Category: Movies & TV

Girls & Gossip

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Featured, Movies & TV, Uncategorized

by Isa Meyers //

This piece was originally published in Issue 1: Secret Edition (Spring 2022). To see past print publications, click here.

We are a generation raised on secrets. In an age where trends come and go as quickly as a few weeks on social media, millennials and Gen Z have become quick to distinguish themselves from one another. Gen Z wears mom jeans while millennials wear skinny jeans. Gen Z middle part their hair, millennials side part. Both generations, however, remain the same in the sense that technology has played pivotal roles in their adolescence. I’m not saying that technology has played the same role, but technology has been used by both cultivate and unleash secrets. And in this way, I turn millennials and Gen Z’ers into a “we.”

Oftentimes, what we think is private is actually public.

Technology and social media straddle a fine line between private and public. Oftentimes, what we think is private is actually public. Think: having a private account on Instagram with personalized ads (ie. having a private account that is still accessing all of the information on your phone to sell you something). This divide between private and public is meant to make the user feel as though they are in control of their personal information, when in reality, their technological footprint is accessible and permanently stored. Even Snapchat, which is marketed for its ephemerality, has ways for people to save chat messages or view stories for 24 hours. In other words, secrets exist in spite of (but also because of) social media.

The utilization of technology has drastically changed in the past two decades. I think of my older sister, a 2009 high school grad, who messaged on AIM with her friends: an account that required no authentication. I, on the other hand, texted. She was also a MySpace user before transitioning to FaceBook, whereas I have used neither. I have a Facebook that is checked maybe once a year.

She laughs at me when I take so long to choose a picture to post on Instagram, and I laugh at her when she doesn’t understand the latest TikTok trend.

What remains the same, however, is the threat of privacy. Amidst my sister’s AIM messages and my texts/Snaps are secrets of all kinds. Gossip, fake rumors, swear words, boys, and booze. The secrets are endless. Why is it, though, that we feel safe to talk about these secrets in online spaces? Don’t we all have some awareness of their digital permanence? Maybe most importantly, how does digital space reinscribe binary notions of gender?

the current usage of technology and social media positions young women as inherently threatened by the digital world and the secrets they entrust it with. Technology, secrets, and girlhood become intertwined.

When technology becomes so entrenched in our lives, it makes sense that we come to trust it with our secrets, more so than our parents and their parents’ generations. In addition, the current usage of technology and social media positions young women as inherently threatened by the digital world and the secrets they entrust it with. Technology, secrets, and girlhood become intertwined. Because the traditional gendered expectations of girlhood include being emotive, non-confrontational, and physically weaker, girls and gossip become inseparable in media’s depiction of adolescence and female friendship. Technology and social media have become so prominent in the lives of Millennial and Gen-Z female teenagers that gossiping and rumor spreading have become second nature. Thus, secrets threaten the private and personal lives of girls, when in reality we all harbor secrets, regardless of gender identification.

Secrets, for young girls, have become poisonous; they can become a girl’s downfall. Adults will often look upon these secrets and their wreckage with no pity, if she didn’t want people to know, why text it? Why did she Snap that picture if she wasn’t okay with other people, besides the receiver, seeing it? When the privacy of girls is threatened, people wonder what precautions she could have taken. This assumes her to be inherently in the wrong, erasing the need for accountability from technology platforms and abusers alike. Girls, then, are not worthy of sympathy, rather they are the creators of their own destruction. These notions deny young girls the complexity they deserve in relation to their gender expressions and their intersections to adolescence. The secrets they contain are no different than the secrets of young boys, yet boyhood affords boys privacy.

These issues remain pertinent when looking to popular culture as a blueprint for policing girlhood and reinscribing gender norms.

You Know You Love Me…

We all can hear Kristen Bell’s iconic voice narrating the intro to The CW’s Gossip Girl (developed and produced by Josh Schwartz and Stephanie Savage). The 2007-2012 teen drama is based off of Cecily von Ziegasar’s fictional series of the same name. It stars Blake Lively as the beautiful “It Girl” Serena van der Woodsen with Leighton Meester playing her best friend Blair Waldorf, the Queen Bee. The two attend the Constance Billard School for Girls, a wealthy prep school on the Upper East Side. What marks Gossip Girl as different from other teen dramas during the early 2000s is the omniscient narrator that goes by “Gossip Girl.” She runs a gossip blog that sends out regular “blasts” about Serena, Blair, Dan (played by Penn Badgely), Jenny (Taylor Momsen), Nate (Chace Crawford), Chuck (Ed Westwick), among others. Gossip Girl hears all, sees all, and publicly tells all. The series revolves primarily about the drama between Serena, her classmates, and their wealthy families while Gossip Girl remains a narrative device that often steps in to aid the progression of an episode’s plot. Her identity remains masked and irrelevant until the series’ end when it is revealed that Dan has been Gossip Girl the entire time.

While all characters have the spotlight shined on their secrets, these blasts primarily target Serena and Blair, and when coming from Dan, it’s impossible to view these targeted attacks without considering the roles femininity and masculinity play. Dan’s attacks on himself (as a way to divert attention from Gossip Girl’s true identity), then, become calculated, whereas his attacks on the show’s front running ladies often degrade and belittle in the name of their femininity.

Gossip Girl’s real identity as a man creates much more harmful implications for the show’s girls seeing as the show’s viewership is largely young female teenagers.

In Season 1, Episode 13, Gossip Girls posts: “Looks like the Virgin Queen isn’t as pure as she pretended to be. [If Blair Waldorf lied about that, what else might she be lying about?] Who’s your Daddy, B? Baby Daddy that is? Two guys in one week? Talk about doing the nasty, or should I say being nasty?” While Gossip Girl’s blasts about sex and other intimate secrets are not just contained to the show’s female characters (Chuck, Nate, and Dan’s sex lives are also publicized without their consent), Gossip Girl’s real identity as a man creates much more harmful implications for the show’s girls seeing as the show’s viewership is largely young female teenagers. In Season 1, Episode 16 Gossip Girl writes: “Breaking News: Asher Hornsby overheard bragging that Little J swiped her V card at his register. Didn’t anyone teach you, Little J? You shouldn’t give way the ending if you want him to pick up the book again.” And in Season 4, Episode 5, Gossip Girl blasts: “This just in. Looks like you can take the girl out of the party but not the party out of the girl. Rumor has it our favorite blonde could be spreading more than just good cheer. And if it’s true, then there’s a test out there a few of you might not be able to pass. Does SVW have an STD… !?”

