Escapism. It Helps.

Posted on by televisedladybits

Hi. My name is Shannon and I own a blog that analyzes and critiques the media I consume from a multi-marginalized lens. You may not know that based on my unintentionally long absence from posting here and to THAT, I say: okay, fair.

During my time away I have been co-hosting a podcast called Nerds of Prey, a show that simultaneously celebrates and critiques aspects of nerd culture from the perspectives of four Black women. Now, that might be news to some – and we’re still a bit new so, again, fair – but I’m hoping that’ll change as we continue share our voices with anyone who will listen.

I say all that to remind those who may not know me well that I have never been one to shy away from thinking critically about the media I love (or, in a few cases this television season, used to love…but that’s for another post). It’s a crucial element of consumerism and fandom. Our support pilots these endeavors, so we as an audience need to be vocal not just when we’re thoroughly enjoying something, but also when media falls short.

It’s also important to remember that we are people. And as a person – a Black woman, to be more specific – I am fucking hurting. Deeply.

I’m angry. I’m in consistent and sustained mourning. My mental health is nowhere near its best. I’m constantly fearful that police overreach will strip me of my husband, my mother, my father, my brother or anyone that I hold dear. I worry that my friends won’t be able to have a drink or just exist in an LGBTQIA space in peace without constantly looking over their shoulder. I worry that, despite our cries and demands for change, the world I live in simply doesn’t want me here. I’d love to say that all that ends when I rest at night, but I’m writing this on a solid three hours of sleep, which is becoming increasingly more common. I can’t sleep. I’m enraged and I’m tired and my eating patterns fluctuate by the hour and I have openly sobbed, in private and in public, more in the past month than I have my entire life. To the Publix employee who recently had to witness that: I ain’t sorry.

In moments like these I am so, so grateful for any acts of escapism. I’m thankful for the art I love, even that which is problematic (except for you, Orange is the New Black. Oh no, my rage against you has only been bolstered). I’m even comforted by the shows I’ve broken up with this year. When my family is sleeping and the night is still, I’m glad that I can find some escape in a glowing television screen and pretty images. Is there a tiny voice in the back of my mind that still reminds me that what I’m watching could do better by me and the characters I care about? Absolutely. Thankfully, she’s never silent.

Still, it’s a blessing to be able to shut my brain off and just watch, to suspend belief and reality long enough to just be entertained, if only for a little while.

And believe me, I’m not saying you can’t do both. A lot of us tend to forget that we as humans can process multiple happenings at once, which allows us to speak on and be angry/concerned about a few things simultaneously. It’s not strange to be upset about Alton Sterling and Philando Castile while expressing concerns over the absence of Black female writers at Marvel Comics. Honestly, I wonder if the people who say “how can you talk about this thing over here when other, MORE IMPORTANT things are occurring” possess the ability to blink and chew gum at the same time.

But when you feel depleted and have nothing more to say aside from “everything is trash,” it’s okay to just…opt out for a bit. So that’s what I’m doing. And I support anyone else who needs to do the same. Self care is a very unique and personal thing and this falls in line with mine. I’ll definitely return to the days of calling creators to the carpet for shitty, systemic behavior. Soon.

For right now, though, please pass me the wine and sit with me for a while. I’ll get back to work right after this next episode.

Female Friends and Female Feuds…Let’s Improve Both.

Posted on by televisedladybits

This past week’s episode of Scandal gave me the gift I have been waiting for since the very first season: Mellie Grant and Olivia Pope, sitting on the floor while sharing a jar of moonshine and hashing shit out like good girlfriends after a long fight. They were drunk. They were emotionally bare. They were honest and in that moment, they were equals. It was incredibly satisfying to see these women – these titans – shed their Fitz-shaped baggage and gain some semblance of peace and understanding. Will this last? Probably not. For now, though, it’s the momentary bond that will carry me through the week.

The idealist in me would love to see this more: two or more incredible women who were unwillingly placed in the position of opponents come together and just take over their world as well as mine. Can you imagine a life where Cookie Lyon and Anika Calhoun put their differences aside and created an empire of their own? Or if the women of Quantico stopped, realized that all the men in their immediate circle are terribly boring, and solved some of the country’s toughest crimes? For those of us watching Jane the Virgin, we’re beginning to see a potentially budding friendship between Jane Villanueva and Petra Solano, which could bloom into something that both of them truly need.

The realist in me, however, knows that every female relationship can’t perfectly end in friendship. Surely it would be nice, but it would make for something formulaic, which would ultimately lead to less interesting television. Just as women make fantastic heroes, we also make compelling villains – or, at the very least, complex foils. As much as I loved the moments when Tara Knowles and Gemma Teller banded together and protected their family, I also sat at the edge of my seat whenever they butted heads and established their agency, ideals, and conflicting personalities. When you take the woman vs. woman element beyond the majorly sought after cat fight and flesh out both of their perspectives, you have a potentially interested layer to a great story.

As I witness the continued commodification of the Girl Squad, it makes it harder for me to say expressly say “MOAR GIRL SQUADS!” I don’t want what I genuinely want to see in television conflated with something that has been branded to the point of duplicity. And I say this at the risk of giving internet trolls the attention they certainly do not deserve: I also don’t want to see an absence of men in television, which is often the accusation that comes with expressing the desire to see something better for, or simply more, televised female interaction.

What I want is to see more women having fleshed out relationships – whether those relationship are positive or negative – that center around something other than a man.

We can always use more female friendships. That is something that I think all of my favorite shows lack, with the exception of a few (I miss Parks and Rec and Living Single desperately). Witnessing these interactions – something to combat the common notion that women just cannot get along – is important. Furthermore, there needs to be a more encompassing view of the different kinds of female friends. Let’s see more women getting into shenanigans (Leslie Knope and Anne Perkins), more deeply connected work relationships (Donna Paulsen and Rachel Zane in Suits), more instances of women leaning on each other for emotional support (Meredith Grey and Cristina Yang), women who just love each other (Abbi and Ilana of Broad City) and women who have extremely complicated relationships but ultimately have each other’s backs (I’m truly loathe to use Girls as an example here as I am not a fan of that show at all, but it is an applicable instance in this specific case). In short, let’s see more women engaging in a range of friendships just as often as men are allowed.

