TV Comedy – Page 2 – Bitch Flicks

Mary and Susan on ‘Johnny Test’

While the show as a whole was run-of-the-mill, it quietly had two of the most brilliantly realized female characters in recent cartoon history: Mary and Susan Test. …Mary and Susan Test are ambitious, intelligent, and fully-actualized. Exaggeratedly brilliant scientists, it’s the twin girls who put into motion most events of the series.

This guest post written by Robert V. Aldrich appears as part of our theme week on Women Scientists.

No one’s going to blame you if you haven’t heard of Johnny Test.

It was a quiet little show that ran from 2005 to 2014, first on The CW (Kids’ WB at the time) and thereafter on Cartoon Network. There wasn’t a whole lot to it as a show, to be honest. It was pretty casual fare about a boy and his talking dog, with simple art and generic animation. The voice acting was pretty decent but nothing to write home about. Each episode was usually a very simple concept (often revolving around school, chores, and similar mundane events) that got milked for all it was worth. The series’ episodes had a few decent jokes to make you smirk, a lot of lowest-common-denominator giggles, and one or two gags that went over the kids’ heads that only mom or dad got. It was a perfectly decent show, perhaps even good at times, but never anything particularly stellar.

In another time and place, Johnny Test might have been a bigger deal, but like its ancestors from the late-80s, the series suffered from being an adequate cartoon just after a major epoch of great cartoons (with the 2008 conclusion of Avatar: The Last Airbender and the cancellation of Toonami) as well as being overshadowed by a few stellar standouts (like Ben 10 and Transformers: Animated). As such, only its very core target audience even knew it existed. Which is a shame because while the show as a whole was run-of-the-mill, it quietly had two of the most brilliantly realized female characters in recent cartoon history: Mary and Susan Test.

While the TV series Johnny Test was very clearly aimed right at the ‘boy’ demographic, with the titular character and his talking dog Dukey (…shudder…) being the centerpiece of most episodes, the two pivotal characters were Johnny’s older twin sisters. Whereas Johnny was an average, no-brand kid who was equal parts jock, geek, and lay-about (IE your generic all-American pre-tween), Mary and Susan Test are ambitious, intelligent, and fully-actualized. Exaggeratedly brilliant scientists, it’s the twin girls who put into motion most events of the series. The two red-haired teen girls are constantly working on scientific experiments that push the boundaries of human comprehension, ability, and rend the very laws of nature. Basically, think Dexter from Dexter’s Lab, only with actual manners, social graces, and no bizarre accent.

Mary, the eldest of the twins and visualized with curly hair and baggy pants, is an open-minded sort of scientist, willing to engage with most any theory. She’s slightly more out-going of the two girls and focuses mostly on their collective work. She seems to be the more mature of the two and the most well-adjusted of the three Test children.

Susan is Mary’s counterpart (if differences that subtle can be called such). The younger of the two, Susan has straight hair and typically wears a skirt. She’s a little more hard-nosed when it comes to science and interpretation, and is a little more curt. She evidences a quicker temper than her sister, and has also garnered the attention of an unwanted paramour in the form of Eugene ‘Bling-Bling Boy’ Hamilton.

Both Mary and Susan are brilliant scientists, whose work is courted by the U.S. government (who seem synonymous with the military, though they’re frequently played for comic relief) and other institutions, even while they attend school at Porkbelly Technical Institute (which seems to be a generic higher-ed establishment and made unclear if it’s a high school or a college).

Mary and Susan are not the first female science wonks in cartoon history. Prior to them, cartoon-watchers had Gadget Hackwrench from Rescue Rangers and Sandy Cheeks on Spongebob Squarepants (yep, technically the squirrel in a diving suit is a scientist). Go back any farther and you could debatably include Penny from Inspector Gadget, but at about that point, the already paltry list begins to thin out completely. Sure, some shows had the occasional one-off or even recurring character as a female scientist (Transformers had Carly, Spike’s girlfriend who seemed a little too enamored with the alien robots), but by and large, the media was woefully lacking in such representation. This necessitated audiences look to live-action entertainment for any semblance of female characters into science, math, and the like. But live-action stuff’s like, for adults and who wants to watch that?

Even more remarkable is that while female science characters are in short supply, in even shorter supply – so much so as to border on unheard of – are female scientists who are still GIRLS. In the annals of cartoon history, one would be hard-pressed to find any other characters so prominent and also so well-rounded. While Mary and Susan’s cartoon predecessors were often more scientist than girl, the Test Twins are still very much regular teen girls. They like to get gussied up in dresses, go to the pool, and go dancing. They like makeup and many of the usual trappings associated with femininity. They just also really, really love science.

This is best evidenced by both girls having an unrequited interest in Gil Nexdor (get it?), the hunky airhead that lives down the street. Both girls pine for Gil’s easily-distracted attention, but are exceptionally clueless as to how to achieve it or hold it. For most of the show, Gil seems largely oblivious to the Test Twins’ very existence, an interesting reversal on the usual trope. It’s doubly interesting because of how it is similar to Susan’s struggles with Bling-Bling Boy and his constant, unwanted (and at times, toxic) attention.

Most every episode of Johnny Test involves the girls and their intelligence. Either an invention of theirs kicks off the episode’s action, or one is needed to save the day. Episodes vary from the run-of-the-mill charm-of-life episodes involving the usual kids’ matters (lazy afternoon, not wanting to do homework, sibling rivalry, etc.) to hyper-exaggerated inanity (alien invasions, feuds with other super-geniuses). Mary and Susan sometimes struggle with one another, as sisters are wont to do, but always end up reconciling. Likewise, their attitudes towards Johnny vary from episode to episode, depending on how much trouble he’s getting them into or how much they want him to test a new invention, but they always drop everything to help him.

The Test Twins really are quite remarkable as characters. As progressive as cartoons can be, there remains a colossal dearth of science-minded female characters, especially ones who embrace femininity. Were we to guess based off the likes of their peers and predecessors like Penny or Gadget, we might get the impression that once a woman puts on a lab coat or a stethoscope, she ceases to be a woman or a girl. Once she commits to STEM interests, she quits being interested in dresses, dances, or swooning after crushes. Mary and Susan Test challenge this quietly but directly.

For girls tuning in to watch this show, they found two prominent and visible characters who appear in nearly every single episode and always contribute meaningfully, if not outright save the day. Moreover, they do it not with beauty or social graces or even physical might, but with their intellect. These girls are the force in the show because of their smarts. Name any other cartoon with any other female character (much less two!) that can say the same. Don’t worry, I’ll wait.

Moreover, these two girls are not the centerpieces of the show. While they’re certainly not supporting characters, they’re not quite tritagonists with Johnny either. Mary and Susan occupy some unique territory where, depending on the episode, they find themselves as anything from partner-in-crime to background character to even deus ex machina. At first glance, this might seem a bit to undermine their importance, but consider instead that the target audience of this show is likely to be boys (because heaven forbid a show appeal to both, but that’s a discussion for another matter). By having these two super-science girls in the background of the show helps normalize the notion of girls who are smart, ambitious and love science. If this show were a little boy’s favorite TV show, it would be very likely that he would be completely accepting of girls at school being into biology, math, and the like. After all, why wouldn’t they be?

The world of entertainment has not been kind to women and girls who are interested in science, technology, engineering, and math. Often these characters are written quickly out of shows, turned into one-off joke characters, or relegated to quiet support. When they are featured in any way, they are nerdy outcasts who are scientists not just first, but almost exclusively. If a female character is into STEM matters, it’s as if they must sacrifice their femininity.

Mary and Susan casually dismiss all of that as the garbage that it is. They’re girls, fully realized and healthy in every way, who love science and lose themselves in their pursuits. No struggle exists to reconcile their intellects with their lives as girls. They are the perfect role-models of the aspiring scientist who also wants to wear cute clothes and go to the prom. On a show that otherwise was solid but quite forgettable, these girls stood out as contributing wonderfully to the tapestry of rich female characters cartoons have offered.

Not too bad for a cartoon with a talking dog named Dukey.

Robert V. Aldrich is a writer and novelist, living in Raleigh, North Carolina (and plans to vote against Pat McCrory as soon as November gets here). He’s the author of numerous books including Samifel and Rhest for the Wicked, as well as a contributing writer for multiple websites. You can find more of his work at TeachTheSky.com and he can be found on Facebook and Twitter. When not writing B-rate sci-fi or smarty-pants evaluations of kids’ shows, he is working for the health department, teaching martial arts, or losing arguments to his cats.

‘The Golden Girls’: The Legacy of a Lifetime of Wisdom and Laughter

In 1985, television audiences were reminded that women of a certain age are just as vibrant, sexual, and as full of life as women half their age. They may also share a few life lessons along the way. The TV series ‘The Golden Girls’ — which aired for seven seasons — reminded audiences of all ages that life does not end at fifty for women.

This guest post written by Adina Bernstein appears as part of our theme week on Ladies of the 1980s.