The sex lives of Serena, Blair, and Jenny are used against them. If they didn’t want Gossip Girl to tell the entire Upper East Side, they shouldn’t have had sex (or even give off the appearance of having sex), they shouldn’t act promiscuously, and most importantly, they should stay virgins. The comedic relief paired with this drama seeks to satirize the show, its characters, and the role of Gossip Girl. However, this merely obscures the fact that Dan commits acts of sexual harassment
and violence throughout all six seasons. While he never physically is involved with this violence, his constant exposing of the series’ leading girls, true or not, threatens their reputations, mental health, and lives. Their secrets and rumors come to haunt them, as a result of Dan’s complex relationship with his masculinity and inability to fit in socially at St. Jude’s, the sister school to Constance. And he is able to achieve this policing of the female characters through his use of social media.

Gossip Girl and its portrayal of young girls, technology, and secrets remains pertinent as the series just got rebooted by HBO Max in 2021. Despite having all new characters, the show takes place in the original world. While receiving mixed reviews, this reboot indicates that girls can never escape their past, their secrets. Over a decade later, Gossip Girl still runs the show, pulling strings as though they are entitled to someone else’s secrets, someone else’s life.

XOXO.

Works Cited

Anderson, Felecia D. “A Thin Line Between Chuck and Nate.” Gossip Girl, season 1, episode 13, The CW, 9 Jan. 2009.

Hull, Robby. “Goodbye, Columbia.” Gossip Girl, season 4, episode 5, The CW, 11 Oct. 2010.

Sciarrotta, Paul. “All About My Brother.” Gossip Girl, season 1, episode 13, The CW, 5 May 2008.

The Glasses Off Makeover Trope

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Movies & TV, Opinion, Pop Culture

by Aditi Hukerikar //

We’ve all seen it in at least one movie. The awkward, nerdy girl realizes the lack of attention towards her, especially from the men in her life, and decides to drastically change her looks. She takes off her glasses, puts on more makeup, and suddenly, everyone around her notices how gorgeous she is.  

Listen, I love the Princess Diaries movies, but Mia’s iconic makeover by Paolo in the first film is the epitome of this problematic trope. Paolo breaks her glasses (after Mia mentions that she doesn’t enjoy wearing contacts) and Mia’s curly hair is straightened during her transition from unlikeable geek to a gorgeous princess. A turning point for her character in the film, Mia’s new looks quickly catch the attention of her crush Josh and eventual love interest Michael, sending the message that Mia’s looks were what was standing in the way of her and the men she wanted to be with.

Now, discussing the issues with naturally curly hair being labelled as ugly compared to straight hair could take up its own article; straight hair tends to be associated with Eurocentric beauty standards, and though Mia and other curly-haired protagonists may be white, young BIPOC girls will still see scenes like this and start to feel that their ethnic hair texture is less beautiful than straight hair. I certainly thought so when I was a child watching these movies. But let’s look towards the role of the glasses in these scenes and how girls who wear them, according to certain pieces of media, become less attractive because of their desire to see clearly. 

women in movies are constantly changing their looks in order to better appeal to the men in their stories. And while many times, the made-over woman realizes in the end that she didn’t need the man to be happy after all, she still retains her new look throughout the course of the film.

The Princess Diaries is certainly not the only example of this trope; women in movies are constantly changing their looks in order to better appeal to the men in their stories. And while many times, the made-over woman realizes in the end that she didn’t need the man to be happy after all, she still retains her new look throughout the course of the film. So even though this character decides that she isn’t going to focus on adjusting her looks to look attractive for a man in the film, she must still look appealing to the audience, and that includes keeping her glasses off. These makeover scenes are a clear illustration of Laura Mulvey’s cinematic theory of the male gaze: essentially, the camera itself takes on the perspective of a heterosexual man, leading to the sexualization of the women on-screen. Even in movies marketed towards young girls, such as The Princess Diaries, the male gaze promotes beauty standards that the characters must follow, and when those standards include ditching a pair of glasses, young girls who wear glasses start to associate the objects that help them see with being less beautiful.

Taking a Closer Look at Glasses

In 2018, the Vision Council reported that an estimated 164 million adults wore glasses in the United States, and even more wore some type of corrective vision. So why is removing glasses such a common movie trope? Despite how frequently you’d see someone wearing glasses in your daily life, it’s not very common for film or television protagonists to have them on. 

It’s worth noting that oftentimes, glasses can be seen as a sign of intelligence. So what does it say about the message of these films when a woman removes her glasses to become more beautiful? Teen movies especially end up typecasting characters who are women as either smart and unattractive or attractive and unintelligent.

It’s worth noting that oftentimes, glasses can be seen as a sign of intelligence. So what does it say about the message of these films when a woman removes her glasses to become more beautiful? Teen movies especially end up typecasting characters who are women as either smart and unattractive or attractive and unintelligent. There shouldn’t be an expectation for women to choose between being attractive and being intelligent; really, someone’s appearance shouldn’t comment on their intelligence at all. But if movies continue to utilize tropes and archetypes that reinforce imagined dichotomies, the danger of these tropes will grow.

Blurring The Lines Between Cinema and Reality

We shouldn’t be sending the message to young girls that they need to change aspects of their appearance to be considered beautiful, especially when the metric of beauty is set at male attention. Sadly, this is exactly the message sent when the makeover trope appears yet again and has a woman on-screen remove her glasses in an attempt to become more attractive.

When movies targeted towards younger audiences use these tropes, they promote ideas that could impact how children see themselves. As someone who started wearing glasses in first grade and had characteristically bushy hair for most of my life, seeing this nerd-girl-turned-gorgeous trope—in which a girl whose appearance wasn’t too different from mine was constantly the one in the ugly “before” photo—certainly impacted my self esteem. If I had seen more characters who didn’t have to take their glasses off or otherwise change their appearance to become well-lied by their peers, it’s likely that I would have felt a little better about myself back then. 

