The L-Word – Bitch Flicks

Virtue, Vulgarity, and the Vulva

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

This guest post by Erin Relford appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.

If TV shows were lovers, I’d argue women haven’t had great sex since Sex and the City. Much like your first time and the strategically latent mile markers you’ve placed on partners since then, you know good sex when you encounter it. From a woman’s point of view, good sex is control without judgment, a convergence of discovery, submission beyond fear, and a jungle gym full of toys where choice puts you in the driver’s seat (debauchery being an optional passenger of course).

Considering Sex and the City TV’s certifiable rubber stamp of good female sex, Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda echoed the tales of countless women, giving ode to the free missives of womanhood and female prowess. The lessons in relationships, the selfish romps of good delight, all were reasons to shout “yes, yes, yes” by virtue of sex positivity.

So why then has good female sex gone missing from television? Arguably, cable and broadcast networks have shared in their ill-fated attempts at sexploitation, mostly at the expense of women. The proof is in the pudding or pootnanny in this case. Showtime’s Californication led seven seasons of “accidental cunnilingus” and sapless sucking, while Ray Donovan’s no frills 1-2-3 pump action has left Showtime’s female audience high and dry. HBO’s Ballers is a good time in the sack, if you’re a woman willing to suffice with balls of dry humping and no “Mr. Big” (par for the course Dwayne Johnson).

Lest one forget HBO’s seduction of rape and torture porn, Game of Thrones’ female characters experience it all in guile of good TV. These depictions aren’t to suggest the storytelling behind such shows are short of genius, but remiss of variety. The female sex narrative has been relegated to an industry turned tits for trade commonwealth, a vulva and violence republic.

Sex is an inalienable right, sacred and undeniable, an equal opportunity employer that does not discriminate in its pursuance of life, liberty, and rapture. The privilege is everyone’s to be expressed as a declaration of independence and therefore should be engaged from the perspectives of both men and women. On the contrary, the Declaration of Independence was written “that all men are created equal,” yet our stories involving sex are still being viewed from the perspectives of men.

However, let’s not be haste and expel the idea sex positivity has gone hiding into the forests of Westeros. Evidence exists that sex positivity is flourishing in light of TV’s new golden era and new wave of feminism. It’s come in the embodiment of female sex appeal, the brand of woman that is fabulously fierce, yet deliciously palpable. The fire of Daenerys Targaryen, the tenacity of Brienne of Tarth, or the inexplicable “Stark” of Arya and Sansa are all due a conceded applause thanks to Game of Thrones portrayal of strong, bountiful female characters. Scandal’s Olivia Pope earns top brass for her bastion of prose and breastwork, delivering willful rhubarbs to Washington’s elite though judged often and tenaciously for her challenge to disbelief that women can command power and pleasure in it from the highest tent pole in the land.

Alicia Florrick’s beau Will Gardner may be gone, but her sense of smart and sexy is almost too naughty for CBS’ The Good Wife.

And dare not forget the women of USA Network’s Suits, led by the strut, poise, and pivot of the inimitable Jessica Pearson.

Suffice to say there are many Masters of Sex on television, but does women’s exploration of sex on television have to be justified in pioneering scientists? Can the enjoyment of love and lust be equal parts man, equal parts woman? Not so, according to the 2015 Writers Guild of America TV staffing brief, where women remain underrepresented among staff writers by nearly two to one.

All things being equal, one could satiate in the fact women being 50.8 percent of the US population, would also mean a majority of female driven TV programming, written by women. But the reality is, most female characters are written by men. Some exceptionally well, as in FX’s You’re The Worst where creator Stephen Falk gives equal Judas Priest to the sexes or Darren Star’s Sex and the City. But there are more than 31 flavors to cherry popping ecstasy as proven early on by Ilene Chaiken’s The L Word. Perhaps one of the more prevailing scapes into female intimacy and feminism, The L Word managed to be intriguing and vanguard, paving the way for shows like Orange is the New Black where women could be domineering and emphatic, let alone in control of their very naturism as on Girls.

