#speculativetvanalysis

[ryangero]

Gravity Falls gender representation analysis

Gravity Falls is an animated TV show created by Alex Hirsch that aired from 2012 - 2016 on Disney. There are only two seasons, but the show has built a dedicated fan base that continues to grow even after its conclusion. The series, set in the mysterious town of Gravity Falls, Oregon, follows the summer adventures of twin siblings, Dipper and Mabel Pines, as they unravel supernatural mysteries, encounter peculiar creatures, and navigate the complexities of family and friendship.

What sets Gravity Falls apart is its unique blend of humor, heartwarming moments, and a narrative that seamlessly weaves together overarching mysteries. Creator Alex Hirsch's clever writing and commitment to character development have left a lasting impact on viewers of all ages. The show's memorable characters, from the lovably eccentric Grunkle Stan to the enigmatic Bill Cipher, have become iconic figures in popular culture. Gravity Falls not only entertains with its imaginative storytelling but also delves into themes of identity, friendship, and the acceptance of the unknown. Gravity Falls' influence extends beyond its on-screen presence, inspiring a myriad of fan theories, artistic creations, and a thriving online community. Its cultural impact is a testament to the show's ability to resonate with audiences and spark discussions on various social and philosophical topics.

By examining specific characters and relationships, including Dipper's encounter with manliness and the unique dynamic between the two sheriffs, we can unveil how the show challenges and transcends traditional gender representations.

Judith Butler's notion of performativity finds resonance in Dipper's encounter with manliness in the episode, “Dipper vs Manliness” (S1E6). In her essay, Butler argues, "That it must repeat this imitation, that it sets up pathologizing practices and normalizing sciences in order to produce and consecrate its own claim on originality and propriety, suggests that heterosexual performativity is beset by an anxiety that it can never be finally or fully achieved, and that it is consistently haunted by that domain of sexual possibility that must be excluded for heterosexualized gender to produce itself” [1]. In other words, Butler explains despite the efforts to adhere to established norms, there is a persistent fear that the performance of heterosexuality is never fully achieved or secure.

The episode begins with Dipper wanting to win the approval of Stan and Mable by scoring high in a “Manliness tester” game. They both laugh at the idea of Dipper being “manly.” Frustrated, Dipper plays the game but gets the lowest level, wimp. Later on, he meets a mythical creature in the forest, called a Manotaur. These large bearded creatures embody all of the stereotypical “manly” qualities Dipper seeks–tall, deep voice, chest hair, buff. The creature brings Dipper to the “man cave” where all of the Manotuars live. In order to join the clan, Dipper must pass a series of tests to prove his manliness. At the final test, Dipper folds and accepts that he is not the “manly” person he hoped to be. He expresses his feelings to the Manotaurs, saying: “You keep telling me that being a man means doing all these tasks and being agro all the time, but I’m starting to think that stuff’s malarkey.”

Dipper's reluctant participation in the “manliness tests" reflects the performative nature of gender. The episode deconstructs traditional notions of masculinity by showcasing Dipper's discomfort with stereotypical expressions of manliness. His resistance to conformity challenges the established gender norms within the narrative.

It’s not uncommon for the series to use a mythical species to represent certain stereotypes or insecurities. In this episode, the Manotaurs are the portrayal of Dipper's insecurities of gender performativity. The Manotaurs other Dipper and his characteristics by making him feel inferior to their exaggerated, hyper-masculine standards. This not only highlights the external pressures individuals face in conforming to societal expectations of masculinity but also underscores the detrimental impact of such expectations on one's self-perception. Gravity Falls skillfully employs fantastical elements to delve into real-world issues, encouraging audiences to critically examine and challenge societal norms surrounding gender and identity.

Creator Alex Hirsch likes to hide subtle clues of LGBTQ representation in certain characters (he’s explained many times that it’s insanely hard to get most things through Disney’s censor). However, the relationship between Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland seems to be the most clear example. The two characters are the town’s police officers, who appear as recurring characters in many episodes. The dynamic between Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland provides a fascinating exploration of gender representation. The duo subverts expectations by embodying traditionally masculine roles in law enforcement while also sharing a close bond that challenges traditional expressions of masculinity. They share a close bond, expressing things like, “The time we spend together is treasure enough,” and “Edwin darling, you are a diamond in the rough.” In almost all Western depictions of police officers, they embody hyper-masculine traits, as being fearless and stoic seems to be inherently part of the job. The sheriff’s dynamic challenges the binary understanding of gender, showcasing the fluidity inherent in Butler's theory. In the last episode, their romantic relationship is confirmed: “We’re mad with power… and love,” they declare while looking into each other's eyes. Creator Alex Hirsch also confirmed this at a charity event, and has repeatedly explained how hard it was to get past Disney’s censors. Hirsch has also revealed dozens of scenes originally written to have openly gay characters that got slashed by Disney. Unfortunately, a company as big as Disney has ultimate power over what is and isn’t aired. While there isn’t any other direct LGBTQ representation in the show, the blame should be put on Disney, not Alex Hirsch. Most likely Disney provided the outlet for him to create this show, but in turn, blocked many of his creative ideas. 

Gravity Falls, through the characters of Dipper, Sheriff Blubs, and Deputy Durland, becomes a compelling exploration of gender representation. The show aligns with Judith Butler's gender theory by deconstructing traditional norms, emphasizing the performative nature of gender, and challenging the rigidity of binary constructions. Dipper's resistance to manliness and the nuanced dynamic between Sheriff Blubs and Deputy Durland collectively contribute to Gravity Falls' progressive portrayal of gender identities. In doing so, the show invites audiences to question and redefine societal expectations, demonstrating the transformative potential of animated narratives in challenging and reshaping cultural perspectives on gender.

[1] Judith Butler, “Gender Is Burning: Questions of Appropriation and Subversion”, New York University Press, 1999, 338-339. 

@theuncannyprofessoro

[zanewatchestuff]

A Cultural Studies Analysis on Invincible

In my video essay, I looked at Prime Video’s Invincible (2021-) and analyzed the various themes of identity that appear throughout the show, all revolving around the main protagonist of the series, 17-year-old Mark Grayson. I pair this up with various Critical Studies sources that cover reception theory and critical race theory and intersect some of the arguments made to highlight cases of othering within the show. As mentioned, the analysis is centered around Mark’s identity as a superhero, as a young adult, and as a half-Human and half-Viltrumite, as he develops his powers and ‘learns the ropes’ of the superhero job. 

In regards to his identity as a superhero, I look at how Mark/Invincible is othered in the scope of superhero media through how his origin story diverts the theme of loss and redemption. Stuart Hall’s reception theory delves into the coding and decoding of messages in certain texts.[1] I pair his argument on how instances of codes can be made to appear as though they haven’t been constructed anymore because of how popular or generally used they’ve become in certain communities with Max Horkheimer’s and Theodor W. Adorno’s argument that in the production of mass culture, more specifically in media, the audience can more or less easily predict the structures and narrative elements of the piece.[2] Superhero media is one of the highest-grossing genres currently across both television and film, meaning that audiences have grown accustomed to the stories of the genre. A result of that is a discourse that mirrors the arguments made by Hall, Horkheimer, and Adorno. Fingers have been pointed specifically at large corporations such as Disney, who mass-produce superheroes in a manner that utilizes the same molds and structures repetitively and has greatly influenced superhero media across the Western production world especially. Attempts at creating unique texts in this genre have been made, resulting in the subgenre of ‘capepunk’, a genre that aims to tell more grounded and realistic superhero worlds and critique mainstream superhero media while making use of adult themes and explicit content. This genre has been popularized in recent years thanks to shows like The Boys (2019-) and Invincible, however, arguments have been made that these types of media eventually end up becoming the media that they’re trying to subvert and critique. I acknowledge that Invincible certainly does appear similar to the media it makes critiques on. It’s not convoluted or unique and fits the descriptions of media that Hall, Horkheimer, and Adorno describe. I do argue that it presents several cases in which it can break off from the mold and create new and refreshing cases that are coded. 

The instance I look at in-depth is how Mark continuously faces loss and how this plays into his identity as a superhero. Comparing his journey to a common superhero origin story that is presented in most popular instances of the genre, Mark ticks most of the boxes, but one thing he manages to keep doing is losing. And it ends there. He doesn’t have some kind of redemption or resolution within the episode of the season or the next season, Mark will lose a fight and the episode will end there. We move on to whatever conflict he has to face in the following episode. This is an important aspect of Mark’s origin story, as it not only grounds his story but also reflects his ideology and how it changes. As he physically endures countless beatings and is left unconscious multiple times, his belief in what it means to be a superhero is challenged and broken each time. This repeated loss, however, is interpreted negatively in large circles in online forums who have expressed their annoyance at Invincible’s inability to win fights, or even whether he should be able to call himself ‘Invincible’, causing Mark to be othered from his superhero counterparts across the genre. Mark’s case is seen as unique, in some respects, an early failure in the image of a superhero. I believe this perspective is evidence of being unable to decode the message of the creators on the constant battle that Mark endures in his belief system, which is also symbolized by the title sequence of the show. The “INVINCIBLE” title card is splattered with more blood each episode of the first season, mirroring the repeated damage that Mark endures, while in the second season, the title card is completely covered in blood and begins to crack. The cracks grow in each episode, revealing a new layer underneath. 

I bring up how this is made more clear in the second season, more specifically in the mid-finale, and present clips and narration on a case where Mark’s ideology takes a drastic shift. The entire premise of learning to fight with the mentality of killing the opponent creates an opportunity where Mark can go toe to toe with his opponent, yet this ideology conflicts with his identity as a superhero, and this conflict causes him to ultimately lose the fight. This ideology is not only tied into Mark’s identity as a superhero, as additionally,  it is also his racial identity. As mentioned in the video, the Viltrumite alien race is coded with the definitions of colonialism, imperialism, and racism that Robert Stam and Louise Spence present.[3] They use their superhuman abilities to kill and conquer different alien races across the galaxy. Mark, the only Viltrumite in the entire galaxy that opposes this idea and seeks to protect his Earth, is othered by other Viltrumites. Interestingly enough, physically and biologically, Mark is a Viltrumite, but they are completely indistinguishable from humans apart from the supernatural abilities they possess and their prolonged life spans. Mark seeks to other himself as much as possible from the Viltrumites. This is symbolized by his superhero outfit that sports a color scheme of yellow, blue, and black and has a unique design, which is completely different from the white and grey uniforms that Viltrumites wear, depicting the uniformity of military garments. Mark’s father, Omni-Man, wears a unique combination of the base of the Viltrumite uniform with a human superhero design on it, symbolizing how he is caught in between these two worlds which is explored more in the second season of the show. 

Mark steers away from conforming to Viltrumite ideologies and fights and prepares to save or liberate Earth (and potentially the galaxy) from Viltrumite's influence. I mention how his Asian identity fits the mold of Stam and Spence’s argument on naive integrationism, as the creators substitute an Asian character into a role dominantly played by white characters and never truly explore his Asian identity, however, I argue that Mark’s role as an active opposer of the coded ideologies Viltrumites embody, and therefore doesn’t play Stam and Spence’s argument.[4]

Invincible creates a unique plot in a medium that is saturated with the elements that the show subverts. Mark embodies roles that while othering him from his counterparts both beyond and within the scope of the show, present the case for an unlikely superhero who may be able to surpass those around him. Especially when he’s able to win his first major fight.

[1]Stuart Hall, “Encoding, Decoding,” 551

[2]Max Horkheimer, Theodor W. Adorno, “The Culture Industry: Enlightenment as Mass Deception,” 98-99

[3]Robert Stam, Louise Spence, “Colonialism, Racism and Representation: An Introduction,” 753

[4] Stam, Spence, “Colonialism, Racism and Representation: An Introduction,” 757

@theuncannyprofessoro

[joe-dayton]

Psychoanalytic Theory in The Boys

In his article titled ”Ideological Effects of the Basic Cinematographic Apparatus”, Jean-Louis Baudry concludes that “cinema [appears] as a sort of psychic apparatus of substitution, corresponding to the model defined by the dominant ideology” and that its ultimate and “primarily economic” goal is to prevent any form of deviations or exposure of the dominant ideology as a model.[1] Referencing Freud, Derrida, and even Plato, Baudry dissects and examines the ways in which the cinema works as an ideological tool for the dominant narrative of the culture that produces it, both in its mechanisms and its results. Through this same psychoanalytic lens, I will analyze how the narrative structure and ideological messaging of The Boys others characters through their respective identities while simultaneously upholding and sternly reinforcing the dominant ideology of American society. The Boys, an Amazon Prime original adaptation of the 2006 comic book series of the same name, follows a wide cast of characters; many of which are othered in some way, whether they are a superhero or a normal human being. Therefore, in order to keep this post in scope I will only be discussing one of the main characters, Starlight, examining her othering in the show and the ideological effects it creates.

