Victory Stands On the Back of Sacrifice The representation of queer women in Netflix original series in relation to mainstream television

Esmée Lavalette Supervisor: Amir Vodka Student number: 10362878 Second reader: Blandine Joret University of Amsterdam MA Thesis Film Studies Word count: 24.602 Date: 26-06-2017

Acknowledgments First and foremost, I would like to thank Alycia Debnam-Carey for portraying the character of Lexa, who was the inspiration for my thesis, so beautifully. Never before has a character made such an impact on me, to the extent that I still think of this character every so often and what would have become of her, had she not died. Furthermore, I would like to thank Jessie McGoff, Andra Geurtz, Sophie Dodsworth and Emem Umana for checking and proofreading my work. I would like to thank Marloes Koot for spending all those days at the library with me and who has seen me more than I have seen myself in the past five months. I would like to thank the Partygays for accepting I have not been much of a party gay lately. And last, but not least, I would like to thank my girlfriend, Anne Zasburg, for accepting that she was not able to spend as much time with me.

Abstract The representation of queer women in the media has been quite negative throughout the years. However, the platform Netflix has opened new doors with their original series, and in the past few years many queer characters have emerged on these shows. This research attempts to determine how Netflix original series Orange is the New Black and Sense8 portray queer women in relation to mainstream television. By studying the way stereotypes and tropes are used to display these women, as well as the way their bodies are depicted, this thesis seeks to analyze through a close reading of the mise-en-scène and cinematography if queer women in Netflix original series are portrayed more positively than other queer female characters. By interrogating Lexa in The 100, multiple queer characters in Orange is the New Black, and Nomi and Amanita in Sense8, this thesis shows that there are indeed differences between mainstream television and Netflix when it comes to representing queer women. Generally, mainstream television depicts queer women in a more negative way. Nevertheless, even though Netflix is certainly portraying queer women more positively, this platform also requires improvement.

Keywords The representation of queer women — Netflix — Orange is the New Black — Sense8 — The 100 — Stereotypes and tropes — Objectification of queer female sex — Transition from broadcasting to streaming

Table of contents Introduction 1.

Chapter 1: Theoretical framework The meaning of queer 5. Stereotypes and tropes 6. The depiction of the body 10.

Chapter 2: The rise of queer female characters The history of queer characters in film and television 16. Queer women in contemporary television shows 20. Lexa in The 100 23.

Chapter 3: Queer women in Netflix original series Orange is the New Black 28. Sense8 42.

Conclusion 49. Bibliography 52.

Introduction As a queer woman myself, I have always been more interested in seeing someone similar to me represented in the media. One character that profoundly influenced me is Lexa (Alycia Debnam-Carey) from the post-apocalyptic show The 100 (2014–). After Lexa was killed off in March of 2016, queer women all around the world started a movement to demand better representation for queer characters. It was then that it became apparent to me that queer characters are not handled nor treated the way straight characters are; they are treated far more negatively. This became the starting point for this thesis, which allowed me to dive deeper into this subject and figure out why this is happening. I then realized that, at first glance, Netflix original series seem to be doing better in representing minorities than regular shows. Netflix is an attractive platform, since it only relies on the Internet. It is still considerably new and is changing the way people watch television. Since this thesis will solely focus on queer women, I have chosen Orange is the New Black (2013—) and Sense8 (2015-2017) as research objects. Speaking from personal experience, I took pleasure in watching both shows. Furthermore, Orange is the New Black offers many queer female characters who are diverse in not only their sexualities, but their race and body types as well. Sense8 is entirely different from the former series and only has two queer female characters, which is why it is interesting to analyze both shows. The two shows offer a diverse set of characters which are analyzed to discover how these women are represented. That is why I have come to the following research question: how do Netflix originals series Orange is the New Black and Sense8 portray queer women in relation to mainstream television? In order to answer this question, different subquestions are answered. The first question to be answered is: how have queer women been portrayed in the media throughout the years? This is to form a basic understanding of the representation of queer women. The second question is: how does Netflix make use of stereotypes and tropes to portray queer women? The third question relates to this: in what way does Netflix display the bodies of queer women through mise-en-scène and cinematography? And the last question is: how does Netflix’s portrayal of queer women distance itself from other media?