In an age of digital storytelling, where men still dominate culture and the writer’s room, we can continue to look forward to Pussy Galores.

Meanwhile, feminists and female viewers alike will revel in the Lisbeth Salanders, Olivia Popes, and Mary Janes, persevering far and wide in search of the next big “O,” that is open, outstanding, and out of the ordinary television that engages women from the female point of view. Will there ever be great sex on TV for women?

The answer may befall in there’s simply more to come…

Erin Relford is an author and screenwriter currently working in Los Angeles. Her writings involve female empowerment and engaging girls in science, technology, engineering, and math (STEM). You can follow her on Twitter @AdrienneFord or her website pinkyandkinky.com

Call For Writers: The Female Gaze

Our theme week for August 2015 will be The Female Gaze.

Feminist critic Laura Mulvey coined the term “male gaze,” which asserts that most of film and television are created for a male viewer. This art for the male viewer is also typically created by a man as well, and the depictions of women within this art are then a masculine interpretation of what women are. This often relegates women to the status of passive, sexual objects.

The concept of the female gaze emerged in response to that of the male gaze, wherein the female viewer, and often the female creator, are the focus for a piece of media. However, finding instances of film or television that are truly representative of the female gaze is tricky. Just because something is about women doesn’t mean it is for women (Kill Bill or Sucker Punch) or even a realistic portrayal of how women see themselves. Often, despite a female creator or even female audience, pieces of work fall victim to the male gaze because it is so entrenched in our culture (The L Word, The Hours, Blue is the Warmest Color, or The Kids Are All Right).

For example, Orange is the New Black is based on source material by a woman, directed by a woman, and depicts predominantly women. The first season does a surprisingly good job of illustrating the inner lives and interactions of women from the female gaze. However, in the second season, gratuitous nudity and sex are shown with disturbing frequency, which exploits the characters and shifts more into a voyeuristic male gaze that objectifies women. Like so many others, OitNB goes from portraying women as sexual beings to turning them into sexual objects.

Are there strong examples of the female gaze emerging? Which films or TV shows are successful representations of the female gaze? What makes them successful where so many others have failed? What examples render women as sexual beings without turning them into sexual objects? How can popular culture avoid reverting to representations of the male gaze?

Feel free to use the examples below to inspire your writing on this subject, or choose your own source material.

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

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

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

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

The final due date for these submissions is Friday, August 21 by midnight.

Orange is the New Black

Trainwreck

The Handmaid’s Tale

How Stella Got Her Groove Back

A League of Their Own

The Kids Are All Right

The L Word

Lyle

Prey for Rock n’Roll

Bitch Better Have My Money

Medium

Foxfire

Gilmore Girls

The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency

Kill Bill

Inside Amy Schumer

Thelma & Louise

Steel Magnolias

Mad Men

Farah Goes Bang

Bridesmaids

Seed & Spark: In-Betweeners: The Absence of Gender Fluidity in Media

Characters play a key role in our individual process of self-discovery. Stories have always been there to help us learn, to see from another’s point of view, or think deeper than before. What makes us human is that we turn these lessons into reflections of what we want. Through the pairing of images and concepts, I can wrap together the “idealized” me. But what happens when I cannot find myself in what I see on screen? What happened to those who lived in times when LGBTQI content was more taboo than it is now? We create.

This is a guest post by E.A. Francis.

I am an other, an in-between. I use the term “gender fluid” and I don’t consider myself a woman or a man.

I am still perceived by the world as a woman, though, and was raised as such. Sometimes people study me in public, trying to figure out what I am. It can be an ostracizing experience to move through the world as a point of people’s interest. But at the same time, I realize the value of my position. Those that glance, stare, and make eye contact are looking for my story, even if only for a second. That story is a long one—coming into my own took time. I’ve moved through stages and terms and confines until I grabbed ahold of me. And that’s what I want to see on the screen: the rawness of what it means to be conflicted and confined within your own skin.