In order to properly examine how Starlight is othered by the narrative and ideological structure of the show, we must first discuss the ways in which the cinema as a whole is a tool of ideological reproduction. To clarify, when Baudry refers to the term cinema he is discussing the literal structure and composition of a movie theatre, regarding both the presentation of reality in front of the audience and the origin of that reality being projected from behind them. However, I will be referring to cinema as the general idea of an abstract and presented reality—such as The Boys television series—through which all of the same concepts of the representation of the self apply. Baudry argues that “The ‘reality’ mimed by the cinema is first of all that of a ‘self.’ But because the reflected image is not that of the body itself but that of a world already given as meaning, one can distinguish two levels of identification.”[2] The first of these two levels is attached to the image itself, the relation and identification that we feel with the characters presented to us on the screen. While it is not a literal or physical reflection, we can still deeply relate and empathize with them as they go through the trials and tribulations of the story, such as Starlight’s sexual assault and her fight to get justice. And this action, the events, and the problems that the cinema presents us with is the second identification that the reality of cinema mimics. Baudry goes on to argue that what constitutes the images on screen, such as the mise-en-scene or stylization of a work, is of “little importance” as long as the capability of identifying with them is still possible.[3] The question is not one of form or mise-en-scene but one of ideology; of whether or not the camera will permit the subject (the self) to “constitute and seize itself in a particular mode of specular reflection.”[4] As such, cinema becomes an “apparatus destined to obtain a precise ideological effect,” as we inherently relate to and relocate our sense of self in relation to the events that are controlled by the cinema.[5]

Therefore, despite having lost the literal spatial similarity to Plato’s cave that movie theatres have, television series such as The Boys are no less of an illusion than the movies projected from behind our heads to in front of our eyes. Speculative media is a projection of ideology made into a representative form of reality. What this mechanism produces in the case of The Boys is a carefully articulated reality in which those that are othered, such as Starlight or A-Train or Maeve—characters that we place our idea of self into—are never allowed by the camera to fully seize their (our) hopes for morality or justice, thereby disallowing the viewer to ideologically “constitute and seize itself” in specular reflection.[6] This is particularly true with Starlight’s character arc. Despite being one of the most powerful characters in the show, Starlight is the first in the show to be othered by the structures and dynamics of power in the show. This othering of her gender and sexuality—as well as her ideas of morality and right and wrong—happens on her very first day of work at “Vought”—the international conglomerate responsible for both the creation and management of superheroes—when she is sexually assaulted by her coworker and subsequently reprimanded by her boss for speaking out about the issue. While this is an important event for both her character and the dominant narrative of the show, in the ideological and psychoanalytic sense it is only the beginning of a much larger and more concerning narrative. Throughout the episodes that follow this event, we see an eerily familiar story play out. Her assaulter, The Deep, goes on an apology publicity tour and is suspended for a brief amount of time only to eventually be brought back onto “The Seven” over other, more diverse, and far more qualified superheroes. In spite of her objections to this and to the overall corruption present throughout Vought, Starlight is othered by the rest of “The Seven” and Vought executives for her sexuality, gender, and ideology and is barred from having a say. In the structural narrative of the show, Starlight and characters like her who are othered for various reasons are unable to act, to seize any sense of control over the dominant narrative of the world unless they act immorally. This is evident throughout the show, particularly in the episode after Starlight is assaulted, when she speaks out about the assault and is almost fired, which she only avoids by blackmailing her boss with the threat of loss of profit for Vought. 

Although there are flashes and brief instances of morality and humanism in the show, such as Starlight’s relationship with Hughie, another one of the main characters, these moments are few and far between and are becoming increasingly rare as the show is reaching season 4. I would argue that these moments of humanity are small cessions made in spite of the dominant ideology in order to maintain the illusion of self-reflection, allowing the show’s characters to maintain a level of humanity that we can relate to while simultaneously maintaining the dominant narrative that humanism and morality fail to defeat the capitalist powers that be like Vought or Amazon itself.

By delineating the viewer’s self to a character like Starlight—a subject upon which we can reflect ourselves and our desires—and creating an overall narrative that then stifles that sense of self from seizing any form of control or creation of change from the current power structures and ideology of the reflected reality, The Boys is able to effectively portray a speculative reality that has a deceiving duality, hiding it’s ideological message while ostensibly presenting another. The viewer is given a work that allows them to identify with the characters extremely well as they go through hardship and othering while also making those characters incredibly powerful and self-reliant through means of superpowers, such as Starlight. However, this reflection of the powerful and virtuous self that the viewer is presented in the show is at some point, without fail, corrupted or shown to fail when faced against the power structures and dominant, capitalist narrative of the world within the show, ultimately reaffirming and strengthening the dominant, capitalist realist narrative of America and Hollywood.

[1]  Baudry, Jean. “Ideological Effects of the Basic Cinematographic Apparatus” Narrative, Apparatus, Ideology, 296.

[2] Baudry, Jean. “Ideological Effects of the Basic Cinematographic Apparatus” Narrative, Apparatus, Ideology, 295.

[3] Baudry, Jean. “Ideological Effects of the Basic Cinematographic Apparatus” Narrative, Apparatus, Ideology, 295.

[4] Baudry, Jean. “Ideological Effects of the Basic Cinematographic Apparatus” Narrative, Apparatus, Ideology, 296.

[5] Baudry, Jean. “Ideological Effects of the Basic Cinematographic Apparatus” Narrative, Apparatus, Ideology, 295.

[6] Baudry, Jean. “Ideological Effects of the Basic Cinematographic Apparatus” Narrative, Apparatus, Ideology, 296.

@theuncannyprofessoro

[lenaschin]

Critical Television Analysis: The Good Place

On the surface, The Good Place is well-loved, hilarious, and surrounds a diverse cast with characters that differ from identity-related stereotypes. The show surrounds Eleanor, who wakes up in heaven, referred to as the “Good Place,” alongside Tahani, Jason, and Chidi (who is labeled her soulmate). Michael is the supposed leader of the “Good Place,” but we later discover that–in alignment with Eleanor’s selfishness–he is actually a devil and this is the “Bad Place.” The characters’ out-of-placeness (except for Tahani and Chidi, who initially think they belong) is meant to be their eternal torture, but Eleanor’s repeated solving of this mystery results in endless reboots and failures. The series ends when the humans team up with Michael and they realize that the entire system is off, as everyone is being sent to the “Bad Place” based on its unattainable, binary measures of morality. They successfully reform the system, resulting in Michael’s transformation into a good being–and living out his fantasy of being a ‘human’ on Earth–and Eleanor, Chidi, and Jason transforming into blissful nothingness while Tahani helps to design a better afterlife. 

Photo: Michael and Eleanor.

Although we eventually learn that everyone is being sent to the “Bad Place,” the show’s group of focus is diverse (through their sexuality, gender, or race), generalizing “Bad” people to be those who defy hegemonic norms. This mirrors our current society, especially with those in control being white men (like Michael & the other Devils, and one white female judge) with outdated ideology–I explore this further in my video essay. While the final message of the show recognizes this point system as flawed, revealing the lack of a binary good/badness (the main point of my video essay), it doesn’t at all explore the sexual, gendered, and racial aspects of the characters’ intersectional experiences, making the show more hegemonic than not. I analyze the portrayal of specific characters and how these may be negatively interpreted by viewers despite this show’s positive overall message. 

Photo: Tahani, Jason, Eleanor, and Chidi as they stand before the judge and request the chance to 'start' life--and their "Good" vs "Bad" point count--from scratch.

I critique responses to The Good Place that commend its progressiveness based on the fact that its cast is racially diverse and they don’t align with traditional stereotypes, and instead suggest that in this case, “not all representation is good representation” (Hsu, 2021). The show fails to reconstruct intersectional identities in a positively ‘different’ way due to its “color-blind” approach, which disregards, rather than reconstructs, gendered and racialized oppression throughout history. The non-hegemonic aspects of characters’ racial or gender identities are dampened through their adoption of traits that reinforce hegemonic ideology; this is particularly prominent among the female characters, however I address the male characters prior to my conclusion. Primarily, each female character represents an atypical, but similarly problematic form of femininity that continues to reflect the male gaze; Eleanor’s narrative control as a woman is dampened through her alignment with hegemonic masculinity–this is heightened by Chidi’s femininity (perpetuating an innate gender binary), Janet’s non-binary identity is overridden by their similarity to the ideal, domesticated woman (reasserting heteronormativity as the norm), and Tahani’s Pakistani background is misportrayed through her assumption of a privileged white-washed identity (making racial histories invisible) (Kaplan, 2010). Kaplan, Shohat, and Diawari note that the significance of media’s portrayal of gender and race lies in its influence on the minds of its viewers; what media constructs is perpetuated and eventually, realized within our own reality, pointing to the significance of recognizing ideological media as such before its perpetuation. While the presence of three female characters in the show’s main ensemble provide us with the illusion of gender equality, upon closer analysis it is clear that each reinforces problematic stereotypes surrounding race and gender. 

Primarily, the protagonist is a white woman–the show opens with a shot of her face, bright and glowing, and follows her perspective throughout the narrative. Eleanor’s non-feminine, general indifference is framed as the essence of her personality, and resultantly, the reason behind her punishment. Kaplan notes that attempts to reconstruct female characters in defiance to gender norms can fail through their consistent creation of a male/female binary; “our culture is deeply committed to clearly demarcated sex differences.” Eleanor illustrates Kaplan’s point that emerging female “representation” remains binarized, as she adopts a specifically masculine position that is characterized by her lack of “traditionally feminine traits,” particularly, her “cold and manipulative” personality (Kaplan, 2010). Flashbacks of Eleanor’s life on Earth revealed that everyone hated her because of her manipulative ways and carelessness surrounding others’ feelings. On Earth, Eleanor used to get drunk before going out with her work colleagues on the night she was designated driver, just to joke that the only place she’d be driving was through the “loophole” she found in the system… When she’s (finally) forced to stay sober and drive, she pretends to be doing it out of care for her friends to get the bartender’s attention, and later chooses going home with him while stranding her drunk friends at the bar. Needless to say, Eleanor isn’t invited to go out with her colleagues again.

This careless emotionlessness is counteracted by Chidi’s “kindness, humaneness, and motherliness,” evident in the fact that his personality surrounds his nervous awkwardness and indecisiveness based on a desire to make the most moral, utilitarian decisions possible (Kaplan, 2010). Many viewers think Chidi illustrates “positive masculinity,” but his emotionality and indecisiveness–alongside a resulting inability to “take action” in the way Eleanor does–suggest he may align with the feminized role as described by Kaplan (Kaplan, 2010). Moreover, Chidi is used to counteract Eleanor’s masculinity and keep the gendered binary “structure intact” despite the supposed stray from hegemonic gender norms (Diawara 2014, Kaplan, 2010).  

The idea of Eleanor’s defiance of traditionally feminine gender norms is directly framed as related to her “badness” through her narrative arc, in which her transformation into a “good person” directly aligns with her acceptance of hegemonic femininity; she adopts “kindness, humaneness, and motherliness” and heteronormativity (Kaplan, 2010). When the humans are given the chance to live again and restart their point count, Eleanor struggles; as soon as Chidi kisses her and they recognize their feelings, she finally does better on Earth and becomes “good.” While one could argue the arc’s alignment with heteronormativity is purely coincidental, it contrasts with the show’s previous focus on Eleanor’s bisexuality, aka, its queerbaiting of Eleanor. Throughout early seasons, Eleanor frequently commented on Tahani’s attractiveness, and even came close to kissing Simone (Chidi’s gf at the time); the usage of her bisexuality is, in itself, framed inappropriately comically, and coincides with her previously “masculine” traits– carelessness, moral indifference, and lack of romantic interest in Chidi–suggesting non-heteronormativity to be similarly negative. Moreover, the fact that Eleanor is a woman does not necessarily mean she’s a progressive character, as is evident in her adoption of a non-feminine, but similarly binary form of masculinity, the presence of Chidi as a feminine counterpart , and the show’s aligning of her bisexuality with “badness.”

Photo: Eleanor and Tahani

Janet, a white character, is framed as the perfect woman, which is problematic due to their identification as non-binary, both because it is transphobic and frames servitude (her main purpose) as innately feminine. Primarily, I noticed that Janet mirrors our assignment of femininity to technological sources of servitude: Siri, Alexa, GPS navigation, “the number you have dialed is not in service…” Like these objects, Janet’s “servitude and obedience” are viewed as innately feminine, and are thus assigned a feminine identity (James, 2018). Despite Janet’s attempts to reclaim their lack of alignment with societal labeling norms through the consistent assertion that they are not female, but rather a vessel of knowledge (equating themself to AI), characters always call them a “girl.” Janet never argues with this misgendering, and instead responds with a smile and a kind, “Once again, I’m not a girl” (Beck, 2023). While Janet’s character could have been an opportunity to explore a non-hegemonic perspective, the show harms non-binary identities more than it supports them, by enabling characters to misgender Janet and using their feminine appearance (always fresh, made-up, and in a dress) and feminine subservience to justify this assumption as comically obvious and justifiable (Beck, 2023). The show actually perpetuates their femininity so much that their character is referred to as a girl both within and out of the narrative (among characters and audience members). In the end, Janet is framed as a woman in nature despite their assertion of being non-binary, both aligning femininity with object-ness and servitude and framing non-binary identities as lacking personhood. The show uses Janet as a diversity point without truly questioning binarized views of gender; Janet’s consistent positivity and agreeability disregard the harm of misgendering, and actually works to justify the characters who misgender her by framing Janet’s “femme” physicality and personality as evidence of their ‘obvious’ femininity (Beck, 2023). 

Just as Janet’s intersectionality is subdued through their over feminization, the only other intersectional identity (and the only non-white woman) of focus–Tahini–is made palatable through the show’s white-washing of her personality. While Tahani is a first generation Pakistani in the United Kingdom, her struggle-free experience in white-dominated high society disregards a perspective representative of non-white culture, and instead hides it with a British accent and Tahani’s infinite wealth. Tahani’s lack of race-related struggles are completely disregarded through her defining trait: selfishness. Even her greatest deeds, such as organizing charities on Earth, were all based on selfish intentions surrounding her parents’ validation. Her biggest struggle is framed as her sister’s fame, specifically, her parents’ heightened love of her sister, which aligns with Tahani’s inherent self-focused attitude. In this way, UK’s historical colonization of Pakistan and the current othering of British Pakistani are made invisible. (Aljazeera, 2023). As noted by Shohat, attempting to re-frame gendered and racial history (patriarchy and colonialism) is not always done in an “unproblematic” way, just as The good Place’s color-blindness to Tahani’s racial history actually perpetuates social ignorance of historical oppression. In alignment with Shohat’s explanation of the “mark of the plural,” in which any “negative behavior” (Tahani’s personality-defining selfishness) is viewed differently based on the characters’ race, Tahani’s characterization is more likely to be generalized to Pakistani people than Eleanor’s would be to white people (Shohat, 2014). Tahani’s obliviousness to her culture’s oppression projects a falsely generalized idea of this racialized history as insignificant among Pakistani despite its continued prevalence.

While I mainly focus on female identities (complicated by Janet), The Good Place frames the experiences of Jason, and Chidi (in addition to Tahani) as completely unaffected by their race. Jason’s ability to pass as a Taiwanese monk due to him being Asian–despite the fact that he’s from Florida and is not a monk–perpetuates essentialist ideology surrounding sameness based on race, and his heightened lack of intelligence is a poor choice for the only Asian representation throughout the show. Chidi’s violation of hegemonic masculinity (through his emotionality, indecisiveness, etc.) being framed as the reason he resides in the Bad place aligns with problematic characterizations of Black characters “playing by hegemonic rules and losing” (Diawara, 2014). More broadly, the fact that Chidi, Jason, and Tahani are supporting characters for a white woman–like many other characters of color–repaints white-washed film narratives in which POC don’t hesitate to “protect” the “same order that has punished and disciplined” them (Diawara, 2014).