Additionally, if you’re going to insist on us battling one another, diversify the reasoning. At this point, centering the female feud around the affections of a man is a concept that has been mined ad nauseam. Some of my favorite men in TV have fought over women (equally boring), but they also get to clash over power, family, money, pride, justice, land, public perception, politics…there’s variety there. Variety breeds nuance. Apply some of that nuance when you have two or more women in a scene together and watch your work improve.

 

The Weighty Viewership of the Marginalized

Posted on by televisedladybits

It was  announced earlier in the season that Fox’s freshman action/sci-fi drama Minority Report, starring Megan Good and Wilmer Valderrama, had their recently ended season order cut down to ten episodes. For those of us who are all too familiar with the drama that comes with liking a show with a small fan base – tracking Nielson ratings, analyzing timeslots, full seasons vs. shortened seasons – a truncated episode order after only a handful of airings is a well-spotted nail in the  proverbial coffin. For many fans the loss would not only feel premature, but like the death of a concept that many sci-fi fans of color have been longing for: a decent science fiction program that featured well-rounded characters that looked like them. It seemed like Minority Report wants to deliver, even as the numbers reflected a dwindling viewership.

As a person who still hasn’t found a deep, sustaining love for sci-fi just yet (with the exception of a few shows and comics), I never made it a priority to watch this show. In all honesty, it didn’t seem like something that I would actively seek on my own, even though I did spot consistent support through the show’s vocal fanbase. I did, however, make a promise to myself to give the show a chance whenever I had a free moment, as I often do with many other shows (like Quantico!). I still plan to, even if the ten episodes are all we’ll likely get.

Still, I can’t help but feel a little guilty. I harbor enough common sense and humility to know that the fate of this show doesn’t rest on my very unimportant shoulders, nor is it my responsibility to advocate, advertise, or recruit. I do, however, take it upon myself to vocalize my love for the entertainment that I do support and I’ve managed to lead plenty of people, friends and acquaintances alike, to shows and artists that they now consider favorites. Why couldn’t I have done that for this particular show? Did my lack of diligence contribute, in some very small way,  to its downfall? Knowing the exclusive climate of Hollywood, as well as the probability that we won’t see a show like this again for some time, should I have prioritized it a little higher than my stable, successful favorites?

It sounds silly because it is. Nobody should blindly support something out of a nonexistent sense of obligation and unless they have a major platform, it’s difficult for one person to sway viewership significantly in one way or the other. Despite all of that, many still feel this way, including me.

It’s easy to find yourself on the other side of matters, as well. Upon my first viewing, Beyond the Lights instantly become one of my favorite films and I found it very easy to get upset with the modest box office turnout. Isn’t this what so many of us who long for representation in the romance genre wanted: complex leads of color in love? Why didn’t we collectively put our money where our mouths were? I was very upset because us romance fans of color finally got the movie we’ve been asking for and, from my limited view, we didn’t show up.

It took me a while to spot the hypocrisy laced throughout my disappointment. I had to remind myself of my reaction when I first saw the trailer for the film. As I watched with my husband, we both came to the conclusion that this film about a pop star finding real love in a police office felt like a modern day retelling of The Bodyguard, which didn’t pique either of our interests. I had no solid plans to see it until I noticed a very emphatic endorsement from ReBecca Theodore-Vachon, a film and television critic whose opinion I value greatly. Now I can’t imagine a time when I actually had no interest in such a gorgeous film, especially one helmed by the incomparable Gugu Mbatha-Raw. I’m certain that there are scores of people who saw the same advertising that I did, came to similar preconceived notions, and didn’t have the luxury of being glued to their Twitter timeline long enough to have their misconceptions addressed. A person can’t be faulted for simply not being interested (I’d be remiss to add, however, that if you are one of those people who saw the commercials and decided to pass, PLEASE RECONSIDER. Beyond the Lights is currently streaming on Netflix).

Being a viewer who wishes to be represented more in the entertainment they consume can be tough. On one hand, we understand that these shows, films, books, plays, podcasts, and comics can only survive with consistent support. Also, if these mediums seem like they want to deliver something that we can possibly connect with, then great! Let’s hope that they get the support they need to continue to provide a product that’ll make people happy. On the other hand, the limited time that we are able to devote to leisure should be spent on things that we find enjoyable. Sometimes the two concepts don’t intersect and when they don’t, we’re then faced with a unique problem: instead of the studios and creators taking a moment to reflect on how they can improve their efforts on the next project, us – the marginalized audience – are essentially punished in the long run.

Did that femme-centric movie flop? What a shame. We just won’t allow another woman to direct it the next time around.

Was the Black, Latinx, or Asian moviegoer turnout low for this particular action endeavor? Okay. Let’s whitewash the next few films and meet the resulting outcries of dissent with a shrug and half-mumbled terms like “marketability” and “funding.”

Did that sci-fi show not draw in the diverse demographic that we hoped for? It must be because Black people don’t like science fiction. We’ll just leave them out next time.

The underrepresented are rarely given the benefit of the doubt and it shows throughout the Hollywood trends. For every chance we’re afforded, white male audiences are given hundreds. It’s shitty. It’s also very difficult not to internalize to some degree. It’s what pushes us to believe that it’s our “duty” as [insert here: women, feminists, Black people, LGBTQIA, etc.] to support the few efforts there are to feature or include us, whether they truly appeal to our interests or not. In addition, it’s often the driving force behind those who feel qualified enough to command support from others within their demographic (“It’s your duty as a feminist to see Trainwreck!”). Our support comes with an expectancy of labor unlike that of the predominantly white and/or male audience. It once again puts us on unequal footing with the rest of consumers because if that effort bombs, it’s typically assumed that we didn’t put in the “necessary work” to keep it alive. When you don’t  have to really worry about seeing yourself reflected in media, you’re rarely blamed when one example doesn’t do well.

While I would love to be arrogant enough to claim that I have widely suitable answers for all of this, I don’t. Besides, the onus falls on Hollywood to churn out quality projects that are truly inclusive. I’ll only suggest that we keep our eyes open for the things that interest us and make some sort of attempt to give it a fair shake, whether that means tuning in or seeking out reviews from trusted critics. If we like what we see, then hopefully it’s good enough to inspire us to spread the word. As a viewer, any additional campaigning that you feel like committing to is entirely up to you (and appreciated).