Netflix was founded in 1997 and started out as a DVD rental company. From 2007 on, it started with the video on demand via the Internet, as people know it now. It introduced a ‘streaming only’ plan, which by the end of 2012 surpassed its DVD rental option in its number of subscribers (Mcdonald, Smith-Rowsey 7). This streaming service allows subscribers to watch series and films on a variety of platforms, and Netflix invests billions

1

into the licenses of movies and television shows every year in maintaining its catalog up to date and keep every subscriber satisfied. This financial plan is part of Netflix’s success (Douglas 98). However, most of its success is due to the evolving of technology. Because of the growing approval of high-speed Internet connections, the streaming service was able to become a huge success (McDonald, Smith-Rowsey 2). “The proliferation of smartphones and wireless connections […] shifted expectations about accessibility and convenience, popularizing presumptions that culture circulates best on an on-demand basis” (2). This on-demand basis is now a reality. Netflix gives the user an individual freedom to choose whatever and when they want to watch its content. However, Netflix thought people would consume less entertainment because of this. The concerns were invalid, because the platform quickly found out that it triggered people to want to consume more. This caused for Netflix to intertwine with the term binge-watching (McDonald, Smith-Rowsey 8). This is when a user watches Netflix or other television networks for a longer timespan, generally regarding a single show. These days, Netflix has even become an independent studio, producing its own shows; its first show created was House of Cards (Beau Willimon, 2013–). In this way, Netflix evokes a revolution in television by producing quality serialized shows directly for the Internet (Douglas 96). It also brought a new programming approach to the table, namely launching all episodes of a season at once, which also ties in with binge-watching. It has also started making feature-length films; its first one was Beasts of No Nation (Cary Fakunaga, 2015). The platform is committed to only giving the subscriber high-quality media content and in this way threatens the existing media industries (Mcdonald, Smith-Rowsey 3). Netflix focuses less on creating shows for one particular audience. The platform wants to give creators the opportunity to show their small-scale and passionate projects to its audiences and in this way revolutionize storytelling. By showing its audience storylines that other networks are afraid to display, Netflix is reshaping what television looks like (164). Netflix can take greater risks than any other network or streaming service, but one of its strategies is still devoted to risk aversion. For example, Orange is the New Black is part of this strategy. Due to data analysis of what its users watch, the platform knew the critical connotations, and the multicultural cast of this show would do well (9). The profit Netflix makes off of this project and other similar projects gives it the opportunity to take more risks with other projects. Not even all of Netflix’s users need to watch the original programming content for Netflix to make a profit. As long as enough people watch, discuss and report on its shows to convince more people to buy a subscription to its platform, Netflix will benefit

2

(166). Netflix seems to be the future of not just television watching, but watching films as well, since there is a merging of media, technology, and entertainment going on (3).

For my theoretical framework, I have collected different scholars from film and feminist studies to support my main claim. First of all, it is necessary to establish what ‘queer’ means in this thesis. Queer will be used as an umbrella term for women who identify as non-heterosexual (Randazzo et al 103). Furthermore, to support the use of stereotypes and tropes, work from Richard Dyer will be consulted. His work lays a foundation on how differently stereotypes and tropes can be used. He focuses on Lippmann’s ideas of stereotypes: an ordering process, a short cut, referring to the world, and expressing our values and beliefs (The Matter of Images 12). He claims that stereotypes are not inaccurate, but that these definitions are problematic, because these were made up by heterosexual society in order to define queer people for that same society. Additionally, Laura Mulvey’s concept of the male gaze is discussed. She states that women face the problem of being seen as sexual objects all the time (27). This is even worse for queer women, because they are not only sexualized for their gender, but for their sexuality as well. As Caroline Sheldon states, they should be available to men, but at the same time these women make love to other women (8). Another scholar who has written about the representation of the lesbian body is Ann Ciasullo. She claims that most lesbians that are seen in media are feminine- looking lesbians. This is for the reason that masculine-looking lesbians are not appealing enough for the general audience. However, femme lesbians are often highly sexualized and they only represent a small group of the queer community (600). With the help of these theories I will analyze The 100, Orange is the New Black and Sense8. These shows have proven to be layered series with many different aspects. By using a textual analysis, I will look at the mise-en-scène and cinematography of these shows. I have picked one show from a regular television channel and two Netflix original series to be able to prove if there is a clear difference in representations of queer women on regular television and Netflix. With this research, I am hoping to add more to the ongoing debate. It is already well established that within most mainstream media, such as film and television, the representation is lacking, generally speaking. When it comes to Orange is the New Black, a few articles have been written up to now. For instance, there have been articles about the depiction of labor (Maria Pramaggiore), marketing campaigns (Lauren DeCarvalho, Nicole B. Cox), post-racism in the prison industry (Suzanne Enk, Megan Morrissey; Christina Belcher), and privilege and spectatorship (Anne Schwan). Furthermore, a thesis by Teija Stearns on the women-in-prison genre does not specifically focus on