Picture it: Brooklyn, 1991. My sister and I, aged 10 and 7 are spending a Saturday night at our widowed grandmother’s apartment. Her favorite show is The Golden Girls.

My grandmother was not a young woman at that point. The youngest daughter of Russian Jewish immigrants, my grandmother had been through quite a lot, starting with the death of her parents when she was a teenager. Marrying my late grandfather (who passed away the year before) in the late 1940s, she raised two sons (my father and uncle). My grandmother watched her sons grow up, get married, enter the working world, and become successful adults. She and my grandfather had a hand in raising her grandchildren (my sister and I). Through that lifetime of experience, my grandmother was and still is a beacon to our entire family.

Once upon a time, older women were revered for the experience, knowledge, and wisdom that take a lifetime to accumulate. Those days, unfortunately, belong in the distant past. Once she reaches a certain age, a woman is more likely to be discarded for a “newer model,” thought to be senile, or viewed only through the lens of her role as a wife, mother, and grandmother. Who she is as a woman, what she has accomplished in life, and the lessons she can teach to those younger than her is often deemed meaningless in society.

In 1985, television audiences were reminded that women of a certain age are just as vibrant, sexual, and as full of life as women half their age. They may also share a few life lessons along the way. The TV series The Golden Girls — which aired for seven seasons — reminded audiences of all ages that life does not end at fifty for women.

Blanche Devereaux (Rue McLanahan) was the Southern belle rarely without a date. Rose Nylund (Betty White) was the innocent Midwesterner who never quite got the joke. Dorothy Zbornak (Bea Arthur) was originally from New York who always quipped the smartass one-liners. Sophia Petrillo (Estelle Getty) was Dorothy’s mother originally from Sicily who escaped the nursing home and whose age allowed her to be as far from politically correct as she wanted to be.

With television (and the media in general), then and now, most older women are not seen as vivacious, independent, capable human beings who can still contribute to the world. They are expected to quietly retire (if they did work outside of the home), take care of their spouse, children, and grandchildren. Their work is done. It’s time to sit in the rocking chair, knit a blanket or sweater, and watch as the next generation steps up to the plate.

They say that sixty is the new forty, that means that forty is the new twenty. People also say that age is just a number. I prefer the latter. Blanche, Dorothy, Rose, and Sophia were just as dynamic, sexual, and spirited as women on-screen who are half their age. In fact, their age made them even more appealing.

The Golden Girls touched on many subjects over the course of seven years: friendship, dating, menopause, being a parent to grown children who may make decisions not approved of, LGBTQ rights, the relationships between family, etc.

Looking back I can see the crack that The Golden Girls put in the glass ceiling. It was a small crack, but an important one. The lesson was clear: just because a woman is over fifty does not mean she is unimportant. What she brings to the table is priceless; there is no dollar sign on life experiences or wisdom. There is nothing more attractive than a person who combines life experiences, intelligence, and confidence to be who they are. Perhaps that is what made The Golden Girls appealing to all audiences and perhaps why there was a string of boyfriends and potential boyfriends that passed through the house.

When I watch The Golden Girls in reruns, I notice several things. I see my childhood and my late grandmothers, who were of the same generation as the characters. I remember the wisdom and experience my grandmothers had, that only someone who lives for fifty plus years can possess. I see four women who not only get along, but are able to maintain a very strong friendship despite their differences. I see four independent and self-reliant women with full social lives and romantic lives. I see four women who are funny, real, and full of life. I see the reminder that when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade.

In Jane Austen’s classic novel, Sense and Sensibility, Marianne Dashwood, says, “A woman of seven and twenty… can never hope to feel or inspire affection again.” Granted, this statement is coming from a girl of sixteen, but the sentiment reflects an overall cultural value about women and aging. Women, especially women of a certain age, are supposed to eventually step aside. The Golden Girls did not step aside, nor did they quietly accept the limitations that women their age are supposed to accept. Their declaration was loud and clear: older women can do anything that a woman of thirty can do. In fact, they may be able to do more, not only because of a lifetime of experiences, but because they are free of the responsibilities that come along with a career (although 3 of the women still had careers) and raising a family.

After my grandfather died, my sister and I spend many Saturday evenings with my grandmother. Looking back on those memories, I wouldn’t change them for the world. I also would not change the lessons about age and taking life by the balls that The Golden Girls taught their millions of fans.

See also at Bitch Flicks: How ‘The Golden Girls’ Shaped My Feminism

Adina Bernstein is a Brooklyn born freelance writer and blogger at Writergurlny. You can find her on Twitter @Writergurlny and Instagram.

‘A Different World’ Shook Up My World

‘A Different World’ will forever hold a special place in my life. …It became my North Star to an experience largely foreign to me — undergraduate life. It gave me insight into the strength gained from friendships with Black women. … Seeing images of young, gifted, and Black women pursuing higher education at a historically Black college or university (HBCU) shaped my vision for my life.

This guest post written by Shara D. Taylor appears as part of our theme week on Ladies of the 1980s.

The 1980s hit series A Different World will forever hold a special place in my life. Set at the fictional, historically Black school Hillman College, it became my North Star to an experience largely foreign to me — undergraduate life. It gave me insight into the strength gained from friendships with Black women. It provided me with a reason to focus on my schoolwork, even when I found myself spending an inordinate amount of time in the principal’s office.

As my mom tells it, she raised me to think college was the natural next step after high school. Despite having no one else in my family who had completed a bachelor’s degree, I never considered other options. She probably didn’t know it then, but her efforts came with reinforcements in the form of a Thursday night TV show. I knew my life probably would resemble the lives of the students at Hillman, though it meant following an obscure path made brighter by these representations.

Because of A Different World, a spin-off of The Cosby Show, I didn’t see the obstacles ahead of me. I didn’t listen to the teachers who predicted doom and gloom for my future. Instead, I listened to southern belle Whitley Gilbert (Jasmine Guy) when she explained how her grandfather learned to love himself during his time at Hillman. I paid attention when the earthy Freddie Brooks (Cree Summer) extolled the need to remember history after discovering a stop on the Underground Railroad behind a wall in the Gilbert Hall dorm. It still gives me goose bumps when I reflect on that episode.

When pre-med student Kimberly Reese (Charnele Brown) stretched herself too thinly with her classes, jobs, and extracurricular activities, Freddie and Kim’s other friends forced her to party when she really wanted to study. She woke up exhausted the next day, but managed to ace her exams.

Jaleesa Vinson (Dawnn Lewis), an older Hillman student who had been married and divorced before enrolling, played big sister to a lively group of early 20-somethings. She often butted heads with the spoiled Whitley whose divorced, Hillman alumni parents gave her everything she wanted without teaching her any responsibility. Over time, their relationship grew into one of mutual respect, though they still worked each other’s nerves.

I couldn’t describe it as a youngster, but I recognized the complexities in these relationships. I figured my life might be like theirs some day, so I paid close attention.

While writing this piece, I thought about the images of Black women that had appeared on television prior to A Different World’s premiere in 1987. I couldn’t find one example of a group of young, Black girlfriends finding their way in life while walking on the wobbly bridge into womanhood. To be sure, other Black women had shared friendships on the small screen before A Different World’s debut. In the 1970s, there were Florida Evans and Willona Woods on Good Times and Louise Jefferson and Helen Willis on The Jeffersons. In the 1980s, the women of 227 — Mary Jenkins, Rose Lee Holloway, Pearl Shay, and Sandra Clark — supported each other as adults. However, all of these women lived more stable lives than college students.

We saw more representations of young, Black women throughout the 1990s and 2000s in Living Single, Moesha, and Girlfriends. For me, none matched the camaraderie that I felt with the characters on A Different World.

Although my love of the show began when I was only four years old, it sustained me through my rough middle school years when I landed myself in the principal’s office several times per week. In high school, my main goal was to get to college with as few visits to the principal as possible. Somewhere along the way, I absorbed A Different World and its rich characters into my bloodstream. Seeing images of young, gifted, and Black women pursuing higher education at a historically Black college or university (HBCU) shaped my vision for my life. As a child, I knew for sure that I wanted to continue my education at a school like Hillman.

I remember the day I told my mom that I planned to attend Howard University (HU!). I was a junior in high school. A substitute teacher in my Algebra II class suggested it when I told her about my desire to study business at an HBCU. I went home that afternoon, searched Howard’s website, and decided it fit my criteria. That evening, I walked into my mom’s room and declared my intentions. She fell silent for a minute. “I can guarantee you one year. You have to figure out the rest,” she replied. I accepted her challenge. I knew I’d get to Howard somehow; my Hillman friends-in-my-head had convinced me of it.

Throughout my time as an undergrad, I often stood in awe of my peers and what I saw them accomplishing. At Howard, the women on campus held leadership positions in student government, social justice organizations, and pre-professional associations. My female classmates pushed me to be a better woman, a better friend, and a better global citizen. As if on cue, they offered encouragement when I needed it most and reality checks when I lost my way. The women of Hillman did the same for each other. They shared their triumphs and disappointments in their careers and their love lives. They uplifted each other when the outside world tried to belittle their existence for being Black and woman. They wouldn’t stand for it and neither would my Howard people.