In some ways, we have come a long way. I can now turn on the TV or head to the movies and see gay, lesbian, or bisexual characters. Even more recently, I have even seen multiple transgender characters on shows like Orange is the New Black. But there was a time when these representations were less frequent, confined to art house films. I remember my fascination with transmen characters like Brandon in Boys Don’t Cry or Max from The L Word. I looked at them and wondered, “Is that me?” I used to deny just how much we ingest media into our personalities and our understandings of our physical beings, but I’ve come to recognize how I compare myself to the images presented. Since I have no gender fluid characters, I turn toward the lesbian and trans communities.

Just like an author who writes the book they wish to read, our first instinct with storytelling is to speak the truths and questions that are within us as individuals in the hope that others share the same thoughts. But there is a stretch, often very long, between conceptualization and the completed project. I applaud our film and TV communities that have pushed for the stories less told, that show us characters with whom the minority can relate—they assist the majority in understanding that we exist and matter. Understanding another’s plight is what has lead humans to our greatest feats and I believe that some of the earliest LGBTQI movements have taken place in film and TV.

But there is a timeline, more or less, when a queer character is introduced in media. Often they are alone in their queerness and are there only to act as a foil, or as a stereotype, or to confirm that it is easy to place this type of person into a single category. Worse still is the implication that their storylines can be disregarded. The audience is supposed to believe that it is enough that the character is onscreen. I watched it happen on The L Word with Max. Quick scenes of transitioning from a female body to a male body, which is a massive process of its own, and then some confusion from the other queer characters about the authenticity of this “new other’s” experience. Here, I watched fictional lesbians, who had faced stigmas and hatred, turn the same bias to another in their queer community.

In Orange is the New Black, Sophia, who is struggling to stay on estrogen as she transitions from a male body to a female body, has a storyline that includes her son distancing himself from her and her wife moving on to be with an actual man. These points were left behind in season one and in season two we watched Sophia cut other, more “important” characters’ hair in the same salon— as though they filmed all of Laverne Cox’s scenes in one day. Where was the development? Where was her conflict? A single scene of dialogue between her and the nun about her relationship with her son skirts around the actual emotional turbulence of that time.

As an audience member, I was waiting for the moment her son expressed his thoughts to her in person, where the tension could either rise and peak or leave us hanging and thinking. But we were left, instead, to follow the story of the bisexual white woman, Piper. There are still many, many issues that lesbians, gays, and bisexuals face (including having their sexuality constantly challenged), but they are becoming more “mainstream,” more commonplace, and even deemed acceptable for families (as suggested by the popularity of Modern Family). The queer communities that lie outside of that newly developed safe zone are next in line for scrutiny in the public eye though they have always suffered massively and violently.

This is why it is crucial that our community, filmmakers and audience alike, help lift up projects that explore the experiences of a wider array of people. Frankly? I have all the hope in the world that we will accomplish this goal. It will take time, but perseverance will rule out. Let’s do this.

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E.A. Francis is an activist and interdisciplinary artist based in Chicago, Ill. Their work examines social issues surrounding gender, culture, and politics. E is a graduate of Columbia College Chicago’s Fiction Writing Department. Their current project is Kendra & Obi, which follows an African American couple working to stay together while yearning to understand themselves as individuals. Patch of Prodigy Productions LLC is hosting a live twitter event on Saturday, Sept. 20, 2014 from 1-3 p.m. CT which discusses POC in the predominantly white world of higher education. Join the conversation, which features guest speakers Sophia Nahli Allison (visual storyteller @SophiaNAllison) and Andrea Hart (Teaching Artist @lenifaye) by using the hashtag #kendraobi. Reach out to E on twitter @eafrancis2 or Facebook at Official EA Francis.

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

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

Written by Max Thornton.

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

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

And then Tony happened.

Here are the things I like about Tony:

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

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

Here are the things I dislike about Tony:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Queer Women as Sexual Beings: ‘The L Word’ and More

Today’s media landscape is fuller than ever with queer characters (though most of them are still white and/or male), yet the stories we see are still most commonly either angst-ridden fumbling towards a coming out or pregnancy and adoption dramas. It’s rare to see a fully realized queer character, too old for coming out and too young for children, actually dating and enjoying sexual encounters. It’s rarer still when it’s a woman.

