Tag Archives: writing

by

Why Aren’t There Any Gay Superheroes in Film and on TV?

With every film studio trying to get in on the Marvel Cinematic Universe game and a slew of new superhero televisions shows (most also courtesy of Marvel), the question of why there aren’t more gay superheroes in movies and on TV demands to be asked.

While it’s encouraging that we are somewhat beyond the point where we need to ask why there isn’t more LGBTQ representation on television as a whole—shows like Looking, Orange Is The New Black, Grey’s Anatomy, Orphan Black, Modern Family, and others being on the front lines of that particular cultural war—we’re still a long way from universal acceptance. From a world where all forms of sexuality are categorized under the banner of mere sexuality, with no sense of otherness or alternatives to the norm. Still, many shows only have one token gay character, or one gay character plus a revolving door of love interests. This is hardly progress.

In the case of Arrow and Revenge, homosexuality is represented by a bisexual character who switches sides depending on narrative convenience. The depiction of bisexuality is a pervasive problem on television, since writers don’t make characters bisexual in order to say something profound, but because that way, they don’t have to add a bunch of other gay characters to the show and they can still have the character in question hook up with the opposite gender. It’s the television equivalent of getting some ass and eating it, too.

In film, unfortunately, the situation is bad. I was chatting with a friend and challenged her to come up with a movie that was about a gay couple—or had gays as the lead characters in situations unrelated to romance—in a mainstream film since Brokeback Mountain. She could not. I could not, either. Everyone thought Brokeback Mountain would open a floodgate of films where gay characters took the lead, but not one film since has dared.

Now comes word that an animated children’s fantasy film, How To Train Your Dragon 2, has a gay character. Enfin, some progress! But is it the lead character? Of course not. An important secondary character? No, not really. The comic relief? Duh. Because if anyone of significance were to be gay, then there would have to be other LGBTQ characters to support that person. They might even have to make a whole, entire film with gay characters. Break out the fainting couches, the executives are looking a little pale!

The state of affairs in non-fantastical film and television, while not exactly dire, is far from ideal. But as an avowed geek, the lack of LGBTQ representation in sci-fi, fantasy, and comic book stories pains me all the more. The very nature of the genre is to explore new worlds and new ideas, to make us feel the humanity in the alien, to underline how people made to feel other are just like everybody else, to think as far outside the box as possible. To boldly go. These writers and creators dream up the most death-defying and time-bending scenarios for their characters, but they can’t manage to squeeze in a few who aren’t heterosexual?

It’s a little bit outrageous, when you think about it. Let’s break it down:
-Marvel (Disney styles) has Iron Man, Thor, Captain America, Guardians of the Galaxy, Incredible Hulk, Agents of Z.Z.Z.Z.Z.Z, Agent Carter, and four—count ’em, four—new TV series set to be streamed on Netflix within the next two years. Total LGBTQ characters: 0 (Joss, I’m calling you out for this. This isn’t like you and it stinks.)

-Fox has the X-Men—a fricking allegory about people being ostracized for being different! Total LGBTQ characters: 0 (I won’t add to your woes, Bryan Singer, but check yourself)

-Sony has the Spider-Man series, old and new school, which they are hoping to spin off into an Evil League of Evil franchise (actual name: Sinister Six). Total LGBTQ characters: 0.

-Warner Brothers/DC has Nolan’s Batman films, Snyder’s Superman film, Batman vs. Superman (with a cast of thousands) leading into an eventual Justice League, not to mention Arrow, The Flash, Gotham, and Constantine on TV. Total LGBTQ characters: 1. (Bisexual, natch. Arrow is otherwise flawless.)

(Note: I may be forgetting someone here. A couple of these shows haven’t premiered yet, so TBD. Please feel free to correct me in the comments and I will update. Still, one or two additions do not a revolution make.)

This list isn’t depressing just because it confirms that the corporate overlords who control these movies and series have succeeded in whitewashing them (people of color being poorly represented to an almost laughable degree as well). It’s depressing because it shows just how much these talented filmmakers and showrunners are lacking in the imagination department. They pay lip service to themes of diversity, self-acceptance, and what being a true hero really means, but do nothing to push those boundaries in their own work.

It’s about past time, isn’t it, that we got a little action between Cap and Bucky? (Maybe women are a thing of the past for both of them.) That Batman takes Robin in because he pushes buttons that the cowled one can no longer ignore? That Rogue figures out the person she would most want to touch her is Kitty Pride, even if she’ll never be able to? That Loki admits once and for all just why he’s so obsessed with Thor?

