An open letter to Bomb Girls

Let's talk about queerbaiting.

Googling the term, you'll find a lot of contradictory definitions and think pieces and Sherlock macros, so I'll just save you the time and lay out a quick definition here and now: queerbaiting is when a show (or book, or movie) heavily implies that a character is queer (gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender) but never fully commits to the process. It allows the writers to claim representation and queer-friendliness while never taking the potential audience-alienating step of actually including a queer character. It's plausible deniability. "Oh, I absolutely believe these characters love each other [long pause] as friends." Queer audience members can spend years hooked on a show, convinced that one of these days the show will actually fulfill its promise and give them a queer character. It never comes true. But what do the writers care? The ratings are going to stay up.

That brings me to Bomb Girls.

When Bomb Girls first premiered in January of 2012, I- and a lot of other people- were wildly excited, for a whole bunch of reasons. Chief among them was the heavy implication in the pilot episode that Betty (Ali Liebert) and Kate (Charlotte Hegele) were being set up as the show's primary romantic pairing. Just in that first episode, they danced together, Betty eyed Kate in the shower, Kate stroked another woman's legs, and Betty promised that "whatever you're running from, you're safe here now. I'll make sure." Between those hints and the fact that the showrunner, Michael MacLennan, had a history of working on queer-themed projects (Queer as Folk and Prom Queen: The Marc Hall Story being the most prominent) it seemed like good things were on the horizon. Of course, we had to wait awhile- the show was set in the 1940s, when homosexuality was still illegal in Canada. Added to that, Kate came from a fundamentalist Christian background and was struggling to find her way in the world. The characters needed time to reach a point where they would feel comfortable entering a relationship. That was okay. We could wait. (You get really good at waiting when you want queer characters on TV.)

That first season did some amazing things- I remember episode four, "Bringing Up Bombshell," especially for depicting how queerness was erased from history by propagandists and people intent on presenting a heteronormative view of the world. Kate's assurance to Betty that "you don't need everyone liking you- just the ones that matter" at the end of the episode seemed like yet more evidence that we were on to something. Even when the first season ended in disaster- Kate, re-discovered by her abusive father, panicked when Betty kissed her and fled- it didn't seem like all hope was lost. There were plenty of chances for the storyline to progress- the show had already been picked up for a second season. We could keep waiting.

And then season two happened. And we started to realize that things were going wrong.

First of all, while Betty's sexuality was undeniable at this point- she had, after all, made a very romantic move on her best friend- Kate's remained shrouded in ambiguity. Her attempts at dating male co-workers all ended in disaster, and she remained close to Betty, but it was never stated outright what she felt. She kept casting longing looks at her friend, but continued to pretend that the kiss had never happened. When Betty finally confronted her, at the midseason finale, she still refused to disclose what she felt about it. And when the show came back after the break, she faded even further into obscurity, emerging only to become engaged to a co-worker and find her missing mother. Meanwhile, Betty went on to briefly date a servicewoman, a romance which ended when her girlfriend was posted away from Toronto. Betty and Kate barely shared screentime anymore. Sure, when they did, the show kept on hinting, but what good were hints by this point? We'd survived two seasons on hints; surely by this point we'd earned more than that. The show evidently didn't think so, though, because when the second season ended, their relationship had still not been resolved in any way. Then came the news that the show had been cancelled. Then came the news that all was not lost- the network had agreed to air a two-hour movie to wrap up all the remaining plotlines. There was still hope! Sure Michael MacLennan tweeted that he'd left the production, citing creative differences, but- well, he'd been responsible for the mess that was season two. Maybe the new writers were going to fix things.

Spoiler alert: they did not fix anything.

The movie aired last night, to a resounding "wait, what?" from fans. Betty and Kate's storyline went completely unresolved, except for the fact that they moved in together- "until you meet the man of your dreams," Betty assured her friend. The majority of the runtime was taken up with a spy storyline that few of the viewers cared about. One character died, which presented a whole host of other issues (killing sexually active female characters is a long and ignoble tradition going back to the Hays Code) and we closed with no resolution and no satisfaction.

So: queerbaiting.