However, if that show or movie tanks, just know that the figurative blood of a dead production is not on your hands, nor your screen. It’s okay to say “I appreciate what they’re trying to do, but it’s just not for me.”

 

The Wiz Live and the Beauty of Fan Dreamcasting

Posted on by televisedladybits

The live production of The Wiz will premiere on December 3rd on NBC. I have the date marked on my calendar, the party platter pre-selected (though I’m still undecided as to whether or not I’m going to host a party to go with it), and I absolutely plan on watching the star-studded 1978 film at least five times before the event airs. Yes, I’m terribly excited and no, I can’t even pretend to care about any judgment of said excitement at the moment.

I don’t expect this to be a perfect production, especially after struggling through two prior efforts from NBC. A missed cue or stumbled-upon line are things that I’ve come to expect from any live theatrical event, televised or not. I do, however, feel like this show has cast an ensemble of passionate, almost intimidatingly talented performers who are going to do this legendary show absolute justice. I’m also thrilled to see young Shanice Williams step into her spotlight and begin what will hopefully be a fruitful career.

Looking back on the day that the network first publically confirmed that they would be taking on The Wiz, I remember that my initial response was to log on to Twitter and find out how people were reacting to the news (to be fair…that’s my general response to almost everything). I was in no way surprised to see a #CastTheWiz tag already gaining an incredible amount of steam…and it was gorgeous.

It was reassuring to see others championing the idea of Janelle Monae as Dorothy, or Jussie Smollett as Scarecrow. Many mentioned their desire to see Bruno Mars as the Tin Man, which was an idea that I can’t believe managed to escape me. A woman that I follow even proposed the idea of John Cho donning the Scarecrow costume and I, for one, am always going to support any opportunity to watch that lovely man work. The mass Twitter brainstorm session was an intriguing and welcomed one because fans of classic theater and excellent television came together to put their excitement to use.

Dream casting has to be my favorite part of any announced project (when it’s welcomed, mind you, and not when it leads to people imposing awful assertions like the ones Jessica Williams experienced), even when my predictions are entirely off base, as they often are. It has a way of bonding fans regardless of personal preferences, uniting everyone in their desire to see something turn out well. What made this round of chatter especially satisfying, though, was how many of the suggestions challenged default casting. John Cho as the Scarecrow. Samira Wiley as the Tin (Wo)Man. Gloria Estefen was even tossed into the ring of possibilities for Glenda the Good Witch, which admittedly gave me pause for a moment until I remembered just how much I loved her voice when I was younger. I loved that so many Wiz fans voice suggestions outside of the obvious choices. It was cool to see pop stars considered amongst Broadway alumni, women looked upon to play traditionally male roles, and an already diverse production being so widely embraced. To summarize: I love that fans came together to illustrate the abundance of possibilities outside of conventional casting.

This was a  relatively smooth discussion, which probably had a lot to do with the fact that we were dealing with a musical that already built outside of the realm of traditionally White casting. When we venture into other territories, like classic science fiction, those discussions tend to get a little rougher. Doctor Who, for instance, goes through this every few years when the time comes to prepare for a new lead. My husband, who is an avid fan, will discuss in great detail why he feels that Matt Smith outranks David Tennent. He will also tell you how the mere mention of a Black or female Doctor causes perpetual tantrums in many fandom circles. There are some fandoms that are so deeply entrenched in complacency that any ideas that, for once, exclude the status quo are met with vitriol and cries of “…but history!” Too often you see television and film studios buckle under these collective groans of supremacy.

And you run into the same behavior with a sect of Broadway fans, certainly. With theater, however, you get the glorious payoff of watching Broadway answer back. It answers with Black men helming the roles of Hedwig, the Phantom, and Jean Valjean. It answers with Lea Solanga getting to be the first Asian woman to portray both Eponine (1993) and Fantine (2007) in Les Miserables. It answers with Patina Miller as the Leading Player in Pippin, the first woman to play AND win a Tony for the role. It answers by taking any and every opportunity to pass the megaphone to Lin-Manuel Miranda.

Can we as fans think more outside of the proverbial box? Of course. When you see a discussion regarding a possible romantic lead unfold, the trend of possible candidates tends to work in favor of the thin-to-slightly-curvaceous, able-bodied, cisgender and/or straight. It’s a very easy habit to fall into when it’s what you’ve been presented with since the beginning of entertainment, however we are looooong overdue to see a plus size or trans woman viewed as a viable recipient of affection without it being presented as a fringe effort.

The tune, however, is changing. Best of all, you get to hear the roar of fans heralding these changes and looking at theater, both the classics and soon-to-be-classics, in a whole new light. This progress is necessary, I feel, so that when women like Queen Latifah are pegged to play the Wizard, the decision is met with predominantly encouraging feedback rather than demands for a man to take her place. It’s even more important when you consider that a young child interested in performing on a Broadway stage might see this performance and consider the spectrum of possibilities a little broadened.

So here’s to all of us unofficial casting directors who proudly call ourselves fans: may our boundless imaginations inspire boundless results.

It’s Not a Spoiler Anymore, So Please Stop This Nonsense.

Posted on by televisedladybits

A friend of mine tweeted a seemingly innocuous question today, polling her followers regarding spoiler behavior.

I did what I could to spare her my admittedly inflexible opinions about the subject matter, but we all know that good friends are our greatest instigators (at least my good friends are, and in the best way). She essentially asked me to go off. So I’m gonna.

I’ll begin by saying this much: I understand that television is not what it was fifteen years ago for a multitude of reason. The biggest variance, for me, is that my list of responsibilities is wildly different. I didn’t have a toddler to raise, bills to pay, nor a job that demanded a considerable amount of my energy. This made it much easier for me to adhere to a rigid TV schedule and watch along with a majority of viewers. Also, the absence of the DVR required people to make a choice: either make the time slot work for you or hope for a rerun. If you were savvy (and had access to a VCR, which was not a privilege that everyone had at the time) then you could stock up on blank tapes and record for your convenience. My mother kept a steady library of taped soap operas for a while to maintain the knowledge of all the complex story lines of General Hospital, All My Children, and the rest of the daytime line-up.