In the immortal words of no less than Spider-Man himself, Andrew Garfield:

“I was like, ‘What if MJ is a dude?’ Why can’t we discover that Peter is exploring his sexuality? It’s hardly even groundbreaking!…So why can’t he be gay? Why can’t he be into boys?…I’ve been obsessed with Michael B. Jordan since The Wire. He’s so charismatic and talented. It’d be even better—we’d have interracial bisexuality!”

Now that is the kind of courage and imagination I like to see in my superheroes.

Of course, this entire post was written as an excuse to show just how amazing Mr. Garfield really is. Check him out in the new video by Montreal darlings Arcade Fire, for “We Exist”, a song about someone coming out to their parents and one of my current faves:

Cheers,
Selina

by

Fun with Tropes!

“These people feel like human beings who just happen to live in a universe where the scenarios of superhero and soap opera fiction unfold, as opposed to coming across as characters who only do things because, well, that’s how characters in those sorts of genre stories are supposed to act.” -review of Arrow, “The Crucible” by Alasdair Wilkins on http://www.avclub.com on October 30, 2013

 Most of us who love genre fiction have a love/hate relationship with the tropes of each genre and subgenre. Some are great when done well, some cause us to fling the book/e-reader/tablet across the room when done poorly (an expensive proposition these days), all test the limits of believability on occasion. And yet, in the hands of an expert writer, they can be as juicy and delicious as a ripe peach (speaking of cliché).

While there may be only seven different story templates in existence, the cannon of literature (and trashy books) has given us enough variation on each of these seven narrative constructions that it shouldn’t be too hard for writers to come up with their own spin. Or so you would think. Having recently dipped my toe into the werewolf genre in answer to a publisher’s open call, I was surprised by how hard it was to exorcize myself of all my clichéd notions of the supernatural, pushing beyond what has already been done to create something new. Problem is, sometimes it’s fun to play with someone else’s toys (see: fanfiction). It can also be fun to see a good trope done well (as on Arrow). I’ve always believed that well-written characters set in a compelling world will do 90% of the work for you, no matter how basic your plot.

In romance, for instance, the whole point of the genre is to read a subtle variation on the basic “Person A meets Person B + obstacles = love” scenario. Readers of romance seek out certain tropes over and over again, until it becomes a kind of spiritual comfort food (I mean this without judgment: I am such a reader and use these books for that purpose). But they are also among the most knowledgeable about their likes and dislikes. Lurk awhile in any romance forum, and with a few deft clicks, you will find out in specific and vociferous detail what a given poster likes, hates, will tolerate, and can’t abide. They are also among the most accepting of other people’s likes and dislikes, never judging another reader’s love for, say, evil twin stories, and often taking a chance on books that contain the tropes they dislike if recommended by a friend. “I normally don’t like such and such, but…” is a common refrain.

Still, writing shouldn’t be about accepting the status quo. Doing what has been done before. Filling in the blanks. Whether you’re twisting a well-worn trope into some M.C. Escher-esque design or deconstructing it into something unrecognizable, you need to know the basics, the nitty and the gritty of what came before.

I conducted an informal survey of my writer and rabid-reader friends to find out which tropes they found maddening, infuriating, and fire-breathing-gorgoning. Caution: use at your own risk. 

-Amnesia

-Twins, especially with special powers

-Fish out of water

-The makeover

-Small town life = good; big city life = bad

-Creating blurred worlds between dream and “reality”

-Using a “crazy” character just to brouiller les cartes, i.e. to create chaos or confusion, or use as a red herring

-Setting the action in remote, old, worn-out places

-Creating a character that will, in the end, be revealed to be the alter ego of the main character

-­­­­­­Having a character getting lost in a cemetery or in the forest or jungle, or having to endure storms (snow, thunderstorm or heavy rain, at sea…). [I would add: using the weather as a metaphor for the character’s state of mind. Of which every writer is guilty, including me!]

-Chosen one fights their destiny until they finally have a revelation and give in

-­­A blind/deaf/handicapped character who has premonitions or insights

Which brings us to an aspect of tropes that I particularly loathe, i.e. those that play on “stereotypes and racial/sexual/physical differences as shorthand for character/conflict,” as my friend put it. Here are a few they mentioned:

-Homemaker=good; working woman=bad, also working woman who can only be completed by having a previously unwanted child (aka Miranda from Sex in the City)

-Using an angelic-looking girl as the villain

-Evil wife, girlfriend, ex (always female)

-Use of rape tropes, sexual assault as a motivation for the female character (or, in M/M, the weaker, fey male character)

-Use of person of color as the brute/macho/wild aggressor

-“Magical” token person of color

What’s dangerous about the use of these particular tropes is their lack of originality and complexity. I would challenge writers to see beyond labels, stereotypes, and social norms to try and create characters who can be some of these things, but who are so much more.

