can follow her on Twitter and Tumblr just as long as you like feminist rants, an obsession with superheroes, and the search for gluten-free baked goods.

 

Why ‘The 100’ Is a BFD

Bisexual protagonists, scenes that pass the Bechdel Test, women making choices that drive the action of the story – I’m still the only person who watches ‘The 100,’ but, boy, do I enjoy it when I do.

Written by Katherine Murray.

Bisexual protagonists, scenes that pass the Bechdel Test, women making choices that drive the action of the story – I’m still the only person who watches The 100, but, boy, do I enjoy it when I do.

Eliza Taylor and Alycia Debnam Carey star and kiss in The 100
The day The 100 unironically became my favorite current show

 

Last year, I wrote about the first season of The 100, a dystopian YA science fiction series on The CW, based on a dystopian YA science fiction novel of the same name. While the first few episodes were laughably terrible, the series later took a sharp (and dark) turn toward being kind of good. The second season of The 100, which airs the first half of its two-part finale this week, is also laughably terrible in places, but also kind of surprisingly good.

One of the good surprises happened last week, when the series hero, Clarke, turned out to be bisexual in a low-key, fairly believable way, that didn’t involve any hand-wringing about her sexual identity. The major story line this season has been that Clarke’s group, the Sky People, are trying to forge an alliance with the Grounders – a group of clans native to the planet the Sky People have landed on. The Grounders’ leader, Lexa, is a girl Clarke’s age who’s also been pushed into a position of responsibility, and the two of them grow closer as the season progresses, because no one else understands the pressure of making life and death decisions for thousands of people, or of sacrificing those you love for the sake of the greater good. There’s tension between them, because they have different ideas about what it means to be a leader, and Clarke’s character arc this season is partly about whether she’s going to end up as cold as Lexa.

That’s already unusual for a network TV show, in that the story is about a serious philosophical difference between two female characters who talk to each other about it, and make life and death decisions based on their discussion, but it’s also unusual because the showrunners decided to let them kiss, and didn’t make a whole big deal about it.

It turns out that Lexa doesn’t make Clarke a cold, hard-hearted leader after all – the opposite happens, and Clarke gets Lexa to warm up a little – at least enough to admit that there’s a place in her hard heart for Clarke. And, rather than having her push Lexa away, or say, “I’m not gay – god, what if I’m gay?!” it turns out that Clarke’s been quietly bisexual all along, and it never came up before because it’s not all that noteworthy a thing. It’s exactly the same as if she were kissing a guy.

In other words, the fact that it’s not a big deal is what makes it a really big deal.

As Allyson Johnson writes in The Mary Sue: “It’s not pandering, or queer-baiting; it’s simply a part of [Clarke’s] characterization that’s played as if it’s totally and beautifully normal.” Series creator and executive producer, Jason Rothenberg, also went on Twitter to explain that people don’t get freaked out about bisexuals in the future world of The 100 and that “if Clarke’s attracted to someone, gender isn’t a factor. Some things improve post-apocalypse.”

We’ve already had bisexual characters on science fiction shows – Torchwood is notable for making bisexuality as part of its mission statement – but there’s still something surprising and refreshing about the easy-going way that The 100 made this happen. It’s a step forward in the portrayal of LGBT people in general, but of Bi people especially. That Clarke’s comfortable with who she is – that she already knew this about herself, and the only thing that’s new is that we’re learning it about her; that she doesn’t turn into a lesbian as soon as she kisses a girl – that’s a big deal.

Kendall Cross as Major Byrne in The 100
Major Byrne, looking for her chance to cause some conflict

 

Another pleasant surprise in the second season is how willing The 100 is to cast women in roles where they just need some generic person. Almost every time – if not every time – groups of random, redshirt, background characters convene, some of them – and some of the ones with speaking parts – are women. The show also fills a lot of secondary roles with women – the generically menacing doctor who works for this season’s enemy, the Mountain Men, is a woman; the super hard core Grounder who distrusts the Sky People and causes tension is a woman – but I was most impressed by Major Byrne.