Another major difference is that television viewing then was a fairly solitary experience for me. When Topanga and Cory broke off their engagement on Boy Meets World, I didn’t exactly have anyone to commiserate with until the next day when I could talk about it to a handful of my classmates, and there wasn’t a whole lot of time to unpack the effect it had on us. Aside from a rushed homeroom conversation or a quick debrief during lunch, you just had to process that moment on your own until the next big TV moment came along (and with shortened attention spans, that moment could come at any time). This might have been different if you had siblings that cared just as much, but I had a brother seven years my junior who had no clue what was going on.

Things are clearly different now. We have DVRs to save these moments for you while you maintain a social life or catch up on sleep. Netflix and Hulu are available to those lucky enough to have subscriptions, and they are awesome. My favorite development, however, is the wide availability of social media, which allows me to experience television with people like me. My television viewing and social proclivities can come together in a way that really shapes the overall experience for me and millions of others. I choose (with the cooperation of a very lovely and accommodating family) to adjust my free time around a few shows that I hold near and dear to my heart so that I can tweet with different fandoms not only to squeal over those specific moments, but to engage in the resulting discussions, which are often interesting and entertaining in and of themselves. And that’s one of the coolest aspects of a form of entertainment that is often slandered as an instrument of laziness and anti-social living; it has a way of bringing people together and ushering in analysis, catharsis, therapy, and communication in a manner that other forms simply can’t. I choose to be a part of that. Every person has a right to be a part of that, if they want to be.

So if a show airs and I find a moment especially important, I’m going to talk about it and I’m going to use a microphone of sorts to do so. My mic of choice is typically Twitter, where I can interact with plenty of equally (if not moreso) passionate fans of the same thing, whatever that thing may be. Whether the fanbase is Empire big or The Mindy Project small, the conversations I have with various fandoms are treasured and they happen in Real Time. If life gets in the way (and it does), I just pray that my DVR fulfilled its one single duty (and that’s a crap shoot, but that’s an issue between me and my cable provider). I also avoid the sections of social media that might reveal certain surprises, if I care that much.

What I don’t – and won’t – do is demand silence from other fans and try to guilt them into reformatting their experience to fit my schedule.

There’s a certain brand of entitlement imbued in the attitude surrounding aired spoilers (which, by the way, is a term that really should be preserved for unknown aspects of a medium that haven’t been made public yet. Once that show airs then it should just be called “shit that’s happened”) that is extremely frustrating, especially when most programs these days rely on social media and interactive fandoms. It’s, at its heart, this misconception that individuals schedules somehow outweigh the overall experience and that everyone else should fall in line. I get that you had to work. I understand what it means to parent or to sieze opportunities to rest. I understand all of that through first-hand experience. What I don’t understand is this need to log on to social media knowing that there are other fans, like you, who may want to exercise their right to use their own space on the internet to process what they just saw. What I definitely don’t get is the passive aggressive Facebook or Twitter rant that follows said exposure, wagging their digital fingers at people they’ve, again, chosen to follow for daring speak about something that was just made available to the world.

Some will make the timezone argument (“But I”m on the West Coast!”) and all I can say to that is: there will be a plethora of things available to you where you live that won’t be available to me, a Florida resident. While I may be jealous of that fact, I won’t ask you to adjust/deny yourself to accommodate my living situation that you have no control over. Don’t expect anything of the like from me.

The only area that gets a little tricky for me is streaming because, well, convenience is kind of built into the model. Since the idea of convenience is different for everyone, it’s harder to formulate a standard of viewership. While it would be remarkable if all Orange is the New Black fans agreed to watch a certain episode at a certain time…that just isn’t happening, especially for an impatient person like me who finds a way to binge watch whenever possible. So the concept of spoilers becomes muddy, because not everyone has the ability to just take the day off and consume the entire season at once. That’s when I chose to exercise a combination of courtesy and self preservation. For example, I’ll gladly hold off on tweeting revealing specifics for at least  72 hours from the premiere while avoiding the likes of Tumblr, where GIF sets are floating around literal minutes after the big upload from Netflix. I’d likely wait quite a few hours for a weekly Hulu half-hour series before going off about it on Facebook, but I also know that if I log on, I have to be prepared for someone to have started the discussion without me. That’s just how social media works.

I should stress that this rather rant-ish post isn’t towards anyone without access or whose priorities trump preferences. All of these amenities – DVR, Hulu, Netflix, cable, internet, television – are products of privilege that aren’t widely available and not everyone can miss a show on ABC and catch it the next day on Hulu. This is also not  towards the people who have no desire to know plot points before the show airs. I’d rather not know most of the time. Also, I won’t tell you how to navigate fandom/viewership behavior within your social circle. That’s not ever my place. And I should add that if you’re having a one-on-one conversation with someone and they express that they’d rather not discuss a show just yet, you definitely don’t want to force the conversation upon them. That’s just common courtesy.

But if Hershel died on Sunday night and you’re still shouting “NO SPOILERS” to me on the following Thursday afternoon knowing that you’ve had ample opportunities to catch up and join the conversation, then I can’t help you and no, I’m not about to stop this moment of mourning I’m having with my friends. If you’ve stood by and listened to me prattle on about Scandal since 2012 and your very sudden interest leads you to ask me to edit myself, I will give you the kindest “hell no” I can muster. If you know that your Facebook and Twitter feeds will blow up as soon as Cersei so much as sneezes, then why even step into that minefield willingly? If you try to use the flippant “I have a life” excuse, I’m going to immediately call into question how your bustling social life allows you time to judge my online behavior. It’s a rabbit hole neither of us want to find ourselves in, trust me.

Because in the time it took for you, DVR owner and Hulu-subscribing braggart, to draft that “spoilers etiquette” rant you’ve had poised at the tip of your fingers, you could have just watched the show and found out what all the fuss was about.

Real To Me: When Fiction and Proximity Don’t Matter

Posted on by televisedladybits

The Degrassi fandom was the first one that I ever officially joined. I would commandeer the family television on Friday nights, equipped with my dinner, and wait eagerly for my weekly dose of Canadian drama and gorgeous boys (I was as gross about attractive TV stars then as I am now, and unabashedly so). As soon as the end credits began to roll I would jump online and log onto the fan site, where I would connect with other enthusiastic fans like myself. The experience introduced me to a lot of things that are now so common in fandom and viewership behavior: fanfiction, hate-watching (via my younger brother, who always had a handful of slick commentary, yet somehow found a spot right next to me each Friday night), online fan communities, and celebrity crushes. I created serious bonds with people, thanks to that experience. In fact, I’m STILL friends with one of those fans to this day, over a decade later (*waves emphatically at Melissa*).