Since my focus – and focus group – traffics mainly in M/M romances, here are a few tropes that are somewhat unique to that genre (though some of them can be applied to romance as a whole).

-Naive virgin paired with male slut

-Person falls in love with dude who used to bully him

-Gay for you (not to be confused with “out for you,” which is more realistic)

-Rent boy with a heart of gold

-Person who left a small town and returns to rekindle a long-lost flame from their teenage years

-Use of sexual assault as a way to delay the sex act

-Weak/butch characterizations

-True love fixes everything

-Insta-love

While scouring the Internet for information on tropes to add to this post, I came across some wild and wonderful things. For instance: A Periodic Table of Storytelling, created by the good folks at TV Tropes. If you want to waste some serious hours of your life, fall down that rabbit hole one weekend. Don’t be surprised if you don’t find your way out for a few days!

In true geek fashion, the folks at the now-defunct Strange Horizons compiled some submission guidelines to be reckoned with, “Stories We’ve Seen Too Often”. After reading that, my only question was: “What stories are there left to tell?” Seriously, I think they covered everything.

The message of all this is: don’t take shortcuts in your writing. Make characters flawed, multi-faceted, complex. Defy cliché and stereotype. Take something we all know and love, dismantle it, and build it back up again into something new. Set the world on fire with your insight, your skill, and your imagination! And don’t forget the most important equation: writing = fun.

Cheers,

Selina ;D

 

by

Kill Your Darlings

To paraphrase an old writers’ adage, “Give ’em what they need, not what they want.” It’s the writers’ version of “Eat your vegetables,” except the results should be far more delicious than nutritious. I was reminded of this multiple times this week, which saw the deaths of four major TV characters, with varying results. In all but one instance, these characters were either women and/or from a minority that often has trouble getting authentic representation on television. And, frankly, it has to stop.

***The following post contains MAJOR, MAJOR SPOILERS for the most recent episodes of The Good Wife, Teen Wolf, Hannibal, Scandal, Person of Interest. Seriously, if you haven’t seen those shows and want to, DO NOT READ THE REST OF THIS. ***

Until last night, this post was going to bemoan the constant and incessant killing of female characters in shows populated mostly by men. And we’ll definitely get to that! But then The Good Wife aired one of the most audacious episodes of television in my long history of viewing, one which completely exploded its narrative and leaves us with a show where three of the four major leads are women. So, it can be done, and done well. But let’s go back to the writers who get it so wrong.

I’m not someone who thinks character deaths should never happen, but I also don’t think they need to happen. Action and supernatural shows will obviously have a higher body count than workplace dramas. The Sopranos will always put down more characters than Mad Men. Shows like Game of Thrones and 24 have made cottage industries out of the question, “Who will die?” But none of these shows have treated death like a game. Each and every character lost had resonance, both to viewers and within the narrative. It was, quite simply, the story that needed to be told.

When Person of Interest killed the only black female character on its whitewash of a show, was that a story that needed to be told? When Scandal – a show, it should be said, redolent with women and people of color – killed its one openly gay character, was that a story that needed to be told? How about Hannibal, on which the brilliant Asian female doctor makes a typical ‘dumb girl in a horror movie’ decision and ends up (possible) cannibal fodder, whereas her two white male lab tech colleagues are allowed to be brilliant without being stupid. They really couldn’t have gotten rid of that guy who isn’t Scott Thompson? (I would never be so gross as to suggest they off a former Kid in the Hall.) Oh, and let’s not forget that Lawrence Fishburne is likely a goner by season’s end.

But these decisions, the writers of these shows argue, aren’t arbitrary. You can’t kill characters the audience doesn’t care about. Right. Because the audience doesn’t care about the white male characters on these shows at all. And these white male characters that no one in the audience cares about aren’t being kept on the show for reasons like, oh, the primarily female audience is more interested in having them around to stoke their fantasies and ship their romantic entanglements. If even one white male character is killed, they might actually lose viewers. It might re-write the very nature of the show. Or, you know, they might have to write storylines in which these women and minority characters are independent from their male counterparts, have agency, and drive the action. Now that really would be a scandal.

Exhibit A (and isn’t it always): Teen Wolf. This was Allison’s final season, though you would have never known it, since she was made completely redundant after years of waffling between Buffy-manqué and back-burner love interest. Her final episode was the most ham-fisted, last-minute fix-up I’ve ever seen, giving her the lamest post-coital banter in the history of television and a heart-to-heart with her dad that so obviously telegraphed her death, the special effects team might as well have painted a bull’s-eye on her forehead in post. I felt exactly zero ounces of sadness at her death because I had guessed at the beginning of the season that it was going to be her. From a writing standpoint, the choice makes sense: she was a cypher on the show where she was the female lead. They brought in a character so glaringly positioned to replace her that they actually had them team up in the episode prior to her death. But this was a failure in the writers’ room.