It's hard not to see the way Kate's storyline was handled as an extreme example of queerbaiting, and one I thought this show was better than. She's given an endless litany of side-glances and giggles meant to imply- what? That she's maybe, possibly interested in women, but will never openly express this interest in the narrative? After a certain point, "slow-burning romance" is no longer a defence. We didn't need to see Kate and Betty declaring eternal love for each other. We just needed to know that the love was more than pathetically, eternally one-sided. The tragically pining queer character is a stock one in Western literature- a way of writers to make their character sympathetic while still avoiding the controversy of a queer romance. But this is 2014. We may not be past homophobia, but queer couples exist on TV. One of the exists on ABC Family Another exists on Fox, the notoriously conservative network that also features Bill O'Reilly. Same-sex marriage has been legal in Canada since 2005. So what's this show's excuse for refusing to give Kate and Betty a happy ending? What reason do they have for toying with queer audience members for two seasons and a movie but dodging responsibility for Kate's sexuality at the last minute? What's their defence for leaving their only canonical queer character in a state of lifelong romantic limbo? 

I loved this show for a very long time, and I defended it- all through the cheesy plotlines and writing ups and downs- because I believed in what it promised. I was so sure we were finally going to get what we wanted. After all the waiting and watching and hoping, what we finally got feels like a slap across the face. It's a reminder that watching shows for queer characters and hoping that they get happy endings is more often than not an exercise in futility- hints are there to be grasped at, but at the end of the day, the writers can still retreat safely into their position of assumed heterosexuality. Why not? No one's going to call them on it.

So I'm calling them on it now. What's your excuse, Adrienne Mitchell? What's your explanation, Donald Martin? Michael MacLennan, why did you wait so long? I know you knew we were watching. Did you ever care? Or were we just a convenient ratings boost for you?

The discussion fallacy

Whenever something controversial passes through the media cycle, there are inevitably a variety of responses. Some people are outraged; some people are outraged by the outrage; some people really don't care either way; some people want to examine how the media cycle is manufacturing the outrage in the first place. (Those people are generally sociologists.) And then there's another group: the ones who think that the outrage is fodder for a roundtable debate. I'm sure you've heard it at some point: "I'm glad this happened, actually, because there's a really interesting discussion to be had."

And, well. No there isn't.

Should controversial things be discussed? Yes, absolutely. But the thing about "discussion" is that is generally implies that there are "shades of grey" to be found in the issue being discussed. Depending on what the issue is, maybe there is. But when the issue in question involves violating peoples' human rights- or giving money to people campaigning for the violation of human rights- then no, I don't think there is a discussion to be had. 

Ender's Game comes out this weekend. For those who haven't been following the coverage of Ender and the man who wrote it, the author- Orson Scott Card- has a long history of not just opposing same-sex marriage, but advocating for government overthrow if same-sex marriage was passed at a federal level. He's called gay people victims of child molestation and sexual dysfunction. (He's also a racist.) So in general, he's a pretty foul human being. He's also listed as a producer on the movie. That means that a percentage of the revenue generated by the film will be going into his pocket- and presumably, donated to the National Organization for Marriage, of which he was a member until recently. There isn't any discussion to be had about whether or not supporting the movie supports Card because it's a bald fact. He gets money if the movie does well. Your ticket purchases support him. There aren't any "shades of grey" here.

Now there've been a few other issues raised by people who want to support the film. Some people have said that they want to support the movie because it has prominent female characters. (Note: prominent straight female characters.) Others say, well, what about other authors who hold intolerant views and still have adaptations of their work brought to the big screen? What about SHAKESPEARE? To which I say: Shakespeare has been dead for six hundred years. The man is not recieving any kind of monetary compensation for new productions of The Merchant of Venice. (Although as far as repairing the text goes, it would be pretty hilarious if the big-screen adaptation of Ender's Game featured Ender in a loving, romantic

Apparently the movie also added a romantic subplot.
But they don't support heterosexism or anything!

relationship with another boy. Just to see the look on Card's face.) Absolutely the question of mounting productions of literature that propogate harmful racist/homophobic/sexist isn't clear-cut; but it's not comparable to the Ender issue, because Orson Scott Card is very much alive, well, and spewing vitriol. And if your issue with the boycott is that the representation of female characters is more important than Card's bigotry- well, that's your decision to make. But don't pretend that the harm done by supporting the movie is abstract. You can see the author-cum-producer's views for yourself.