We shouldn’t be sending the message to young girls that they need to change aspects of their appearance to be considered beautiful, especially when the metric of beauty is set at male attention. Sadly, this is exactly the message sent when the makeover trope appears yet again and has a woman on-screen remove her glasses in an attempt to become more attractive. It’s no secret that the characters we see in our favorite movies or television shows have an impact on us, especially when we’re young and impressionable. Therefore, it’s essential for popular media to ensure that women on-screen removing their glasses isn’t associated with a significant change in their attractiveness.

Looking to The Future, Is There Hope?

As opposed to the simple archetypes of the past, more women in films today are written as complex, interesting characters. Still, I could not tell you the last time I saw a woman who was a main character in a popular movie wearing glasses. Fortunately, there does appear to be change in sight: when I saw the trailer for Encanto, an animated film in which the main character Mirabelle is wearing glasses, I was thrilled to finally see a woman on-screen who keeps her glasses on. Let’s hope this change also continues with live action films in the near future.

“You” Season 3: Yet Another Representation of the White Male Gaze

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Movies & TV, Opinion, Pop Culture

by Isa Meyers //

The third season of Netflix’s thriller series You was released in October 2021. The season’s mere 10 episodes document the manipulative and murderous Joe Goldberg (played by Penn Badgley of Gossip Girl) alongside his equally violent wife Love Quinn (played by Victoria Pedretti) as they struggle to raise their son in the fictional Bay Area suburb Madre Linda. While this season received critical praise and a whopping 96% on Rotten Tomatoes (a higher score than both the first and second seasons), this next installment in the series involves largely the same themes and plot points: secret obsession, lots of sex, and murder. 

A Problematic Point of View: The White Male Gaze

Ultimately, despite being entertaining, You’s third season does little to confront the liminal perspective of Joe. In turn, the series perpetuates the undeniably white male gaze found in popular film and TV. Through silly gimmicks and satire, You attempts to be seen as “woke,” when, in reality, it merely tells the “tragic” story of yet another white man.

Joe is a perfect definition of an unreliable narrator. However, what makes the audience sit on the edge of their seats are not the bloody ax swings or the crime scene clean-ups, but rather the psyche of Joe. Using the second person point of view to address the audience as though they are the woman he’s currently obsessed with, Joe establishes a sense of narrative intimacy with each viewer. Additionally, while the real viewer may hate Joe and see him for his monstrous self, Joe’s character has control of this narration, which inherently positions the series to be seen from the white male gaze.

White Masculinity & Extremity

The intention of giving Joe this power is for the audience to feel as though they are in on it—as though they, too, are implicated in the countless murders of Madre Linda residents. This is for entertainment’s sake, but it also appeals to other “Joes” and their perspectives to make it feel as though the show is offering an astute critique of white masculinity. Joe is meant to give the audience a sense of superiority. You’s showrunner Sera Gamble states in an interview with New Musical Express Magazine that: 

Joe’s extremity offers viewers respite of knowing that we are not like him, that we don’t kill for love. 

“We’re just interested in being deeply in the point of view of this guy, because we’re trying to explore, whether in the misapprehensions that [viewers] detect, what are the things that he believes. Coupled with the unique propensity for crossing lines that are part of this particular character. A lot of us might be really screwed up about love, but most of us don’t go out and kill about it. So [Joe’s] just the most extreme example, which is what makes it interesting to explore.” 

Joe’s extremity offers viewers respite of knowing that we are not like him, that we don’t kill for love. 

The average viewer does not watch You because they sympathize with Joe. But his positioning as not only the protagonist but also as the narrator reproduces yet another fabled story. Cristina Escobar writes for Medium, “We get too much media from the white devil’s perspective—we don’t need more.”

The Danger of White Femininity 

Additionally, Joe’s white masculinity co-constructs something equally as harmful: the image of the delicate white woman. Escobar argues that love interest Beck (played by Elizabeth Lail) of Season 1 and Love capitalize on their fragility as white women, stating, “What these white girls have in common is the shared understanding of the preciousness of their femininity. They both see themselves as something to be protected, particularly by the men in their lives.” Beck allows Joe to protect her, and as Escobar puts it, ignores the mysteriously strange things occurring in her life to be loved. Love, on the other hand, uses “her femininity as a shield—both to avoid becoming a murder suspect as a teen and later to avoid Joe’s violence, thanks to the embryo growing inside her.” While Love proves to be Joe’s murderous match, her femininity allows for her to evade accountability. 

It is not until this third season that we are introduced to Joe’s first obsession of color. While he dated Karen Minty, a black woman, in Season 1, he never grew obsessed with her in the same way he violently stalked Beck, Candace, Love, and (briefly at the start of the new season) his white next-door neighbor Natalie. Then comes Marienne (portrayed by Tati Gabrielle): the sexy, haunted, intelligent, artist and head librarian at Madre Linda’s public library. To Joe and the audience, Marienne is a breath of fresh air in a white suburban nightmare. 

You Season 3’s Virtue Signaling 

The gimmicks deployed by You serve to distract the audience from the realities of Joe. They allow viewers to believe the show is making these vastly edgy social and political statements in the name of denouncing the very thing they’ve created: another white male narrative.

While each season of You grapples with issues such as selfishness, toxic masculinity, social media, consumer culture, and what it means to connect with someone in the 21st century, its third season uses its mass viewership to call out vaccine skeptics and the media’s “missing white woman syndrome.” In its third episode titled “Missing White Woman Syndrome,” Joe talks about the ‘missing’ Natalie with Marienne and coworker Dante (played by Ben Mehl). Dante comments “Madre Linda has her own missing white woman,” to which Marienne responds: “Missing white woman syndrome is America’s favorite pastime next to porn.” Joe asks what this syndrome is, and remarks “Well, the media has a thirst for anything salacious, right?” Both Marienne and Dante cringe at his comment, informing him that he completely misunderstands what the message of this syndrome sends to women of color. In the words of Marienne, “White ladies deserve to be rescued. The rest of us can fend for ourselves.”

While calling attention to how the media disproportionately cares for the lives of white women helps to engage the audience in a relevant social issue, You does so only to pat itself on the back. Rather than seriously confronting what Joe’s role is in perpetuating white masculinity’s violence and white femininity’s fragility, the show uses buzzwords as a “Get Out of Jail Free” card. 