In 2015, I celebrated my 10-year Howard class reunion with a couple hundred of my beautiful classmates. Nothing could have prepared me for the swell of love and pride I felt being back on campus. I have yet to find another environment as nurturing and supportive as the one at Howard.

Many years after my trying adolescence, my mom asked me how I managed to keep up my grades despite my rebellious behavior. I explained that being smart and being “cool” were never mutually exclusive in my mind. She and I can thank A Different World for that.

Every Thursday for six years, I watched my future self and my future classmates laugh and cry and dance across my screen. I’m not sure where I would’ve landed without Whitley and Freddie or Kim and Jaleesa. I don’t know where I’d be without the women of Howard University who continue to inspire me.

I’ve determined how I exist in this world through them. For that, I’m eternally grateful.

Shara D. Taylor watches films to break the monotony of her raging urban planner lifestyle. Her interests include Hip-Hop, A Different World, Back to the Future, and everything directed by Ava DuVernay. You can send her pleasant tweets @sharas_soapbox.

Ladies and Gentlemen, ‘Master of None’ Is the Series We’ve All Been Waiting For

You don’t have to look further than the comments section on any website to see that people with more power routinely try to decide what people with less power have the right to complain about. It’s something that happens in every discussion about inequality, but it’s so rare for that to be the topic itself that I was actually shocked when it was in “Ladies and Gentlemen.”

Written by Katherine Murray.

If you haven’t had time to catch up on Aziz Ansari’s Netflix series yet, prepare yourself to be delighted.

Ever since it dropped in November, Master of None — created by Ansari and Alan Yang — has racked up critical praise. The comedy follows Ansari’s character, Dev, as he navigates his dating life and fledgling acting career in New York City. But what sets it apart is the diversity of its characters, and the insight it offers into day-to-day microaggressions related to race and gender. Master of None offers us a point of view that’s hard to find on television, and does it in a smart, entertaining way.

One of the episodes that has attracted the most attention is “Parents,” which focuses on first-generation Americans trying to navigate relationships with their immigrant parents. Ansari cast his real-life mother and father in the episode, and the story struck a powerful chord with viewers who had never before seen their own experiences as children of immigrants reflected in popular entertainment. Another episode, “Indians on TV,” highlights racist stereotypes and casting in mainstream media, calling out real-life examples, both obvious and subtle.

Master of None has received less attention for the way it approaches gender, but the first season shines on that front, too. Dev’s group of friends includes funny, smart people from many different backgrounds, including a straight white man and a Black lesbian woman who have roughly equal importance in the story. His relationship with his one-night stand turned girlfriend, Rachel, is respectful and emotionally mature – they act like equals at all times, and like each other because they have the same sense of humor, interests, and values. In the episode “Hot Ticket,” Dev agonizes over setting up a date with a really attractive waitress, only to discover that he hates her personality. It’s an idea that could have gone wrong, but the character and her awful personality idiosyncrasies are so specific that it doesn’t come off as a statement that beautiful women are X, Y or Z, so much as a statement that it’s not possible to know whether someone is a desirable date until you’ve spent time talking to them.

The most feminist episode of the first season, though, is “Ladies and Gentlemen,” in which Dev is surprised to learn that his girlfriend and female friends are constantly the targets of aggressive behavior from men. Like “Indians on TV,” “Ladies and Gentlemen” starts by highlighting broad, obvious forms of aggression, before drawing attention to subtler types of discrimination that even well-meaning people engage in.

“Ladies and Gentlemen” opens with a scene that cuts back and forth between Dev and one of his female co-stars leaving a cast party at night. Dev and his male friend, Arnold, share a pleasant conversation and cut through the park to save time. Dev’s co-star looks like she’s in a horror movie and ends up getting followed to her house by some asshole who tried to buy her a drink earlier and got mad when she turned him down. He hammers on her door demanding to know why nice guys like him never have a chance.

After Dev finds out about what happened, he hears similar stories from all the other women in his life. The stories are based on the real-life experiences of female staff writers, and they’re completely familiar to any woman watching the show, right down to the detail where you can’t post a picture of eggs on your Instagram without some strange guy showing up to harass you.

Armed with this new information, Dev and his female friend, Denise, make a citizen’s arrest when they catch a man jerking off on the subway. Dev becomes a hero to all the women at the bar, who start buying him drinks and telling him about the awful things that guys have done to them. Later on, while he’s still basking in the glow of being an upstanding feminist, one of Dev’s male coworkers stops by the table and introduces himself to all the men, while ignoring the women completely. Rachel and Denise point out the sexism of the situation and Dev dismissively tells them that they are being too sensitive and making a big deal out of nothing. He’s then confused about why Rachel is upset with him.

What follows is an amazing scene – also based on real-life experiences – where Rachel and Dev walk home together and she explains in an articulate but believable way, why it’s hurtful and offensive for him to tell her that her own assessment of a thing that just happened to her is wrong. It’s like the final scene in the Louie episode “So Did the Fat Lady,” except without being so problematic. In the end, Dev concedes that Rachel knows more about what Rachel just experienced than he does, and says he will try harder to listen, from now on.

It’s one of the single greatest moments I’ve seen on a TV show – and maybe the only one to directly address this exact, frustrating, aggravating, hard-to-articulate issue head-on. You don’t have to look further than the comments section on any website to see that people with more power routinely try to decide what people with less power have the right to complain about. That very act – that presumptuous attempt to unilaterally define the boundaries of what is and isn’t up for discussion; what we can and can’t feel offended by; what we can and can’t disagree about – that very act is, itself, an attempt to protect and reinforce the power structures we were trying to complain about in the first place. It’s something that happens in every discussion about inequality, but it’s so rare for that to be the topic itself that I was actually shocked when it was in “Ladies and Gentlemen.”

Non-traditional networks like Netflix and Amazon have opened new frontiers in terms of what a TV show can be and whose stories are profitable enough to be worth telling. Master of None is an example of the very best these new frontiers have to offer – a funny, insightful, well-produced series that broadens the range of experiences depicted on television and adds something new to the cultural discussion.

The good news is that Master of None was just officially renewed for second season, expected to show up in 2017.

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

The Day Mindy Lahiri Ate Seashells and Called Me Immature

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.

Written 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.

In the season premiere of The Mindy Project, “While I Was Sleeping,” Mindy Lahiri falls asleep and has a nightmare about what her life would have been like if she hadn’t hooked up with her relatively more conservative boyfriend, Danny (who has meanwhile traveled to India to explain to Mindy’s parents that marriage is a flawed institution and not the right choice for him at this moment in time).

In the dream sequence, Mindy is married to a TV producer played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt, who lets her keep her South Park pinball machine in the living room and stops her from eating seashells when she mistakes them for candy. At first, this seems like the ideal arrangement, but Mindy soon discovers that she’s having an affair with one of the guys who works in her building. When she confesses the affair to Joseph Gordon-Levitt, he explains that he’s totally cool with it, because they have an open marriage. Furthermore, he’s bisexual, and he likes it when they have a three-way with another guy.

Confronted with what sounds to me like the perfect partner, Mindy recoils in horror, treating the three-way-with-a-dude element as the final nail in the coffin rather than the icing on a very delicious-sounding cake.

That much is fine. Not everyone wants the same things and, if Mindy wants to be in a monogamous relationship with a strictly heterosexual man, that’s cool – it’s her choice. I can see how this would be a nightmare scenario for her. But the way her reaction is framed turns it into a value judgement about any kind of relationship that isn’t strictly monogamous.

Rather than just saying, “Hey, this is not what I want – I’m in love with Danny and I want to have a more traditional relationship with him,” Mindy uses this as an opportunity to learn a lesson about how Danny’s positive influence on her has saved her from the fate of immature, hedonistic living. She complains to Joseph Gordon-Levitt that, if she had suggested something like this to Danny, he would have told her to “walk around the block and cool [her] loins” (a joke that pays off when this is, verbatim, what Danny says when she later tells him about this dream). After she wakes up, she also explains to Danny that the lesson she learned is that they make each other better people.

It’s true that Mindy and Danny have always had an opposites-attract relationship, the point of which has always been that they make each other better and more interesting people because they challenge each other to grow. However, I’m a little uncomfortable with the idea that being in an open relationship or having a three-way now and then is an example of Mindy being a “worse” person than she is with Danny.

The Mindy Project has always been a little bit weird about sex. On the one hand, it can be extremely sex-positive and often does the important work of showing us a world in which a woman who doesn’t fit the traditional standard of beauty is still considered desirable, and allowed to feel desire herself. There’s a weird but interesting episode in season three where Mindy discovers that Danny was a stripper at one point in the past (a plot point that seems to have more to do with Chris Messina’s background in dance than with organic character development, but fine). The whole point of that episode is about learning to treat your partner’s past as a fun, sexy surprise rather than something that threatens your relationship, and it includes a really rare example of the female gaze – we’re invited to see Danny as an object of desire without it turning into a joke and without either of the characters getting uncomfortable or embarrassed about it.