A typical 'L Word' promotional image which highlights the sexual aspect of the show, luring viewers by titillation over plot or characters — A typical *The L Word* promo image, luring viewers with titillation

Written by Elizabeth Kiy as part of our theme week on Representations of Female Sexual Desire.

Sadly, it’s still kind of revolutionary to show two women in love having sex or even kissing on TV or in movies that aren’t super niche or ghettoized as pornographic or gay-interest. However, it’s easy enough to see a nominally straight character go gay for sweeps week or two girls making out for male approval in mainstream media. What’s truly scandalous is when the women like it.

Today’s media landscape is fuller than ever with queer characters (though most of them are still white and/or male), yet the stories we see are still most commonly either angst-ridden fumbling toward a coming out or pregnancy and adoption dramas. It’s rare to see a fully realized queer character, too old for coming out and too young for children, actually dating and enjoying sexual encounters. It’s rarer still when it’s a woman.

While gay men are often portrayed as hypersexual partiers, gay women in movies and TV are more likely to worry about their kids, sit on the couch reading together or have rare sex. They’re more like best friends who’ve decided to move in and raise children together than romantic partners (though Modern Family was notably criticized for the lack of passion between its gay male couple, Cam and Mitchell, who didn’t kiss onscreen until the second season of the series). It’s a distinction most notable in the common description of The Kids are Alright, a movie where a lesbian couple have only unsatisfying sex and affairs as “The Lesbian Brokeback Mountain,” comparing it to a film where a gay male couple have a passionate and enduring albeit tortured love affair.

Though there have been some notable deviations from this pattern.

Last year, Blue is the Warmest Color exploded into mainstream discussion for its long and graphic sex scenes, but many viewers felt the scenes were steeped in the male gaze (descriptions of the director Abdellatif Kechiche’s behavior didn’t help matters). Some felt the sex scenes seemed like more of a break from the narrative than genuine portrayal of the character’s passion for each other.

On Glee, Brittany (Heather Morris) and Santana’s (Naya Rivera) relationship began with sex, as they described regularly scissoring each other and were shown in bed together before any idea was given of their feelings for each other. All the emotional stuff between them was added in later. However, when they became an official couple, supposedly in love, the characters stopped interacting, and viewers had to fight to get an onscreen kiss.

On Grey’s Anatomy, Erica Hahn (Brooke Smith) was moved to tears after her first sexual experience with a woman, which caused her to reassess the way she had been living her life. She compared it to getting glasses as a child and finally seeing the world clearly, after years of unknowingly looking at blurs and not knowing they were supposed to be leaves.

It also stood out when Emily Fitch (Kathryn Prescott) officially came out in the second generation of British drama, Skins, expressing her sexual interest in women. She didn’t just vaguely “like” girls or want to date them, she wanted to have sex with them and explained, “I like their rosey lips, their hard nipples, bums, soft thighs. I like tits and fanny, you know?”

The L Word, the lesbian drama which ran from 2004-2009 on Showtime, is remembered by queer women for problems like its hackneyed writing, transphobia, and bierasure, or its place in their realization of their sexuality, but it has an important role as perhaps the only mainstream TV series where all the major characters were queer women. It’s also the only program where you can list out its top ten lesbian sex scenes.

Ad for The L-Word comparing it to Sex and The City — Ad for *The L-Word* comparing it to *Sex and The City*

The series was promoted as the queer version of Sex and the City (ads proclaimed “Same Sex, Different City”), and it’s a fairly apt comparison. It focuses on the professional and romantic lives of a group of affluent and fairly feminine queer women in their 20s and 30s living in LA’s gay mecca, West Hollywood, where their lives often intersect with celebrities.