Major Byrne is a cookie-cutter character who exists just to create conflict among the Sky People now that the conflict-creators from last year have been rehabilitated. The Major is the hard-ass, shoot first and ask questions later, “they are the enemy,” letter of the law, peace-hating, harsh justice head of security who keeps telling the other characters that they’re screwing up by being too lenient and soft-hearted. It’s the kind of role that casting directors usually fill with a male actor, because that’s the person we all picture in our heads when we think of this archetype. The reason I’m impressed that Major Byrne turned out to be a woman is that it shows that someone, somewhere along the line, thought past their knee-jerk reactions and made a deliberate choice about casting the role – and I think that’s indicative of the deliberate choices that The 100 makes in casting female actors in general.

That doesn’t mean that Major Byrne was more than a military stereotype, or that the doctor mentioned above was more than generically evil, or that female redshirts are any more useful than male redshirts as characters – it just means that rather than defaulting to “male unless otherwise specified” it seems like The 100 makes a conscious effort to present a world where both men and women are present and involved in what’s happening.

Marie Avgeropoulos stars in The 100
Octavia 3.0, now with added grime and bad-ass

 

The third good surprise, and the last one I’ll talk about – although I could mention the show’s humour, and its interesting grimdark twists – is that the writers seem to understand that there was a problem with Octavia in season one. They haven’t figured out the right way to fix it yet, but they’re trying, and I appreciate that.

If you recall, Octavia is the character who began the first season as a sassy, hypersexualized rebel, and then was rebooted as The Kindest Girl Who Ever Lived. In both incarnations, the main point of Octavia was how other people felt about her, and she constantly fell into danger and had to be rescued by other characters.

Season two reboots Octavia again as kind and rebellious, resourceful, independent, and brave. Her character arc this season is that she spends less time with her Grounder boyfriend, and more time training to be a warrior in the Grounder army, after proving herself to the really hard core Grounder, Indra.

There are some ooky colonial elements to Octavia 3.0’s story, and I don’t at all buy that she’s now an honorary Grounder because she started braiding her hair and lost a fist fight in a really spectacular way. She also looks hilarious when she tries to join them in a tribal yell, and she uses literally the worst strategy ever when she tries to take hostages during an early episode. Like, it’s really so bad that I have to believe Indra let her walk away with a hostage because she just didn’t like the guy Octavia was holding hostage very much.

That said, I appreciate that the show is trying to turn Octavia into a person rather than a chess piece in a game that other characters are playing. Right now, the character’s exhibiting a pretty superficial, and unrealistic form of girl power (“Let’s just make her awesome at everything!”), but it’s an improvement over the days when she used to trip over her feet and get knocked unconscious in the woods. If the producers were going to learn any lessons from season one, and latch onto anything as being the core of their show, I think trying to build strong female characters is a fine thing to latch onto – even if they haven’t quite got it right with Octavia.

The 100, like Battlestar Galactica before it, is still remarkable for having women make so many choices that drive the story, and I think that, once they find a way for Octavia’s choices to matter, things will finally slide into place.

And I haven’t even told you about the episode where the A-plot is that the characters go to the zoo and get chased by a monkey!

If you live in the United States, The CW airs The 100 on Wednesday nights. If you live in Canada, you can catch it on Netflix the following morning. Please watch it – I think it deserves to exist.

 

Katherine Murray is a Toronto-based writer who yells about movies and TV on her blog.

‘The 100’: Not as Bad as You Would Think

The acting is poor, the dialogue is terrible, and the production values are low, but the first season of ‘The 100’ has its moments, and most of them are pretty effing dark.

Written by Katherine Murray.

The acting is poor, the dialogue is terrible, and the production values are low, but the first season of The 100 has its moments, and most of them are pretty effing dark.