The show also dealt me my first major fictional loss in the death of one of its main characters, J.T. Yorke. He wasn’t necessarily my favorite character (that honor belonged to Jimmy “Soon I’ll Be a Rapper Non-Ironically” Brooks), but there was still a lot to mourn. From the brutality of his murder (he was literally stabbed in the back and left to die in the street) to watching his death – and life – deeply affect each of his classmates for episodes to come, it was hard not to feel emotional about the loss of a character that you watched grow before your eyes for years. I remember immediately logging into my little online community to debrief about the tragedy, expecting the scene to be a fecund cyberland of recaps and exclamation points.

What I saw was genuine mourning and consoling from fans that covered an impressively wide range of ages. There was certainly discussion about the event itself, but what grabbed my attention more were the many and varied testimonies of how much this character genuinely marked their lives, whether it was through his humor or his loyalty to his friends. With millions of viewers worldwide, many had the opportunity to learn from his mistakes, relate to his bumbling mishaps through puberty, and find humor even when life made laughter difficult. Also, his death came after Degrassi High had seen its share of tragedies, from domestic violence to school shootings. This was the first time we were reminded that our beloved characters weren’t altogether invincible and that alone served a shocking blow to our collective guts. When you consider all this you begin to realize that loyal viewers like myself invested so much more than thirty minutes on Fridays (or Tuesdays, if you lived in Canada).

And that’s always been part of the beauty and charm of art, right? It’s in that privilege to elevate certain work beyond mere escapism (not to say that there’s anything wrong at all with keeping something within that particular realm). It’s in our ability to adopt these characters into our families and to carry their purpose with us. Its in the way that we dig past superficial attraction and hatred and find attributes that we wish to see (or avoid) in others. That personal attachment is what keeps good television, film, music, theater, comics, and art relevant. A friend of mine managed to encapsulate this sentiment beautifully on Twitter just recently:

So it’s important to understand that a character’s death can amount to something bigger than a simple cast turnover for some, or how the passing of a musician whom we’ve never met can trigger deep, abiding sadness in others. Amy Winehouse entirely revolutionized my relationship with music as well as how I view and relate to my own pain, so arriving home from my honeymoon to the news of her death is a moment that I will not soon forget. I’ll also remember how the expression of said sadness was not only shared by so many of my friends, but also met with the skeptical cries of those who hadn’t developed quite the same attachment with her. “None of you knew her! There’s so much tragedy in our world today that deserve our attention! Why focus on this one person you don’t know?” What they didn’t understand is that the focus was not just on this person, but this person’s impact and how the loss of her also signified the loss of that connection we had forged between our own intangible emotions and something so damn beautiful. That shouldn’t be so easily dismissed.

That’s why my lack of familiarity with Grey’s Anatomy didn’t lead to some jaded write-off of the passionate response to one of the most monumental deaths in television history. When you get to know and feel for someone over the course of eleven years – fictional or otherwise – a sudden change like that is harrowing. It’s a sign of personal relevance and if you’re unable to understand  that, than maybe that instance is simple not meant to be understood by everyone. That’s okay. It doesn’t make it any less important.

I say all that to ask this of anyone who may be reading this: make the effort to understand why the death of a make-believe doctor, a comic book superhero, or charismatic Canadian student on a teen drama might be received with more than a few tears. Understand how the loss of a pop icon may be deeply mourned for a while by someone who may never have shared the same space with them. Hell, try to understand why some people are still super upset with the How I Met Your Mother finale or the departure of a band member. Just understand that, like you, there is much more than meets the eye.

And if you still can’t understand any of it, then that’s more than fine. Just…you know…don’t be a dick about it.

When Reminiscing Goes Wrong: Rewatching After Your Personal Growth

Posted on by televisedladybits

There’s nothing that 80’s/90’s kids love more than talking about how unequivocally great the 80’s/90’s were. I wholeheartedly include myself in this sentiment.

It doesn’t take much to spark the toasty flame of sweet, sweet nostalgia – an old TLC track, a picture of that hideous Dream Phone, the far away crinkling of a geo-patterned windbreaker – and before you know it, you’re listing every cartoon that ever grazed your television as a child, whether you genuinely enjoyed it at the time or not. The subject often shifts fluidly from cartoons to films and sitcoms, which were always my personal favorite talking points. I still beam like an idiot when I think of Boy Meets World and the phrase “I dropped a SCREW in the TUNA!” makes me guffaw today in a way that no damn-near-30-year-old should. Nostalgia is magical! I’ve seen sworn enemies come together over their love of Joey Lawrence circa 1993 (which I understand in a way that’s only fractionally embarrassing. Also, his debut album is not on iTunes, in case you were wondering and didn’t want to learn the hard way like I just did).

So how does one ride the high that comes with remembering the glory days? If you’re like me, you pray that Netflix, Hulu, or On Demand will come through with something that’ll allow you to travel briefly back in time and just bask for a weekend or two. Sometimes it’s just as phenomenal of an escape as it was before.

Other times, it’s a goddamn landmine.

I’m going to strictly speak from my experience here, which is in no way universal but certainly shared by a few of my good friends: once you start experiencing anything through a lens – whether it’s one of feminism, social justice, politics, spirituality, sexuality, parenthood, whatever – it’s pretty difficult to enjoy it the same way again. It’s not necessarily a matter of something not aging well. It’s about watching something with a new (to you) wealth of knowledge. A recent experience I had with this included a viewing of Dave Chappelle’s HBO stand-up special, Killin’ Them Softly. It’s always been a favorite of mine and I’m able to recite most of it by heart, which I’m sure is the case for most comedy enthusiasts. It’s a bonafide classic! “Gun store, gun store, liquor store, gun store…” I don’t know many that couldn’t finish that joke. As soon as I remembered that I had an HBO Go subscription I immediately dove in with the anticipation of renewed joy and for a while I had it.

Then we arrived to the bit about the dying traditions of chivalry and courtship: “Yeah, chivalry is dead…and women killed it.” He then went on to explain how the sweeping lack of disrespect was directly caused by the feminist movement, our sexual agency, and how we dress and act in public. Upon this, I immediately react.

“Wait, WHAT?! THAT’S BULLSHIT! I’M UPSET! WERE PEOPLE UPSET BACK THEN? I’M UPSET!”