On the flipside – while respecting that this is a comedy – the Danny-was-a-stripper episode stands out because discussions and depictions of Mindy’s sex life usually involve a lot of self-deprecating humour to the tune of “It’s not really sexy when she does this.” For example:

I have, over the years, devised a series of illusions and tricks so that my boyfriend never sees me naked when we’re having sex. I hide under the sheets. I pretend that I’m really into blindfolds. Sometimes, I hide in the shadows of candlelight and then I’m like, “boo!” Phantom of the Opera-style.

That’s a funny joke, but it’s part of a series of funny jokes that belie a certain amount of discomfort with the character’s sexuality. It’s the same kind of humour that underpins the joke where Mindy keeps telling everyone how hot she is – the subtext is that her arrogance plays differently because we wouldn’t “expect” her to think this about herself.

The piece de resistance in terms of “I’m not sexy” comedy, though, comes when Mindy imitates the whipped cream bikini scene from Varsity Blues while she video chats with her boyfriend. Instead of a bikini, she makes a modest one-piece swimsuit, and then falls off camera after getting attacked by ants.

Taken in that context, the alternate universe open marriage that Mindy finds herself in in “While I Was Sleeping” seems to be an extension of the idea that there’s something goofy and immature about the sexual situations Mindy gets herself into in the absence of a stabilizing influence like perpetual wet blanket, Danny. The scene isn’t mean-spirited or openly critical, but it takes for granted that the situation Joseph Gordon-Levitt is describing is not OK.

I don’t want to get into a debate about Mindy Kaling’s politics – though it’s safe to say she’s more conservative than I am in some respects, and that’s all right – but watching this scene also reminded me of the essay she wrote for Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? a few years ago, where she describes the difference between what she calls “boys” and “men” and why she recommends that women over 30 focus on trying to date more “men.” Quoth the essay:

Peter owned a house. It wasn’t ritzy or anything, but he’d really made it a home. The walls were painted; there was art in frames. He had installed a flat-screen TV and speakers. There was just so much screwed into the walls, so much that would make you lose your deposit. I marveled at the brazenness of it. Peter’s house reminded me more of my house growing up than of a college dorm room. I’d never seen that before. … I observed in Peter a quality that I knew I wanted in the next guy I dated seriously: He wasn’t afraid of commitment.

… I’m not talking about commitment to romantic relationships. I’m talking about commitment to things—houses, jobs, neighborhoods. Paying a mortgage. When men hear women want a commitment, they think it means commitment to a romantic relationship, but that’s not it. It’s a commitment to not floating around anymore. I want a guy who is entrenched in his own life. Entrenched is awesome.

… I want a schedule-keeping, waking-up-early, wallet-carrying, picture-hanging man.

That list of wants seems to describe the character of Danny Castellano pretty well, and it also seems to support the idea that Mindy (the character) learning to have a mature, responsible relationship with someone like Danny is a sign of personal growth – a sign, specifically, that she’s grown out of the stage where she’s “floating around” exploring possibilities and trying to figure out who she is. It’s a sign of entering the state in life where you start to foreclose on possibilities – a stage where you start to decide who you’re going to be and how you’re going to live, and those decisions get harder to change.

It’s true that there’s a certain extent to which this has to happen for everyone. Life is finite – time runs out. As you get older, you start to become aware that opening one door closes three others. It isn’t possible to do and be everything – you have to make choices.

At the same time, the degree to which we “settle down” isn’t universal. I’m older than 30, and I don’t want to date the guy Mindy describes as a “man.” I don’t want to be that guy, either. I like who I am now, but I also like the idea that I could turn out to be someone different one day. I want to be able to move easily, if that happens.

What does this have to do with a joke about seashells and having a three-way? It has to do with the cultural narrative we have about what it means to be a grown-up – the one that says “You have to foreclose on lots of possibilities as you get older, and one of the possibilities you have to foreclose on is having sex with anyone who’s not your spouse.” That’s the narrative that underpins the jokes in “While I Was Sleeping” – and I found those scenes unsettling not because they personally insulted me – they didn’t – but because I’m not sure I buy into this idea that, in order to be a good adult, I have to be excited for a mortgage.

Also, it feels like everyone I know on Facebook is now married with a house – but that’s a post for a different blog.

Katherine Murray is a Toronto-based writer who yells about movies and TV (both real and made up) on her blog.

‘Silicon Valley’ Adds Women, Convinces Me It Shouldn’t Add Women

Women aren’t really treated poorly by ‘Silicon Valley,’ but it’s weird that they’re treated as being so different from the male characters on the show. Where the men have recognizable – if exaggerated – human failings, motivations and personality tics, the women are much more inscrutable, like adults who’ve walked into the middle of a children’s game. It’s a pattern that exists outside of just this show, but it’s something that stops women from being full participants in the story even if they now, at least, exist there.

Written by Katherine Murray.

There’s no way that Silicon Valley can win this one, you guys.

Sitrep: Silicon Valley is a comedy on HBO about group of programmers who try to build their own company, only to discover that that’s really fucking hard. Despite being one of the funniest shows on television, it was roundly (and fairly) criticized in its first season for being passively sexist. The core characters are a group of five guys – Richard, the young visionary who comes up with a data compression code that could make him a billionaire; Erlich, the loud entrepreneur who owns a piece of Richard’s company; Gilfoyle and Dinesh, two programmers with an I-secretly-like-you-but-we-fight-cat-and-dog relationship; and Jared, an awkward business management/accounting guy they poached from a rival company.

Of the four supporting characters we meet, three are also guys – Gavin Belson, the head of the evil Hooli corporation; Big Head, Richard’s friend who works for Hooli; and Peter Gregory, an offbeat, socially awkward developer who sees Richard’s potential and invests in his company. That means that, out of the nine characters who regularly appear in season one, one of them is a woman, and she’s Peter Gregory’s assistant. Her name is Monica, she’s a straight man for jokes, and she really believes in Richard.

Aside from Monica, women are invisible in season one, except for a few who make appearances as strippers, professional party guests, and cupcake saleswomen who trick guys into building their aps. This is problematic partly because it’s a missed opportunity to show women working in the STEM fields, and partly because it feels weird against jokes like Big Head’s idea for an ap that points you to women who have erect nipples.

The good news is that it seems like the showrunners took this criticism seriously in season two, and at least made some attempt to show us that women also work in the tech industry. There are now female extras in the crowd shots at Hooli, female programmers and project managers, and women sitting on the company’s board of directors. Monica gets a promotion where she becomes responsible for managing her company’s interest in Richard’s start-up, and Peter Gregory (who sadly had to be replaced due to the actor’s passing) is swapped out for a socially awkward female boss named Laurie. Richard’s company, Pied Piper, even briefly hires a female coder, Carla, to work on the project.

It seems like they actually tried to do things differently. So, how did it turn out?

Not that well.

I don’t feel like Silicon Valley is hostile to women – but I feel like maybe the writers don’t have many female friends (yes, I know a couple of the episodes were actually written by women; maybe they don’t have female friends, either). Where the male characters are all really quirky and specific, the female characters are vaguely competent and bland – they fit into the comedy stereotype that says women have their shit together more than men do, and that means they have to act as a stabilizing influence, buzz-kill, or mom. It’s a stereotype that flatters women in some ways, and usually seems well-meaning, but also leaves us out of the fun.

Theoretically, Monica could have become a part of the core group of characters, through her increased participation in the board meetings. In practice, though, the board meeting comedy was driven by Erlich’s pompous, emotionally immature need to be the centre of attention, and a new character, Russ Hanneman’s need to be the biggest douche that ever was. Because she wasn’t written to have similarly loud and pronounced personality traits, Monica almost may as well not be there, and she fades father into the background as the season goes on.

The second opportunity to add a woman to the group came when Pied Piper hired Carla to help with the programming, but her primary trait was being Smurfette, and her contribution to the comedy was being a thing for the guys to react to in funny ways. She had a little bit more of an edge than Monica, but she was still portrayed as mostly competent and bland – above getting into childish fights with Gilfoyle and Dinesh, and focussed on doing her actual work. She was only in the show for a few episodes before she was written out completely.

Women aren’t really treated poorly by Silicon Valley, but it’s weird that they’re treated as being so different from the male characters on the show. Where the men have recognizable – if exaggerated – human failings, motivations, and personality tics, the women are much more inscrutable, like adults who’ve walked into the middle of a children’s game. It’s a pattern that exists outside of just this show, but it’s something that stops women from being full participants in the story even if they now, at least, exist there.

So, what should Silicon Valley do stop being a show about dudes?

Probably nothing.

From a purely pragmatic point of view, we just had a whole season that proved to us that adding women to the show – in the way that the writers are capable of adding women to the show – isn’t going to make much difference. I sincerely appreciate the effort – and it went a long way toward reassuring me that the show has good intentions, but I’m not sure a funny, juvenile, well-integrated female character is really in the cards for Silicon Valley. Melissa McCarthy can only do so many projects at once.