The afterlife’s similarity to Earth suggests its culture as to be reminiscent of our own, however, the color-blind attitude of the main characters disregards the rampant racism that we still work to subdue. Unfortunately, The Good Place’s opportunity to explore an array of perspectives and lived experiences through characters’ diverse backgrounds is lost, even just based on the nature of their show; they do not take into account that the negative representations assigned to each of its characters have a different impact on their community. The fact that a white man created “The Good Place” isn’t surprising, and points to Shohat’s recognition of the necessity for “historically marginalized” groups to “control their own representation” to avoid reproducing something from a white audience’s lens of “pleasure” (Shohat, 2014).

Photo: Tahani and Jason.

Works Cited:

Beck. “‘I’m Not a Girl’: Janet, Nonbinary Representation and ‘The Good Place.’” The Spool. Accessed December 12, 2023. 

Diawara, Manthia. "13 Black Spectatorship: Problems of Identification and Resistance." Black American Cinema (2012).

Hsu, Leina, Ruchi Wankhede, Ayan Omar, and Jennifer Ammann. “No, the Good Place’s Jason Mendoza Does Not Defy Asian Stereotypes.” Women’s Republic, March 1, 2021. 

James, et al. “The Other Secret Twist: On the Political Philosophy of the Good Place.” Los Angeles Review of Books, October 13, 2018. 

Kaplan, E. Ann. "Is the gaze male?." (2010).

Shohat, Ella, and Robert Stam. Unthinking Eurocentrism: Multiculturalism and the media. Routledge, 2014.

Staff, Al Jazeera. “Braverman Words on British Pakistani Men Discriminatory: Pakistan.” Al Jazeera, April 5, 2023.

@theuncannyprofessoro #oxyspeculativetv #speculativetvanalysis

[luciaiscool7]

Representing a Black Vampire: Louis from Interview with the Vampire (2022)

Interview with the Vampire, the 2022 remake of Anne Rice’s 1976 book of the same title, tells the story of Louis de Pointe du Lac, an affluent Black man in 1910 New Orleans, as he is seduced and turned into a vampire by Lestat de Lioncourt, a French vampire who becomes his partner in immortality. Louis narrates his life in an interview, set in 2020, to Daniel Molloy, a famous journalist, and recounts his life before and after becoming a vampire, his struggles with moral questions of vampirism and immortality, and his toxic and unequal relationship with Lestat. The show is very intentional in positioning Louis, a gay Black man, as someone who is othered and misunderstood even before becoming a vampire. Scholar Victoria Herche uses Judith Butler’s discourse of queerness to analyze othering and the supernatural in Cleverman (2016-2017): “In reading the monster as a queer category, representations of the monstrous ‘other’, such as the Hairies and the Namorrodor, offer an alternative space beyond normativity and overcome binary constellations of the objectivized ‘other.’”[1] Monsters and supernatural beings, represented through vampires in the show, both signify “otherness” of existing beyond the human, as well as an empowerment for Louis as a marginalized person. In Episode 1, Louis becomes a vampire because of his relationship with Lestat, and in his speech to Louis, the French vampire acknowledges and affirms the othering and alienation Louis experiences, posing vampirism and a relationship with Lestat as a solution:

“This primitive country has picked you clean. It has shackled you in permanent exile. Every room you enter, every hat you are forced to wear [...] all these roles you conform to and none of them your true nature. What rage you must feel as you choke on your sorrow. [...] I can swap this life of shame, swap it out for a dark gift and a power you can’t begin to imagine. You just have to ask me for it. [...] I love you, Louis. You are loved. [...] Be my companion, Louis. Be all the beautiful things you are, and be them without apology. For all eternity.”[2]

The supernatural power of vampirism not only gives Louis superhuman abilities, but it empowers him to take action against the systemic racism and treatment he faces from white peers in his business of sporting houses (read: really fancy brothels). When Louis gains too much financial power, the white businessmen start a systemic effort to push him and other Black business owners out of the city and buy their properties. In retaliation, Louis hangs a sign, reading “Colored Only. No Whites Allowed” on the door of his largest, most successful business, and violently kills a city councilmember who has been working against him, symbolically hanging his corpse in public alongside a “Whites Only” sign. Before Louis kills him, the councilman condescendingly tries to talk him down, saying, “That’s your problem Louis, always has been. You’re arrogant. You haven’t accepted your place in this world.”[3] The supernatural power and protection that being a vampire affords Louis gives him the confidence and the means to take agency and revenge beyond “his place” within the social structure of white supremacy, which he never allowed himself to do before his transformation. Although vampirism has been associated with villainous action, which could serve to demonize rather than justify Louis’s actions, Interview with the Vampire positions this character as the narrator of his own story and therefore allows him to evaluate his own point of view and justify his actions. Traditionally, the role of “narrator-focalizer” in media, especially that which depicts stories of marginalized groups, is taken by a white narrator, who represents “the authoritative liberal perspective,” and “godlike, oversees and evaluates all the positions.”[4] Unlike other depictions of Black characters, who are depicted as villainous and unjustified in taking agency and especially violent revenge, Interview with the Vampire uses Louis’s own point of view on his story as narrative focalizer, and intentionally reverses traditional depictions of vampirism as villainous, showing his transformation as supernatural empowerment and his actions as justified.

This 2022 Louis represents a complete departure from Anne Rice’s 1976 character, who was a white plantation owner. The original book’s only depiction of Black characters were stereotyped enslaved people, who Rice demonized for practicing African descended religious forms and burning down the plantation to kill Louis and Lestat. Robert Stam and Ella Shohat, in their work, “Stereotype, Realism, and the Struggle Over Representation,” cite Toni Morrison’s idea of “the contradictory nature of stereotypes:” “Black figures, in Toni Morrison's words, come to signify polar opposites: ‘On the one hand, they signify benevolence, harmless and servile guardianship and endless love,’ and on the other ‘insanity, illicit sexuality, chaos.’”[5] Depicting her monolithic Black characters and their religious forms as superstitious and “primitive,” while also making them the only people to figure out the supernatural reality of the main characters’ vampirism, Rice shows her racism through use of contradictory depictions. This novel, as well as many pieces of media that center the supernatural in New Orleans, position Black spirituality and religion as inherently evil, demonic, or at the very least, “uncivilized” and unscientific, below that of white religion and practice. Such is the case in the New Orleans-set show of American Horror Story: Coven, which positions Black and white witches in opposition to each other, and although Black witchcraft, specifically voodoo, “acts [in the show] as a mode of resistance to gendered and racialized oppression,” Jennifer O’Reilly argues that the show’s depiction of voodoo ultimately relies on racist tropes.[6] According to O’Reilly, “the narrative of voodoo as evil and dark persists in Coven and reifies notions of white racial supremacy.”[7] The 2022 Interview with the Vampire is in conversation with this racist and overdetermined depiction of Black supernatural forms in its source material, especially through voodoo in New Orleans, but the show makes absolutely no reference to voodoo or any other forms of Black spirituality. Some might argue that in not depicting this religious practice at all, Interview with the Vampire exists neutrally, not making a stance in either direction. However, I would argue that in the show’s painstakingly detailed references to the original 1976 novel, which does fall into this racist portrayal of Black characters and their religious forms, not including voodoo, especially in the setting of New Orleans, is significant and matters. The show does not exist in a vacuum, and it seems to intentionally break away from the stereotypical depictions that Hollywood is full of when it could very easily fall into them (as the 1994 film adaptation does). Using the example of Western Eurocentric representations of African religions, Stam and Shohat seek to in their writing to show that “the flawed mimesis of many Hollywood films dealing with the Third World, with their innumerable ethnographic, linguistic, and even topographical blunders, has less to do with stereotypes per se than with the tendentious ignorance of colonialist discourse.”[8] After listing Hollywood’s commonly presented racist discourses around African religion, which “enshrine prejudices in patronizing vocabulary,” the theorists propose alternatives:  “In a less Eurocentric perspective, all these "deficiencies" might become advantages: the lack of a written text precludes fundamentalist dogmatism; the multiplicity of spirits allows for historical change; bodily possession betokens an absence of puritanical asceticism; the dance and music are an aesthetic resource,”[9] Interestingly, not only does Interview with the Vampire (2020) erase racist imaginaries of Black supernaturalism from its narrative, but it actually utilizes multiple elements of Stam and Shohat’s examples of decolonized approaches to representation, especially in its “lack of written text.”

The emphasis on oral storytelling in Interview with the Vampire, specifically that of Louis, uplifts his othered voice, and represents a break from the Eurocentric emphasis on the written word that Stam and Shohat refer to. To solve problems of media representations which serve to individualize, moralize, and essentialize  “good” or “bad” characters, rather than discourses of power in the media, the theorists propose emphasis on the auditory rather than visual representation “as a way of restoring voice to the voiceless.”[10] The entire narrative of the show relies on the auditory overlay of Louis’ narration in his interview with the journalist Daniel Molloy. Although his reliability as a narrator is called into question many times by Molloy, his apparent untrustworthiness does not serve to discredit his voice as an underrepresented “Other” as it may seem, but rather complicates him as a character. Stam and Shohat make the point that marginalized characters are very easily portrayed as “good” or “bad,” which leads to essentializing and moralizing of those characters, especially when characters of color are seen to represent their entire communities rather than their individual selves.[11] They also note that often, even sympathetic portrayals of marginalized people maintain the presence of a “European or Euro-American character as a mediating "bridge" to other cultures,” aptly named as “bridge character.”[12] In other words, “Media liberalism, in sum, does not allow subaltern communities to play prominent self-determining roles, a refusal homologous to liberal distaste for non-mediated self-assertion in the political realm.”[13] Molloy, who comes from Anne Rice’s novel, represents this bridge character, but is not given as much narrative power as Louis has in the show. Interview with the Vampire effectively discounts the novel’s role of a bridge character, empowers Louis in the narrative, and allows him to play his own self-determining role. In addition, the Eurocentric valuing of the written word over oral storytelling is obliterated through the medium of television, which uplifts Louis’s narrative through auditory means, in comparison to the novel, which, as a book, inherently leans into the written word.

Interview with a Vampire (2022) is an incredibly effective remake of the original novel, casting off implicit discourses of white supremacy and Eurocentrism in exchange for genuinely good representation, and more nuanced and interesting storytelling. The show is incredibly aware of its source material, and clearly makes conscious efforts to diverge from previous problematic narrative elements and use the historical othering of supernatural villains, specifically vampires, to empower marginalized and othered communities and characters. Louis, as a vampire character, and a marginalized queer Black man, is made all the better for every single part of his identity, and Interview with the Vampire truly allows him to, as Lestat foretells in the very first episode, “Be all the beautiful things you are, and be them without apology:” a complex, flawed, and compelling character.[14]

Bibliography:

Herche, Victoria. “Queering the Dreaming: Representations of the ‘Other’ in the Indigenous Australian Speculative Television Series Cleverman.” Gender Forum 81 (2021): 30-47.

O’Reilly, Jennifer. “‘We’re More than Just Pins and Dolls and Seeing the Future in Chicken Parts’: Race, Magic and Religion in American Horror Story: Coven.” European Journal of American Culture 38, no. 1 (2019): 29-41.

Powell, Keith, dir. Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire. Season 1, episode 3. “Is My Very Nature That of a Devil.” Aired October 16, 2022, AMC.

Stam, Robert and Ella Shohat. “Stereotype, Realism, and the Struggle Over Representation.” In Unthinking Eurocentrism: Multiculturalism and the media. Routledge, 2014.

Taylor, Alan, dir. Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire. Season 1, episode 1. “In Throes of Increasing Wonder...” Aired October 2, 2022, AMC.

[1] Victoria Herche, “Queering the Dreaming: Representations of the ‘Other’ in the Indigenous Australian Speculative Television Series Cleverman,” Gender Forum 81 (2021): 44.

[2] Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire, season 1, episode 1, “In Throes of Increasing Wonder...,” directed by Alan Taylor, aired October 2, 2022, AMC. 00:59:32-01:03:09.

[3] Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire, season 1, episode 3, “Is My Very Nature That of a Devil,” directed by Keith Powell, aired October 16, 2022, AMC. 00:36:04 -00:36:13.

[4] Robert Stam and Ella Shohat, “Stereotype, Realism, and the Struggle Over Representation,” in Unthinking Eurocentrism: Multiculturalism and the media. (Routledge, 2014), 206.

[5] Ibid, 203.

[6] Jennifer O’Reilly, “‘We’re More than Just Pins and Dolls and Seeing the Future in Chicken Parts’: Race, Magic and Religion in American Horror Story: Coven,” European Journal of American Culture 38, no. 1 (2019): 39.

[7] Ibid, 36.

[8] Robert Stam and Ella Shohat, “Stereotype, Realism, and the Struggle Over Representation,” 201-202.

[9] Ibid, 202.

[10] Ibid, 214.

[11] Ibid, 183

[12] Ibid, 205

[13] Ibid, 206

[14] Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire, season 1, episode 1, “In Throes of Increasing Wonder...,” directed by Alan Taylor, aired October 2, 2022, AMC. 1:02:53-1:03:04.

@theuncannyprofessoro

[selaseldon]

The Price of Freedom: Deconstructing Ideologies in Attack on Titan

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1EUdSXvMVHqfWuosnvoQdS3ce24Xgza3k/view?usp=sharing

Attack on Titan (2013-2023) is an anime based on the manga of the same name by Hajime Isayama that follows main character Eren Yeager as joins humanity’s fight against what is seemingly their greatest threat: the Titans.

To understand the way power is depicted in Attack on Titan, I employ the theories of French philosopher Louis Althusser[1] and his thoughts on how structures of ideology and state apparatus assign and take power from individuals. I argue that one of the most vicious examples of ideology is depicted in later half of the show through the military’s manipulation of the Warrior Unit, and Althusser’s work “Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses” can be used to help explain how Marley has managed to subjugate the Eldians in Marley and use them as weapons against their enemies. Althusser believes that for a state to maintain power it must “produce” ideologies to convince its people to stay in the position that they inhabit, to maintain order. Althusser describes ideology as “our imaginary relationship to real conditions,” and states that our perception of the world around us is not exactly our experience, but ideology that tells us we are free to recognize such things. Season 4 sees an introduction to Marley, a militarized state that maintains order through force — Repressive State Apparatuses (RSAs) — and indoctrination — Ideological State Apparatuses, (ISAs). These combined forces work to subjugate and manipulate the Eldians in Marley and convince them their enemies are the “devils” of Paradis, not the state of Marley repressing them. Isayama’s dedication to detail in his worldbuilding of the “multiple worlds' ' within the show is the foundation for characters that exist in completely different positions of power which in turn, reveal more about the world and humanity itself. The change in perspective in the beginning of Season 4 of the show allows the audience to understand the themes of the show from a completely different perspective and add nuance to characters originally thought to be villains.  