In this same episode, Love and Joe’s baby develops measles due to an anti-vaxx family in the community. The father of the unvaccinated children (Gil) approaches Love to apologize for causing the outbreak. He ultimately tells her that they “don’t believe in subjecting [their] kids to toxic injections they don’t need.” Love retaliates by hitting him over the head with a rolling pin before locking him away in their basement cage for all their murder victims. Set in a post-COVID reality, this season attempts to bring light to the dangers of anti-vaxx beliefs but only as a plot point to advance the series. Gil eventually takes his own life in the holding cell, allowing Joe and Love to use his suicide as a way to cover up Love’s murder of Natalie.

The gimmicks deployed by You serve to distract the audience from the realities of Joe. They allow viewers to believe the show is making these vastly edgy social and political statements in the name of denouncing the very thing they’ve created: another white male narrative.

Final Sentiments

Netflix’s third season of You certainly lives up to the gory expectations of its preceding seasons. Should you watch it? Yes, if only to keep up with the influx of memes, Tik Toks, and Tweets about it. Should you also think critically about which voices and stories this show chooses to showcase? Yes.

Sex Education Season Three: Gendered Difference in Character Development

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Movies & TV, Pop Culture

by Hanna Carney //

The Netflix original Sex Education has been getting a lot of praise for its depiction of sex-positivity and its empowerment of teenagers and adults since Season One was released. Sex Education Season Three was recently released on September 17 2021, and its fan base remains enthusiastic about the series. The show revolves around Otis Milburn (Asa Butterfield) as he navigates high school, relationships, and sex. Otis, whose mother is a sex therapist (Gillian Anderson), forms a complicated friendship with Maeve Wiley. Together, they start a small business at their school, educating their peers (and the audience) on sex positivity, safe sex practices, and more. 

Although Otis and Maeve are the respectable main characters, the gems of this season were a few side characters: Adam Groff (Connor Swindells) and Ruby Matthews (Mimi Keene). It’s a running joke online that these two carried Sex Education this season. Adam, a bully-turned-sweetheart, is the boyfriend of Eric Effiong, Otis’ best friend. Ruby, one of the popular girls at Moordale Secondary School, is the fleeting love interest of Otis. We see these characters grow throughout Sex Education Season Three, and we come to forgive them for their shortcomings in earlier seasons. 

However, there is a key difference in the way these characters develop and “carry the season.” The directors give Adam more agency in his character arc, while the directors expect our sympathy for Ruby to draw from her relationships with men. Despite Sex Education’s feminist efforts to be inclusive of all identities, misogyny still pervades some of their plot lines—particularly Ruby’s.

However, there is a key difference in the way these characters develop and “carry the season.” The directors give Adam more agency in his character arc, while the directors expect our sympathy for Ruby to draw from her relationships with men. Despite Sex Education’s feminist efforts to be inclusive of all identities, misogyny still pervades some of their plot lines—particularly Ruby’s.

Adam’s Agency and Growth 

Adam starts out Season One as the school bully. He had an unhappy home life with a cold father. He would actually beat up his now-boyfriend Eric regularly until he realized and accepted his attraction for Eric. The directors offer up Adam’s complicated homelife and discomfort with his sexuality as an explanation for his outrage, and the directors hope we accept this explanation. Sex Education Season 3 was dangerously close to employing the toxic enemies-to-lovers trope and glorifying bullying. Remember Kurt Hummel and David Karofsky on Glee? Or, Mindy Krenshaw and Josh Nichols on Drake and Josh? But Sex Education’s deptiction of the bully turned romantic partner is slightly more thoughtful than these other shows. Alan Sepinwall writes in Rolling Stone,

 I’ve now mostly let go of my frustration that he [Eric] was paired off with Adam, who was introduced in Season One as a bully who relentlessly tormented Eric. Their stories this year, both together and apart, work very well. 

Overall, he overcomes his masculine outrage from Season One by accepting his identity as a gay man and working to grow as a person. Adam has our admiration, and we accept him with open arms. 

Fast forward two seasons later, and Adam comes across as an endearing young man with a kind heart. He cares deeply for his boyfriend Eric, writes him poetry, and tries harder in school. The fact that Eric forgives Adam helps us forgive him, too. And, if that doesn’t have audience members convinced, you can’t forget the scene where Eric does Adam’s makeup and Adam responds, “I look quite pretty.” Seeing Adam embrace femininity warms our hearts and seals the deal.

https://www.tiktok.com/@orenndaa/video/7009860869299391745?_d=secCgYIASAHKAESPgo8GdZDoe0SMGBEgZuG5agJ5YP1Ksu3cuvfKAhhBK0AH2WUBhI0Jw4JS%2Fgr0Og56Hkq%2FFV5fzERuAZwUZCxGgA%3D&checksum=e8e27a3d89fbfcfcfbff3bae689cefa10ade7c0082e4b6d0001c83bf72b2316a&language=en&preview_pb=0&sec_user_id=MS4wLjABAAAASxSFa7crZ5KemW4sElkBRlhFOJexCTh9h_4wqkZAkNK699ftTL8FmwbjKVGqGcDN&share_app_id=1233&share_item_id=7009860869299391745&share_link_id=BF9D53C4-02E7-436F-8904-1BC5A282B1D8&source=h5_m&timestamp=1634325947&tt_from=copy&u_code=dbeh9h56iejce5&user_id=6807594720920781830&utm_campaign=client_share&utm_medium=ios&utm_source=copy&_r=1

Like Sepinwall writes in Rolling Stone, the fact that Eric’s and Adam’s stories work “both together and apart” is a key element in Adam’s agency. He has a story outside of his boyfriend, and Adam puts in the effort to improve himself. He asks his teachers for help, practices sharing his feelings, etc. Overall, he overcomes his masculine outrage from Season One by accepting his identity as a gay man and working to grow as a person. Adam has our admiration, and we accept him with open arms. 

A Female Character’s Story Dependent on Men 

There’s another character that the directors clearly want us to sympathize with and accept—Ruby. Like Adam, Ruby also has a complex character arc. She’s one of the stereotypical popular, “mean girls” at school, and eventually the show presents her as an independent person that knows her worth. The directors want us to forgive Ruby like we did Adam. However, the directors don’t assign her agency as she grows as a character. Instead, her growth is contingent on her relationships with men.

Adam has a story “together and apart” from Eric. Ruby seems to only have a story “together” with Otis. The season opens by focusing on Otis and Ruby’s casual relationship. Ruby is embarrassed of her sexual relationship with him and spends much of Sex Education Season Three trying to change Otis—his behaviors, his clothing, etc. She is also standoffish about him going over to her house. The directors were purposeful in having the audience wait to find out why Ruby is acting this way.