3

stereotypes and tropes, but rather on how they make use of the conventions used in the genre. Sterns claims that the series criticizes the corrections system, and that it has changed the entertainment's narrative about prisons (55). Most of these articles have not specifically focused on the representation of queer women in the series. Sometimes these characters are briefly mentioned, but only in relation to other subjects. The MA thesis by Michael Chavez does analyze these characters based on their sexuality. However, Chavez also analyzes the characters’ race and uses different models that explain sexual activity between inmates in prison, such as the deprivation model (45). Although I am discussing identical ideas, such as Piper’s bisexuality and Big Boo’s butch appearance (47, 51), Chavez focuses on the use of intersectional approaches in order to be able to examine the issues in Orange is the New Black. He argues that the existing “approaches are not able to examine the ways in which multiple identity categories impact representation” (61). This is entirely different from this thesis, since I am using a close reading of several storylines and scenes to find out how these women are represented by the use of stereotypes and tropes and how their bodies are depicted within mise-en-scène and cinematography. Hereby the representation of these women is even further analyzed and explained and in this way the representation of queer women in the series will be more evident. When looking at Sense8, no articles in relation to the subject of Nomi’s gender and sexual identity have been written yet. Since Netflix offers a new way of watching shows as well as alternative strategies when it comes to broadcasting and advertisement, it is interesting to determine whether it also offers a stand for positively representing minorities.

In chapter 1 I lay out an extensive base of my theoretical framework. I have explored several theories to further support my main claim. In chapter 2, I outline the history of queer characters in film and television, which shows that throughout the years these characters have gone through a remarkable transition, but also that improvement is still necessary. Furthermore, I will analyze queer women in contemporary television shows and offer some examples that are considered positive and negative. Queer women have a more prominent place on television presently, but there are still quite a few problems. To further illustrate this point, I will perform a case study on Commander Lexa from The 100. In the final chapter, I focus on queer women in Orange is the New Black, which will be shortened to OITNB for the remaining of this thesis, and Sense8.

4

Chapter 1: Theoretical framework A story told well contains a plethora of people and lives. However, often the stories of queer women are told one dimensionally and therefore hurtfully, which I will elaborate on later, even though queer women come in all shapes and colors. In order to be able to see why this happens, in this chapter several theories from scholars are discussed that contain ideas about stereotypes and tropes, and the way bodies of women, and specifically queer women, are displayed onscreen.

The meaning of queer Since there are many definitions of the word ‘queer’, I deem it necessary to clarify what is meant by “queer women” in this thesis. Within queer theory, the word queer has often not specifically been defined. It is also not seen as a theory of homosexuality alone (Gauntlet 145). For example, as Annamarie Jagose states: “Queer itself can have neither a fundamental logic, nor a consistent set of characteristics” (96). Others argue that, since it is not an identity, it can be used by anyone who feels marginalized due to their sexual practices (Sullivan 44). Taking this into consideration, heterosexual individuals may also identify with this term. Goldman says it is “a theoretical perspective from which to challenge the normative” (170), which comes closer to the approach used here. In this thesis, the word queer is used as an umbrella term for sexual and gender minorities, as Randazzo et al state in their article on queer women’s perspective on the sexualization of women in the media as well. This will include “women who self- identify as nonheterosexual, including women who are exclusively lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, or fluid” (103). One problem with the use of queer as an umbrella term is that it assumes that every queer person is the same, although there are clearly differences between them. As Gloria Anzaldúa states: “At times we need this umbrella to solidify our ranks against outsiders. But even when we seek shelter under it we must not forget that it homogenizes, erases our differences” (250). In this thesis I do not, in any way, try to homogenize anyone that falls under this umbrella, but as this term quickly defines a larger group of people, it is easier to work with. If anything, this thesis aims to uncover the reasons behind the current portrayal of queer women in the media and subsequently to improve the future representation of queer women in the media, which would indirectly improve queer women’s position in society. In recent years, the media has played an essential part in someone discovering their sexuality. As Susan Driver states: “growing up and coming out queer is not merely a personal process of identity, but involves a cultural process of reassessing, embracing, refusing, and combining media representations for better or for worse” (2). People not only