Season 4 of Attack on Titan introduces the audience to Marley, the oppressive and colonial empire across the ocean from Paradis, and while the nation itself is perceived to be the Eren and the Survey Corps’ enemies, the show uses the narrative of the oppressed Eldians to show the complexity behind the supposed enemy and that the question of freedom is not one so easily answered. While the audience is used to the military and political world within the walls, in Season 4 we get to understand the military workings of Marley and their struggle to maintain their power using the Titans. While other nations like the Mid-East Forces have been working on technology and weapons to surpass titan power, Marley has only been focusing on Titans as the main source of their power. Now that the rest of humanity has caught up and is now exceeding such power, Marley faces an inevitable loss. To combat this, in Episode 61 “Midnight Train” Zeke (current Beast Titan) proposes an idea to resume the operation from Season 2 to capture the Founding Titan, as that would cement Marley as the possessor of all Titan power. While Zeke is Eldian, he is considered more important to Marley’s military due to his strength as the Beast Titan and his political knowledge. What I think is interesting about Marley’s use of the Titan power is that it must rely on the exploitation of Eldians, as they are the only ones who can turn into titans. While the average non-shapeshifting Eldian lives in specific zones within Marley, if you volunteer to be a part of Marley’s military, you are treated with slightly more respect because of the value you bring to the state. While this might not directly tie to Althusser’s example of policing in his paper, it does function in the same way that it is a militarized force in that they ensure compliance from the Eldians through violence. Just for background, volunteering to be a Titan shapeshifter is not an easy choice to make. If it were, then majority of the Eldians would be. Titan power limits the users lifespan to 13 years after they have gained it, and essentially devotes the Eldian’s life to fighting for the state that has subjugated and discriminated against their people for years. Marley’s military instates order by policing the Eldians within Marley and capitalizing off Eldian’s ability to turn into weapons for their own colonial practices.

In Episode 60, titled “The Other Side of the Sea,” the audience meets the Warrior Unit, a unit of the Marlyean military group that consists of Eldians trained to inherit titans and fight for Marley’s military as they battle over land with surrounding nations. I will focus on the children who are candidates to be the apart of the next generation of the Warrior Unit, specifically Gabi. Gabi is a passionate and strong girl whose main goal is to inherit the Armored Titan from her cousin who is the current Armored Titan, Reiner Braun. We meet the Warrior candidates who are in the middle of a territorial battle with another nation, and Gabi exclaims that to win this battle would prove to Commander Magath that she is the right choice to inherit the Armored Titan. Amidst the battle, Gabi explains to her fellow, less convinced peers that, “To shoulder the fate of us Eldians…and to slaughter that island of devils who’ve done nothing but make us suffer. (5:41-5:48). Here we see the impact of Marley’s indoctrination, depicted through the word “devil” in referring to people of Eldian descent. Even though Gabi is Eldian herself, she uses the word to refer to the Eldians on Paradis, who are the characters the viewers have been following since the beginning of the show. Her hatred of the Eldians is not due to her own experiences with them, but due to the discriminatory ideology perpetuated by the Marlyean government that they use to justify their treatment of Eldians and to maintain power over them. Gabi’s dialogue throughout the show reveals the intense amounts of indoctrination she has experienced, as she feels she needs to prove to Marley that not only is she a “good Eldian” but there are other “good Eldians” out there (5:48-6:02). Here we see her dedication to excel within a militarized system that only wants her for her titan abilities, displaying how the state perpetuates its ideologies onto its citizens.

By applying Althusser’s theories of RSAs and ISAs to Marley’s military forces and practices, the audience can understand other Eldian experiences, not just the Eldians in Paradis. Marley’s indoctrination has convinced Eldians in Marley to view the Eldians in Paradis as the reason for their treatment, while the characters who were perceived to be the villains of Season 2 (Eldians from Marley masquerading as Scouts): Bertholdt, Annie and Reiner, are nuanced due to the reveal that they were essentially manipulated to begin the attack from the first episode and to betray the Scouts. Isayama’s worldbuilding and depiction of power structures not only adds nuance to characters but displays the true dangers of state power.

[1] Althusser. “Ideology and Ideological State Apparatuses (Notes towards an Investigation)” 9, no. 1 (2006).

@theuncannyprofessoro

[samlamwambam]

Critical Race Theory in the CW Series: Arrow

Transcript: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1SK4r5rn2i3Dz-4ymnkxqZKCOHO811h-41PcMA-WOxqA/edit?usp=sharing

Arrow (2012-2020) is a CW superhero show surrounding Oliver Queen, a millionaire playboy who gets stranded for 5 years on an island called Lian Yu after a Yacht trip with his father goes wrong. Upon getting rescued by a Chinese fishing boat, Oliver returns home with an agenda. He vows to protect his city as a vigilante, whom the police captain of the series later names “Green Arrow.” 

My video essay discusses Critical Race Theory in relation to Arrow. Television, while fictional, is ultimately a reflection of societal values and the show runner’s world view. Critical Race Theory is the concept that the biased perception of race in society impacts the representation accepted in media, which leads to unintentionally distorted depictions of characters of color. 

In chapter 5 of Ella Shohat and Robert Stam’s book, Unthinking Eurocentrism: Multiculturalism and the Media, Shohat and Stam discuss the diffulcty for the media to properly represent people of color due to their obsession with “realism” in a eurocentric society. This theory is especially reflected in the character Diggle, the only person of color for a while in the eight years that Arrow runs for. Diggle, played by David Ramsey, is introduced in the very first episode as Oliver’s bodyguard, a respected but nevertheless inferior position to our protagonist. In Shohat and Stam’s section “The Racial Politics of Casting,” they point out the recurring theme that “Europans and Euro-Americans have played the dominant role, relegating non-Europans to supporting roles and the status of extras.  By episode 3, Diggle displays his abilities, fighting off an assassin from Oliver and his “friend,” Laurel. Throughout this exchange, Diggle gets caught in a headlock, forcing Oliver to come to the rescue and skillfully strike a knife into the hand of the assassin to give Diggle a leg up. Thus, Diggle is placed inferior to Oliver in both employment and physical skill. While some may find this sidekick role is crucial to the superhero narrative, it is also reflective of the level of representation accepted in the media. When looking at other pieces of media, it becomes evident that this relationship of white protagonist and black sidekick is a pattern. Examples of this trope can be found between Captain America and Falcon, and Iron Man and War Machine. Arguably, in both these situations, in the MCU, both Falcon and War Machine are no longer sidekicks - this also eventually becomes true for Diggle, which I’ll discuss later in this post. However, it took years for this to happen and these are only recent developments to their character. 

Arrow further displays Eurocentric practices in its depiction of foreigners and foreign countries. “Inscribed within the play of power, language becomes caught up in the cultural hierarchies typical of Eurocentrism. English, especially, has often served as the linguistic vehicle for the projection of Anglo American power, technology, and finance” (Shohat 191). In Arrow, whenever a foreigner shows up, Oliver never has difficulty communicating with them because they all speak English. Even when Oliver is known to be fluent in another language such as Russian or Mandarin, both Oliver and the character(s) he is addressing opts for English. Examples of this can be seen in episode 3, where Oliver immediately assumes that Yao Fei, the skilled Chinese hunter also stranded on Lian Yu, speaks English. Despite Yao Fei answering in mandarin, his immediate understanding of Oliver’s English reflects a Eurocentric  presence in the show. 

In season 3, the show revolves around Nanda Parbat, a made up land that serves as the headquarters for the League of Assasins, who’s native language is Arabic. The show designs the headquarters with influences of South Asian and Hinduist architecture styels. Nevertheless, the immortal leader of the League of Assasins, Ra’s Al Ghul consistently chooses to speak English, even in private conversation with his daughters Nyssa and Talia Al Ghul. Some may argue that as an immortal being, it makes sense for Ra’s to be fluent in multiple languages such as English. However, Eurocentrism is also present in the wedding scene between Nyssa and Oliver, where the marriage officiant conducted the entire ceremony in English. 

Delving deeper into the relationship between language and power in media, Shohat and Stam point out that ““People do not enter simply into language as a master code; they participate in it as socially constituted subjects whose linguistic exchange is shaped by power relations” (193). The correlation between language and power is prevelant in season 1 episode 3. In this episode, Oliver must prove himself to be Bratva, a Russian mob group of this universe, in order to gain the respect of two mechanics representing the Bratva. Oliver asserts his credibility, Oliver begins the conversation in fluent Russian. Upon confirming Oliver’s position as Captain in the Bratva, the two mechanics adapt their speech to suit Oliver’s most comfortable form of communication by speaking in English. This switch in language indicates the switch in power that Shohat and Stam were referencing in their book, as when Oliver wanted something, he appealed to the mechanic’s first language and vice versa. 

Arrow, while conforming to Critical Race Theory in many questionable ways, ultimately readjusts its treatment of POC characters by the end of the series. This is done most noteably through the addition of the new Team Arrow, which consists of all POC heroes who, unlike the dynamic between Oliver, Felicity, and Diggle, see each other as equals and dismantle the hierarchy among teammates. This adjustment is still a reflection of Critical Race Theory as the show is aligning itself with society’s push for equal and proper representation of marginalized groups in 2016. 2016 was the year Trump was elected President, exposing a deep divide in America in regards to race, ethnicity, and culture. “The sensitivity around stereotypes and distortions largely arises, then, from the powerlessness of historically marginalized groups to control their own representation” (Shohat 184). Reflecting upon this point, the changing demographics of the Arrow cast in 2016 is reflective of the social scene during this time.  

Lastly, as mentioned before, Diggle becomes much more than Oliver’s sidekick by the end of this series. Diggle’s character is most reflective of Critical Race Theory as he goes from being Oliver’s bodyguard to his best friend to his sidekick to his replacement when Oliver goes missing. Each of these identities however, while he becomes a more important and well loved character, is dependent on Oliver’s relationship to him. Furthermore, in Robert Stam and Louise Spence’s work titled “Colonialism, Racism and Representation: An Introduction,” they point out that “We should be equally suspicious of a naive integrationism which simply inserts new heroes and heroines, this time drawn from the ranks of the oppressed, into the old functional roles that were themselves oppressive” (757). Thus, by having Diggle become the Arrow in place of Oliver, Arrow supports the biased fantasy of a black man slipping into the role of a white vigilante without consequence. Nevertheless, by the end of the series, Diggle begins to form his own identity outside of what it is in relation to Oliver. Diggle begins to prioritize his wife and children, and by the last episode, he makes the decision himself to turn down the opportunity to become Green Lantern. This decision is momentous because in the earlier seasons, Diggle wanted more than anything to be a hero and measure up to Oliver’s legacy. By allowing Diggle to choose his own narrative that swerves from audience expectations, Arrow reflects the shift in racial bias and the progress within the television industry, as showrunners are now taking initative to minimize the othering of POC characters. After all, “a film inevitably mirrors its own processes of production as well as larger social processes” (Shohat 187). 

Braudy, Leo, and Marshall Cohen. Film theory and criticism: Introductory readings. New York: Oxford University Press, 2016.

Shohat, Ella, and Robert Stam. Unthinking Eurocentrism: Multiculturalism and the media. London: Routledge, 1994.

@theuncannyprofessoro

[oxyspeculativetv-fa23]

Performing Gender: Doctor Who and The Star Beast

The topic I would like to discuss today is gender representation in Doctor Who. For this discussion, I will be specifically analyzing one of the most recent episodes that came out entitled The Star Beast. In order to analyze the Doctor Who episode, I will be using Judith Butler's article “Gender is Burning: Questions of Appropriation and Subversion.” My three main discussion points will be Rose noble, Donna Noble's trans daughter. Um, the discussion surrounding pronouns and alien races as a metaphor for gender presentation. At this time, I would like to acknowledge that I could have used discussed alien races as a metaphor for race in general. However, given that most of this episode is centralized around discussions of gender identity and sort of being trans gender pronouns, um. Just gender in general. I felt it was better to talk about it as a gender presentation and what people will accept as a gender presentation versus what is not acceptable as a presentation. 

I want to begin by discussing Donna Noble's daughter, Rose. Rose is transgender, and I think the show does a very good job of integrating that into the plot and making it applicable. For example, rather than having her just be played by a trans actress and having it be like a side mention, it is an actual part of the plot and acknowledges real life moments that happen for trans people. The scene between Donna and her mother discussing um. Rose is, in my opinion, one of the best moments of the entire 60th anniversary and honestly, one of my favorite moments in television. It is a genuine acknowledgment of the trans experience and how you will have family that are genuinely accepting of you, but also is confused. It is not painted, though, in a bad light. It is painted in the light of oh. They care and they are trying, but it's not necessarily immediate. I think this is a very good scene. I think it sets the episode off in a very good light because it sets us up to discuss gender in a way where it's acknowledging that, um, gender presentation and how we sort of perform it is still something that is relatively new r for older generations. And it sets up why the big plot twist surrounding the aliens works out, because we are still very set in our ways, even though we are becoming more and more liberal. 

The second point I have is about the discussion of pronouns. This is a very sort of pivotal scene. It's been shown all over TikTok. And it is where Rose makes the point that the meep, um, might not use he/him pronouns because the doctor assumes that the meep does. To note, the meep is a little funky alien. that crash lands on Earth, and then Rose finds it hiding in her trash cans. I feel that the discussion between the doctor and the meep about pronouns. Brilliantly illustrates Judith Butler's point about how gender, performance, and specifically drag is “one which both appropriates and subverts racist, misogynist and homophobic norms of oppression.”[1] I believe that it sort of subverts it, because it makes it sort of a normalized thing. When Rose points out that the doctor assumed pronouns, the doctor immediately asks. And when the meep says, “I use the definite article, I am always the meep,” The doctor does not see that as strange. He's just like, oh yeah, I do that too sometimes. However, it also at the same time appropriates it because it creates this sort of camaraderie feeling that is then pushed aside in when we get to the later half of the episode, which is sort of the discussion about alien races and gender presentation. 

