The Internet was abuzz yesterday
after Huffington Post TV critic
Maureen Ryan published a thorough – and thoroughly depressing, if unsurprising
– assessment
of behind-the-scenes diversity on cable dramas. Though the article focuses
on HBO, home of critically-acclaimed shows like The Sopranos, The Wire
and Game of Thrones, Ryan also looks
at AMC, FX, Showtime and Netflix, which all combine to form the forefront of modern-day
so-called prestige television.
Long story short, it’s not good. To summarize:
- Over the past 40 years, HBO has aired precisely one original, hour-long drama series created by a woman (Cynthia Mort’s Tell Me You Love Me).
- Since 2008, HBO has not aired a single one-hour drama or mini-series with a creator or “narrative architect” that is female or non-white.
- In the last 12 years at the five aforementioned outlets, only 12% of drama series creators and narrative architects have been women.
Essentially, we’re not experiencing
the Golden Age of TV so much as the Golden Age of White Male TV. If you asked
someone what the best shows of the past decade were, he or she would probably
rattle off a list that includes The
Sopranos, The Wire, Game of Thrones, Breaking Bad and Mad Men,
all of which not only revolve around central male protagonists but are also
produced, written and directed predominantly by men. This is not to diminish
the artistic quality and cultural significance of those shows in any way; even
though I have my personal preferences (Mad
Men forever!), few would deny that they have all, to some extent, altered
the way we view, think about and discuss the medium, elevating it from “fun” escapism
for mass audiences to something more refined and ambitious.
Now
that TV has firmly established itself as Art, however, no longer facing the
constant pressure to prove its legitimacy, it’s time to start shifting our
attention elsewhere. This topic has been on my mind – and, it appears, many
other people’s – a lot lately, thanks to HBO’s much-hyped anthology series True Detective. Since its January 12
premiere, the dark, atmospheric Louisiana neo-noir with a penchant for cryptic
literary references and long-winded philosophical musings has infiltrated the pop
culture zeitgeist in a way few shows ever have. It’s been called everything
from the
best show on TV to one
of the most riveting and provocative series ever;
it has spawned memes,
elaborate theories
and a hilarious Tumblr;
it already gave us an iconic quote, character and scene;
after precisely one episode aired, critics proclaimed stars Matthew McConaughey
and, to a lesser extent, Woody Harrelson all
but sure-things for Emmy wins. Yet even back then, the adoration was far
from unanimous. The various criticisms that had been simmering since the pilot
finally bubbled over by episode six, titled “Haunted Houses”, when three writers
published three
different
think-pieces
analyzing the show’s portrayal of women, widely cited as its most glaring flaw.
One of these people has
an Oscar.
Frankly, many of misogyny accusations directed at True Detective have rubbed me the wrong
way, not least because they frequently involve the use of words like
“irrational”, “whores” and “nag,” essentially a euphemism for “bitch”. While I
wouldn’t deny that it’s a valid complaint and a conversation worth having,
supporting a feminist critique by dismissing female characters as nothing more
than banal tropes seems a bit reductive and self-defeating, not to mention
hypocritical, ignoring even the possibility of nuance. For my part, I agree
with both Paskin and Lambert, in that a) I think Maggie feels vivid and fully
fleshed-out, if rather elusive, and labeling her a passive, one-dimensional
shrew does a disservice to the character as well as Michelle Monaghan’s
wonderfully keen, no-nonsense performance; and b) there is a purpose to the
show’s treatment of women. I’d even venture to argue that beyond being self-aware of its misogyny, which alone
isn’t enough to justify that misogyny, True
Detective represents an active examination and subversion of the postfeminist
ideology that pervades so much of contemporary media culture, including nostalgia
for old-fashioned masculinity and the denial of enduring gender inequalities.
Unlike, say, Walt in Breaking Bad,
Marty and Rust never come across as heroic or admirable (quite the contrary,
they seem outdated and rather pathetic), though you could argue how much
intention matters when people inevitably seem to glorify powerful men
regardless.
The Michelle Monaghan Emmy campaign starts here.