It’s not like Allison never had potential. She has a family with a long and twisted history. Her mother died during her formative teenage years. Her boyfriend was a goddamned werewolf, for Pete’s sake! But in the end, like in every episode of the show, she lived and died for Scott. God forbid she become a better hunter, tracker, fighter than the male lead. That she become better at deciphering some of the mythological lore than Stiles. That she genuinely oppose the supernatural beings on the show and maintain that stance, even while loving them as her friends, causing a downward spiral that permanently affects the character. They flirted with these ideas, but television is always about bringing your plot and your characters back to the status quo, and so Allison, at the moment of her death, even though in recent months she’s had stronger relationships with both her father and Isaac, declares her love for Scott. Kind of fitting, really, since no matter what she did, it always brought her back to him.

The big bait-and-switch of the season, of course, was the writers’ flirtation with killing Stiles. I agree with the general consensus that killing Stiles would spell the end of the show; he’s one of those characters, like Sawyer on Lost and Eric on True Blood and Roger Sterling on Mad Men, that you just can’t kill without totally losing your audience. Interesting how those invaluable characters are almost always male characters. On Teen Wolf, killing Stiles would be catastrophic, mostly because of the actor’s popularity and talent, and the fact that he’s the one character on the show written with any consistency. But what if, say, they killed Scott. Could the show go on without its titular teen wolf? Survey says… yes. Right? Because there are a host of male characters waiting to take his place. The show could become about Stiles, or Derek, or Isaac (with a lot of adjustments), or the Twins. Hell, even Papa Argent and Sheriff Stilinski. No one would need to be brought in to replace Scott. But the show is so low on female characters that they did have to replace Allison. We’ll see if Kira gets anything to do next season, her first non-kitsune season, other than be Scott’s girlfriend.

So why can’t more shows take risks like that? Why can’t more shows give us what’s good for us, narratively, rather than what we want? Why can’t shows rely on expertly written and beloved female characters to carry a show’s drama, saying something about modern women that has little to do with the men in their lives?

This is where I was going to leave you (ish), but then The Good Wife killed Will Gardner.

Who was an amazing character, having an exceptional season. It was the gut punch to end all gut-punches, and this morning, everyone is moaning and wailing about never watching the show again, as usual. I may be in the minority, but I *want* to watch dramas that shock me to the core. That challenge me, that rivet me, that make me so insane that I stay up way too late trying to come to terms with what just happened, and the next day still feel a little fuzzy and shaken. Episodes that make me put sun tan lotion on my toothbrush and almost feed my dog a can of tomato paste (true story) because I’m still sunk in. Episodes like “The Body” on Buffy, “Home” on The X-Files, “The Red Wedding” on Game of Thrones, and “Commissions and Fees” on Mad Men, to name just a few (I would add last year’s Downton Abbey Christmas special, but not even I think we should have had to deal with that crap at Christmas. Mary is better off, though!). I want to be gut-punched. I want to bleed. I also want the writers to earn it. Here, they definitely did.

The most vocal and insistent protest in the aftermath of Will’s death is that the show has jumped the shark because there will be no HEA for Will and Alicia. Never mind that Alicia had her chance for that HEA and chose to start her own firm, launching a Molotov cocktail into Will’s heart, at the beginning of this season. Never mind that they have been bitter, volatile rivals for the better part of the last 10 episodes. Never mind that the entire premise of the show is Alicia’s struggle to define and discover herself beyond the crushing legacy of her husband’s betrayal. The only way that was going to be possible, apparently, was if she found happily ever after with Will and fell back into another white picket fence scenario – or maybe here it would have been dual managing partnerships at their very own firm.

Newsflash: Alicia exists beyond her relationship with Will. Or with Peter. Or with Cary. Or with anyone, really. The central question for the character and of the entire show was asked of Alicia by another high-powered female character last week: “What do you want?” Who does Alicia want to be? How will she become that person? How does she deal with the obstacles put in her way – the assumptions about her character, the restrictions on her based on those assumptions? That is what has kept me enthralled with The Good Wife all these years, and the thought of her and Diane and Kalinda carrying the show through the rest of the season and beyond thrills me to the core. Finally, a team of writers willing to see beyond the shipping and the traditional ‘will they, won’t they’ romance storyline. Finally, a show willing to sacrifice a male lead to see what the strong, complex, vital female characters will do in the future.

Goodbye, Will Gardner. I loved you. So did Alicia. But she’s so much more interesting now that you’re gone.

Television would be so much more interesting, and diverse, and rich, and messy, and complicated, and must-see, if more writers were willing to feed us our vegetables and kill our darlings.