The last main point I want to discuss is gender presentation with alien races. And this is more sort of going into the idea of various races as different acceptable forms of presentation. As I said, this would also be a very good topic to cover under race. However, I felt that I wanted to stick with gender theory for the sake of this video and this assignment. So if we look at the photos of the meep and then of the Ross Warriors, who are the sort of bug-like creatures. One is very clearly more palatable for human beings. I mean, I know personally when I watch the episode, one of the first things I said was, oh, I wonder when they're going to make a meep plushie because it's, um, the meep is cute. It's fuzzy. It's just very much the kind of thing that human beings latch on to and are like, oh, what a baby. Whereas the Wrath warriors are scary. They look like bugs, something that we inherently fear.  Judith Butler directly discusses how gender and gender performance is not separate from sexuality and race. She makes a point when talking about symbolic gender, that “the symbolic is also and at once a racializing set of norms, and that norms of realness by which the subject is produced or racially informed conceptions of sex.”[2] In this sense, we can see the connections between gender presentation and the alien races. We take the symbolic thing of the meep looking small and cute and friendly, and in return decide that must mean the meep is good, that the meep is not the one at fault here. Instead, it must be that these evil warriors are the villains, when in reality it's completely opposite. The warriors are just trying to enact justice. They're trying to arrest a genocidal maniac. But because we see them as more threatening throughout the first half of the episode, without question, everyone immediately goes to the side of the meep. It is only once the doctor has actually exposed the meep for who it is that the meep reveals itself and everyone begins to hate it. To conclude, the episode is incredibly interesting when you start looking at it through the analysis of gender, and especially once you go beyond the discussion of a trans character and just the pronouns thing, which some people have found cringey. I personally think it is very realistic. You can then start actually looking at the connections that can be drawn between gender and race and how we inherently will assume certain things based on appearance. It's discussed in the Butler article about how some people are able to pass and others aren't. Just in the same way that the meep is able to pass as a friendly creature just because it looks like it should be, whereas the Wrath Warriors, even though they're doing their job and they are trying to defend us, are assumed to be evil because they look scary.

References

Butler, Judith. 1999. “Gender is Burning: Questions of Appropriation and Subversion.” Feminist Film Theory.

[1] (Butler 1999, 341)

[2] (Butler 1999, 342-343)

@theuncannyprofessoro

[sophiegold123]

Performing Gender: Eleven in "Stranger Things"

"Stranger Things," a popular science fiction horror series created by the Duffer Brothers, unfolds in the 1980s within the fictitious town of Hawkins, Indiana. Blending supernatural elements with a nostalgic homage to '80s pop culture, the narrative centers around a group of kids whose lives take a peculiar turn when they encounter Eleven, a mysterious girl possessing psychokinetic abilities. Across multiple seasons, the characters face unforeseen challenges, navigating the eerie and terrifying forces that invade their small town. Via the character of Eleven, “Stranger Things” reveals the performative nature of gender, challenging binary definitions. Although her journey is fraught with others imposing their own idea of “her” gender, on how she should look, dress, act - she ultimately becomes a vessel for their own respective will, changing with each of them and showing how gender identity is fluid and performative.

The character of Eleven in “Stranger Things" appears to the viewer in Season One as an empty canvas, free of individuality, gender, or identity after she had escaped from a secret government lab. Eleven, in addition to her supernatural powers is therefore situated  as “other”, uncomfortably outside, androgynous and unknowable. Both viewers of, and characters in “Stranger Things", use Eleven as a template for their own visions, creating identity through her appearance.  From the beginning, Eleven is nearly nonverbal, speaking only a handful of words per episode. This makes the weight that her appearance plays in our collective evaluation of her that much more critical. 

Over the course of two seasons, Eleven undergoes several transformations, each portraying a distinct identity for her character. Initially, Eleven seems devoid of individuality, gender, or a defined identity. In Judith Butler’s “Gender Is Burning”, she writes about the action of being performative, of showing how enacting social identities requires one to perform according to certain “laws”. Butler adds onto Althusser’s “Theory of Interpellation" which states that we internalize cultural values and ideologies through “laws”, which can be thought of as social norms, and that is what forms our identity (1).  

Throughout the beginning of the first season where Eleven is initially nearly naked, to the ending of the second season where Eleven is viewed as a normal teenage girl, her hair and clothing show different embodied identities that others have imposed on her, of how they think she should look like.  Butler argues that an individual's gender is not an inherent identity but rather a performance shaped by anticipated, repeated, and ritualistic expectations regarding appearance and attire. The imposition of these varied styles on Eleven does not define or articulate how Eleven perceives and comprehends herself, aligning with and confirming Judith Butler's theories on gender expression and appearance as performative. 

Throughout the series, we see Eleven as both vulnerable and strong, damaged and super-powered, androgynous and feminine. She is hard and soft, in other words boyish and girlish, as determined by stereotypical notions of gender.  All of these characteristics are quite literally embodied in her physical appearance, especially in her hair and clothing. Throughout history, the representation of a community's values has often been concentrated in these visual elements associated with women, signifying social class and attractiveness in the time period of the 1980’s. As Butler highlights, individuals who deviate from prescribed gender norms often face societal repercussions, illustrating the enforcement of these norms.  An example in “Stranger Things" that highlights societal repercussions for Eleven's deviation from prescribed gender norms occurs when she ventures into the world on her own. In Season 2, Eleven adopts a more independent and self-reliant lifestyle, this decision results in her facing scrutiny and encountering obstacles from both individuals and societal norms that expect conformity.  

From Season One to the end of Season Two, Eleven has her appearance changed, or “dismantled” four times. In her initial Season One appearance, Dr. Brenner was the creator of her appearance: she has a shaved head, appears undernourished, and is wearing only a mere hospital gown. Next, the group of boys dress her up and give her a pink dress, a long blonde wig, and a blue windbreaker. At the start of the second season, Hopper, who is hiding her from everyone, dresses her; she now has her naturally curly brown hair and is first seen in a flannel to match the one he is wearing, and later switches to overalls. This is succeeded by a punk-rock makeover given to her by her “sister” Kali; featuring slicked-back hair, dark eyeliner, lipstick, and a black blazer. Notably, each makeover is orchestrated by other characters with minimal input from Eleven herself. Her evolving appearance serves as a reflection of what other characters in the show, and by extension, the program's creators, believe she "should" look like.  

I want to focus on Season 1, Episode 4,when the boys set out to dress Eleven according to what they expect a girl to look like. By making Eleven into a “pretty” girl, the boys have remade her as a person who fits the conventionally accepted elements of appearance for a young girl, who is delicate and weak. Upon her transformation, Dustin and Mike marvel, "Wow, she looks... pretty". Eleven swiftly internalizes this lesson, repeating the word "pretty" as she gazes at herself in the mirror. The act of making her "pretty" diminishes her power and agency. By calling Eleven "pretty," it makes her fit into the conventional idea of how girls are expected to look and act within traditional male-female relationships.  

In addition to Eleven's adoption of a feminine wardrobe, whether it's a choice of her own or not, being supernatural and possessing strong  powers can often lead characters in the show to see her as “other” and dangerous. As she possesses these superpowers, she  can embody a more masculine role and potentially blur the boundaries of the gender binary, therefore “othering” her. Furthermore, the age of characters, such as Eleven, plays a crucial role in shaping how they are perceived as threatening or nonthreatening. In Eleven's case, her supernatural abilities, which are often portrayed as othered and demonized in media, are juxtaposed with her role as a vulnerable victim of trauma within the friend group of boys who aim to protect her. The juxtaposition of supernatural powers with vulnerability creates a nuanced dynamic that challenges conventional expectations. Despite possessing abilities that might typically be associated with threat or danger, Eleven's young age and the trauma she has experienced position her as more of a victim in need of protection, conforming to traditional gender norms of men being the protectors of women.

(1) Butler, Judith. “Gender Is Burning: Questions of Appropriation and Subversion.” Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity, Routledge, 1990, pp. 381–383. 

[aimlessgeology]

Speculative Othering Final

Lost (2004-2010) is remembered for being a sometimes confusing but almost always sexy adventure show. The show follows the aftermath of a plane crash on a mysterious Pacific island, when a group of strangers must figure out how to survive in the face of no rescue and a sinister group that already inhabits the tropical rock. Lost is unique for its time in that it featured many characters of color from a variety of backgrounds and identities. Its inclusion of diverse characters was a conscious break from norms in TV. Unfortunately, a lot of the screen time was taken up by white characters, but the characters of color are not passive tokens signaling diversity.

In their critical media book Unthinking Eurocentrism (Shohat and Stam, 1994), Ella Shohat and Robert Stam include a chapter titled “Stereotype Realism and the Struggle Over Representation”. In this chapter, they state: “Filmic fictions inevitably bring into play real-life assumptions not only about space and time but also about social and cultural relationships” (178). This applies doubly to television, because TV is more flexible in its production: you can see cultural changes play out over time through one TV series in a way you can’t do with one film because TV is produced is produced continuously, sometimes for decades at a time (The Simpsons, General Hospital, Sesame Street). They continue, “film is [representation], [but] it is also an act of contextualized interlocution between socially situated producers and receivers. [To say art is constructed] is not enough...We have to ask: Constructed for whom? [W]ith which ideologies and discourses' in mind? (180). I think that Lost was made with a wide range of audiences in mind. It has action, mystery, and romance. It has moments of levity and extreme anxiety. It arrived at a tense time; the pilot came out in 2004, a mere three years after the 9/11 tragedy, when America was waging war in Afghanistan and Iraq. Ultimately it was a show about community and teamwork, and sought to unite those through their differences instead of dividing them. Lost was set in the present at the time of its release and its universe mimicked our own in many ways, including with the U.S.-led wars in the Middle East. Sayid (Naveen Andrews), a supporting protagonist, is an Iraqi national and former soldier. Sayid has a complicated and sorrowful backstory, like most of the characters on the show, but his position is unique in that his character embodies a personality that America, writ-large, was extremely suspicious of; an Arab man aligned with the government of his home country. 

The character Sawyer (Josh Holloway) is a country bad-boy who represents this suspicion. In the second part of a two-part pilot, he accuses Sayid of being a terrorist and being responsible for the plane going down. This leads to an altercation between the two men, shown in the clip below. (S01E1-2, LOST clip - Sayid and Sawyer Fight). 

The accusation is blatantly racially motivated and it is only the first of many aggressions Sawyer inflicts on Sayid because of his ethnicity. With his love of guns, sex, booze and cigarettes, Sawyer is a specific American stereotype–the hypermasculine, violent, and bigoted man. Surely there were people watching Lost whose identities at least partially aligned with these qualities; through Sawyer, they see themselves represented, perhaps in an exaggerated light, or maybe turned down a notch. Despite Sawyer’s bias and bouts of cruelty, he is an important character who grows and learns to treat people better. As Shohat and Stam write, “spectators… can accept, question, or even subvert” a work of media. Further, “the cultural preparation of a particular audience can generate counter-pressure to a racist or prejudicial discourse” (182). Lost offers a critique of Sawyer-like ideology without totally alienating those who share it, as well as giving voice to the group which they vilify. 

Since Sayid is not a one-dimensional token character, his reaction to Sawyer’s racism towards him gets its due. In the clip above, Sayid is shown to be the instigator of the fight, but he is not represented as acting unreasonably. A common racist stereotype about Arab men is that they are hot-tempered and aggressive. Lost does not try to fight this false notion by making sure Sayid is non-violent. Instead, his anger and aggression is represented with more nuance than a simple ‘Violent Arab Man’ trope. He’s responding to an attack on his character and nationality, and in the circumstances of the show, his violent response is understandable. It represents both identities in a forgiving light. 

Though Sayid’s character is an important part in the progression of Arab representation on screen, it’s not perfect. Naveen Andrews is a British man with Indian heritage, but he plays an Iraqi. This relates to Shohat and Stam’s points about representation. Those authors are concerned with white actors performing in roles meant for people of color, and they reference the satirical work How to Make an Indian Movie: ”Import a Greek to be an Indian princess. Introduce a white man to become an ‘Indian’ hero. Make the white man compassionate, brave and understanding ... Pocket the profits in Hollywood” (181). There is another layer to this that has emerged in the modern age where people of color are made into a generalized ‘other’ where they play nationalities that are not their own.  I don’t think it should be taboo for people to play across national lines; an American should be able to play a Brit, so why should a Brit not be able to play an Iraqi? But there is a line where it becomes racially offensive, or at least controversial. For many producers of media at this time, it comes down to looks; few are interested in making sure the actor who plays a guy from Iraq is actually from Iraq, as long as he ‘looks like’ he could be from Iraq. For white audiences, there is not always a lot that distinguishes one brown person from another. 

There are other times in Lost where white audiences are not the sole focus of the show. There are detailed storylines that don’t involve white characters. The first example of Lost de-centering white voices is when there is tension between two men of the group of survivors, Jin (Daniel Dae Kim) and Michael (Harold Perrineu). S01E06, “House of the Rising Sun” the opening scene is Jin brutally attacking Michael at the water in front of Michael’s son, Walt. Jin seems to intend to kill him, or at least injure him severely. Walt cries for help and Sawyer and Sayid sprint to Michael’s rescue. The following clip is the conversation that occurs after the attack. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K-fS679Ui1U

Sayid becomes the mediator of the disagreement with Sawyer playing a secondary role, mostly as a taunt (did you catch the ‘Omar’ comment he made to Sayid?). Jin does not speak English, but is obviously very angry. Michael is wounded and angry as well. Sayid demands to know what happened and Michael insists that the reason Jin attacked him was because he’s black. Michael says to Sayid that he ‘doesn’t know what it’s like in Iraq, but in America, Korean people don’t like Black people’. Jin does not have the language to defend his actions. Not that they were really defensible; he tackled this guy and tried to drown him because a misunderstanding over a lost watch. The racial component was self-evident and then mentioned explicitly. The conversation is almost entirely between people of color, except for Sawyer making snide remarks.

This is something remarkable, especially for a show at this time. That the white characters, identities and narratives are not the core of this scene is unfortunately kind of surprising. If there are white people around, why aren’t they getting centered? Because Lost is making a conscious attempt here to show experiences that are not normative to white americans. It is also making an attempt to show intricacies, contradictions, and irony in racial conversation. As far as a TV show like this can reasonably be, it’s realistic. Sayid would not necessarily know the background of racial tension in the US between black and asian people (Lee, 2023). Jin also would not necessarily be aware of this, because he himself is a Korean national, and also has the language barrier keeping him from understanding this particular point of tension. Lastly, Michael has reason to accuse him of racism, because as an American Black man, he’s no doubt experienced it in his life, from multiple sources. Lost presents context for the characters’ actions (it’s known for flashbacks, too) and also is understanding of multiple perspectives and not adhering to a binary view of race or experience. Despite its imperfections, Lost gave screen time and narrative depth to people who have not been historically represented in television, specifically in the action genre. Lost’s setting lends itself well to this breakdown of tradition, because once your plane crashes, the old world doesn’t really exist anymore.