5

learn from ‘real life’, but they also learn from what they see in the media. This is why it is important to show an as positive depiction of queer people as possible. Negative stereotypes and storylines do not help queer people accepting themselves. Coming to terms with someone’s sexuality now is certainly easier than how it has been in the past. Years ago it was different, because queer characters were seen as freaks, perverts or outsiders. However, today much of the mainstream media content contains queer characters that are perceived as “the same” (Driver 9). By showing queer people as the same as heterosexual characters, it is believed that people will change their view on them (Peele 2). Nonetheless, it is troubling to put a heteronormative label on these characters, since they are in fact different. Therefore, the same applies for the same right to express a different sexuality or gender.

Stereotypes and tropes The following theories deal with the way stereotypes and tropes are created and used in film and television. This corresponds with the way women’s bodies are depicted, since whenever a stereotypical feminine perceived queer woman is shown on television, she is often more sexualized than a more masculine perceived queer woman. When looking up the definition of stereotypes, the website TVtropes.org states the following: “When a set of such assumptions about something becomes "common knowledge", it forms a stereotype” (n. pag.) Their quote does not imply a bad connotation and the website refers to stereotypes as if they are useful, which they are, to some extent. A number of them could act as a cinematic tool to avoid the lengthy exposition of conveying character traits (Crewe 52). But what is neglected in this logic is the fact that stereotypes could be rather harmful to the groups these assumptions are made about. One negative depiction of a queer woman may be harmless, but society's opinion on queer women can be shaped by consistently showing them as weak and different from the norm. Richard Dyer has written multiple essays about stereotypes. He says that words have a trail of connotations that are very hard to shake off (Dyer, The Matter of Images 8). That is why it is important to take a closer look at how stereotypes are constructed. He states that stereotypes can be damaging to gay people because they believe them. This leads to self-oppression that is so characteristic of gay people’s lives, but also to start behaving in conformity with these stereotypes, which leads to the confirmation of their truth (Dyer, Gays and Film 27). Most stereotypes of queer female characters in films and on television are offensive, which I will elaborate on in the next chapter.

6

Walter Lippmann coined the term stereotypes years ago and did not mean any harm with this term. In fact, he found stereotypes rather necessary and useful:

A pattern of stereotypes is not neutral. It is not merely a way of substituting order for the great blooming, buzzing confusion of reality. It is not merely a short cut. It is all these things and something more. It is the guarantee of our self-respect; it is the projection upon the world of our own sense of our own value, our own position and our own rights. The stereotypes are, therefore, highly charged with the feelings that are attached to them. They are the fortress of our tradition, and behind its defenses we can continue to feel ourselves safe in the position we occupy (Lippmann 96)

Lippmann distinguishes four ideas of stereotypes: an ordering process, a short cut, referring to the world, and expressing our values and beliefs. Dyer moves between this sociological concern of Lippmann and the aesthetic concerns that are carried out within fiction (Dyer, The Matter of Images 12). The latter is more important for the points being made in this thesis. Lippmann’s first idea of a stereotype, an ordering process, deals with the fact there is a true order to the world. This means that any individual tries to understand the world through generalities, patterns, and typifications (12). His next notion, a short cut, is the most widely used definition of stereotypes. This way of using stereotypes is as a simple, striking form of representation, but are still capable of condensing a great deal of information (12). This is the definition discussed by Crewe and TVtropes.org and the one most widely known and accepted. Lippmann’s third definition uses a stereotype as a projection onto the world. According to Dyer, for this definition it is crucial to distinguish stereotypes from modes of representation, because when looking at media fictions they are not only a social construct, but aesthetic as well (13). In fiction, a distinction can be made between the type and the novelistic character. A stereotype is a subcategory of the type. The type is a character constructed through the use of immediately recognizable and defining traits, which do not change through the narrative. They also point to general, recurrent features of the human world (13). Opposite of the type is the novelistic character, which will be discussed later. The last definition by Lippmann is the expression of our values and beliefs. A stereotype is effective because of the way it invokes a consensus (14). Through stereotypes people compose ideas about social groups. Stereotypes convey parts of reality, and it depends on the power these stereotypes have in society, which parts they are. To find out how this works, Dyer makes a distinction between stereotypes and social types. “Types are instances which indicate those who live by the rules of society (social types) and those whom the rules are designed to exclude (stereotypes). For this reason, stereotypes are also