In order to integrate women more into the cast, there would have to be a real desire to do that and an introspective awareness of gender dynamics that hasn’t been present so far.

But, even aside from whether the show can add women, it’s not clear to me that it has to. It would be nice if it did. It would have been outstanding if, when the series was first conceived, someone had pushed it beyond the stereotypes that first come to mind when we think of the real Silicon Valley. But, we don’t have a time machine to go back and tinker with the DNA of the show when it was first created, and, in fairness to the writers, the mix of characters they did end up with works really well. That’s not to say that another mix wouldn’t have worked equally well from a comedy standpoint – just that, if we view its success partly in terms of whether or not it’s funny, Silicon Valley succeeded in being funny.

At this stage, I think that, rather than focusing on what should have been, or could still be different about Silicon Valley, this is a good opportunity to learn some lessons for next time. I think it’s okay for dude shows about dudes to exist – but it should serve as a reminder that we also need more shows about women, and shows about both men and women, together. Silicon Valley wouldn’t be such a sore spot for people if women weren’t underrepresented on TV in the first place and, while I don’t think it’s up to this series to solve that problem, it’s an example that can still play a part in the discussion. What’s striking about women’s invisibility – or women’s later responsible buzz-kill status – on Silicon Valley isn’t anything about the show itself, but the way it fits into a larger pattern.

So, let the dude show be about dudes. But let’s also have shows that aren’t about dudes – or aren’t just about dudes – to balance things out in the end.

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

Man Up: How ‘VEEP’ Emphasizes the Value of Masculinity in Politics

Because he doesn’t display the same aggressive temperament (he’s actually rather sweet and nurturing) nor does he have a similar function as the rest of the group, his value is regularly questioned and his masculinity is nearly erased. Walsh broaches this issue in the second episode of the series, “Frozen Yoghurt,” when Egan flippantly claims that the famous bag is full of lip balm: “Everything you say to me is emasculating.” And it’s true!

The promotional image for Season 3 of Veep. — The promotional image for Season 3 of *Veep.*

This guest post by Shannon Miller appears as part of our theme week on Masculinity.

As a person who has experienced her fair share of toxic work environments, I’m not sure how much I’d flourish as a member of Vice President (or President, depending on which season you’re watching) Selina Meyer’s staff. Between the terrible communication, almost complete absence of solidarity, and the revolving door of insults, I’m just not sure I possess the thick skin needed to remain there for the long haul. VEEP, however, does an excellent job of presenting this tumultuous atmosphere in a way that’s sharp, thoughtful, and uniquely hilarious.

The component that makes the show the award-winning masterpiece that it deserves to be is its brand of insults, which are hurled by all members of the staff with an almost enviable ease. They’re often as witty as they are vulgar and everyone is a potential target, including Meyer (flawlessly portrayed by Julia Louis-Dreyfus) herself. The wealth of colorful jabs and hostile language offer more than a momentary laugh; it alludes to what is considered valuable amongst both the Meyer camp and politics, in general. Efficiency, aplomb, aggressiveness, and general competence are regularly encouraged with a simple call to “man up.” In addition, femininity and boyhood are used as favorable taunts to either attack someone’s confidence or goad them in a more advantageous, perhaps much more effective direction.

Consider, for a moment, a recent episode titled “B/ills” where Meyer advises her exceedingly charming running mate Tom James (Hugh Laurie) during a mock debate. “You’ve gotta be aggressive,” she says frankly. “Man up here a little bit.” Or we could glance back at season two’s “Hostages” when she gloats about her elevated role in the White House, or acquiring “a bigger dick.” During that same season’s episode “Signals,” Meyer’s secretary Sue Wilson (played by the underrated Sufe Bradshaw) demands Mike McLintock (Matt Walsh) to “man up and prioritize” when he expresses difficulty asserting himself enough to maintain the VP’s tight schedule.

The references are typically blink-and-you’ll-miss-it quick due to the show’s speedy pace, but the language that they use in lieu of a simple “be assertive” or “ I have more leverage” is seemingly purposeful. Within the VEEP world, assertiveness and power – necessities when working in politics – are directly equated with masculinity. Politics, generally speaking, is a male-dominated field, so this notion isn’t exactly revelatory. Something I find interesting, however, is how frequently this equivalency is perpetuated by the women in this show as opposed to the men. Meyer, Wilson, and Chief of Staff Amy Brookheimer (Anna Chlumsky) are three of the most competent, self-assured characters throughout the series. In my opinion, they seem like women who would rightfully push back against the idea that the attributes that make them exceptional are somehow inherently male. Instead, they’ve managed to integrate this concept into their workplace lexicon. It shouldn’t be said that they’re anti-femininity; in fact, they celebrate the fact that they are successful women. Their approaches to maintaining this success, however, have a surprisingly macho influence. Those who may not adopt quite the same attitude could find themselves on the receiving end of a sharp-witted taunt, like Meyer’s loyal personal aide Gary Walsh.

Gary Walsh: Selina Meyer’s personal aide.

Some might argue that Walsh (Tony Hale) has one of the most difficult jobs in Washington D.C. He literally maintains the Vice-President-turned-President’s entire public image, from the shade of her lipstick to the centerpieces at her dinners. He, on a superficial level, is responsible for making sure Meyer is always presentable, hauling around wardrobe options and a large bag laden with everything needed to keep every follicle in place. More importantly, however, he’s tasked with knowing the names and personal backgrounds of every single bureaucrat, dignitary, and public figure in her path. Almost permanently stationed close to her ear, Walsh is ready to dispatch any necessary information in order to help her exchange necessary pleasantries and maintain a relatively polished impression. Without him, many of her (and, by extension, the country’s) productive relationships would falter before her first syrupy sweet “hello.”

The complexities of his position, however, are widely overlooked as his role is diminished to that of a bag carrier by nearly all of his coworkers, including his boss. The precedent for this treatment is set from the pilot episode when Brookheimer and Dan Egan (Reid Scott) tease him for referencing his bag as “The Leviathan” and remains as an undercurrent throughout the entire series. Because he doesn’t display the same aggressive temperament (he’s actually rather sweet and nurturing) nor does he have a similar function as the rest of the group, his value is regularly questioned and his masculinity is nearly erased. Walsh broaches this issue in the second episode of the series, “Frozen Yoghurt,” when Egan flippantly claims that the famous bag is full of lip balm: “Everything you say to me is emasculating.” And it’s true! The core staff doesn’t see him as a contributor in the same way that they see themselves, so he’s routinely referred to as a woman or a young boy under the impression that both are hefty insults. In “East Wing,” for example, Brookheimer warns him that “his inner child needs to grow an outer man” when he dared to fret over a major mistake. The same could be said, in a way, about the treatment of White House liaison Jonah Ryan (Timothy Simons), who Sue Wilson jokingly claims was in his mother’s womb until he was 15 years old (“Shutdown”). His confidence and enthusiasm for his position are habitually met with an insult that demotes him to a young boy. It could also be said, however, that his immaturity manages to do that, as well.

So, given this fictional administration’s heightened perception of masculinity, how does the show manage not to wildly offend me, a woman and vocal feminist, every Sunday night? It’s simple: VEEP’s depiction of the way the political world values men while consistently undermining women aligns with real life, albeit comically. Female political figures are too often subjected to sexist criticism from the general media, which tends to focus on their hair accessories more than their actual societal contributions. If a woman announces her interest in any sort of office, an immediate question arises as to whether or not she is emotionally stable or focused enough to do the job. It’s no wonder why Selina Meyer would rather not bring too much attention to the fact that she’s a woman when suddenly tasked with stating her stance on abortion (“The Choice”); given the political media’s repulsive proclivity to not take women seriously, how else can she get the public to focus on the actual issue at hand? Her and her staff’s collective attitude regarding masculinity in the workplace is imbued with the discrimination that professional women – especially those in politics – have always experienced. Like many other magnificent comedies, the raucous laughs that come with VEEP can also be indicative of a sad, frustrating reality.

Shannon Miller’s passions include bossy women, social justice and her two-year-old daughter’s version of “Let It Go.” She’s also unapologetically anti-raisin. You can read her thoughts regarding representation in media on her blog Televised Lady Bits or follow her on Twitter @Phunky_Brewster.

‘Fresh Off the Boat’s Jessica Huang Is Loud, Abrasive, Intense, and Exactly What We Need

I don’t want to jump the gun here, since the show has only been on now for a month and a half, but Jessica Huang might just be my new favorite female character. Why? Because she is hilarious, brilliant, incredibly sarcastic, and because she refuses to let anyone get away with anything. Basically, because I see myself in her and I love it. What can I say? I’m naturally egotistical.

Fresh Off the Boat’s Jessica Huang, played by Constance Wu — *Fresh Off the Boat*’s Jessica Huang, played by Constance Wu

This guest post by Deborah Pless appears as part of our theme week on Asian Womanhood in Pop Culture.