(The studio has also announced their support for LGBT people, and offered to hold a benefit on the night of the movie's release. That's nice of them, but since they're still paying OSC, I'm not really sure how that rectifies the main issue here: that Card is still getting money from the movie, which then may very well be paid towards homophobic organizations like NOM.)

"You're my land ahoy"

Gather up your kleenex and put on your pirate hats, friends, because I am about to introduce you to THE MOST DECEPTIVELY SAD SONG ABOUT GAY PIRATES EVER WRITTEN. Played on the ukelele.

You can thank me later.

Music theatre Mondays: First Dance

I did not see any musical theatre this week! I did a lot of other things, namely writing two papers and getting my computer back from Toshiba's clammy clutches- oh, and Thanksgiving. Canadian Thanksgiving is a bit different from the Thanksgiving that I understand is celebrated south of the border- for one thing, we hold it when it's still reasonably nice outdoors, and not a frozen wasteland of dead grass and mud, and for another, it's founded less on mass genocide and more on "well those guys were doing it, so we figure we might as well." Anyway, since my family does not consist of theatre performers (since I have not yet managed to pursue my dream of genetically engineering my very own theatrical Kennedy family. Alas.) I spent a quiet weekend at home with my parents and grandfather.

However! I did see a musical theatre production- of sorts- last week. Because I'm living on a university campus with a drama department, we tend to get whatever local plays are travelling through. The Tottering Biped company (on facebook here- become a fan!) stopped by at the end of September to put on a play that they've been workshopping, "First Dance." I've always been a big fan of Tottering Biped's mission statement with regards to theatre- as a company, they specialize in theatre with a social message, and carrying on a dialogue with the audience rather than making them passice receptors. I first saw one of their productions when "My Name Is Rachel Corrie" stopped by Theatre Aquarius, and found out afterwards that the reason a relatively small company was putting it on is because CanStage- a relatively large professional company based in Toronto- had cancelled plans to produce the play themselves for fear of controversy. "First Dance" is quite different from "Rachel Corrie" in that it tackled different issues and was created by writers and artists working for Tottering Biped rather than a pre-existing play. "First Dance" is an abstract piece- no, come back! I had the same initial response but it's good, I promise- about the courtship rituals surrounding the first dance at a wedding, and what changes in expectation when both partners are of the same gender. It's about same-sex marriage in the sense that the protagonist (his fiance never appears onstage) is gay and marrying a man, but it's more about the experience of being gay in general, how the things you've been trained to expect no longer apply, and the need for creating new rituals to follow. As I mentioned, I am really not a fan of abstract theatre- I saw a few in my short-lived Drama major days, and most of them seemed to involve the writer/director/star standing on a bare stage screaming obscenities and rubbing themselves with various edible fluids- but shows like fall in the middle for me. They're abstract in the sense that they don't have a plot, but concrete in the sense that the audience doesn't have to piece together what the playwright is saying with guesswork and the auteur's say-so. "First Dance" is much less a narrative than it is a series of vignettes that the main character ponders while he plans his wedding, but the wedding itself- and the general good writing- keep it from being pointless or confusing. There's also the dance numbers themselves, performed by people who have very clearly done their homework- as they explained in he Q&A after the show, they're both competitive ballroom dancers- so the polished dialogue never feels out of step with clumsier dance, or vice versa.

"First Dance" is still touring around southern Ontario- you can check times and places on the facebook page I liked to above- and if you have the chance, you should absolutely check it out. It's not terrible expensive, especially compared to mainstream theatres- my ticket cost $20- and it's a comparatively small price to pay for the experience.

(Also, one of the actors hugged me after the show, and I'm never washing this shirt again.)