References:

Lee, Carolyn. 2023. “Media Misrepresentation of the LA Race Riots from a Korean American Perspective.” 2023. https://www.dartmouth.edu/~hist32/History/S21%20-%20Media%20Misrepresentations%20of%20the%20LA%20Riot.htm.

Shohat, Ella, and Robert Stam. 1994. “Stereotype Realism and the Struggle Over Representation.” In Unthinking Eurocentrism. https://moodle.oxy.edu/pluginfile.php/1045121/mod_page/content/6/Shohat%20and%20Stam_Stereotype%20Realism%20and%20the%20Struggle%20Over%20Representation.pdf.

@theuncannyprofessoro

[danae-c-y]

Avatar: The Last Airbender, the Formalist Symbolism of Shot Composition

Link to Video Essay

The series, Avatar: the Last Airbender, remains one of the most critically acclaimed animated shows over a decade after its original debut in 2005. Intricate world-building, an immersive score, and themes of genocide, totalitarianism, Stockholm Syndrome, redemption, and spiritual balance are partially what cultivate and cement ATLA’s memorability to a degree that prompts recognition from outlets such as Vanity Fair, IndieWire, and general audiences years after its premier. It is a heroes’ journey about restoring balance, cross-cultural understanding, and peace after the Fire Nation waged war. However, it is also filled with striking visual storytelling, its awareness of semiotic significance and the delicacy through which it handles visual rhetoric. 

While lighting, camera angles, and shot composition are used as formalist signifiers throughout the entire show, I will specifically be focusing on the scene where Zuko visits Iroh in the jail cell. For context, Zuko has been accepted back into the Fire Nation by conforming to their current ideals of ethnocentrism and helping their efforts in the war. Simultaneously, Iroh has been othered and imprisoned for treason because of his rejection of these same ideals. Thus, we know contextually that the two characters are performing and interpreting their racial identities differently. The composition of the scene through its lighting and camera angles, however, adds another layer of commentary to the duality of these two characters. It communicates that while Iroh is physically othered and imprisoned for his enlightened perspective on what it means to perform his racial identity, Zuko is embraced and accepted for his antithetically ignorant perspective on the Fire Nation. 

Through its use of light and dark imagery as symbolic concepts within the scene, ATLA demonstrates what Sergei Eisenstein describes as “a cinema that seeks the maximum laconicism in the visual exposition of abstract concepts” in his article, “Beyond the Shot [The Cinematographic Principle and the Ideogram].”[1] The light streaming in from the small window in Iroh’s prison cell represents the concept of enlightenment and awareness while Zuko kneels helplessly in the shadows. This is a subversion of expectations, as Iroh is imprisoned, looked down on, and othered within his nation, yet the light implies he should be treated antithetically. The role reversal between the isolated yet enlightened prisoner and the idolized yet ignorant prince is further emphasized through the stark duality of light and shadow. Eisenstein describes the composition of shots and visual symbolism as a necessary type of collision, writing “What then characterizes montage and, consequently, its embryo, the shot? Collision. Conflict between two neighboring fragments. Conflict. Collision.”[2] Few visual elements mirrored across hundreds of years of symbolic imagery more aptly demonstrate conflict and collision within a shot than the light and the dark—the collision, conflict, and interplay between shadows and the sun that expels them. 

Applying the argument for collision within a shot to lighting specifically, Eisenstein states, “The same applies to the theory of lighting. If we think of lighting as the collision between a beam of light and an obstacle, like a stream of water from a fire hose striking an object, or the wind buffeting a figure, this will give us a quite differently conceived use of light from the play of ‘haze’ or ‘spots.’”[3] Through this framing, there is not only the existence of light and shadow within a shot but a battle between them—an apt description considering the broader plot of war between ethnocentrism and cross-cultural unity that permeates Avatar’s world, as well as Zuko and Iroh’s representations of these ideologies respectively. Light and shadow can coexist, yet this coexistence is constantly implicated with the power struggle between the two. Avatar’s shots in the prison scene put light and dark imagery similarly in conflict, further explaining why one must be othered and the other accepted by their nation. 

 Eisenstein explains, however, that these abstract concepts necessitate an intertextual basis that grounds them in signified meaning. Speaking to how visual signifiers develop culturally understood meanings over time and in relation to the context clues around them, Eisenstein writes that within forms like the Haiku and Tanka, “The method, reduced to a stock combination of images, carves out a dry definition of the concept from the collision between them.”[4] Avatar’s visual rhetoric plays out similar to poetic communication, drawing on the idea that shadows and light, when placed together create meaning. Bolstering the significance of this collision with the shot is a history of cultural ideas and philosophical texts that perpetuate similar associations. Eisenstein recognizes how this type of intertextuality strengthens symbolism, writing, “The same method, expanded into a wealth of recognized semantic combinations, becomes a profusion of figurative effect.”[5] The integration of atramentous and brightened hues into common modern cultural perceptions is seen through how it manifests in language, with common expressions like being in the dark.

One may question how the depth of the scene's commentary about enlightenment and ignorance can go much further past this stark dichotomy, as the conceptualization of light and darkness arguably only allows for a black-and-white interpretation of Iroh and Zuko's characters. However the meaning behind the use of shadows is strengthened even further when considering what is perhaps the most famous use of dark and light symbolism across millenia—Plato’s acclaimed allegory of the cave. Plato paints a visual picture of prisoners who live in an underground cave and can only see a wall where the shadows of various objects are projected. Thus, they believe shadows to be reality. Once a prisoner escapes and sees not only the objects that were originally creating the shadows, but also the sun above, he is described as enlightened, having a fuller view of reality. 

The shot plays on this symbolism by intentionally depicting Zuko staring down at the shadows of the prion bars while Iroh stares at Zuko directly. This indicates that, much like the prisoners in Plato’s allegory, Zuko is shrouded in ignorance, unable to see how his compliance with ethnocentrism is not inherently necessitated by him being the prince of the Fire Nation. Iroh, on the other hand, sees the real prison bars and from his perspective, Zuko is the one behind those bars, as is emphasized by the camera angles in the scene being shot from inside the cell looking out. Iroh sees a clearer version of reality, understanding a racial performance detached from the Fire Nation’s current culture, and realizing Zuko is mentally imprisoned. 

The prison scene is a poignant example of the type of formalism that Eisenstein explores. ATLA’s montage demonstrates “precisely what we do in cinema, juxtaposing representational shots that have, as far as possible, the same meaning, that are neutral in terms of their meaning, in meaningful contexts and series.”[6] The series of shots that comprise this scene strengthens its visual storytelling, as each shot—its perspective and composition—further emphasizes the dichotomy between the two characters within it. Astoundingly, a 3 minute scene has the capacity to communicate the “collision” of othering versus acceptance; cultural enlightenment versus ignorance; and ethnocentrism versus global unity personified between two of the show’s protagonists.

[1] Sergei Eisenstein,“Beyond the Shot,” Film Theory and Criticism, (2009): 15

[2] Eisenstein, “Beyond the Shot,” 19

[3] Eisenstein, “Beyond the Shot,” 21

[4] Eisenstein, “Beyond the Shot,” 15

[5] Eisenstein, “Beyond the Shot,” 15

[6] Eisenstein, “Beyond the Shot,” 15

@theuncannyprofessoro

[simonspeculativeothering]

Critical Race Theory in the Dragon Ball Z Namek Saga

While the overall theme of the Namek Saga is that of colonialism and genocide against the Namekian people, episodes 44-48 seemed to possess dialogue and events that most pertains to ideas of critical race theory. While neither the protagonists nor the oppressors are composed of a homogeneous species, the populace of Namek is of a singular species that is being genocided and extorted by Frieza for their dragon balls. Though Frieza’s army is composed of many types of alien species, he practices the imperial methodology of arriving to planets and conquering them with the goal of exploiting the resources and species that exist on the planet.

Although Japan hasn’t been considered to be a part of the Third World, there is a cultural significance of colonialism translated into the show, given that Japan has the history of being both a colonizer and colonized nation. Largely, this section of the show seems to depict a mix of saviorist and anti-colonial ideas. The saviorist aspect of the plot involves the protagonist’s efforts to protect Namek while collecting the dragon balls. There seems to be a greater focus, though, on depicting Frieza’s tyrannical wrath, resembling Third World anti-colonialist filmmaking, having “attempted to counterpose the objectifying discourse of patriarchy and colonialism with a vision of themselves and their reality as seen ‘from within’”(Stam & Spence, 757). Though the show doesn’t make any explicit imitation of a historical imperial power, the actions of Frieza could be potentially compared to either Western colonizers or early 20th-century Imperial Japan. As a result of this alignment, the viewership can look critically at colonialism from the perspective of the oppressed, as the show supersedes and interacts with traditional colonial portrayals.

The first episode that we will be looking at is episode 44. This is the first moment in the Namek Saga where all of the major characters arrive on planet Namek. As a result, the episode more-so lays out the plot as opposed to solely depicting battle scenes or dialogue insignificant to the plotline. Two of the protagonists, Krillin & Gohan, express their first impression of Namek with a comparison between Piccolo's place of residence on earth and the terrain of Namek. This remark is interesting because it is a commentary on the issue of migration and assimilation. Though unrelated to the saga’s dynamic of colonialism and genocide, the mention of Piccolo’s choice to reside in a Namek-like location on earth indicates that the creators of the show are interested in approaching this saga with the topic of othering in the form of species, in this case. It also is an interesting remark because it shows that an explanation of the idea of non-homogenous society to the show’s Japanese audience is necessary, given that Japan is almost entirely homogeneous(Bridges, 779). While a non-Japanese audience might be familiarized with the dynamics of assimilation, Japan’s lack of immigration increases the necessity for the characters to address the Namekian Piccolo’s background as an anomaly.

The cultural significance of Japanese homogeneity is also important in that this saga’s focus on alienism is an approach that breaks a set of strict Japanese communal anchors, such as ethnicity, and culture, in a sense suspending disbelief by disassociating from traditional Japanese ideas or symbols(Bridges, 779). In such a dissociation, it seems now, more convenient for the show to approach a more abrasive concept like race or colonialism, which otherwise would remain a political discussion that only exists from the perspective of homogeneity. Vegeta’s arrival at Namek is another important moment which reiterates the saga’s theme of imperialism. Though Vegeta’s personality had previously been introduced, this moment highlights his newfound rebelliousness against his tyrannical emperor, though his rebelliousness bears no consideration for ethics.

Arguably the center of this saga’s anti colonialist plotline, Frieza and his army are introduced in Namek with a scene of them murdering a Namekian to gain possession of a dragon ball. In literal terms, his use of violence against a less militarily powerful group of people for the purpose of extracting resources bears a close resemblance to colonization or imperialism that has taken place worldwide. This depiction of Frieza aligns with anticolonialist films such as Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, which provides the depiction of “colonialism in Africa as ‘just robbery with violence, aggravated murder on a grand scale’”(Stam & Spence, 755). Though Frieza’s actions aren’t driven strictly by racism, his actions fit a colonial characterization of carrying out mass acts of robbery and murder against a single group of people.

In episode 45, there are several other pieces of dialogue that contribute to the characterization of the Namek saga as being anticolonialist. Firstly, the protagonists encounter two of Frieza’s minions who offhandedly mention their job description of committing genocide. Since science fiction is often regarded as a representation of international politics, it is easy to see how this statement could be compared to an Eichmann style of justifying oppression, where low-level perpetrators see themselves as order followers within a code of imperial conduct(Dyson, 461). In essence, though, it becomes further affirmed that Frieza’s army is meant to be portrayed as an army commiting genocide.

Vegeta’s juxtaposition within the colonial theme is also elaborated in this episode, with his remark that he wants to become a Saiyan emperor of the universe and overthrow Frieza. Vegeta’s case further indicates the shows’ adherence to anti-colonialist filmmaking, aligning with the idea that “In many consciously anticolonialist films, a kind of textual uneven development makes the film politically progressive in some of its codes but regressive in others”(Stam & Spence, 764). To elaborate, rather than depicting all of Frieza's rebels as being benevolent, the distinction is made that these oppressed people are just as capable of expressing selfishness. Mentioning his race explicitly, his motives despite being an “ally” of sorts against Frieza, remain non-egalitarian and racist in his goal of perpetuating Saiyan supremacy.

In episode 47, Frieza’s dialogue introduces the element of language into the saga’s broader colonialist theme: “Speak to us in a language that we can all understand”. This quote from Frieza aligns closely with a characterization of Namekians as being Third World, with his expectation of the Namekians to speak his language on their planet. This remark seems like an imitation of Western depictions of colonialism, where “The languages spoken by Third World peoples are often reduced to an incomprehensible jumble of background murmurs, while major ‘native’ characters are consistently obliged to meet the coloniser on the coloniser’s linguistic turn”(Stam & Spence, 756). Though the show employs Namekian language in such a way, it is done in an anticolonialist fashion where the antagonist of the plot is made to fit this characterization, as opposed to the protagonists.

In episode 48, there is one clear scene that elaborates the saga’s theme of colonialism and imperialism. In this scene, Frieza’s henchmen start slaughtering the village, but Gohan steps in and saves a child, who is the final surviving Namekian in the village. While this scene further justifies Frieza’s comparison to a real-world colonial or imperial force, Gohan’s character employs geopolitical realist ideology that takes oppressed groups into account. To elaborate, this scene aligns closely with ideas of progressive realism that are promoted by many oppressed groups or Third World filmmakers(Stam & Spence, 757). Though the goal of the protagonists is the realist goal of collecting all of the dragon balls before Frieza or Vegeta, it seems that there is a revelation on the part of the protagonists that they must become the protector of the Namekian people, in an effort to combat Frieza’s hegemonic threat. On some level, Gohan’s actions could be interpreted as being saviorist, in the sense that he justifies his own attempted exploitation of Namek’s resources with his efforts to prevent Namekian genocide. At the very least, though, this scene paints Gohan as an ally who considers humanitarian ideals as being fundamental in accomplishing his largely realist and selfish objective.