All of that said, there is
something uncomfortable about putting so much thought into defending a show
like True Detective that epitomizes
one of current TV’s most tiresome aspects – the unrelenting obsession with dour
cynicism and (white male) antiheroes. At what point do arguments such as the
one I made above become synonymous with the excuses regularly employed by
studio executives to uphold the status quo? Is it even possible to enjoy a work
of art without being tacitly implicated in its politics? I’m honestly not sure
it is.
True
Detective writer-creator Nic Pizzolatto himself addressed the criticism in a
recent interview with Buzzfeed’s Kate Aurthur, basically attributing the
show’s shortcomings in terms of gender dynamics to its structure and narrow
point-of-view. On an intellectual level, I’m perfectly satisfied with his
reasoning; the show clearly knows what it wants to do and only has a limited
amount of time in which to accomplish that. Yet even aside from Pizzolatto’s glib
description of gender criticism as “knee-jerk” and a “blunt, reductive
instrument”, it’s eternally frustrating when filmmakers, producers and other
narrative architects decline to treat issues of representation seriously, as a
fundamental component of art. Again, it doesn’t help that the overwhelming
majority of them are privileged white men who have little personal investment
in the matter.
For
instance, when asked about a (now
deleted) tweet in which he casually hints that the show’s second season
might feature women in more prominent roles, Pizzolatto replied:I deleted the tweet because I didn’t want to be beholden to a promise and then change my mind. I’m writing Season 2 right now, but I don’t want to divulge any potentialities, because so much could change. I just never want to create from a place of critical placation — that’s a dead zone. So I don’t want, for instance, a gender-bias-critique to influence what I do.I understand the reluctance to be swayed by external pressure and opinions, the need to maintain some pretense of complete artistic autonomy. But here’s the thing: diversity shouldn’t feel like an obligation; it should be something you want to achieve anyway. Pizzolatto’s response reminded me of a similar statement made by omnipresent director-producer Judd Apatow at the TCA meetings earlier this year. In both cases, the speaker, a white man, suggested that artists should need a specific reason to incorporate characters that aren’t also white men, as if women, racial minorities and other marginalized groups must justify their existence (on the other hand, no one questions the value of heterosexual white cis men, since it’s assumed to be inherent).
As much as I love and appreciate Mad Men, True Detective and Justified, among so many other shows, like many other people, I find myself increasingly bored by seeing the same kinds of stories being told over and over again – namely, stories about men, masculinity and male relationships – and make no mistake, no matter how interesting their female characters or gender politics are, these shows are about men. By the same token, I’m increasingly grateful for shows like Masters of Sex, Enlightened (R.I.P.) and Orange Is the New Black that dare to look at alternate perspectives. It’s not that those stories can’t still be interesting or don’t matter, and for the record, I doubt we have to worry about their imminent disappearance, but they’re far from the only stories that are interesting and that matter. By expanding their horizons and increasing the scope of their casts and narratives, TV shows will also deepen the well of inspiration from which they can draw. In contrast to what many people seem to believe, diversity should enhance creative potential, not limit or distract from it.
With Breaking
Bad over and Mad Men drawing to a
close, we need a new generation of TV to shower with hyperbolic praise.
Arguably more than any other show, True
Detective makes me hopeful for the future, not only because its freshman
season has been such a riveting fusion of technical virtuosity, distinctive
characterization, thematic intricacy and genre-steeped ambiance, but also
because its anthology structure allows for so many exciting possibilities. I
have no idea what to expect from season 2, but I hope it’s something radically
different, something fresh and provocative that hasn’t been explored before. I
would also be lying if I didn’t say that I deeply, deeply hope Pizzolatto takes
advantage of this opportunity to give us female and/or non-white protagonists
as complex and idiosyncratic as Martin Hart and Rustin Cohle; and, speaking of increasing behind-the-scenes
diversity, I’m sure there are a few female directors who would
appreciate the career boost. True Detective may not have
revolutionized television-as-we-know-it just yet, but if the show plays its
cards right, who’s to say it won’t?
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