Don’t get me wrong, the hour-long special was full of sexist generalizations and socially-adopted misogyny, but that instance garnered the most outrage. Then I began to second guess myself. Was any of this ever actually funny, or am I blinded by nostalgia? Does this mean that all of my favorite entertainers are actually horrible people? Am I overreacting? Wait, is the very act of me questioning my reaction right now just institutionalize misogyny at work? Dozens of questions later I found myself retroactively angry at a program from fifteen years ago.

And it won’t be the last time. Beauty and the Beast, Saved by the Bell, Grease, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off…it’ll be hard press for me to find an old favorite that isn’t somewhat tainted by sexism, classism, prejudice, or some brand of intolerance. Can we write this stuff off as products of a less progressive time? Possibly, but how can we continue to enjoy classic entertainment that the world is convinced is timeless, even when we know that most of it is so horrendously dated?

For me it was simple: understand that problematic content and valuable content are not always mutually exclusive.

Like Chappelle, for instance. His stance on the behavior of women back then (which could have totally changed since 2000. I honestly don’t know) is just something I’m never going to find amusing or relatable. That, however, doesn’t entirely detract from his ability to bring humor to hot topics that most are afraid to touch – institutionalized racism, class division, hypocrisy within our government, etc. These are the things that are going to continue to draw me to his comedy, even if we don’t see eye-to-eye on everything. The sexism in Grease and the entitlement and classism in Ferris Bueller make me grimace, but are heavily outweighed by my childhood memories of watching alongside my mom and my little brother (and the dancing…oh, the dancing). One of my treasured daughter/father dates was a trip to the movies to see Beauty and the Beast and I’m so grateful that I walked away with a starry-eye appreciation for books and pretty gowns instead of an incredibly flawed understanding of Stockholm Syndrome.

Looking back doesn’t always have to be a disappointment, either. I’m thankful that my new lens has led to a deeper appreciation of Whitley Gilbert’s growth as a socially conscious feminist in A Different World, or Daria’s unapologetic take on the working mother with Helen Morgendorffer.

On occasion I might revisit something that I loved a decade ago and conclude, “Wow, this is utter trash.” That’s cool, too. Context shapes experiences. That’s not new or revelatory, but it’s something that we have to remind ourselves every once in a while.

So, fellow 90’s kids and TV enthusiasts, look back every now and again. Fire up Netflix and appreciate the memories. On the occasions when you run into a moment that gets your blood boiling, treat it like an old picture featuring your less-than-stellar haircut and chunky earrings: through your cringing and “What was I thinking,” be entirely proud of how far you’ve come.

Not Really Necessary vs. Seriously, It’s Annoying: The Nature of Comparing

Posted on by televisedladybits

During a very brief period of my formative teen years I was a fan of World Wrestling Entertainment. At the time it was known as WWF, or World Wrestling Foundation. Full disclosure: I was thirteen and my interest stemmed from a desire to appear cool to boys (Oh, Teen Shannon, you foolish dove…). As I watched, it was hard to remain unengaged. The drama! The costumes! Fire and decade-long grudges! THE ROCK! What started as a poorly designed boy trap of sorts turned into a genuine obsession fraught with theories, preferred outcomes, and memorized catchphrases. (“I thoroughly smell what The Rock is cooking, my precious, confident angel!”) . I had become so taken with professional wrestling that I asked my mother to purchase the $30 Pay Per View pass for WrestleMania in order to watch The Rock fight Triple H in a steel cage match. “Two men enter! Only one exits the victor! I have to see it live!”

Her response, bless her, was “You’ve completely lost your damn mind. No, I will never do such a thing.” It was probably for the best.

Let’s fast forward to 2015. These days I leave the wrestling to my husband while my viewing schedule includes the likes of Scandal and Empire. They have the same pull that wrestling possessed for me all those years ago – no shortage of drama, gorgeous costuming, grudges galore, and each episode leaves me with more quote-worthy moments than a productive person needs.

That, however, is where the similarities – between wrestling and each other – end. Within minutes of watching either show you quickly gather that these are two entirely different productions, each with their own scene-stealing black female lead. When I watch one show I am in no way thinking of the other, mainly because each show requires a different frame of mind and little downtime for your thoughts to wander elsewhere. I sympathize with Cookie Lyon and Olivia Pope in very unique ways. From my experience, the same could be said about most who identify as both Gladiators and…I’m not sure if a name has been determined for Empire fans yet. Chart Toppers? Lyonhearts? I’d honestly like to know.

I digress. Despite Cookie and Olivia establishing themselves as two distinctive powerhouses, that still doesn’t stop articles like this one from imposing the title of “stronger female character.” Though these shows air on different networks (FOX brings us Empire while ABC has been the home of Scandal since 2012), they air on entirely different days, so they really aren’t in any foreseeable competition with each other.

And yet, I can’t help but read comparisons like these while picturing Cookie and Olivia, dressed to the nines and circling at each other in a steel cage high above the crowd. Two fabulous women enter. Only one can escape the victor. Who’s the strongest?

That’s the problem with these unsolicited comparisons: it creates a competition that is in no way necessary. It reduces an entire world of entertainment to this limited space where only one can represent comfortably – whether that “one” is a black female lead, or a gay protagonist, or a female showrunner. You see this often with the portrayal of marginalized groups – this need to determine which is a better representation or to find some understanding as to how two can simply exist at the same time.  Some would argue that it’s innocent pondering, but you can’t ignore the deeper implications that exist underneath…and there are, whether the asker is cognizant of them or not.

This habit of wondering “who does it better” may not be harmful to group that already dominates the media, but to us individuals still struggling to be properly represented, it’s a very toxic notion. Why must one be “better” and who is actually qualified to make that sort of determination? Why should the arrival of one devalue the existence of the other? If we are finally given something as great as two prominent black women featured in prime time or multiple women manning the helm of their own shows or more examples of LGBTQ love in media, shouldn’t the question be “Why aren’t there more,” not “Who did it better?” They shouldn’t be treated as mutually exclusive entities.