Part of Sex and the City’s enduring position in popular culture is the ease by which the characters, even if you loved them and knew all the particulars of their lives, can be explained by types. We’ve all been asked: are you glamor-loving Carrie, traditional Charlotte, cynical Miranda or sexually liberated Samantha? Likewise, The L Word characters, like uptight power lesbian Bette (Jennifer Beals), earthy valley girl Tina (Laurel Holloman), awkward, closeted athlete Dana (Erin Daniels), social butterfly Alice (Leisha Hailey): the main cast’s only bisexual, and Jenny (Mia Kirshner), a confused midwestern transplant turned sociopath, are such clear types, it’s hard to imagine they’re friends. As THE lesbian show, the series is often posed as representative of lesbian life and love, the awful theme song even proclaims, “This is the way that we live!” Therefore the situations and other characters the protagonists run into are also played as typical.

Jenny’s attraction to Marina changed her life

With a cast (excluding male guest stars and short lived series regulars) of women, the show is ruled by female sexual desire and characters’ libidos and sexual pleasure are integral parts of the plot and of the sex scenes. Characters talk sex over coffee, give each other tips, worry about whether their partner orgasmed, fight attraction so strong it’s all-consuming and, in one episode, debate the meaning of female ejaculation. Most are young and single and spend their nights at parties and clubs, a far cry from the stereotype of lesbians staying home with their cats.

It also worked to debunk commonly held patriarchal ideas that sexual intercourse means penetration or requires a penis as women are shown receiving pleasure from different kinds of sex, involving dirty talk, roleplay, toys, hands and mouths.

A typical image of female pleasure from the L-Word — A typical image of female pleasure from *The L-Word*

In fact, the series is often viewed as a sexual primer, answering the curiosities of straight viewers and teaching basic techniques to baby queers. While women are often portrayed in the media as having sex only because the men in their lives desire it, The L Word characters enjoy sex and participate in it for their own sakes, without men to pressure them. In fact, sex between women in the show is often portrayed as more satisfying because sex scenes between women are longer, more explicit and more intense than scenes with men. A lot of attention is also given to the idea that a woman has superior knowledge of the female body because she has one herself. Likewise, Shane, the lesbian Casanova, is desired by every queer woman and most straight women she meets.

All the girls (even the straight ones) went crazy for Shane

Right off the bat, lesbian sexuality is taken seriously as the first major plot line follows Jenny, consumed by her sexual desire for a woman named Marina despite all logic. By end of pilot, we see them have sex and see it as an amazing eye-opening and life-changing experience for her.

Still, the series can be accused of titillation, and as a mainstream production, it required the interest of straight male viewers to stay on the air. In a season two plot line, the series attempted to address the idea of the male gaze and rape culture with the inclusion of a straight male character who moved in with Jenny and Shane and filmed them without their permission. All the women are gorgeous and feminine (Shane, the most masculine is still thin and stylish), which led to criticism from queer viewers that the show was making the characters more familiar and digestible for straight audiences. On the other hand, The L Word has also been praised for breaking down stereotypes and teaching audiences that not all lesbians are butch.

Still, knowledge that the series came from lesbian creator Ilene Chaiken and involved several queer actresses, guest stars and episode directors allowed queer women to feel a degree of ownership and (often begrudging) affection toward the program. The community complained about it, but still held viewing parties, all hated Jenny together, and voted the stars on hot lists throughout its run.

In season five, the show even pokes fun at the portrayal of lesbian sex in the mainstream when characters get involved in the production of a movie based on their lives. Jenny has to give the cast, who are mostly straight, lessons on how queer women have sex as they have no idea how to portray it accurately. In another episode, a producer gives the ridiculous suggestion that the actresses could have unsimulated sex in the film as the MPAA wouldn’t consider it “real sex.” His suggestion is made more ridiculous by the fact that MPAA guidelines are actually tougher towards portrayals of queer sex than straight sex, and there are numerous examples of scenes of female pleasure garnering NC-17 ratings (as in seen in the documentary This Film is Not Yet Rated).

Though there are examples of movies and TV where lesbian sexual desire and romance are portrayed along with lesbian sex (and I’m sure I’ve missed some), unfortunately, there isn’t another show with an ensemble full of queer women where their sexual desires and sex lives are taken seriously and given consistent airtime. Love or hate The L Word, its portrayal of queer women as sexual beings was, and still is, important.

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Elizabeth Kiy is a Canadian writer and freelance journalist living in Toronto, Ontario.