7

more rigid than social types” (29). You can choose your social type to a certain point, but you are convicted to a stereotype. The dominant group always decides what a stereotype is and what is not by applying their norms to marginalized groups. If someone does not fit into the dominant group, they are seen as inadequate, sick and as a result of this reinforce the dominant’s group of domination (30). Thus, in the case for queer women, this dominant group mostly consists out of straight heterosexual men. Interestingly, in the media, social types can be used in more open and flexible ways than stereotypes. A social type can be applied to any plot, while stereotypes often carry a role within their representation (15). That is, a queer woman will always be confined to this specific identity and nothing else. However, what is problematic about these stereotypes is not that they are inaccurate, since they do come from a sense of common knowledge. As Dyer states, often gay people believe stereotypes are accurate and gay people do certainly cross gender barriers. Gay men do often refuse to be typically masculine, and often gay women do not want to be as feminine as straight women (Dyer, Gays and Film 31). What is problematic, however, is the attempt of heterosexual society to define this group for themselves, in terms that are an ideal of heterosexuality. That is why Dyer states homosexual individuals have to develop their own alternative and definitions for themselves (31). The alternative to constructing a character through types is the creation of the novelistic character. This character is “defined by a multiplicity of traits that are only gradually revealed to us through the course of the narrative” (Dyer, The Matter of Images 13). In these films, the narrative relies on the character because it is centered upon the development of the character’s unique individuality. Films which show queer characters as unique individuals can be argued to be more progressive since they establish a positive portrayal of queer people. However, the issue is that being gay can be perceived as a personal matter instead of it being a worldwide fact (Dyer, Gays and Film 36). However, it is the writers’ choice on how they want their characters to play out. They can choose to create a queer character that focuses on their development, or one that is solely defined by significant traits. When specifically looking at queer characters in film, Dyer states that there are two methods on how to let audiences know a character is gay: through iconography and through structure. By using iconography, “films use a certain set of visual and aural signs which immediately bespeak homosexuality and connote the qualities associated, stereotypically, with it” (31). Iconography resembles Lippmann’s connotation of the shortcut. By using a simple form of representation, most people will understand what a character is like.

8

However, Dyer debates why it is necessary to establish that a character is queer. He argues that, because if a character shows gay characteristics, it explains the rest of the personality of the character (32). Nonetheless, in this way, Dyer seems to imply that a gay character’s personality is always dependent on them being gay and they are nothing but their sexuality. I do agree that it is important to state that a character is queer, because diversity in the media is still lacking, but it does not have to be established only to determine that they are queer and they lack any other personality traits. However, Dyer says it also has an advantage: “it never allows the text to closet her or him, and it thus allows gay subcultural perspectives to be always present in a scene” (Dyer, The Matter of Images 24). According to Dyer, stereotypes are also established through structure. This is demonstrated through the function of the character in the film’s structures. Various structures can be used, such as the plot, or the way the world is shown to be organized (33). One type that is often used for female gays is the dyke. This type represents homosexuality through a parallel with gender. This means that this sexuality connotes that a dyke is in between the two genders of male and female (Dyer, Gays and Film 30). However, there are not only two genders. There is a complete spectrum of genders and someone who is typified as a dyke falls somewhere in between the spectrum of most female and most male. Dyer states that often queer people are not seen as real men and real women due to their ‘in-betweenism’. This signifies that true masculinity and true femininity are defined according to heterosexual norms. Queer people are also often seen as ridiculous since they do not fit into heterosexual standards (Dyer, The Matter of Images 32). To make this more clear for the remainder of the chapter, it is important to explain how gender works. According to Amelia Jones, Judith Butler argues that everyone has a fixed sex at birth, that is to say, boys have a penis and girls a vagina. However, your gender includes your sex’s characteristics and other sex-based social structures. In this way, gender is not a stable identity, and this can change through time (Jones 392). Butler argues that gender is an act. The sex determines which gender label is put on people from birth, but this does not always have to match. Genders are not true or false, neither real or apparent. Nonetheless, Butler argues that it is necessary for us to live in a world in which gender is stabilized (399). When a person performs the ‘right’ gender, the world comforts this person with the fact that having this gender identity is fundamental. However, when you perform the ‘wrong’ gender, a set of punishments are set up immediately. Society’s anxiety over those who fail to perform the illusion of gender essentialism “should be sign enough that on some level there is social knowledge that the truth or falsity of gender is only socially compelled and in no sense ontologically necessitated” (399). This is what happens a lot with more