Eliza Taylor stars as Clarke on The 100
Clarke, in the Rubble of a Plot Point

With the finale airing tonight, the CW is set to wrap up the first season of its post-apocalyptic YA series, The 100 .  Based on a novel of the same name, the show takes place in the future, where humanity has been forced to live on space stations after destroying the Earth. Almost a century after the exodus, the crew of the last remaining station, The Ark, discovers that life support is failing and decides to send a team of one hundred twenty-something models teenage prisoners back to the planet, to determine whether it’s fit for colonization. Unfortunately, the prisoners immediately lose contact with the space station, leading each group to believe that it is alone, facing difficult choices about its survival.

The main character on the ground is Clarke, a political prisoner who’s basically the same serious, hyper-competent seventeen-year-old girl who stars in all post-apocalyptic YA fiction. Clarke knows a little bit about medicine, which makes her valuable to the group, but her main job is being right all the time and lecturing the others about why they are wrong. The group’s de-facto leader is an older boy named Bellamy, who snuck onto the transport ship because his sister was on board, and a lot of the tension early on comes from Clarke thinking the group should do one thing, and Bellamy thinking they should do something else.

The story on the space station is anchored by Clarke’s mother, Abby, who’s a doctor and sits on the governing council (mirroring Clarke almost exactly, but in a world of adults, rather than teenagers). Abby believes that Earth is habitable and keeps pushing for a wait-and-see approach, while other councillors want to start culling the population in order to extend life support. Her main adversary is  the Vice Chancellor, Marcus, who argues (pretty persuasively) that, if Abby is wrong, then, the longer they wait, the more people will have to die.

There are thirteen episodes in the season, including tonight’s finale, and the premiere episode is rough. Rough, like it’s kind of painful to watch, and you think, “This is the worst show that I’ve ever seen.” The tone is all over the place, the actors look and sound like they feel really awkward, everything looks cheap, and the story is silly. The second episode, in all honesty, isn’t much better.

But, then the third episode happens and, it’s not that the show becomes good, but it becomes about a million percent better than it was, and it keeps it keeps improving from there.

The third episode of The 100, “Earth Kills,” does two important things. The first is that it displays honest emotion. Clarke’s backstory is that her father was the engineer who discovered the life support system was failing, and he was executed for trying to warn the population (Clarke was in solitary because she knew the secret). Her best friend, and the Chancellor’s son, Wells, is also on Earth with her, but they’re not really friends anymore because he’s the one who ratted her father out after she told him the plan. We know this already, but most of “Earth Kills” is taken up with flashbacks that dramatize these events in a much more visceral way. We see Clarke watching as her father gets sucked into space (the preferred method of execution on The Ark), and it’s horrible. It completely explains why she’s so mad at Wells and why everyone else who’s had a loved-one sucked out the airlock hates Wells’ father for pushing the button.

Lindsey Morgan as Raven and Paige Turco as Abby on The 100
Raven and Abby have the Best Relationship on the Show

The second important thing “Earth Kills” does is end with a shocking, gruesome, grimdark twist that makes sense, given the emotional journey we’ve been on, but also establishes the tone of the show much more clearly. Because, despite the wacky hijinks in the first couple of episodes, The 100, once it gets going, is surprisingly dark for a network TV show.

I mean, William Golding understood in 1954 that, if a bunch of kids built a society, it wouldn’t be all bonfires and sparkly butterflies — I have no grounds to be surprised. Still, after the ridiculousness that was a Jaws-attack by a giant, invisible water snake in episode one (a scene that ends with everyone having a chuckle about it), I was not prepared for episode three, or episode five, or any episode where the series actually followed through on a threat and had something terrible happen.

It’s not that I think being shocking, and making your show a big downer automatically means that it’s good – in fact, I would still hesitate to say that The 100 ever actually gets good – but, The Hunger Games, and second-wave sci-fi, and the generally  dark as hell turn that TV  has taken in the last few years, have taught us that moral complexity requires a certain engagement with unpleasant content. I think we also may have reached the tipping point where it’s now a “safe” decision to include that in your show – where even a drama for the CW, staring insanely good-looking people who want to hook up, needs some violence, death, and torture, just to stay relevant.

I’m not being judgemental – I enjoyed this show a lot more, once it turned serious and dark. I’m just saying, I notice that a lot of pop culture is tilting that way, and I wonder what it means.