To summarize the point of this video, it appears that Dragon Ball Z’s Namek saga purposefully attempts to imitate the dynamics of colonialism though Frieza and his army’s genocide of planet Namek. Consequently, other parties in the show such as the protagonists, Vegeta, or the Namekians expand on this dynamic through their responses to Frieza’s actions and speech. By placing an antagonistic imperial power, the show demonstrates an anticolonialist interpretation of history, and allows viewers to experience the issue from the perspective of the oppressed. Given the context of Japanese homogeneity, the alienist focus of the show disassociates its Japanese audience from real-world cultural boundaries, therefore suspending their disbelief further. Gohan and Krillen exhibit their progressive realist ideals, as they interfere in the slaughter of a village and save the last surviving child. The saga’s anticolonialist perspective is thoughtfully, yet prominently shown in these introductory episodes of the saga. Though this plotline isn’t directly translatable to any specific piece of colonial history, it certainly involves a variety of scenes that are comparable to both Western and Third World depictions of colonization.

[loganm233]

Critical Television Analysis: Steven Universe and Feminist Film Theory

In “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema”, Mulvey states that “Woman then stands in patriarchal culture as signifier for the male other, bound by a symbolic order in which man can live out his fantasies and obsessions through linguistic command by imposing them on the silent image of woman still tied to her place as bearer of meaning, not maker of meaning,” (Mulvey, 712) and this concept relates strongly with the universe within Steven Universe. Homeworld, the planet of origin for the gem characters of which the series focuses on, has no men and instead more closely follows the structure of a matriarchy. Homeworld society is based upon a caste system where class structure is determined by birth. Society there differs, however, because it consists entirely of feminine entities. Gender construct is, in a sense, removed until it is reinforced when the female gem characters come to earth. If you were to view the gems world in our stereotypical terms, the gems on Homeworld have definitely created a society in which those in power show patriarchal behavior; controlling the lives of all those under them and imposing their view on all the gems beneath them. It is interesting that, even with this, Steven is the focus, and one of the only main, male-presenting characters in the series. Additionally, he is the one who ends up becoming the savior, which ties back to this male superiority complex and patriarchal ideas where the man is in power, even amongst all of these other extremely powerful female characters Steven is working amongst. Although he is very in touch with his “feminine side,” he is forced by the story into this male savior role. Since Steven could not control the gender he was born into, it is a part of his identity and plays into how others perceive him within the series. While he inherited Rose’s gem and capabilities, Steven did not initially exhibit any power and, when it did show, he had to work to develop it and learn to control it; nothing came as easy as it seemed. He had to realize who he was, what that meant, and what his role in life would be all whilst making difficult decisions along the way. He had to gain trust, build connections, and learn to better understand the capabilities of what was given to him.

Furthermore, Steven looks up to and respects all of the Crystal Gems and other gems that he comes in contact with. He sees them as independent, valuable “people” in their own right. There is never any sexual fixation or desire with any of the gems as talked about in the article “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema”. Someone trying to argue this point might bring up Connie and her relationship with Steven, but during the duration of the show their relationship was primarily platonic.

Mulvey also states that “curiosity and the wish to look intermingle with a fascination with likeness and recognition: the human face, the human body, the relationship between the human form and its surroundings, the visible presence of the person in the world” (Mulvey, 714). This is similarly seen in the Crystal Gems as they look in on the human race from a far. Particularly, on Homeworld where there is a human zoo. There, gems and diamonds can observe and watch humans in their “natural habitat” or “pivotal state.” In this case the human form is used as a curiosity and intrigue for the gems' pleasure. This fixation is again seen when the Crystal Gems first come to earth. They are in awe of the state of earth and are curious about what life is like as they explore this new realm. The Crystal Gems view humans as this unique and rather odd entity as they try to understand what the human purpose is, what drives humans, and how they go about life on earth. Rose is the driving force behind this newfound curiosity and even goes so far as to stumble upon Greg, Steven’s father, during one of his concerts. During this concert she is so engrossed in his shenanigans and is fixated on him being a human in his natural form. Greg, of course, is also completely intrigued by Rose and the woman she presents as well. Rose’s curiosity continues and grows as the two hang out together and does turn into more intimate desires as Rose does eventually fall for Greg. They spend more time together, have a relationship and eventually do have a child, Steven, together. Again, some might question whether Rose actually has true feelings for Greg or is still just enamored with the curiosity. In spite of that, in the many episodes where Steven searches for himself and purpose it is proven that Rose would not have sacrificed herself in the way she did if she did not truly love Greg and the child they had created.

In the theoretical essay “Is the Gaze Male?” Kaplan claims that “In patriarchal structures, thus, women is located as other (enigma, mystery), and is thereby viewed as outside (male) language” (Kaplan, 209). As previously stated, in the series, Gems are all female and have a society ruled by women, but once on earth, they are the ones othered. The gems are the ones seen as different from human lifeforms being separated and considered“weird.” This would seem to be partially because the viewers of the series need to be able to wrap their head around the concept. As the series goes on the viewers, and humans in the series who come into contact with the gems, become accustomed to the gems and their ways and begin to see the gems as “normal” because they are now familiar. Some may argue that the Crystal gems were more othered on Homeworld then they were othered once on earth, which I would agree with, but this still does not take away from their continued othering seen even once on earth. Additionally, it is this matriarchal society that the Crystal Gems are trying to destroy or fix in order to save the patriarchal society that is otherwise known as earth. It needs to be acknowledged again that stereotypes and labels come into play here. Is Homeworld actually a matriarchy or would it technically meet the patriarchy characteristics? The blurring of all the lines is one of the things about Steven Universe that is so quality. It is about figuring out who you are and how you relate to others. The songs really speak towards this as well: “Peace and Love on the Planet Earth,” “I’d rather be me(with you),” and “Love Like You” songs definitely come to mind in relation to this concept.

Mulvey, Laura. "Visual pleasure and narrative cinema." Media and cultural studies: Keyworks (2006): 342-352. Waldman, Diane, and Janet Walker. "Is the Gaze Maternal?: E. Ann Kaplan's Women and Film: Both Sides of the Camera." Camera Obscura: Feminism, Culture, and Media Studies 5, no. 1-2 (1985): 195-214.

@theuncannyprofessoro

[rachelkruglyak]

Manifest (Critical Television Analysis)

The TV series Manifest uses symbols through both cinematography and imagery to convey meaning. Camera angles and music convey to the viewer when important events are occurring and the significance of specific scenes. As Christian Metz wrote, “The properly aesthetic orderings and constraints— versification, composition, and tropes in the first case; framing, camera movements, and light ‘effects’ in the second—serve as the connoted instance, which is superimposed over the denoted meaning (Metz, 2009, 67)” These techniques heighten the viewer’s anxiety and raise the stakes as the images and audio becomes palpably intense. The story itself contains a large number of signs and codes that provide meaning to the characters and guide the viewers in understanding the religious messages. Throughout the series, characters grapple with symbols such as a peacock, sapphire, gemini, wooden dragon, volcano, and Noah’s ark, all of which help to determine the characters’ fate. The filming and the use of these objects and puzzles heightens the emotional connection to the characters and intensifies the viewers’ reactions to them. 

After the passengers share the trauma of the flight together, their lives are completely altered and their fates are forever intertwined. The situation shares similarities with the show The Leftovers as Sonia Front observed, “The catastrophe inaugurates a new mode of temporality, the time of an aftermath that is qualitatively different from the time of before (Front, 2021, 252).” When the passengers of 828 discover that their collective fate is linked, and that their behavior will determine whether they all live or die on Death Date, there are many opportunities for the characters to “other” each other. Throughout, characters are “othered” if they behave in ways that threaten the safety of the remaining passengers. This leads to highly emotionally charged interactions throughout the series.

One of the passengers who is “othered” is Adrian, an African-American passenger who starts “The Church of the Returned”. Adrian initially views himself and the other passengers as miracles, but after a fire burns down his Church, Adrian’s comes to believe that the passengers are agents of the apocalypse. When several people die in the fire, Ben Stone, the main protagonist of the show, tells his wife Grace, “the only thing the police need to focus on is finding Adrian.” Even when Grace points out that Isaiah started the fire, Ben insists that Adrian is responsible, “At the very least, Adrian created a murderer.” When Ben confronts Adrian, he says, “Well, your religion led one of your followers to murder people in a fire.” Adrian says angrily that it wasn’t his fault, he had a calling and told Isaiah his vision of a burned out airplane with dead passengers everywhere. Isaiah recreated it. In this scene, Adrian is wearing a cap covering his face. He has a bit of an accent that makes him seem more foreign. Ben replies, “No, this is on you. You created a monster by making Isaiah think we’re all immortal.” Adrian gets defensive and responds asks Ben if he’s considered that the Callings create more bad than good. As Ben and Adrian fight intensely about the meaning of the Callings, the rapid, short shots with closeups of their faces heighten the intensity of the scene. Later in the episode, Adrian says “Matthew 24:24. My dad used to quote it. ‘False prophets will arise from the dead to perform signs and wonders.” As Ben and Adrian discuss a possible dark side to the Callings, there are rapid shots of close-ups of their faces. In contrast to most of the lines that they deliver looking directly at each other, Adrian looks to the ground when he says “signs and wonders,” heightening the importance of the term and giving the audience a reason to believe that he has discovered a hidden truth. This technique is consistent with Christian Metz writing that, “In short, the connotative meaning extends over the denotative meaning, but without contradicting or ignoring it”(Metz, 2009, 73). In the scene, the camera techniques reinforce the intense emotion and the sense that Adrian may have recognized an underlying pattern the others missed.

Another character who is “othered” is Angelina, who comes to abuse her powers and threatens the Lifeboat meant to save them all. In one powerful scene, Angelina uses the powers of the omega sapphire to give Ben a fake Calling in which he sees his dead wife Grace telling him to bring Eden to her in the cemetery. Once he gets there, Grace appears to soft melodic music illuminated in a soft white light. She tells Ben to give Eden to Angelina. Grace fades away and Angelina appears. The music gets dark and ominous. Angelina points a gun at Ben and tries to convince Eden to leave with her. Ben insists that they let Eden decide who she wants to be with. As tense music plays, both Angelina and Ben try to convince Eden to choose them. The camera focuses on Eden, who chooses Ben. Drumbeats are heard, and they run away while Angelina shoots at them. Angelina grabs the omega sapphire and lets out a massive scream depicted with visible ripple in the image. The other passengers, even though they are not physically nearby, put their hands over their ears in pain from the scream, showing the passengers are all connected and with the sapphire, Angelina is extremely powerful. Passenger Vance, horrified to learn that Angelina created a fake Calling, points out that they will not know if a Calling is real or fake, and wonders what the consequences will be of misusing the Omega Sapphire.

In addition to Angelina and Adrian being “othered” for their individual actions, in some scenes, Angelina and Adrian are “othered” together. Two years after Angelina leaves the Stone’s home, Adrian gets a Calling that leads him to Angelina, and he allows her to stay at his compound. When another passenger, Donovan, who also lives with Adrian asks why he won’t let anyone upstairs, Adrian tries to hide the fact that it’s Angelina. When Donovan confronts him, the other passengers are shocked to learn that she is there because they know that she killed Grace Stone. Donovan says, “You want to be careful what you say, Adrian. To deceive God’s people is to perform signs and wonders.” Angelina then appears and when confronted by Donovan, who calls her a murderer, she threatens them with a bomb. As ominous music plays, the passengers get on the ground. Angelina declares, “Today is your day of judgment. This will be your trial by fire. My guardian angel will save those who are worthy and shepherd us towards salvation!” Adrian tries to convince her not to go through with it, “Eden is just a child, not an angel.…You don’t need more blood on your hands.” But she rejects his pleas and tries to detonate the bomb, which doesn’t go off.

One could argue that Adrian and Angelina aren’t actually being “othered,” that they are only being treated in accordance with their behavior, which reflects their actions, not their attributes. Another counter-argument would be that some of the main characters who are sympathetic like Grace and Vance are played by people of color. But the writers chose to give Adrian and Angelina more sinister, less sympathetic trajectories, while Ben Stone and Michaela, the two leading characters who are both white, are consistently depicted as heroes. 

An important symbol in the TV show is the concept of the Death Date which is similar to the notion of a new apocalyptic event described by Sonia Front, “The new time becomes the time of awaiting a subsequent build-up toward a predetermined goal: another catastrophic event, which will, this time, bring total annihilation (Front, 2021, 252).” Ben tells his family that Griffin, who also returned but wasn’t on the plane, was underwater for 82 hours and 8 minutes and his death was exactly 82 hours and 8 minutes later. Ben says the 828ers were gone for 2,037 days, and Olive says the return date, “June 2, 2024.” Olive says it’s been in front of them all along. The peacock represents the goddess Juno, June. The petrograph of the constellation showing Gemini twins represents the number 2, June 2nd. Cal’s wooden dragon represents the year of the wood dragon in the Chinese Zodiac, which is 2024. This gives an example of the type of codes and symbols that imbue the show with puzzles and many layers of meaning.

In the series finale, massive volcanoes appear all over the world. Passengers arrive at Storm King Mountain and talking amongst each other. The floor rumbles, and the plane emerges from the fissure. Michaela says everyone needs to get on the plane because it is the passengers’ version of the scales and it’s time for judgment. At the Stone house, Olive is looking through old photos and finds an inscription, which reads “forgiveness lightens the heart.” Olive finds a picture of Ben carrying a girl through a fire, who was previously thought to be Olive. Olive calls Ben and tells him the only way for him to survive his Death Date is to forgive Angelina. Ben picks Angelina up and carries her onto the plane. They are told that it is a good time to pray. The plane takes off and flies above volcanoes. Some people are having trouble breathing. Michaela thinks it’s judgment. One of Angelina’s followers bursts into flames and others do as well. Saanvi says it’ll only happen to those who deserve it, as her arm starts heating up. Saanvi heals, but fissures form in Angelina’s skin and hot red lava can be seen covering her body. In a flash, she incinerates and turns to ash. Her death resembles the volcanoes that are so prominent throughout the series. Angelina’s ashes turn into spirits that fly around the plane. A large, dark grim reaper appears. Ben and Michaela tell the grim reaper they followed every Calling and ask “isn’t that enough?” and the spirits disappear. Everything becomes silent. The volcanoes outside are gone. The apocalypse is over. Dark lightning and a bright light appear in the sky in the distance. Michaela and the captain decide to fly directly into the glow which gets brighter and brighter until the plane comes to a stop. 