In which I get serious, and more than a little mad

I read a book today. I'm not going to mention the title or author, because honestly, they're both beside the point. I've read this book before. I've read hundreds of this book before. It varies in content and genre and reading level, but one thing remains consistent no matter what the variables: it always, always has a Tragic Gay.

Case in point.

The Tragic Gay (always gay- bisexuals don't exist in the universes this book takes place in, and transpeople aren't even considered) sometimes exists during the timeline of the story, and sometimes is only a footnote in the main characters' backstory. Sometimes they even get to be a main character. Sometimes they're the protagonist, sometimes the antagonist. The one common thread in this parade of gays is that they are Tragic. Often they're victims of bullying, usually they have some unrequited passion for a straight person, and frequently they commit suicide. Very frequently, they end up in the great refrigerator in the sky, and our mains weep and beat the ground with their fists and cry many straight person tears for their poor Tragic Gay friend. Then they go off and save the world with their magic, heterosexual powers and the Tragic Gay smiles beatifically from heaven or wherever they've been shuffled off to. For lo, they have served their purpose;  the author can feel good about themselves for "representation," and the audience can cry for the plight of those poor Tragic Gays and the queer audience . . . um . . . well gosh, you just can't please some people! But some will no doubt eat from the plate they've given, because even if the food is rotten, it's better than starving.

I have read- and seen- this story so many times, and I am beyond goddamn sick of it. Hey powers that be, know why our kids keep killing themselves? Because you're telling them to. Tell someone a story often enough, and they start to believe it. Tell someone that being gay automatically equals a lifetime of noble suffering often enough, and they start to understand that this is what they can expect their life to be. Is it true? Not necessarily. I'm not one for the empty platitudes of the It Gets Better project- well to be honest, I'm not one for Dan Savage in general- but I do think that when you create art, you have a responsibility to consider what cultural and sociological impact art has. We tell stories because they mean something to us- they tell us who we are and where we come from. They tell us not to talk to strangers and to be kind and keep our promises. They tell us what we can expect from the world, and what is happening around us. Do you think it's a coincidence that in the eighties and nineties, we had so many stories about gay men dying of AIDS? Did a bunch of artists wake up one morning, isolated from all current affairs, and say "I'm gonna write an AIDS story?" Of course not. They wrote it because they saw the issues being faced in the world around them and said "I want to explore this story with my art." And now, on the heels of several well-publicized suicides of gay teenagers, we have stories about attempted suicide. And people- children- are surrounded by these stories and decide that this is what they can expect from life. Can we blame them? It's not like we offer them alternatives.

If I never have to watch another outing story or bullying narrative, if I never have to read another book where the main character's sidekick is defined by being gay and persecuted, if I never have to watch another goddamned episode of goddamned Downton Abbey where the lone gay character sits in a corner and cries because his love interest slashed his wrists- if you agree, if you're sick of this shit too, here's what you can do.

Don't write it.

It's as simple as that.

Don't write it. It's more than possible to write stories about gay people- or, shock of shocks- queer people who are NOT gay without drowning them in misery and calling it inspirational. It's been done. It's been done well! (Although how fucking depressing is it that two of those books had to be self-published? Mainstream publishers, you need to STEP UP YOUR SHIT.) I know Annie on My Mind and Keeping You A Secret were important when they were released, and I'm grateful for what they accomplished. But it's not enough anymore. If you agree? Then say so. Comment right here, comment on your blog, comment in your writing that you're not participating in this any longer. It has to stop.

This quote here? It's by E.M. Forster, the author of Maurice. His book wasn't published until the 1970s, because the idea of gay characters having a happily ever after was so anathema in the time it was written, he didn't dare try publish it. It's not the 1970s anymore. I think we can do better.

"A happy ending was imperative. I shouldn’t have bothered to write otherwise. I was determined that in fiction anyway two men should fall in love and remain in it for the ever and ever that fiction allows, and in this sense Maurice and Alec still roam the greenwood. I dedicated it ‘To a Happier Year’ and not altogether vainly. Happiness is its keynote – which by the way . . . has made the book more difficult to publish. If it ended unhappily, with a lad dangling from a noose or with a suicide pact, all would be well . . . but the lovers get away unpunished and consequently recommend crime."