Picture this: Three Men and a Baby, but the men are Black.
I write best what I know and I don’t know the experience of a Black man like that, but if you do, please feel free to use this idea. I hope you do. I will also make myself available for at least a little brainstorming at no cost if you’d like. Good luck and have fun!
Spoilers below!
Killing Eve used to be one of my favorite shows. Entertaining, hilarious, glamorous, superbly acted, and gay as hell. Sure, of course Sandra Oh could only be paired with white people, and the writers play with their queer viewers every moment, teasing us. But so does every TV show, right? The buildup is like, half the romance. Changing the status quo is a big job in TV, after all. I did not peg it until the finale. That finale. The finale that changed everything — that made me realize what the show truly is. Queerbait.
I thought we’d started to move away from Burying Our Gays. Why must every queer couple have a devastating ending? Why are we never represented finding peace after all we have gone through?
The thing that gets me about that ending is the complete lack of explanation. While I can understand leaving it up to the imagination, and that Carolyn wanted to get the full benefits of The Twelve’s assassination without Villanelle in the way. Villanelle becomes a loose end.
And yet, as person involved in queer content issues (and while I am queer, you don’t have to be to know this), I know of this trope. I have written about the responsibility of creators who have the privilege of mass viewership, and I believe understanding the Bury My Gays trope is mandatory when representing queer characters. That does not mean we shy away from representation. But if you’re “representing” badly, aren’t you just…appropriating and baiting?
To combat this trope, we can give our queer characters a magical, beautiful ending. Yes, the show is called Killing Eve, and I get that. But every season had a different writer. If you’re going to Bury Your Gays in this homophobic world, we deserve a very, very, very good reason. And we didn’t get one. We didn’t get the courtesy of one at all, or something clear. I love leaving the audience to think, but not for thinking’s sake. Traumatizing your viewers and not helping them heal is just cruel. Killing Eve, ultimately, displayed that cruelty.
Laura Neal, the fourth season’s writer, seems to me to have been hell-bent on the characters not ending up together. So…what is the reason?
Killing Eve furthered a homophobic trope and did absolutely nothing for us except spend our exploited dollars on glitzy outfits and possibly accent training. It baited us — for years. Weeks of my life, gone. I learned a lot. But I will never forgive this. All of that time together, stolen away from them and us. Why? For what? So Laura, you can kindly fuck off unless you give me a damn good reason not to.
We never do get closure in life. I suppose I will get over this one day, in another life. But our gays will still be in their graves. May they finally rest in peace.
Ever get a hit of teenage angst, even after teenagehood? When I did this time, I felt called to re-watch My So-Called Life for the first time. I had forgotten that in the pilot episode, Angela is wearing a towel which covers exactly from her breasts through her genitalia. Her father is clearly uncomfortable. Angela narrates that they used to be close, and that her breasts have come between them. Later, in bed with his wife, Angela’s father laments her wearing towels around the house, especially “short” ones.
So…is he sexualizing his daughter without even realizing?
Yes. Yes he is.
Why do people have to act on their urges to be pedophiles? An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. We need to notice, not normalize these behaviors.
That’s the article. Bye now.
I didn’t know I needed to watch Finesse. I only knew that I wanted to.
I can’t remember now how I heard about this series. Perhaps it‘s because my mind is still swimming. But I must write this now, because Finesse instills its viewer with a sense of simultaneous urgency and peace. I want to do everything and nothing. I want to embrace my brown body and my queerness with art and with rest. All I know is that I must capture how this piece of work has made me feel, if I can.
“Botox can’t fill your heart, babe”
”But my heart would be snatched thoooough”
The first thing I noticed about Finesse was color — light. The second was sound. From the beginning, it was like a bath for all my senses. The art in the title sequence is reminiscent of Broad City, but is also, in one word, MORE — like Finesse in microcosm, it is more humorous, sensual, and ethereal. Right when you are used to high fidelity imagery, the series hurls you into a low-fi world and brings you right back again. Right before a casual conversation is a poignant Audre Lorde quote (a redundant statement, I know); and if you get tired of seeing just one scene, it’ll throw you into two or even three simultaneous visuals side by side. There’s color and B&W; ensemble and soliloquy; and a hundred other tiny juxtapositions. There are visually striking Ayahuasca-fueled hallucinations, puppy play, and fascinating power dynamics. If you like the aesthetic of Euphoria, you will love the use of light, color, and cinematography in this series. In the case that all of this isn’t enough, may I present to you: the fashion of Finesse.