9

masculine queer women. Their gender identity does not fully match their sex, which is why society does not accept them. Another interesting point Dyer mentions is that “films always feel the need to recreate the social inequality of heterosexuality within homosexuality” (33). Since heterosexual relationships are often based on the inequality of a man and a woman, filmmakers feel the need to display this within a queer relationship, while they are for the most part based on equality (33). The construction of inequality within the relationship of two women is usually achieved through depicting one woman as more masculine and the other as more feminine, such as in The Incredibly Adventure of Two Girls in Love (Maria Maggenti, 1995). Tropes bear a resemblance to stereotypes, so there will not be much elaboration on that. TVtropes.org defines tropes as “a storytelling shorthand for a concept that the audience will recognize and understand instantly” (n. pag.). The only difference is that tropes are focused on a plot line, while stereotypes are the characters that are involved in this story. Tropes are usually a narrative choice from the storyteller, which means that characters on the show itself are not aware of these conventions that are used (Foss 9). This also implies that it is these storytellers that have an immense responsibility in getting rid of or repeating tropes. A few of these storytelling shorthands are discussed in the next chapter when analyzing the character Lexa from The 100, which exquisitely shows how tropes should not be used anymore in today’s media. In conclusion, stereotypes and tropes are commonly used conventions that make it easier for audiences to understand what is occurring. However, the problem with depicting queer characters in a particular way is that it could be harmful. Although it is important to establish that a character is queer, it should not be used as their only personality trait. In the following chapters, examples of these stereotypes and tropes are discussed.

The depiction of the body Theories of queer bodies often relate to stereotypes and tropes that are commonly used for queer women, because these stereotypes generally include the way these characters are seen in a sexualized manner. Women have always been depicted as sexual objects, which can be traced back to centuries ago. According to Jones, Janet Wolff claims that this is done through specific practices, ideologies, and discourses (415). Laura Mulvey brought this point to the cinematic perspective. As she states, “cinema highlights the ways in which its formal preoccupations reflect the physical obsessions of the society which produced it” (23). In society, women face the problem of being seen as sexual objects, and this is projected onto the big screen. Mulvey speaks of a male gaze, in which

10

women are seen as the fantasy of the male. In this way, a male is considered to be active and a female as passive. Women are simultaneously looked at and displayed, and their appearance is classified for not only visual, but as well as erotic impact so that they connote to-be-looked-at-ness (27). In this case, everything is about the male desire. The woman displayed has two functions: as sexual object for the characters and as sexual object for the spectator watching the film. According to Mulvey, both functions converge with a third masculine gaze: that of the camera/director. In her following essay “Afterthoughts on ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema’”, Mulvey discusses how female spectators fit into her theory. She argues that, in films that are structured around the masculine pleasure, women can rediscover part of their lost sexual identity by regressing back to Freud’s pre-Oedipal/phallic stage (31). This is when both boys and girls are masculine. However, women can only go back to this change for a limited amount of time. Thus, a female is practicing a transvestite spectatorship (37). Still, Mulvey encountered a lot of criticism from different scholars, because, to name one example, the male gaze denies women a human identity. For example, Kaja Silverman argued that the gaze could be adopted by both males and females (5). Other scholars, such as Mary Ann Doane claimed that female viewing positions are much more fluid than Mulvey acknowledges (52), as well as Teresa DeLauretis who stated that the female spectator uses a double-identification when watching films (133). Feminist theorists such as Jackie Stacey argued that the binary of the feminine and masculine spectator is incorrect, because there are gay spectators (245), and Steve Neale identified the gaze not only as male, but as heterosexual as well (281). Furthermore, queer theorists Caroline Evans and Lorraine Gammas suggest that queer theorists focus on a different aspect, on identities, which are multiple and fluid, rather than fixed and singular like Mulvey’s identifications (45). In Dyer’s Gays and Film, Caroline Sheldon focuses on lesbian sexuality and men’s fantasies about this. She states that the depiction of women, and in this case queer women, is caused by the patriarchy (8). Lesbian sexuality is given a double definition, because lesbians are not only defined in terms of their sexuality, but in terms of their sex role for heterosexual men as well. For one, as a woman, she should be available to men, but on the other hand, she also makes love to other women. This is why queer women are seen as sex-symbols, even more so than heterosexual women are. This is also due to the fact men often know little about women’s sexuality, which creates myths such as ‘lesbians are fantastic in bed’ (8). To ensure men will not feel threatened by lesbian sexuality, what is generally established in porn films, but in other films and television shows as well, is the arrival of a