Setting aside the tone for a second, some other good things happen once the series gets going. To start with, the actors relax more into their roles. They forget to be embarrassed and, as they take themselves more seriously as penal colonists on a strange planet, it’s easier to suspend your disbelief. It’s also easier because the costuming and makeup departments are so good at making everyone look dirty.

You can tell that the series is based on a book, because there seems to be a plan as the action moves forward. The 100 throws a lot of twists and cliff-hangers our way – just as one problem is solved, it turns out there’s another – but, unlike other shows, where it feels like the writers are just trying things out, the plot in The 100 progresses more organically. One thing leads to another, and the stakes raise each time, building to the climax.

The characters are also allowed to disagree and still be likable. At the outset, it looks like Marcus is evil, but, once we get to know him, we see that, like everyone else, he’s trying to make good decisions in a bad situation. Similarly, we’re invited to like both Bellamy and Clarke, even though they often disagree with each other, and sometimes make the wrong move.

And, while this isn’t the first show I would point to for awesome portrayals of women, it does better than you’d expect.

Marie Avgeropoulos as Octavia on The 100
Octavia and the Sparkly Butterfly of False Hope

Even though Clarke is ripped straight from the pages of every YA novel ever, she’s a pretty decent heroine, and it’s nice that she and Abby serve as our entry points into this world. Whether or not we identify with Clarke, most of the major events on the ground are filtered through her point of view – she’s involved in all the major missions, she has a really loud opinion about everything, and we learn about this world and its characters at roughly the same pace she does. While she’s initially presented to us as an idealist (and a kind of a self-righteous one, at that), it’s interesting to see how she reacts as she’s forced to solve problems with no good solution.

There’s also a secondary character named Raven who’s introduced to us first as a mechanic, and only secondly as somebody’s girlfriend. Even though there’s some triangle drama happening with the character, the most important thing about Raven is that she’s smart and she knows how to build stuff. There’s even a nice scene where one of the boys tells her that they need her around for that reason. One of the most interesting relationships on the show is also between Raven and Abby, as they scheme together aboard The Ark.

On the flipside, there’s another character who’s more problematic.

Bellamy’s sister, Octavia, is initially presented as The Sexy One – an angry, outspoken, promiscuous girl who’s competing with Clarke for the affections of a boring boy named Finn. The first episode has this eye-rollingly bad scene where she gets undressed in front of everyone while they stare at her; in the second episode, she’s macking on three different dudes, partly just to rebel against Bellamy.

After the first couple of episodes, though, her personality does a 180, and she becomes Saint Octavia, a gentle and innocent soul, who’s annoying in a wholly different way. Saint Octavia literally trips over her own feet, at one point, and knocks herself out, necessitating a daring rescue. She also falls in love with a man who kidnaps her and chains her up in a cave. (Then she apologizes to him for freaking out when he chained her  up in a cave – I’m not making this up).

Whereas the other characters are more active, the main point of Octavia is how other people feel about her – whether or not they’re attracted to her, how Bellamy structures his life to protect her, etc. In fact, the whole reason she’s named Octavia in the first place is because of how Bellamy relates to her – when she was born, he named her Octavia because Octavia was the Emperor’s sister, just as she is his.

Either version of Octavia is hard to take, but she’s an anomaly on a show that’s otherwise pretty balanced when it comes to gender. The characters who drive the action are just as likely to be male or female, and the show passes the Bechdel test pretty often, considering that it’s pre-occupied with heterosexual dating relationships.

If I had an award for “most improved show,” I think The 100 would win it. Most sci-fi series take a while to figure out what they’re trying to be, but the contrast between the first two episodes of The 100 and the rest of the season is pretty extreme. I’m actually excited to see the finale, and, since it’s already been picked up for a second season, I’m planning to tune in again.

Programming note to my fellow Canadians: Netflix Canada streams The 100 the day after it airs in the States.

Katherine Murray is a Toronto-based writer who yells about movies and TV on her blog.