Another thing that I find incredibly problematic with this line of thought, in regards to critiquing characters through comparison: in a time when many of us are seeking representation that is closer to our true narrative – characters who are layered, flawed, complex, have a multitude of interests and emotions – do we really want to be so dismissive of roles that are different, even if their traits may fall outside of what we consider desirable or virtuous? At the risk of coming across as repetitive, as I covered this sentiment in my last post: we are mistaken if we automatically equate “likable” with “good.” Sometimes it’s the ugly that links us. When we use those flaws against a character and compare it to another while saying “See? This is how it should be done!”…it’s almost like rejecting humanity. No group should be treated as a monolith with only one acceptable image. It’s okay to look at someone and recognize things that we’d like to see in ourselves, but that shouldn’t discredit what makes someone multi-dimensional. Olivia’s indecisiveness regarding her future doesn’t make her any less of a bad ass nor does Cookie’s take-the-reins persona distract from her weakness for Lucious. Both of these women are exposing their layers to us one at a time and that should be celebrated, not shallowly compared to make it somehow easier for the masses to digest.

Here’s the bottom line: when you’re in the minority, you’re already in a competition. You’re competing with the status quo. You’re fighting against preconceived expectations. You’re struggling against an environment with a default setting that truly does not work in your favor. That, in and of itself, is already more competition than should be fairly imposed upon a single person. When it comes to each other, let us just be great without succumbing to that need to see us duke it out.

We live in a world that will soon have four Expendables films. FOUR. If there’s room for all of them, then there’s certainly room for the rest of us.

Cage matches don’t carry the same luster when the two contenders have no interest in fighting each other. For once, let’s just leave that cage gloriously empty.

Unlikable Female Character: I Love You.

Posted on by televisedladybits

unlikable banner

Left to right: Grace Adler, Mindy Lahiri, Maxine Shaw, and Gemma Teller Morrow

One day I will write a very detailed account of my love of Will & Grace and Living Single.

I’m in desperate need of something resembling a Bat Signal whenever a network is airing a marathon of either of these shows. It doesn’t matter that I can recite almost every episode by heart, nor is it a concern of mine that I own every season of Will & Grace on DVD. I will watch every episode like it’s the first time and laugh obnoxiously as if the jokes are fresh. I’m tempted to present these shows as sort of a litmus test for new potential friends.

I remember gushing about Grace Adler to a friend during my Freshman year of college and he kind of blanched at the idea of me considering her a favorite. “How can you honestly like her?” he asked. To strengthen his argument against her, he listed a few of her qualities that he found most unsavory: she was selfish, a little obnoxious, kind of a slob, and uncompromising about the things she wanted in her life, even at the inconvenience of others. She also had a tongue of acid at times.

My rebuttal: “I know! That’s why I love her!”

For kicks, I asked him who his favorite character was. His response (which came so quickly that I’m not entirely certain that I actually finished the question): Michael Scott. Famously inappropriate, culturally clueless, dopishly racist/sexist Michael Scott.

I didn’t have the time back then to dissect the clear double standard here (even though I’ve always quite enjoyed Michael Scott myself) and to be honest, I’m not positive that it would have mattered all that much to my friend back then. His outlook – where forgiveness of character flaws is provided much more liberally for our favorite fictional men than women – was widely shared just as much then as it is now. When it comes to women in television (hell, women in general) there is more of an emphasis placed on overall likability than any other character trait. Is she smart? Is she strong? Loyal? Kind? Generous? Reliable? Polite? Affable? Does she always look her best? Is she great at her job? Is she an attentive mother/wife/friend/daughter/coworker/neighbor/newspaper delivery woman with energy to spare? And if she is the ideal picture of benevolence…is it credible? When you really explore the commonly touted expectations of female characters in entertainment, there is just not much room for error. They (and we) are expected to be impossible and possible all at once. And while I try to abstain from the concept of fairness…dammit, it’s not fair.

My general likability is far from my greatest concern, therefore I tend not to place the same expectations on the characters that entertain me each week. It’s actually the ones that are labeled unlikable that I gravitate towards the most not because I’m a horrible person, but because I see more of myself in them than anyone else. When you look at some of the reasons women in television might be deemed unfavorable – whether they’re stubborn, demanding, occasionally offensive, sarcastic, etc. – you’ll find that they’re characteristics that exist in everybody at our most genuine.

I don’t want anyone to assumed that I don’t also love likable characters or find them wholly inaccessible. Jane the Virgin‘s Jane Villanueva, for example is a figure whom I will treasure always and strikes me as the perfect example of the Likable Female Lead who is also nuanced, charismatic, sharp, flawed, and hilarious. It’s quite difficult, I feel, not to fall for her once you meet her. I find her relatable in many ways, between her love of sweeping romance and her proclivity to dive into things heart first. I see those aspects in her and find some solidarity.

But it’s important that I see the rest of me reflected in my entertainment, too – the flaws that were deemed unbecoming long ago. Roxane Gay wrote this incredible essay over a year ago about the importance of unlikable female protagonists in literature. As she brilliantly noted, the ability for these women to exist without the pressures of being liked allowed us to see them at their most authentic. We get the opportunity to make more of a connection based on something more tangible than perfection: humanity. When a character in a book, movie or show is shamelessly honest, for example, more often than not they’re saying something that I’d probably never have the guts to say. In female protagonists, however, they’re more likely to be considered harsh or bitches rather than “straight shooters” like their male counterparts.

I recently had a discussion with a friend on Twitter regarding the importance of the Unlikable Female Character where I mentioned that she’s vital to the visibility of women in television and other media. It’s not just about having an interesting character to argue about by the water cooler; it’s also about having a character that serves a versatile purpose outside of being just the voice of reason or as a foil for the protagonist. It’s these layered characters that you get to take the journey with and the ones who become household names. You’re more likely to hear someone recall a variety of memorable Walter White moments than those of Skyler White. The flawed are the ones that get the character development, the side adventures, and the occasional redemption. They monopolize the discussion. Let us be a part of the discussion.

Some might argue that these women aren’t necessarily “unlikable,” but instead “complex.” I agree with that, but I also think that we shouldn’t shy away from the term “unlikable.” Avoiding the term insinuates a fear of not being liked which, again, I’m not sure should be our primary concern. Also, erasing the idea of unlikability has a way of sugar-coating what some of these characteristic truly are. Let’s face it: being selfish, withholding, judgmental, or cutthroat can be shitty things to be (certainly not always!). And that’s fine. They’re also human components that most of us have experienced within the last hour. We should be able to see this side of humanity without automatically villainizing it, and women should be just as entitled to these flaws as men, both on and off the screen.