“Tough Girl with a Soft Heart” Cliché 

Then, comes the “big reveal”—Ruby comes from a middle-class household, and her father has MS. How do the directors want us to feel about this? It seems like the directors are playing with a common trope: the beautiful, popular girl with a tough exterior has a secret to make us pity her—suddenly we see she has a heart. But in reality, living in a middle class household or having a close family member with an illness or disability is a normal thing. Why make her father’s experience central to her character? It seems like it should be more his story than hers. 

To make it worse, the directors seem to lose interest in Ruby’s character once Otis breaks up with her. She doesn’t really get a story of her own.

Immediately after this scene comes the vulnerable moment when Ruby tells Otis she loves him… and he doesn’t say it back. As much as we may feel for Ruby and her rejection, the directors over-emphasize her father’s role in this sympathy. They chose to place this scene directly after Otis meets Ruby’s father. As the directors imply, it is a big deal that she is sharing a secret part of her life with Otis, so we should feel even worse for Ruby. But I would argue that we should admire Ruby for other reasons—her confidence, her humor, and her ability to stand up to people. It’s a pity that the directors over-emphasize her relationships with men.

To make it worse, the directors seem to lose interest in Ruby’s character once Otis breaks up with her. She doesn’t really get a story of her own. We are expected to sympathize with her and move on. Her father’s disease and her relationship with Otis takes up too much space in her narrative.

Gender Differences in Character Arc 

@winterstxrk

best character development with them <3 #fyp #rubymatthews #adamgroff

♬ original sound – amber

It’s interesting that with Adam, we get to sympathize with his character for his personal struggles and his agency in overcoming them. For Ruby, the female character, we are expected to sympathize with her because of her association with men and their struggles. This pattern of giving male characters more agency than others is getting a bit old, don’t you think?

Sex Education did an amazing job in Season Three in its representation of all kinds of identities. We saw more non-binary representation, disabled individuals as love interests, and more. However, they fell a bit short when it came to Ruby’s character development. Let’s hope that if Season Four is in the works, the directors will give Ruby more space in the show’s narrative as she deserves.

Hulu’s Normal People: A Refreshing Depiction of Sex and Consent

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Movies & TV, Pop Culture

by Hanna Carney //

A lot of the sex we watch on TV is unrealistic: it’s always impractical, equally mind-blowing for the characters, or even violent just for entertainment value. While it is true that shows such as Sex Education, a Netflix series that supports sex positivity, depicts endearingly awkward sex scenes, oftentimes this awkwardness is overemphasized for comedic effect. One thing that Hulu’s Normal People does well is that it demonstrates consent as something that doesn’t have to be an awkward formality, but something normal—sexy, even.

Normal People is the television adaptation of Salley Rooney’s novel of the same title. The story follows Marianne (Daisy Edgar-Jones) and Collen (Paul Mescal) as they navigate their relationship, sex, socio-economic boundaries, academia, and adulthood. The audience gets to see them progress from immature and lost high school students, unsure of how to love one another, to successful graduate students who become confident in their relationship. When I first watched the show last summer, I absolutely loved it. And not because I fell in love with Marianne’s intelligence or Connell’s gentle disposition. It was because it portrayed sex realistically and normalized consent, making me—the viewer—more comfortable with watching the show. 

When Connell and Marianne first have sex together, they keep an open dialogue to ensure that they both continuously consent to the interaction. Each step of the way, they ask each other, “is that good?” and “is that what you want?” and so on. Also, Marianne chooses to share with Connell that this will be her first time having sex, and he responds with an assuredness that “it won’t be awkward” if she wants to stop at any time. And I was convinced—it wouldn’t be awkward. Why do people discuss consent as if it’s a formality? A drag? An interruption? Normal People successfully normalizes consent by fluidly interlacing consent throughout sex scenes with the understanding that consent is ongoing and should be an integral part of sex. Some other scenes show how consent can be an enjoyable part of sex as well.

Later in the season when Marianne and Connel are well into their relationship, Marianne explicitly expresses to Connell that she would like it if he did whatever he wanted with her sexually. Marianne tells him that they can have sex “however [he wants]” and “whenever [he wants].” She asks, “Do you like hearing me say that?” and Connell responds, “Yeah, a lot.” This scene exemplifies how consent can be pleasurable. Marianne likes the idea of letting Connell do as he pleases, and he likes to hear her say it. However, Normal People is smart to represent how consent can be withdrawn at any moment. 

During this same scene, Marianne asks Connell if he would hit her, and Connell says, “I don’t think I want that. Is that okay?” When Marianne doesn’t respond, he asks if she wants to stop, and she nods her head, so they stop. Here, some of the nuances of consent are depicted. At one moment, Marianne consents to Connell doing “whatever,” but Connell does not consent to hitting her. Then, he asks if she would like to stop, and she withdraws her former consent. One thing I liked about this scene was it showed consent in a multifaceted way; consent must come from everyone involved, and there is not always a complete overlap in consent. In other words, we may not always consent to the same activities at the same time. Moreover, I appreciated that one of the people who did not feel comfortable consenting was a man. The media often only depicts women as the ones who refuse sex (if depicting consent at all), implying that men are sex-driven creatures who would simply be happy to fuck. But Normal People emphasizes consent as important for all parties involved.

In a post #METOO society where men are afraid of being accused of sexual assault, the concept of consent has been morphed by the patriarchy. All too often, men see it as a way to protect themselves, like a form of insurance, as if asking their sexual partner to sign a contract (i.e. if you give me an explicit yes, you can’t hold any of this against me). But consent should be about actively ensuring the safety and well-being of yourself and your partner(s) in a sexual encounter, which is what this show portrays so well. You’re going to want to watch Normal People on Hulu if you’re looking for a refreshingly real, heartbreaking, feminist, and honest story to binge and adore.

Bridgerton: A Feminism Nightmare?

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Movies & TV, Pop Culture

by Leio Koga

*Warning: Spoilers Ahead*

Britain, 1813: It’s cuffing season, ladies.