Awash in bright light, the stewardess Bethany opens the door and Ben and Michaela lead the passengers out to a blinding light. They enter an airport, where Ben’s mother and Grace are waving at them. They’re back when they were supposed to have landed in 2013. People they had lost along the way are there. Cal and Olive, who can’t remember what happened, get their childhoods back. While emotional music plays, through a voiceover, Michaela says Flight 828 bound them together, changed them, and taught them how to live and what’s worth living for. The camera shows close-ups of each passenger reuniting with loved ones. Saanvi’s girlfriend is there waiting for her. Ben tells Grace that Saanvi will cure Cal’s life. Michaela runs outside and finds Zeke, who is a taxi driver. The scene zooms out to show them driving away.

(1) Metz, Christian. Film Language. In Film Theory and Criticism. 7th edition. Eds. Leo Braudy and Marshall Cohen, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009.

(2) Front, Sonia. Post-Apocalyptic Stress Disorder In The Leftovers. Studia Anglica Posnaniensia 56 (2021): 251–274. doi: 10.2478/stap-2021-0028. 

(3) Metz, Christian. Film Language. In Film Theory and Criticism. 7th edition. Eds. Leo Braudy and Marshall Cohen, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009.

 (4) Front, Sonia. Post-Apocalyptic Stress Disorder In The Leftovers. Studia Anglica Posnaniensia 56 (2021): 251–274. doi: 10.2478/stap-2021-0028.

[danae-c-y]

Out of the three shows and movies you reference, I have only seen Twilight, but similarly, the character backstory of Jasper being a Confederate soldier (and the normalization of this) did stand out. Now reading your post and understanding that this has actually been a trend in media featuring vampires, it made me rethink the rights afforded to showmakers, writers, etc. when using vampire lore. Because vampires are generally perceived to have the capability to live for hundreds of years, writers seem to have taken that and used it as a way to normalize Confederate ideals in correlation to the time period—a perspective similar to "well, they were all that way back then..." Do you think that is the main reason this trend shows up in vampire narratives specifically or is there another reason people have gravitated toward this type of monster as a way of communicating this sentiment?

@theuncannyprofessoro

Where is the true racism in True Blood?

While vampires are notoriously known for being sexy outsiders, HBO’s True Blood amps up the sexiness and takes the vampires out of the darkness and into the light of the public eye. True Blood aired in 2008 and is set in the fictional town of Bon Temps, Louisiana. The town resides in a version of the world where vampires “came out of the coffin” two years ago via “The Great Revelation” where they made their existence known to the world. They were able to do so because synthetic blood was created, called True Blood, that allows vampires to get their sustenance from it rather than needing human blood. Although vampires are now allowed to enter mainstream society now, they are not treated as equals. The American Vampire League is a political group that is lobbying to get the Vampire Rights Amendment (VRA) passed that would put an amendment in the constitution, permitting vampires to have the same rights as humans. As interesting as it is, vampire politics are not the main focus of the show and are just embedded in through references, and some TV interviews with the AVL spokesperson, Nan Flanigan. The show actually follows Sookie Stackhouse, a waitress with telepathy, who falls in love with the first vampire she meets, Vampire Bill (underwhelming name, I know), as it is only with vampires that she doesn’t worry about reading their minds. The first season of the show focuses on a murder mystery, as bodies of women who have had sex with vampires –referred to as “fangbangers”, a derogatory term– keep piling up in Bon Temps.

In the show vampires are “othered”, having parallels with Black people and Gay people in America, with the VRA being reminiscent of the Civil Rights Act and the “God Hates Fangs” image in the title sequence being reminiscent of the homophobic Westboro’s church slogan, among other things. While there’s plenty to say about these parallels and critical race theory, what I am going to analyze is the treatment of Black people in the first season of True Blood, in comparison to the new vampire minority group.

First of all, with the shows being set in the south there are mentions of The Civil War being a significant moment of history, but no outright condemnation of it. For some reason there is a trend of making vampires confederate soldiers. The Vampire Diaries did it with Damon Salvatore, Twilight with Jasper Hale, and in True Blood it is the main love interest of Bill Compton. Since Bill is a Vampire who’s been around a bit and was an original resident of Bon Temps, Sookie’s grandma presumes he was a confederate soldier. When it is confirmed, she gets excited and wants Sookie to ask him to speak at a meeting of her Civil War historical group, The Descendants of the Glorious Dead. As the title implies they’re not going to shame Bill for having fought to keep slavery, instead he is an honored speaker at their meeting, where as you can see the confederate flag also makes an appearance

The only stance he makes on his views of the war, was that he and the other soldiers didn’t understand what they were really fighting for or had a choice, which seems a bit revisionist Despite this we are meant to believe that none of the people of the town are explicitly racist towards Black people. Sookie’s grandma’s love of the confederacy isn’t a problem for Sookie’s Black best friend Tara, who sees her as more of a mother figure than her own mother. In fact, when Tara is the only one to actually acknowledge Bill’s role in the war by asking if he owned slaves–which he responds his family did!– she is the one that gets chastised for “spoiling the mood”, while Bill having owned slaves is not confronted.

This leads to a disconnect between the southern setting of the show and its treatment of Black people as all the racism has been displaced onto the Vampire race, who are mostly white. As Sabrina Boyer describes, “In Southern texts by many Southern writers, white characters tend to experience ways of becoming black, which is a recognition of a racist region, as well as a moderately progressive way to comment on racial relations within the South”[1].She argues that True Blood’s use of “white characters that embody blackness” is part of this larger Southern trend that puts racial “otherness” on white characters to confront racism. While, she does acknowledge that this is not unproblematic and makes an argument against it later on. I disagree with the initial progressive analysis of this phenomenon. White characters will never be able to actually embody Blackness and True Blood’s take on this is problematic. The attempt to show racism through “othering” vampires–again the main being a confederate soldier–- panders to white audiences and is a weak hegemonic negotiation. Especially as the show makes no references towards intersectionality with Black vampires who rarely appear. Boyer concludes, “the series, while it] attempts to counter the hegemonic forces surrounding racism in our culture, doesn't critically engage with the fact that people of color, because of their skin or when in the act of passing they are discovered, are immediately othered”[2]. Now, this statement I agree with because True Blood’s displacement of racism onto vampires takes away from actual racism. In doing so True Blood fails its two Black characters by undermining their acknowledgment of racism and putting the oppression of actual minorities below Vampires.

Overall, True Blood takes the metaphor of othering its vampire population too far when its paralleling of oppression of actual minorities takes away from legitimizing racism towards its human population. Despite its Southern setting and call backs towards confederacy, the show does not properly tackle actual racism to justify its use of those images. By not acknowledging the racism of white people towards Black people in favor of vampire othering, the show fails its Black characters and is not as complex as it could be within concepts of intersectionality.

@theuncannyprofessoro

1. Boyer, Sabrina. “‘Thou Shalt Not Crave Thy Neighbor’: ‘True Blood’, Abjection, and Otherness.” Studies in Popular Culture 33, no. 2 (2011): 21–41. http://www.jstor.org/stable/23416382. Pg. 28

2. Ibid. Pg. 36

[rachelkruglyak]

Based on your video essay, I agree that the audio and visual elements add to the experience of the show. From what I gathered, anyone who is "severed" is "othered" in a way because they can only remember one part of their life at a time, which means they can only remember plans they have made when they are either in the office or at home. The non-severed people they interact have the advantage as they are able to remember everything. This is shown when it comes to the break room, where Milchick has office members repeat lines until he believes their sincerity. Because he is not severed, he is able to tell if they are lying, which is a trait the severed members don't have. Also, your clip that showed Irving Bailiff seeing Burt with his partner, demonstrates how hard it is for relationships to exist at Lumon, since no one knows the true story of who they are.

The Semiotics of Severance

The 2022 Apple TV series, Severance, follows Mark S., an employee at Lumon Industries. There, he leads a team of workers who have agreed to be “severed,” a brain operation in which one’s memories of their personal life are nonexistent while at the office. Their workplace identities are known as “innies,” and their out of office selves are known as “outies.” In the first episode of the season, a former Lumon employee and a man commonly referred to as Mark’s workplace best friend, turns up at his sister’s house while he is staying there for dinner. He explains to Mark that he has reintegrated into society and is being hunted by Lumon. Over the course of the season, Mark begins to uncover discrepancies between what is being told and what may really be happening. This prompts him to begin digging, struggling to hide his search from those in higher positions of power, who we come to find out have not been severed, giving them the advantage outside of work. In this write up, I will analyze the ways that Severance can be viewed through the lens of both Christian Metz's work on the semiotics of film and the viewer's psychoanalytic experience, as well as Michael Godhe’s work on the idea of hope and despair in dystopian societies. I will then hone in on the unique set of semiotics that the series creates and how this structure allows the viewer to construct the complex identities of workers at Lumon, which is the focus of my corresponding video essay. 

  Semiotics is known to be the study of signs and symbols and the ways that these are then interpreted and used. In semiotics, there is a signifier, which is any material that signifies a corresponding interpretation. This includes things such as images, words, sounds, or expressions. The signified is the interpretation that follows these materials. This concept can be applied to all aspects of life and appears in every language. Over time, as individuals have grown more comfortable with the interpretations that come from the signifier, semiotics has established cultural and societal norms and a collective understanding. (1) For example, if I were to say, “I’m starving,” a large amount of the population would understand that I am not literally starving. Rather, this is a way that many individuals express a large amount of hunger. This is just one example of the many ways that semiotics play a role in language and has developed a system of norms. 

In his piece, “Film Language: Some Points in the Semiotics of the Cinema,” French film theorist, Christian Metz, explores the language of film itself and its underlying structures through the lens of semiotics. He discusses the ways that individual film creations create a series of semiotics that coincides with a viewer's experience through what is being signified from the signified itself. Metz discusses the idea of merging cinema and narrativity itself, affirming that the study of fiction allows for a more direct examination of semiotics. Metz also discusses the use of cinematic techniques and choices such as camera movements, lighting, colors, angles, sound, and the type of shot. (2) These choices give each narrative film a distinct interpretation for viewers and result in the desired feelings that creators may have envisioned. As for connotation, which plays a major role in all aesthetic languages, its significate is the literary or cinematographic “style,” “genre”...In American gangster movies where, for example, the slick pavement of the waterfront distills an impression of anxiety and hardness (significate connotation), the scene represented (dimly lit, deserted wharves, with stacks of crates and overhead cranes, the significate of denotation), and the technique of the shooting, which is dependent on the effects of lighting in order to produce a certain picture of the docks (signifier of denotation), converge to form the signifier of connotation. The same scene filmed in a different light would produce a different impression; and so would the same technique used on a different subject (for example, a child’s smiling face).” (3) A noticeable example of this in Severance, is the continuous unease that is created by the soundtrack of the show. The simple tiles and digital sounds that grow louder when stressful or rebellious situations arise in the show leaves the viewer on edge, as the characters themselves are. 

Metz furthers his discussion of film theory and semiotics in his piece, “The Imaginary Signifier: Identification, Mirror.” This work differs slightly from the previous one that I discussed, as Metz delves more into the psychoanalytic aspects and the individual viewer's experience. (4) This also largely coincides with my study of “Severance,” as the director’s choice of shots, character development, and plotline directly relates with an individual’s viewing experience and their ability to either identify or differ from the characters they see on screen. Severance is unique in its character development as the MDR workers’ identities differ inside and outside of the office. Over the course of the season, the viewer gets to know both their innie identities, as well as pieces of what their outie’s life looks like. Each character embodies qualities that viewers may be able to identify with through the “mirror” metaphor that Metz highlights. Mark is a loyal Lumon employee who is promoted in the first episode, putting him on edge as he struggles to do right by both the company and his employees. He often takes the fall for individuals throughout the series. Viewers may be able to resonate with his core values and understand his struggle to organize his priorities.    

The final scholarly literature that I will analyze “Severance” through is the work of Michael Godhe in, “Hopeful Dystopias? Figures of Hope in the Brazilian Science Fiction Series 3%.” Godhe analyzes the dystopia and the corresponding utopia that make up the show 3%. He focuses on the ways in which the series elicits hope as well as despair. He affirms that the idea of “survival of the fittest” has trickled into our society throughout history and still today. (5) I immediately noticed the engaging ways that Severance portrays hope and despair over the nine episodes. Initially, Mark’s outie is shown to have hit rock bottom, his character embodying the despair of the death of his wife and his inability to continue his life. However, throughout the season, hope trickles in in the form of his growing closeness and appreciation for Helly and her feelings, as well as the other MDRs. At the same time that his innie begins to rebel, his outie works to do the same. This portrayal of hope is guided by the possibility of a future away from the horrors of Lumon and drives Mark’s innie and outie simultaneously, despite this being unknown as a result of the procedure. Helly’s innie shows despair initially, feeling depressed and trapped at her job and the parameters of her “life.” Like Mark, when the workers begin to uncover conspiracies about Lumon, they work together and form a symbol of hope in a world that was once hopeless for them as humans. 

 The unique set of semiotics that Severance creates both subverts and upholds our traditional associations and norms. I argue in my video essay that it is the literal language of many of the scenes at Lumon that subverts our traditional associations, and it is more the cinematographic choices made throughout the series that uphold our traditional associations of unease and fear. However, both of these factors of the show contribute to the identities of the four Lumon workers and how they represent ‘othering’ in society. Severance immediately subverts our traditional norms and assumptions, most largely through the language of certain scenes in Severance, which I hone in on in the video essay. The main examples of this subversion occurs throughout the office, as the viewer comes to realize that things like “the break room” or “wellness checks,” do not have the typical meaning that we may have previously associated. The series reaffirms our traditional associations through the soundtrack, as it conveys the tone of certain scenes, as well as the shots and the ways that these allow the viewer to understand each character’s feelings. 

(1)Saussure, Ferdinand de, Charles Bally, Albert Sechehaye, and Wade Baskin. Course in general linguistics. London: Peter Owen, 1960.

(2)Braudy, Professor Leo, Cohen Professor Emeritus Marshall, and Christian Metz. “Film Language: Some Points in the Semiotics of Cinema .” Essay. In Film Theory and Criticism: Introductory Readings. New York: Oxford University Press Inc, 2016. 

(3)Braudy et al., “Film Language,” 67,68.

(4) Braudy, Professor Leo, Cohen Professor Emeritus Marshall, and Christian Metz . “The Imaginary Signifier .” Essay. In Film Theory and Criticism: Introductory Readings. New York: Oxford University Press Inc, 2016. 

(5) Godhe , Michael. “Hopeful Dystopias? Figures of Hope in the Brazilian Science Fiction Series 3%,” n.d. Accessed December 12, 2023. 

@theuncannyprofessoro

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