I’m always going to defend the Unlikable Female Character because just as I should be allowed my flaws, so should the women on my TV. Should we all aim to be the best version of ourselves? Absolutely. But “best” does not equate to “perfection” and since entertainment should reflect certain aspects of real life, it’s crucial for me to see that the sources of my entertainment understand this concept. It’s why I cheer when Grace Adler is unabashedly selfish. I root for Maxine Shaw when she uses her razor-sharp tongue to defend herself. I feel better about my own potty mouth when I hear Dee Reynolds being utterly crass. I understood Gemma Teller-Morrow’s desperation to keep her family together, even if she felt that manipulation was her only tool in achieving that. I get Drita D’avanzo’s fierce promise to protect her family “at all costs.” Mindy Lahiri’s almost scholarly knowledge of celebrity gossip over current events matches my own, at times (though, in my defense, I was quite aware of Osama Bin Laden’s death, unlike her). It was difficult to not be moved by Rosa Cisneros’ passionate back story, even if it did include robbing banks. And while I strive to one day be as put-together as Olivia Pope, I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t feel Mellie Grant on a deep level, from her ruthless approach to establishing her own power to her desire to knock the mistress in her husband’s life down a few pegs. They’re allowed to have messy hands and beating hearts. That’s as important as it is entertaining.

Finding some level of solidarity with these women does not mean that I agree with them at all times, nor does it cloud my ability to recognize when they’re problematic. But I’m grateful for their existence and I’m anxious to see a future inhabited with more beautiful, layered, slightly messy women.

To the Women Gracing My Screen: My Mission Statement

Posted on by televisedladybits

Shannon the TV Consumer of 2005 is almost entirely different from the one going into 2015.

I couldn’t tell you with complete confidence what I was even watching back then. It probably wasn’t much: I was a college freshman trying to balance getting passable grades (but if my daughter asks…I really aimed for stars. Like…just try to make me sound as studious as possible here) and a blossoming social life. I remember only having time for the barest of standards when it came to my entertainment. Did The Such-and-Such Show make me laugh? Did it make sense? Were the characters somewhat smart? If they weren’t smart, were they hot? My only major campaign that I can truly recall was that I hoped against hope that Dave Chappelle would consider coming back and doing a decent season of the Chappelle Show. Other than that, I had no hard opinions regarding my television viewing experience that stick out as I type this. Strangely out of character for me; I have hard opinions about everything. Ask me one day how I feel about raisins in my food. I could go on for hours about this. Opinions on how my entertainment should look? I was fairly easy to please.

Another major difference: at the time, I didn’t identify myself as a feminist. As a matter of fact, I had some fairly misguided views regarding feminism, which I will try my damnedest not to blame entirely on the media…though it played a significant role. When I saw what I now understand was the Feminist Caricature, she looked nothing like me: she was white, had a slightly muscular build, cropped hair, donned a pretty killer scowl, and wore her hatred of men like a suit of armor. Understand this: she was (and is) beautiful. I just couldn’t relate. Therefore, without taking the time actually research and develop a clue, I just assumed that feminism wasn’t something that I was meant to be a part of. So I absorbed what my blessed television presented to me and took it as gospel (because when has TV ever lied to me?!), deciding that a proper representation of feminism in my viewing experience was just not that vital. My main concern: when is Chappelle coming back?

Things change in a decade, obviously. I’m 29, I hold a job in Corporate America, I’m the co-head of a household with my cool-as-hell husband and the mother of the most magnificent two-year-old girl. Also, I’m way more invested in my television than I was when I was 19. Though I wouldn’t go as far as to say that my “list of concerns” back then was necessarily flawed – there isn’t anything wrong with simply wanting a bunch of good looking people to make you laugh – I would say without hesitation that they have evolved greatly. I, like many, many others, look for my entertainment to serve as a form of escapism. From eight in the morning until five in the evening every weekday I have to deploy my Undercover Side Eye at a daily dose of sexism from certain coworkers and a select, very effective portion of upper management. More often than not I’m having to explain (patiently) to friends and family that yes, inequality of the sexes (especially for women of color and trans women) is still very much a thing. There isn’t enough time in the world to discuss the news’ documentation of our daily struggle as women. So yeah…I definitely looked to television to show that somebody gets it. Sometimes it does – like when Shonda Rhimes absolutely OWNS my screen on Thursday nights – and sometimes it doesn’t. Aside from my refusal to support problematic media and blaring my discontent/praise on any platform that’ll allow my very pointed voice, there isn’t much else I can do for now. I would love for that to change.

But I CAN make a solid promise to my beautiful women in television, as well as my fellow television enthusiasts. I’m calling it a mission statement, though I’m sure any business aficionado will be quick to let me know exactly why this isn’t an actual mission statement, but simply a list of promises. To them I say the same I say to my inner voice when it reminds me that listening to Sam Smith while I’m emotionally compromised is a bad idea: “Regardless of how right you clearly are, I’m still gonna do it.”

So, my many-faced TV Goddess, as a loving viewer and willing mouthpiece in these tweet-paved streets, I promise the following:

  • To continue to support you publicly and privately, as well as encouraging others to do the same.
  • To make my calls for widespread representation loud and unapologetic.
  • To understand that you, Lady of the Screen, are going to be problematic at times. That’s just something that comes with being human. As long as it’s not irreversibly messed up, I won’t treat it as a deal-breaker (even as I lovingly call you out on it).
  • To make any discussion that I host all-inclusive, voice-wise.
  • To know the difference between having favorites and creating a competition that isn’t necessary.
  • To try my best to not entirely snub reality television, as it can actually serve a great purpose when it uses its power for good instead of evil. Also, I can’t pretend that there aren’t episodes of Real Housewives of Atlanta and Mob Wives sitting in my DVR.
  • To understand that your cosmetic choices are yours to make and not really my business to comment on. But also…
  • To loudly celebrate when you look especially amazing.
  • To try to know what I’m talking about in my occasional analysis. And finally,
  • To continuously update this statement over time. Problems – and victories, hopefully – will arise and I will do what I can to keep up with all of it.

Now that we and our remotes have made it to 2015, what do you hope to see for our televised women in the new year?

My Lady of the Screen banner in all its glory: some of the biggest badasses in television.

My Lady of the Screen banner in all its glory: some of the biggest badasses in television.