Prudence Featherington is breathing shallowly, eyes scrunched in pain each time the corset of her empire waist dress is laced tighter and tighter around her body. Her mother, ignorant of her daughter’s obvious pain, exclaims “I was able to squeeze my waist into the size of an orange and a half when I was Prudence’s age!” For Prudence’s sake, I hope that they had some large oranges in 1800s British society. But on a more serious note, this opening scene in Bridgerton—a dazzling, steamy, and problematic Netflix show that has gained popularity since its release in December 2020—demonstrates the trajectory of what we see in the rest of the episodes: the objectification of women, traditional gender roles, blatant sexism, and an overall lack of diversity. 

The representation of intersectional feminism in the show is lacking, to say the least.

The representation of intersectional feminism in the show is lacking, to say the least. The female lead is a white, heterosexual woman named Daphne Bridgerton, who comes from a class family ranked very high in the social and economic ladder. The show throws characters of color, but their contextualization and story arch only seem to support the narrative of white characters. However, I do not want to completely disregard the fact that this show takes place in the early 1800s, where the values of intersectional feminism were not prominent in society to begin with. Typically, shows taking place during this particular era do not include characters of color, and thus Bridgerton’s inclusion of several black characters seems progressive. Which is strange, considering that the Regency Era was more diverse than you would think. The problem here is how the characters, particularly the black women, are once again being used to bolster white characters’ narratives that have been at the center of most films and TV shows. While Bridgerton may have sought to include more racial diversity by having several characters of color in their storyline, what is blatantly obvious is that all of these characters of color were consistently made the object of heartbreak, loss, and disappointment. Let me list some examples from the show: Marina’s lover, the father of her child, Sir George, dies and she is forced into marriage with his brother; Queen Charlotte’s loss of her child; and Simon’s mother dying in childbirth. Is it a coincidence that these characters all happen to be black women?

 I’m going to say no. 

This wouldn’t be a critique of the show if I didn’t point out the objectification of women and the patriarchy. Again, I recognize that this is the 1800s and society wasn’t as progressive as it is now (although modern society still has lots of work to do), but why did they have to portray women in such a demeaning way? Honestly, it’s tiring to watch women constantly being objects of oppression—of sex, inequality, and marriage. Let’s start with one of the most problematic themes: the objectification of the female reproductive system and function. Many of the young girls, including Daphne, don’t know what their period is; they don’t know how a woman becomes pregnant and they have no knowledge of sexual empowerment because it is expected only from women to abstain from sex until marriage. And we see what happens when a woman does have sex before marriage: Marina is depicted to have a “condition,” and this becomes a rather unnecessarily large part of her development as a character. Next, and arguably more problematic, was the scene where Daphne manipulated Simon into impregnating her, despite his vocal unwillingness to have children. These two contrasting scenes not only present a racial issue– a white, high-class woman raping a black man as punishment for his silence — but absolutely destroys the idea of feminism in terms of women’s sexuality. Daphne’s pregnancy is celebrated, but Marina’s causes her to be even more of an outcast than she already was. In other words, these scenes display that sexuality is only accepted in certain contexts.

Men in the show, and men today, are encouraged and praised for having as much sex as possible…

Ah, Miss Marina Thompson. I could write a whole separate article on her story and how many injustices she faces throughout the show. Her story is the only representation of a Black woman’s courting experience — and if you’ve seen the show, you know how it ends. If you haven’t seen the show, well, I’ll break it down for you in one sentence: she finds out she’s pregnant, tries to terminate her pregnancy, fails, and is compelled to enter a loveless marriage in order to protect herself and her baby. Marina understands what will happen to her if she doesn’t marry—it was one of the many oppressive standards built by patriarchy—but realizes early on in the show that if she doesn’t cuff a man, she’s basically doomed. Her storyline comments on double standards that have trickled down into modern-day society; namely, the way sex is viewed differently based on gender. Men in the show, and men today, are encouraged and praised for having as much sex as possible—Daphne’s brother, Anthony, sleeps around to his pleasure, and no one says anything or looks down on him for doing so. And yet, the women of Bridgerton literally don’t even know what sex is. Obviously, today, people are generally educated on this topic, but we still see women being put down for being sexy or having sex, while males having sex is associated with being cool. It is undeniable that there is still a negative stigma around women and sex, and we were reminded of that in Bridgerton. The show had high potential to include important discussions about race and gender, and I hope Season 2 provokes more conversations and reflections about the backdrop of society in the 1800s, whether that’s from a modern perspective or reflecting on what the Regency Era was like in terms of race and gender. Speaking of race and gender, the race-baiting and queer-baiting needs to be addressed: to the writers of the show, if you’re going to claim and portray the show as diverse, then we expect you to fulfill that promise! Let’s consider using characters from all different backgrounds—whether that’s physical or something more internal—and allowing viewers to educate ourselves about the historical context of society during this time.

Depicting Sexual Violence in Television

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Movies & TV, Opinion, Pop Culture

by Aditi Hukerikar //

Trigger Warning: This article contains mentions and descriptions of sexual assault. Please read with caution.

Disclaimer(05/2021): This article was written before season four of The Handmaid’s Tale and the events that occur in that season’s plot.

The CDC reports that in the United States, over 1 in 3 women and 1 in 4 men have experienced sexual violence in their lifetimes (data for nonbinary individuals was not reported). So, with the prevalence of sexual violence in our communities, which can be extremely traumatizing for survivors, how should forms of popular media, such as television, handle the inclusion of sexual assault into their respective narratives?

Recently, the Netflix series Bridgerton has become widely popular, centered around the Debutante season in Regency-era England. The show follows the main character Daphne Bridgerton in her fake-turned-real relationship with Simon, Duke of Hastings, who she eventually marries. In the season’s sixth episode, Daphne realizes that Simon has lied about not being able to have children. In her desire for children, Daphne attempts to become pregnant by taking advantage of Simon during sex, after he withdraws consent. Though the continuation of a sex act after someone has withdrawn consent is considered to be sexual assault, this episode does not feature a trigger or content warning for sexual assault. 

Showrunner Chris Van Dusen acknowledges the controversy of this scene’s inclusion, which is included in the source material, Julia Quinn’s novel The Duke and I. Van Dusen tells Entertainment Weekly that “…we did discuss it a lot as far as how to approach it and how to handle it,” eventually including the scene due to its role in Daphne’s character development. 

Without addressing sexual assault in further episodes or implicating that Daphne’s actions were wrong, the show seems to brush aside sexual assault rather than addressing the gravity of the issue.