Guys. Guys. Guys. I don’t want to jump the gun here, since the show has only been on now for a month and a half, but Jessica Huang might just be my new favorite female character. Why? Because she is hilarious, brilliant, incredibly sarcastic, and because she refuses to let anyone get away with anything. Basically, because I see myself in her and I love it. What can I say? I’m naturally egotistical.

For those of you who haven’t been keeping up with it, Fresh Off the Boat is a new sitcom based on celebrity chef Eddie Huang’s childhood. It starts when his parents, Louis (Randall Park) and Jessica Huang (Constance Wu) move their family of three boys and a mother-in-law from the tight-knit Taiwanese immigrant community of Washington DC to Orlando, Florida.

Louis has purchased a steakhouse and wants the family to pursue the American dream. Eddie (Hudson Yang) is miserable that he’s being sent to suburbia. And Jessica is mostly pissed that the humidity is going to wreck her hair. Also that she’s leaving all her friends and family behind for an uncertain future.

Still, she supports her husband and she believes in his dream. In fact, Jessica can be very accurately described as the world’s most supportive spouse, even if to our eyes she frequently doesn’t seem it. She’s harsh and critical and nit-picks and nags with no remorse, but she does all of that because she genuinely cares that Louis gets to see his dream fulfilled. She loves her husband and she loves her kids, and she’s willing to do a heck of a lot to help them achieve their full potential. Whether they like it or not.

And while the story mainly follows Eddie’s frustrations with middle school and his attempts to be cool in all-white suburban Florida, Jessica’s role is much more than just as a foil to her son and husband. She’s a full character in her own right, and her storylines have as much weight, if not more, than the other characters on the show.

When the season begins, Jessica is isolated and miserable, stuck at home all day while her husband goes to work and her kids go to school. So she reads Stephen King novels (even though they give her nightmares) and watches the news (even though it makes her paranoid) and tries to make friends with the neighborhood moms. Which is hard, because she hates them.

She loves Stephen King novels, even though they inevitably give her nightmares

Eventually she does make a friend and her life gets a little less lonely, but there’s still something missing. While Jessica tries to sublimate her frustrations and boredom with concentrating on helping her sons with their school work (and creating an entire extra-curricular tutoring program from scratch) and helping her husband at the restaurant (whether he likes it or not), she still finds herself un-fulfilled and bored.

I love that this is a plotline. Jessica’s internal malaise at having been pulled from the life and job she knew isn’t laughed off or glossed over. It’s a real problem that the show addresses. In Washington DC, Jessica managed her brother-in-law’s furniture store. In Florida, she doesn’t do anything, and she hates it. She loves and supports her husband, but she isn’t happy.

And this is huge, actually. Because this is where we see that Jessica’s character on the show really does transcend stereotypes: both the stereotype of the Asian-American woman on television and that of the sitcom mom. She has her own crap going on, and the story validates that. Jessica is bored and frustrated. Is that her fault? No, the show tells us, it’s a problem that has to be fixed. And it is.

Eventually Jessica finds that her critical nature and skill at strong-arming people into a bargain works perfectly in real estate and goes on to pursue becoming a realtor. It’s not a huge point in the show, but it is one that is showcased and presented as important. It’s important because Jessica isn’t just there to make Louis and Eddie look good, she’s her own person and she has her own story. The narrative supports that, and so too do Louis and Eddie. They’re happy for her, and they should be.

Jessica and Louis work together to vandalize a competitor’s billboard

It’s funny to say, but I think the Huangs might be one of the most functional sitcom families in a long while. They’re up there with the Belchers. Because while Jessica might not really understand Louis’ love for the American dream, and while she frequently wants to strangle Eddie or her other two sons, she doesn’t. She supports them and loves them and sometimes tough loves them. They stick together and they work. As a family, they work.

What makes Jessica Huang a legendary character, though, and one of my personal favorites, is how all of this is worked in with her identity as a Taiwanese immigrant coping with the stresses of American society and culture. It would be very easy for the story to descend into cheap stereotypes with her. So easy.

Like I said before, she could be idealized into a sweet, soft-spoken “Asian flower” racial stereotype, or she could be cast as the “tiger mom,” a mother so obsessed with her children’s success that she destroys their lives, or she could be a “dragon lady,” a woman whose seductive powers are legendary but who has no real agency in her own life. Granted, this is a sitcom, so she probably wasn’t going to be that last one. But still.

Or she could have fallen into the trap of just being yet another sitcom mother. She could be defined by her relationships on the show, confined to the house and portrayed as someone with no further ambitions or inner life. Since the narrative is told from Eddie’s point of view, and people generally view their parents with a solipsistic lens until well into adulthood, it would make sense for the story to sort of gloss over Jessica as a person, and leave her as “just a mom.”

But this show doesn’t do that. This show makes Jessica an active agent in her own life, fully cognizant of who she is and what she’s doing, flawed and also incredibly, fearfully competent, and generally badass. And the show is a lot better for it.

Jessica, Eddie, and Emery help unpack in Florida

The key is context. I mean, while, yes, she does sometimes veer towards “tiger mom” territory, it’s always incredibly clear that Jessica is hard on her kids because she knows that they have barriers to their success that the other kids don’t. Jessica is written to be fully aware of the impact that being non-white will have on her children, and she strives to offset that. And while she is supportive of Louis pursuit of the American dream, she is also critical of “America” in general. She sees little to value in white culture and is openly against some aspects.

As she says in the first episode when her youngest son, Evan, discovers he is lactose intolerant, “His body is rejecting white culture. Which makes me kind of proud.”

She’s a complex figure in Eddie’s life. On the one hand, he really admires his mother. He respects how driven she is and how she refuses to take anyone’s crap. You can tell he has learned a lot about being tough and strong from her. But, on the other hand, she clearly drives him nuts. She gets fierce and overprotective beyond the point of it being helpful, like when she assaults him with a stuffed animal to demonstrate why he shouldn’t date rape. It’s a great message, but the delivery is flawed. And that makes her a much more interesting character.

Credit here has to be given to all the people involved in the development process of the character Jessica Huang: from Eddie Huang and his real life mother to Nahnatchka Khan (who also produced Don’t Trust the B* in Apartment 23) to Constance Wu. All of these people and the many others who influenced her portrayal deserve a lot of thanks for their thoughtful intentionality in making Jessica Huang as grounded and real as she is.

Jessica holds a seminar on sexual harassment at her husband’s restaurant

Because that’s the thing, the real reason I love her so much. Jessica Huang is a real person. And not just in that she’s based on an actual human being. I mean that she has flaws and makes mistakes and overreacts and underreacts and sometimes she’s a bitch and sometimes she cries and sometimes she’s the best mother in the world. She’s a person, not just a cartoon.

I could go on here about how vital and wonderful this is when you consider the deeply sad state of women of color, particularly Asian women, on television, but I think I’ll let the numbers speak for themselves. Fresh Off the Boat is only the second mainstream sitcom in America to feature an Asian family. The first was Margaret Cho’s All-American Girl, and that show tried to strip as much Asian-ness from its characters as humanly possible.

Jessica Huang, though not the main character of the show, is undoubtedly its central figure and breakout star. And she is a fully fleshed out, complex, and fascinating character. Jessica’s existence doesn’t negate the fact that Asian women are chronically underrepresented on television, but she certainly is a step in the right direction.

Deborah Pless runs Kiss My Wonder Woman and works as a freelance writer and editor in western Washington 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 sandwiches.

Why We Love Janice and Why We Love to Hate Janice

Is Chandler going somewhere, just minding his own business? Chances are that Janice is just around the corner. As Janice once put it, “You seek me out. Something deep in your soul calls out to me like a foghorn. Jaaa-nice. Jaaa-nice.”

This guest post by Artemis Linhart appears as part of our theme week on Unlikable Women.

You can hear her presence from a distance. If it isn’t the laugh that tips you off, it might just be her nasal, loud voice – the stuff that Chandler’s nightmares are made of. As a viewer, you can also feel her presence from a distance. Is Chandler going somewhere, just minding his own business? Chances are that Janice is just around the corner. As Janice once put it, “You seek me out. Something deep in your soul calls out to me like a foghorn. Jaaa-nice. Jaaa-nice.”

This holds true for all 10 seasons of Friends. Just when you thought she was out… they pull her back in.

The thing about Janice though, is that she is more than a running gag. What is established early on in the first season as the on-again, off-again love interest and general catchphrase provider, the inescapable fate of Chandler Bing’s love life, is in fact a statement about our – the fans’ – loyalty and commitment to the characters of the show.

Clearly, it’s a Love Hate Thing. The character evokes in the viewer split feelings of sympathy with both Chandler and Janice herself.

Why We Love Janice

She’s fun.