“I don’t know, but this has white supremacy written all over it”
Finesse explores friendship, sexuality, queerness, intimacy, found family, sex work, and various forms of vulnerability and relationships. On the surface, it’s simply three Black queer people living their lives, and one might even say, getting by — but is life ever really simple, especially for the intersectionally marginalized? As bell hooks says, imperialist capitalist white supremacist patriarchy has taken hold of our bodies. This is most evident in our obsession with policing Black queer bodies. Finesse, at its core, is about three people taking back control of their bodies, minds, and souls — whether that be through drag, dominatrix work, sex, friendship, love, clothes, humor, Botox, or important questions like, “is there some rule that says all queer people need to use baby wipes?”
“We’re not even accepted by people in our own community”
I am itching for a second season, but I have no idea if it is part of Vincent Martell’s plan. But whatever the makers of Finesse come up with next, I’ll be in the front seat. In the meantime, I will remember: “We will fear no fuckboy, no fuckgirl, or fuckthem.” Words to live by.
“We really wanted to spice it up this season, but stay true to our characters,” says creator Catherine Reitman, “during these unprecedented times.”
I'm sorry. For everyone's sake, this is all I will write. I have said enough. Arguably, too much.
The world is not new to antiheroes, or protagonists who bend the rules. But in recent years, we’ve seen crop up many of what I like to call “lovable assassins”: Barry, Dexter, Villanelle in Killing Eve, Joe in You, and other entertaining, sympathetic, immoral protagonists. But entertaining and especially sympathetic immoral protagonists carry a weight, and it is vital that creators understand it.
I love these stories like anyone else. The characters are certainly real, with motivations we viewers can understand. Villanelle, or Oksana, is a troubled, neglected, queer orphan raised as an assassin. Dexter is an abused killer who kills killers. Barry is a war vet socialized to kill, with a stark lack of self-awareness. Joe is...hot? (And the least sympathetic)
These characters have strong value. They’re new, fresh, interesting, entertaining. There are things we can explore with the premises of Barry and Oksana that other characters do not yield. The assassinations in Killing Eve are, well…fun. The value of unique vehicles for storytelling cannot be overstated. However, these vehicles in particular are also very powerful. When we tell these stories, we must be aware of their power.
Lovable assassins are a weapon that should not be wielded lightly. Holding an audience is power. Content, and knowledge, are power. It's a principle we have for tech products as well; if your feature gets usage, or views, you're responsible for what you show users. When we bend morals in entertainment, it is absorbed by our audience, whether we want it or not. We are responsible for what we justify and normalize. BoJack Horseman has a responsibility not to serve purely as a tool that gross dudes use to justify their assholery. They must ultimately make a moral judgment on BoJack and who he is, or becomes. You has a responsibility to show Joe as a villain - because that's what he is, plain and simple. Thirteen Reasons Why has a responsibility to address a perceived glorification of suicide, barring adaptation concerns. It's the same reason search engines and facial recognition are responsible for the bias in their results. They are trained on ML models. Making one of those is a little like making a show. Afterward, you ship it out there, and whatever happens, happens. But if you forgot something, didn't have enough diverse input, or did something wrong, some unlucky person will figure that out for you later. Now, at the end of the day, you can do whatever you want, cover your legal ass, and hope most people are happy. That's why we need to all agree: we are responsible for the direct lessons our content imparts, including its relativism and relationship to morality. We are responsible for our protagonists and our plots, for what we judge and what we deem acceptable. We are responsible for the judgments and opinions we put into our work. We are responsible for what we ignore. Stories with sympathetic immoral protagonists can be extremely entertaining and genre-bending, sometimes with cult followings. Characters, even more than other literary devices, create strong bonds with viewers and readers. Immoral characters thus hold dangerous power over a consumer. This makes the creators’ self-awareness – which is always apparent in the creation – ever more important. Powerful story devices influence viewers’ minds. This one must be underlaid by strong ethical principles.