Despite the showrunners approaching Bridgerton’s inclusion of sexual assault with serious intent, Bridgerton still sends the message that sexual assault isn’t a significant issue. Daphne does not end up facing any major consequences for her actions, she and Simon remain in a relationship, and Simon even starts to believe that he deserves blame for the situation. Without addressing sexual assault in further episodes or implicating that Daphne’s actions were wrong, the show seems to brush aside sexual assault rather than addressing the gravity of the issue. Furthermore, men who are survivors of sexual assault already tend to be silenced, brushed aside, or stigmatized. Including the sexual assault of a man in the show without treating the assault seriously or showing his trauma in the aftermath contributes to the invalidation of real survivors’ trauma. 

In Hulu’s The Handmaid’s Tale, an adaptation of Margaret Atwood’s famous novel of the same name, viewers are also presented sexual assault on screen. Atwood’s novel includes the routine rape of handmaids by the Commanders they are assigned to, referred to as “The Ceremony.” The show chooses to include this depiction of sexual assault but also deviates from the source material during a scene in the tenth episode of the second season, titled The Last Ceremony. During this scene, Commander Waterford sexually assaults June (Offred) while Serena is restraining her in order to induce labor in June. This episode’s description does include a trigger warning for sexual assault in the episode description.

In essence, The Handmaid’s Tale treated sexual assault as something explicitly terrible, while Bridgerton did not. 

The presentation of sexual assault in The Handmaid’s Tale differs greatly from that in Bridgerton because of the seriousness with which the topic is treated. Waterford and Serena are presented as antagonists from the beginning of the show, and the Ceremony is portrayed as a means of subjugating women, including the protagonist June. In other words, sexual assault is clearly labeled as unethical. Furthermore, choosing to include an explicit warning for sexual assault in The Last Ceremony’s episode description sends the message that sexual assault is a serious issue and warns viewers who are survivors of the potentially triggering content. Bridgerton, on the other hand, depicts sexual assault in a lighter manner; Daphne, the perpetrator, remains the protagonist of the show, continuing to be cast in a positive light. Additionally, the narrative following the sexual assault takes no major steps towards labeling Daphne’s actions as cruel or immoral. In essence, The Handmaid’s Tale treated sexual assault as something explicitly terrible, while Bridgerton did not. 

At the end of the day, it is up to a television show’s creators to decide whether or not they want to include sexual assault as part of the show’s narrative. However, creators must be mindful of how the inclusion of sexual assault scenes will impact audiences. With sexual assault remaining a prevalent and dangerous issue, it is important that its depiction and discussion are treated with the necessary gravity. Fiction maintains the ability to significantly impact the real world, and handling sexual assault seriously in the media can ensure that we can continue working towards preventing and eliminating sexual assault in real life.  

One Day at a Time: The Dire Need for Representation in Television

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Movies & TV, Opinion, Pop Culture

by Nara Cowing //

While Hollywood is still typically white, straight, and overall quite traditional, One Day at a Time breaks boundaries and norms, setting a model for the rest of the industry to follow. After being canceled by two networks, the show’s cast has just lost the fight to be picked up by a new network. 

This show displays an atypical family: newly single mother, Penelope Alvarez, lives with her two children, Elena and Alex, and her mother, Lydia. Many major plot points revolve around the Alvarez family’s Cuban American heritage and Lydia’s experiences immigrating to the United States as a child during the Cuban Revolution.

Another major storyline is the daughter Elena’s coming out experience. In a traditional family, coming out as a lesbian was not easy for her at first. Both Lydia and Penelope struggle to overcome and unlearn their inner prejudices while still showing their unconditional love and support for her. As one of the few prominent lesbian teenagers on prime time television, Elena is a feminist icon in her inclusivity, intersectionality, and passion for social justice. She is frequently found attending protests for a variety of issues such as climate change and discrimination of marginalized groups. 

Later in the series, the LGBTQ+ representation increases when she begins dating Syd, her non-binary “Syd-nificant other.” They are one of the even fewer non-binary characters to be represented on television. 

One Day at a Time is also unique in the variety of issues that it represents – including, but not limited to PTSD, alcoholism, verbal and physical abuse, and the difficulties that veterans experience when reintegrating into civilian life without proper federal support. 

This show means so much to millions of people. As a funny, sappy, loving family sitcom, this show tackles so many serious issues and represents so many identities while remaining light-hearted and optimistic. Viewers of One Day at a Time have flooded the cast and crew with love and support on social media. 

“This is a show I’ll always treasure. It made me feel like home for the first time since losing my mom. With this show, I got a piece of her back. Thank you. Thank you all. This show helped me dream a bigger dream than I thought I could because I saw myself on screen. Thank you all for everything” (@amycassandramtz on Instagram) 

“this show has changed my life and i will always carry everything i’ve learned thanks to these characters (and all of you beautiful humans) very close to my heart. familia para siempre” (@rhiannxns on Twitter)

Because of the vast range of identities and issues that the show covers, every member of the loyal audience was able to see some aspect of themselves. From the Alvarez kids navigating the intersection between their American and Latinx identities to Penelope struggling with depression and PTSD, there was a place of understanding for everyone.  

“#ODAAT is the first time I truly saw my culture on American TV. From Lydia’s accent to Penelope’s self-discovery and the kids’ navigation of their dual culture, the show is too important and it should stay on screen as long as possible. #SAVEODAAT” (@lairayrp on Twitter)

https://twitter.com/lairayrp/status/1332504893538652165?s=20

“I love how #ODAAT helped me realize that I do need to see the doctor and that it’s okay if I need to take something for life. So, please #SaveODAAT” (@teachermajik on Twitter)

In just four short seasons (none making it past 13 episodes), they have fought to get their show renewed two times, displaying just how much pushback there has been against diversity on television. At the same time, they have been nominated for several awards including (but not limited to) the Primetime Emmy’s, GLAAD, NAACP, Imagen Foundation, GALECA Society of LGBTQ+ Critics, People’s Choice, and Teen Choice. They’ve won several Primetime Emmy awards along with other awards recognizing both their talents as actors and producers as well as their vastly unique representation.

Despite their high ratings, the show’s average seasonal viewership of 1.3 million was not cutting it for CBS. According to Variety, many of the lead-in and follow-up shows airing in the surrounding time slots grossed around 3 million viewers. 