She may be whiny, but Janice is up for all sorts of fun stuff. Spending a day with her seems like a great thing to do – even though “Joey and Janice’s Day Of Fun” did nothing to change Joey’s feelings about her. Phoebe may be the only one to genuinely like her, but Janice truly cares about all six of the Friends and shows that she’s a fun person to be around.

She’s confident.

Not only is Janice confident when it comes to her style – she pulls off bold fashion choices with ease and, while others might be amused by her outfits, she wears them with pride – but she also never fails to show how strong a person she is. Janice knows what she wants and is not afraid to go ahead and get it.

When she hears about Joey hating her, instead of being offended or shamed, she confronts him and wants to make things right.

She has a good heart.

Janice is loyal to Chandler despite all the pain he has caused her. She truly cares about him. Remember the customized candy hearts and the Bullwinkle socks she gave him for Valentine’s Day? Those were gifts that really showed how thoughtful she is.

Forget lobsters! – Janice is the Bullwinkle sock to Chandler’s pair of Rockys. She might get lost in the sock drawer at times, but she’s sure to resurface every once in a while for Chandler to mix and match.

She’s supportive.

When Chandler pretend-moved to Yemen, she helped pack, bring his luggage to the airport and, on top of it all, agreed to a long-distance relationship.

At one point, she did actually make Chandler happy.

And we love a happy Chandler.

It is always fun to see Chandler’s pitiful tries to break up with her.

New Year’s, Valentine’s Day, you name it. Chandler may be the worst breaker-upper there ever was.

Why We Love to Hate Janice

We feel the pain.

Empathy, folks. We’ve got it.

It’s not just Chandler who suffers.

Joey, Rachel and Ross also get their fair share of Janice-induced agony.

We are protective of Monica and Chandler’s romance.

For Monica, there might even be a hint of jealousy involved. After all, Mon/Chan is the One True Pairing.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CZiZiBF7YQ”]

It makes us part of the group.

We love our Friends. They hate Janice. We know Janice is awesome, but we love to be on their side and hate Janice together.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VLgpoSYVTx4″]

Oh… My… God.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oNjjeZO2AZ4″]

Admittedly, she is quite a bit irritating.

In conclusion, this video pretty much sums it all up:

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7rhoZrJXxsI”]

Artemis Linhart is a true Friends geek. She works and watches in Vienna, Austria.

Political Humor and Humanity in HBO’s ‘VEEP’

She’s a toxic political figure, a creator of monumental gaffes and inappropriate situations who doesn’t even have the excuse of good intentions. Her intentions are always self-serving and she treats her staff atrociously, often assigning them the blame for her mistakes.

This repost by Rachel Redfern appears as part of our theme week on Unlikable Women.

Foul-mouthed and frazzled, Julia Louis-Dreyfus (eternally known as Elaine from Seinfeld), stars as United States Vice-President, Selina Meyer, in the Emmy Award-winning HBO political satire, VEEP. The show focuses on Dreyfus’ character, a woman who wants power, but resides in a fairly weak place, politically, having to hide in the shadows of the president and worry about her approval ratings.

There are two Hollywood versions of Washington, D.C.–one where the president is Morgan Freeman and he’s strong, but compassionate, and you feel good about being an American. The other version is something out of a John Grisham novel in which the city is one giant 60 Minutes expose of cynicism and conspiracy (the latter version just makes you sad to be alive). VEEP is the second, minus the conspiracy and snipers and with the addition of obsessive BlackBerry use.

Since the show never features the president, VEEP is free to focus on the more trivial aspects of federal politics, like the clean jobs bill Selina tries to put together, only to have the president close it down and give her obesity instead (not that obesity isn’t a big issue, it just offers a few more humorous situations than Guantanamo Bay). VEEP is interesting though, not because the characters surrounding her are ridiculous, but because Selina, the main character, is ridiculous and unlikable herself. She’s a toxic political figure, a creator of monumental gaffes and inappropriate situations who doesn’t even have the excuse of good intentions. Her intentions are always self-serving and she treats her staff atrociously, often assigning them the blame for her mistakes.

Julia Louis-Dreyfus as Selina Meyer in HBO’s VEEP

Selina’s staff isn’t any bundle of joy either; they’re just as unethical and self-serving as she is. Amy (Anne Chlumsky) is her competent, yet also incompetent chief of staff; Gary (Tony Hale of Arrested Development), is her faithful personal aide who is so loyal he takes a sneeze in the face to save her from being sick, and even breaks up with her boyfriend for her (in a sidenote, this is the second role that has featured him as a mildly obsessed man with an insane devotion to an older woman, a role that is played out as being emasculating and undignified); Sue (Sufe Bradshaw), is her sassy secretary; Mike (Matt Walsh) as the over-the-hill fading director of communications; Dan (Reid Scott) who is politically savvy, but also a social climber of epic proportions; and of course, the weird presidential liaison, Jonah (Timothy Simons), who tries to sleep with Amy.

Selina and her female staff are just as foul-mouthed and unpleasant as their male counterparts, a fact I actually really like about the show. Instead of giving the women a rosy, fictional gloss, they’re painted more as unique players in the political process, rather than just a token show about “Women in Politics.” In that vein, the show does portray the still highly sexualized role of female leaders, which is disturbing, but unfortunately very realistic. Examples of sexual harassment are fairly common on the show, like when Sue is the recipient of some pretty blatant comments from a congressman, which she just shrugs off; the death of a famously lecherous senator is mocked as everyone raves about him publicly, but in private, all the women sarcastically share their stories of his disgusting behavior. It’s sad to think that this situation is probably very common; male political figures lauded as leaders, when in reality they’re abusive perverts. For me though, the most astute and frustrating example of this came when Amy, Selina’s chief of staff, has to negotiate with two congressmen from Arizona; their immediate disdain for her and the patronizing, “sweetheart” she receives when she sits down is so realistic and problematic I wanted her to smack them. And yet, like so many powerful and intelligent women, she just had to take the condescension or risk sounding like an “over-emotional bitch.” This portrayal of randy behavior from the male senators strikes a contrast to the depth of scrutiny that the women on the show receive about their sex life. When Selina has a pregnancy scare, the media goes crazy and many of her interviews after address that very personal topic, rather than larger, national issues.

Humorously though, her cynical staff decide to turn it into a sympathy moment and try publish a story about in a woman’s magazine. It’s one of many instances when Selina’s stance as the loving, but absent mother plays a role in her political success; It’s only when Selina cries on camera about missing her daughter that her approval rating increases. Comedy shines again as the greater revelator of cultural inequality as Selina’s motherhood is constantly called into question (as is her femininity when she’s given the nickname, “Viagra inhibitor”). As is always the case, a male leader’s relationship with his children is less important than his hairline, but a female leader must always appear guilty and remorseful about her position, she must always regret the fact that her ambition has taken her out of the home or risk being perceived as cold-hearted or worse, un-maternal.

In the end, Selina (and even most of her staff) are undeniably unlikable people. Very little (if any) time of the sitcom is spent showing political figures as doing anything to improve the lives of their constituents; rather their days are filled with scheming and backbiting. Despite the fact that the characters aren’t people you would ever want to meet, the show does highlight the selfish and elitist world of the Unites States’ highest political people, and it’s a nice change to have that shown with a female lead.

Aside from the very astute commentary that the show makes about gender and politics, one of it’s greatest strengths is in the area of the gaffe. Oh the political gaffe: Romney and his 47 percent, Akin and his “women have a way to shut that whole thing down,” Vice-President Joe Biden about half the time. While all we see is the unbelievably stupid thing that a public figure has just said on national television, VEEP does an excellent job of leading up to Selina’s gaffes. They give us the background story and the same information that Selina is given so that when the gaffe does occur it’s incredibly funny, but also a bit understandable. It’s an element of the show that serves as a great reminder of the humanity of our politicians; while yes they say stupid things sometimes, we probably would too if we were in their shoes. I mean, I say stupid stuff all the time, I’m just lucky enough that there aren’t any TV cameras around when I say it. At the end of the day, politicians are just people with better hair.

Rachel Redfern has an MA in English literature, where she conducted research on modern American literature and film and its intersection, however she spends most of her time watching HBO shows, traveling, and blogging and reading about feminism.

‘Smart Guy’: Intelligent Black Families and Race-Bending Tropes

The humor isn’t meant to put down white folks, but rather poke fun at the very real actions of white guys who attempt to adopt Black culture simply because it’s “cool.” This sort of behavior has existed in “white sitcoms” for nearly a century (making the Back character the “token” of the show) and it seems the only reason ‘Smart Guy’ comes under fire is because white critics are now seeing the characters they identify with in positions that aren’t of power or virtue.

This guest post by BJ Colangelo appears as part of our theme week on Black Families.

As a proud child of the 1990s, I was lucky enough to grow up with some of the best sitcoms on television. Perhaps my nostalgic love of these shows have clouded my view on whether or not these shows were any good, but I still stomp my curmudgeonly feet around and shout, “These kids today don’t know good TV!” I grew up in a lower-middle class family in an extremely diverse community, so I’ve always been exposed to multi-cultural families. Hell, my mom named my (white, red-headed) sister after a guest-starring character she loved on Hangin’ With Mr. Cooper. Disney Channel used to show re-runs of a lot of shows I loved growing up, and I distinctly remember running home off the bus to make sure I wouldn’t miss the “newest” episode of Smart Guy.