I love Villanelle, Barry, and all the other lovable assassins. I'm not advocating against these characters. I have a character like this too, a deuteragonist and antagonist. She has a sad backstory and human motivations, but I am actively positioning her as an antagonist, while the protagonists are sympathetic. But how can we make responsible lovable assassins, particularly as sympathetic protagonists?
Barry is my favorite example of a sympathetic immoral protagonist. The creators clearly have a character development in mind. It has the strength of Breaking Bad's Walter White or Better Call Saul's Jimmy McGill, where the morality is also clear. Spoilers!, but White becomes a villain. He is seen is a villain. It is clear. With sympathetic immoral protagonists (the line being beyond Jimmy McGill), this is more difficult. Barry tackles it spectacularly. Search Party is also a show that handles morality well, while remaining darkly comedic. But rather than pass some judgment on each of these shows, I'll say it is just important to remember our moral responsibility as a principle when creating our work, which we have in the forefront of our and our staff's minds when we have a lovable assassin, or any other sympathetic immoral protagonist or main antihero. I believe these are some of the most powerful, dangerous literary devices that exist. They must be treated carefully. I simply ask all creators to treat them as such.
After the success of newest Shondaland production Bridgerton, Shonda Rhimes (Grey’s Anatomy, Scandal, How to Get Away with Murder) has finally yielded to the many questions about what she will do next.
“You know I love great characters and romance, with a lot of action in the background,” she says to a nodding crowd. We all know. “And you know I take interesting premises, in which fields things have been done before, but not like this. I realized there is one area that needs the Shonda Touch. It’s the future, after we’ve destroyed ourselves.”
Yes, the next Shonda Rhimes project, yet untitled, is to be a post-apocalyptic nuclear hellscape. Rhimes explains that she has learned from shows as diverse as The Walking Dead to Fear the Walking Dead that the apocalypse — well, it’s just hot. Why nuclear? “I’ve pondered other hellscapes,” Rhimes says. “But I don’t know. This one just seemed the most sexual.”
When asked why she believes the apocalypse is our future, Rhimes shares her insights. “All my time writing television and living real life have taught me how batsh*t crazy people are,” she explains. “I love all my characters, even Papa Pope, but they and everyone else have taught me what our future really is. It’s only two things in the end. Sex, and the apocalypse.”
More prodding from the crowd on the title of the project elicits a warning laugh, a politely dismissive hand-wave, and one more comment: “I’ve said too much already! What I can tell you is, the first season will have four main conflicts, two new supporting characters added in each episode, and twelve main romances between three main characters, with that number will exponentially increase each season while stakes continuously escalate and recurring characters are repeatedly promoted to main and then killed off as the original mains slowly peel off to diversify their careers until everyone you ever loved has died but you’re still watching because you forgot how good I am at this, motherf*****s!” Rhimes smiles and waves goodbye as she walks offstage. The mic goes silent.
At once, we all rise and applaud, cheering. What a show.
Ah, autumn. Beautiful, isn’t it? Colored leaves, movie-moment rains, overcast skies most likely not caused by toxic wildfire smoke. But if there’s one thing that perfectly encapsulates the changing of the seasons, it is that warm, scrumptious, snuggly taste that simply cannot be beat: the pumpkin spice latte.
As I hold the cup in my hands, the heat transfer mimicking what I remember of human touch, I wonder: could this be the answer to all of my problems? No, no, it couldn’t be. It’s too easy. Too simple. It’s impossible that this one drink, so beloved yet so scorned, could be the thing I have been looking for in lieu of real enjoyment or social interaction. And yet, as I stare into the siren’s eyes, I cannot help but imagine happier days. It’s worth a shot. Right?