As of December 8th, One Day at a Time was officially discontinued. The show’s entire cast was passionate about fighting to get the show renewed during the two times it has been canceled, raising morale and support on social media as well as pitching the show to several producers. 

Netflix, the show’s original network, has a track record of canceling shows with LGBTQ+ representation after very few seasons. Shows like Everything Sucks!, I Am Not Okay With This, The Get Down, The Society, and Sense8 are just five of the several other queer shows that Netflix has canceled after fewer than two seasons. 

Why do shows like Stranger Things or 13 Reasons Why continue to receive renewals while Netflix refuses to support successful shows that are predominantly queer and BIPOC? 13 Reasons Why, as one example, gathered an overall average rating of 35% on Rotten Tomatoes and 7.6/10 in IMDb. Every previously mentioned LGBTQ+ show has a nearly equal or higher rating on both platforms. One Day at a Time scored significantly higher with a whopping 99% on Rotten Tomatoes and 8.2/10 on IMDb. 

What is Netflix so scared of? Is it of deviating from the norm? Is it of attracting viewers that will see characters on television who look more like themselves than the cookie-cutter skinny, white protagonists? 

In the real world, LGBTQ+ people and BIPOC aren’t simply side characters or comic relief. Media should not stray away from representing everyone rather than one type of person. Representation matters; it inspires and saves lives. 

Female Hysteria?: A Question of Silence Film Review

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Movies & TV, Pop Culture

by Maria Siciliano//

The courtroom was filled with an uproarious chorus of laughter by every woman in attendance. 

This is how the film by Marleen Gorris, A Question of Silence, closes with no further explanation. In this highly controversial 1980s film, I was truly struck by the feminist critique that the director posits on society. She positions female hysteria, a major component of the study of feminist theory, as the proposed reasoning behind the characters’ undoing and thereby cause of the murder in the film, which demonstrates the misogynistic, patriarchal society that the women are fed up with. 

The film opens with a female psychiatrist being assigned to the case of three women who did not previously know each other until they came together to murder a male store owner after being accused of shoplifting. The psychiatrist, Janine, is to determine whether these women are sane or crazy, with hysteria being the only plausible reasoning behind this heinous act. Janine then interviews each of the women: a housewife who won’t speak, a waitress mistreated at a café, and a secretary at a male-run office. After each woman tells their story, while never confessing, Janine comes to realize that the women are in fact, completely sane. They are simply tired of the treatment of women in society. And, so is Janine, who finds herself in a sexist relationship. She comes to identify with the women by the end of the film. 

The last scene in the film takes place in the courtroom. Janine presents her findings and gives the opinion that the women are sane, reminding the court that the boutique owner was male. The prosecutors try to sway her, and eventually suggest that the outcome would have still been the same if the store owner were female. All four of the women begin to laugh, and then the courtroom is filled with uproarious laughter from the female witnesses. The women exit the courtroom and the film closes. 

I thought the film was a truly thought-provoking take on feminist criticism. By using hysteria, the very reason behind much of the female subversion in history, to critique this patriarchal society, Gorris allowed the women’s situations to speak for themselves. In reality, three women who did not know each other, coming together to kill a male store owner, has grounds for being seen as crazy. But considering the treatment that these women receive on a day-to-day basis in a sexist, misogynistic, and classist society, the murder might be based in reason. The laughter that fills the courtroom, when the men simply don’t get it, is the feminist critique in and of itself. After being silenced and not heard, all the women can do is laugh. 

Toni Morrison: The Pieces I Am—Celebrating a Prominent Woman and Writer

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Movies & TV, Uncategorized

by Hanna Carney //

Morrison wants us to read, write, think, and reimagine our lives through a different perspective and find agency there.

Timothy Greenfield-Sanders’ Toni Morrison: The Pieces I Am recounts the life of Toni Morrison—Nobel-prize-winning writer, editor, and professor. The biopic is shaped by interviews with Morrison and her colleagues (such as Angela Davis and Oprah Winfrey) as they examine her life and accomplishments. Each interviewee paints Morrison as a thoughtful, striking black woman who knew how to move people. “Toni tells extraordinary stories that touch people in a very deep place,” says Walter Mosley. 

It is only appropriate that Morrison’s words helped build her own biopic, as few can be considered her peers in eloquence and charisma. Viewers get to witness Morrison’s formation as a writer through the retelling of her earliest memories. Morrison looks back fondly on her sister teaching her how to read when she was three years old. The two of them would write on the sidewalk with pebbles only to have their mother stop them for copying a word they had found down the street, which turned out to be “fuck”—“Expanding our vocabulary,” says Morrison with a smile. She remembers that while her mother was reprimanding them, that word on the sidewalk had not once passed her lips. “Ultimately, I knew that words have power.” 

When I came to this scene in the documentary, I thought, when did I understand the power of language? I’m sure I’m not alone in wishing I could’ve known Morrison, so she could have imparted some of her wisdom on me. I can’t help but be jealous of the students who had the privilege of taking her classes. Morrison advised her creative writing students at Princeton, don’t tell me about your “little life… I want you to invent.” In one of her interviews, Sonia Sanchez asserts that Morrison’s emphasis on reinvention calls us to “reimagine us on this American landscape.” We must ask:

“What I must do now. How I must live, how I must rearrange… my vowels. How I must rearrange my toe jam. How I must rearrange my hair, my breasts. How I must rearrange my thoughts.”

Morrison wants us to read, write, think, and reimagine our lives through a different perspective and find agency there. Perhaps, only when we do this thinking and reimagining can we understand the power of language. Morrison does feminist work in her writing and leaves the sentiment to be found in the language itself. In other words, she is not a feminist simply because she wrote black women at the center of her narratives, or because she worked to overcome the white male gaze. Toni Morrison is a feminist because she truly wrote. She invented. She reimagined.

Although The Pieces I am serves as a wonderful glimpse into the life of Toni Morrison, it is just that—a glimpse. One cannot truly appreciate her innovation and brilliance without reading her novels, without praying with Pecola in The Bluest Eye, or mourning with Sethe in Beloved. Nonetheless, The Pieces I am compels us to question what it means to write, to read, to think, and, ultimately, to inspire.

Toni Morrison: The Pieces I Am is available on Hulu, YouTube, and Vudu. The documentary can also be accessed online through Cornell’s Library.

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A8sUwXTWb4M&feature=emb_title