I. Loved. Smart. Guy. Growing up, I was a gifted child, so T.J. Henderson was a boy after my own heart. He was living the life I always dreamed of having. I probably wasn’t high school smart at 10 years old the way he was, but all I could think about was how awesome it would be to outsmart all of the older kids that picked on me for being so little. T.J. had a super-hip older sister named Yvette who was a staunch feminist and loved the fine arts. I saw a lot of myself in Yvette, even at a young age. T.J.’s older brother Marcus was the big man on campus, and I idolized how cool he was. The patriarch of the family was Floyd Henderson, the most caring father on TV (next to Danny Tanner of Full House), but was way, way cooler than Danny Tanner could ever hope to be.

One of the biggest criticsms people seem to give Smart Guy, is that it’s “racist” against white people. First of all, “reverse racism” doesn’t exist, so I’m not going to even go into that argument. However, critics tend to site Marcus and Mo’s (Marcus’ best friend) white pal Mackey to be one of the major reasons the show is “racist.” Mackey is one of the few major white characters, and he’s a giant doofus. He consistently tries to “fit in” with Marcus and Mo, usually to no avail, and had a tendency to respond to his failures with, “It’s because I’m white, isn’t it?” The entire cast would nod their head in agreement and the canned laughter would play. Smart Guy isn’t racist, but it wasn’t afraid to race-bend a “token” character usually reserved for a Black man on a sitcom, and instead attach the attributes to a white character. The humor isn’t meant to put down white folks, but rather poke fun at the very real actions of white guys who attempt to adopt Black culture simply because it’s “cool.” This sort of behavior has existed in “white sitcoms” for nearly a century (making the Back character the “token” of the show) and it seems the only reason Smart Guy comes under fire is because white critics are now seeing the characters they identify with in positions that aren’t of power or virtue.

Smart Guy definitely fell into the “Huxtable Effect” of making Black families palatable for white audiences at times, but it was never afraid to point out the indifferences and injustices Black families face on a day to day basis compared to white folks. It was a safe and “beginner’s guide to systematic racism” for white audiences. For example, in the episode “Working Guy,” T.J. gets a job working on (at the time) a brand new product called a DVD. As expected, Marcus is invading T.J.’s new gig and T.J. is left to explain to his coworker (an old white guy) to ignore Marcus, because he’s just T.J.’s brother.

“Oh, I get it – it’s a Black thing,” the guy exclaims. He raises his fist. “Righteous!”

“No, he’s my actual brother,” T.J. explains. “Same house, same parents… similar genetic coding.”

This is a common situation of a white person trying to relate to a Black person with limited knowledge of their culture, as well as the ever-popular trope of an older person trying to interact (and failing) with a younger member of society. However, Smart Guy’s influence is something far more important than allowing black families to be seen as something other than token.

Unlike many sitcoms, Smart Guy focused on a single-parent household. In particular, Smart Guy focused on a household headed by a single, Black father. For the last two decades, the media has tried to paint Black fathers as absent, neglectful, and violent. Smart Guy showed a Black father not only successfully raising three children on his own, but also managing to keep the needs of his wildly different children in check. We all know the importance of representation, but the fact Smart Guy was picked up by The Disney Channel after its WB cancellation is absolutely vital to its existence. This means that Smart Guy was thrown onto one of the most popular and wildly accessed channels for children at the peak of its popularity. The people who grew up watching Smart Guy on their televisions as children are the same people who are now of voting age.

Smart Guy was also a little bit ballsier compared to shows like The Cosby Show. T.J. was a child of the new millennium, and the show wasn’t afraid to explore things like internet predators, systematic racism (like shoplifting accusations), and pre-teen sexual awakenings. At only 51 episodes, Smart Guy covered more topical situations than just about every other show on television at the time.

The ever popular statement of “racism isn’t something you’re born with; it’s something you’re taught” rings especially true for the audiences that grew up watching Smart Guy. By allowing children to see a Black family as something other than what Fox News wants to make them out to be, it gives children a starting point to develop their own beliefs and understanding of families that may look a little different from their own.

BJ Colangelo is the woman behind the keyboard for Day of the Woman: A blog for the feminine side of fear and a contributing writer for Icons of Fright. She’s been published in books, magazines, numerous online publications, all while frantically applying for day jobs. She’s a recovering former child beauty queen and a die-hard horror fanatic. You can follow her on Twitter at @BJColangelo.

Broken Relationships and Broken Systems in ‘Benched’

It’s quite possible that systemic inequality was never meant to be more than a backdrop, but, regardless of the creators’ intent, the events that took place in the US over the months in which ‘Benched’ aired its first season have brought the inadequacies of our legal system to the fore. In the light of Ferguson, it’s now impossible to watch the show without seeing an indictment of a very broken system.

Written by Max Thornton.

I started watching USA’s new comedy Benched solely because of the cast. The ensemble features The Office‘s Oscar Nuñez, Better Off Ted‘s Jay Harrington, and the wonderful Maria Bamford. (There are also delightful cameos from Community‘s Yvette Nicole Brown and from Albert Tsai, a.k.a. Bert from the late lamented Trophy Wife, one of whose stars, Michaela Watkins, is co-creator of Benched.) Somewhere in the course of its 12-episode first season, I realized that Benched was a little different from the average workplace comedy.

The protagonist is Nina Whitley (Eliza Coupe from Happy Endings, which I promise I’ll watch one day), a high-powered corporate lawyer who has a career-ending meltdown and finds herself transferred to the chaotic, overworked, underfunded offices of public defenders. As one of the show’s taglines puts it, “If you can’t afford an attorney, these guys will be provided for you.”

I know, I know, it sounds scintillating. But it’s really much more fun and more interesting than it sounds.

A lot of the fun comes from the dynamics of the cast. Jay Harrington plays a sharper-edged, ruder character here than he did in Better Off Ted, and he’s clearly having great fun with it as he spars and snipes with Nina. Oscar Nuñez brings the same sort of restrained, seething energy that he brought to The Office (though I’ll admit that seeing him play straight requires a cognitive adjustment I still haven’t fully made). Maria Bamford spends most of her screentime doing her usual blackly comic schtick in the way that only she can, as a woman clinging desperately and tragicomically to her last shreds of mental wellness. Jolene Purdy steals every scene she’s in as sarcastic young intern Micah, a hard-working but no less biting iteration of April Ludgate.

The thing that makes Benched interesting, though, is its setting. I’m accustomed to thinking of lawyers, both on TV and, if I’m honest, off it, as they are portrayed on shows like The Good Wife: members of private firms who are accustomed to dealing in millions, suing each other over legal arcana, and taking on high-profile cases involving high-paying clients. Benched, however, makes law the arena for the scrappy, precarious workplace like failing Dunder Mifflin or little Pawnee.

No one has time for your rich-white-lady crap, Nina.

A sharp contrast is set up between the public defender’s office and the fancy firm for which Nina used to work, and the one for which her tedious ex-boyfriend Trent still works. The P.D.s work in a cramped open-plan office space and they never have enough basic stationery supplies. Their work is a constant struggle just to keep afloat. No priceless vases for the public defenders.

What’s most striking to me about this show is the actual court scenes. There are no thrilling cross-examinations, stirring speeches, or serial-killer convictions in this courtroom. Instead, court is a relentless mill of poverty and structural inequality. The defendants whom Nina and her coworkers represent are the kinds of people who aren’t usually on TV: really poor people. They are homeless, they are single parents, they are disproportionately Black, and they are doing what they can to stay alive. They are often guilty of what they’re accused of, but these are minor infractions usually committed for lack of alternatives, and the reason they’re in the courtroom is because the system targets people like them.

Structural injustice, it must be admitted, is not the main point of the show. It’s primarily a workplace comedy and a relationship comedy, and it mines a lot of both plot and gags from pitting Nina and Trent against each other (they’re opponents in court AND in love! How wacky!). It might be that the centering of Nina and Trent is a bait-and-switch in the style of Orange is the New Black-–a pretty white lady protagonist as Trojan horse for telling other people’s stories. It’s also, of course, quite possible that systemic inequality was never meant to be more than a backdrop, but regardless of the creators’ intent, the events that took place in the US over the months in which Benched aired its first season have brought the inadequacies of our legal system to the fore. In the light of Ferguson, it’s now impossible to watch the show without seeing an indictment of a very broken system.

It’s not yet clear if Benched will be renewed, but I hope it will be, and I hope it will get bolder, because it could be something very very special.

That's not a penis, it's a gavel! — That’s not a penis, it’s a gavel!

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Max Thornton blogs at Gay Christian Geek, tumbles as trans substantial, and tweets at @RainicornMax. He watches way too much TV. It’s honestly kind of a problem.