My pumpkingasm begins as it has for many moons. I open the lid for a quick whiff. My tastebuds tingle. My body shivers, just once, faster than Mitch McConnell can say “Supreme Court nominee.” I look down at the sumptuous hue of Caramel Color Level IV. I close the lid in a daze. This is muscle memory. I do not remember my hand reaching for the cup, but suddenly, it is there. I dissociate only briefly as my cup approaches me.
The plastic and wax press against my lips and I remember: I haven’t kissed someone in a long time. Like, a long time. Is this…what it feels like? I can hardly remember. I let the lid’s opening linger, my cup kept at this angle, as I project a feeble memory of affection from a past life. Is this what it is like to be loved?
I tilt the cup up and suddenly, the world is filled with color again, with the inimitable taste of pumpkin spice flavor mix and the slightest trace of petroleum. Heaven. I feel my smile widening and my hair lightening as my spirit travels through several scenes: a midwestern apple orchard, a Starbucks one block from the Starbucks I was at this morning, a Kappa Kappa Kappa sorority house. I am free. I land in a meadow, surrounded by splendidly colored wildflowers and a sun with blazing light but balmy heat, for the shade and breeze are perfect. Bunnies and deer skip across the pastoral scene. There could be nothing better than this. No…wait. I see…no, it can’t be. Kobe? And…John? Chadwick? Ruth? They are here with me, in this land that stretches for miles, filled with laughs, with love, with potassium sorbate.
All at once, my worries drown in a foamy orange haze. My body is light. My inflamed intercostal muscles soothe. My urge to post political memes dampens. Will this pumpkin spice latte solve all of my problems? The election? Getting through this pandemic for the foreseeable months? For the foreseeable…year(s)? Wait, years? How many years do we even have? Meadows…nature…climate…oh god, climate, oh no, wait, f—
I take another sip.
Ah.
It’s going to be just fine.
As this somber music plays, we’d like to remind you of something that you probably didn’t know: life is hard right now. Through our frosted sliding screen doors, we do see you, little consumers, and just how bad things are. We, too, are concerned about mental health. We, too, we have to work hard to put charcuterie on the table. And we, too, have had to give ourselves our own haircuts. Our intern’s hair looks terrible.
We know some of you have lost your jobs, your homes, and even your loved ones. But may we suggest something to fill the gaping hole in your heart?
Our monthly subscription box.
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We’re a business, and that means that we are made of people. People just like you and me. People with thoughts and feelings and families. So we are going to do what we have always done: take care of people. We are very, very good at this. It is one of our primary concerns, behind a few others. We must come together and unite as one, because we understand that there are absolutely no differences between anyone. People are people are people, you know? We know.
In these uncertain times, it is more important than ever for us to come together as one race. Did you hear that? We mentioned the word “race,” so you know we know this word. We know stuff. We understand things. That’s also why we have included several scenes shot in this guy’s car, as well as this person’s apartment. We, too, use Zoom, and some of us even wear masks. We get you.
We know how important family is to you right now. You’re probably more aware they exist, given that you are around them 24/7. So why not get even closer? That’s why we have a family subscription for only $69.99 – because we want to keep you together. If someone in your family passes away, we will provide a $5 coupon off of your next order, though we are afraid the price will remain the same from then on. Again: recession.
In times like these, you need people you can trust. And you can definitely trust us. We’re here to help. We are with you, in exactly the same boat. We will get through this together, just like this montage of biracial families. Also, thank you, healthcare workers. We assume you’re still around.
We promise, we won’t sell your data – not unless we are asked multiple times by very persuasive sources. But rest assured, you are in good hands. We care about your privacy. You can even put up the poster we sent you with our logo on your window, to block dangerous onlookers.
Now more than ever, in these troubling, challenging, trying, and unprecedented times, as we slow down and turn our thoughts inward, though our doors may be closed, though the distance between us all has gotten greater, as we stay apart, as we must find ways to reconnect within the comfort of…sorry, I forgot what I was going to say. But, like, buy the box.
We also believe that black — oh, right, Black, thanks intern — lives like, totally matter. We’ll be sure to keep the banner up on our website for at least a few more months. Our CEO even considered lowering his salary to just $1 this year. Plus stocks.
We do it all for you.