11

man at some point in the action so he can satisfy the ‘real cravings’ of the women. By demonstrating this, it is also ensured that the onlooker can identify with what is shown onscreen (9). Hence queer women are fully put at the service of heterosexuality, and their sexuality is not seen as valid on its own. Similarly, queer women are often portrayed as sadists or villains, because some men feel threatened by them (12). Sheldon states that queer women are often victims of stereotyping and mythologizing due to this sexualization. She argues that there are three lesbian stereotypes: “the butch/mannish lesbian (bar dyke/foot-stomper, often working-class and dominant in her relationships with other women), the sophisticated lesbian (often an older woman, who is rich and successful in a man’s world), the neurotic lesbian (often femme or closet)” (12). Due to these fears men have, queer women are regularly divided from other women by their sexual orientation. In all these films, generally the message remains that the free choice of sexuality is something that society will punish in the end (14). Ann Ciasullo has written an article about the way the lesbian body is represented, which correlates to the idea of stereotypical feminine-looking lesbians. Back in the 90s, lesbians suddenly became quite popular, but only if they looked feminine. This notion is called the ‘lesbian chic’, a term first named in the October 1993 edition of magazine Cleo (Making Her (In)Visible 578). This lesbian figure is entirely constructed by the American media. Laura Cottingham states that real lesbians are overshadowed by the lesbian chic, because only this lesbian is used as a token representation for the entire lesbian world in the media (19). Ciasullo argues that this has two reasons:

First, most recent mainstream representations of lesbianism are normalized- heterosexualized or “straightened out”-via the femme body. The mainstream lesbian body is at once sexualized and desexualized: on the one hand, she is made into an object of desire for straight audiences through her heterosexualization, a process achieved by representing the lesbian as embodying a hegemonic femininity and thus, for mainstream audiences, as looking “just like” conventionally attractive straight women; on the other hand, because the representation of desire between two women is usually suppressed in these images, she is de-homosexualized (Making Her (In)Visible 578)

This ‘heterosexualization’ goes hand in hand with racial and socioeconomic status, namely the femme is usually a white, upper-middle class woman. This is also what Aviva Dove- Viebahn discusses in her essay about the notion of lesbian visibility by analyzing The L Word (Ilene Chaiken, 2004-2009), which aired on Showtime. The show was groundbreaking when it comes to lesbian visibility, because never before had there been a show about a group of queer women. The show tried to be as diverse as possible and has shown the

12

world the diverse community of queer women. However, the show had to please the general audience, which resulted in most of their main characters being white, upper-middle class and feminine (Peele 76). Even though the general audience does not only consist of white upper-middle class viewers, generally it is assumed that these are the desired characters people want to watch. Many queer women felt uneasy while watching the show, because the femininity of the characters in The L Word was not only a fashion statement, but also a political statement. Within the queer women’s community, politics are bound to fashion, mainly due to the visibility then created. Queer women’s clothing style has also functioned as a sign that they did not conform to the patriarchy, heteronormativity, and the masculine and feminine binary (Walker 868). Essentially, what this means is that when you do not look like a stereotypical queer woman, you do not count as one when it comes to political visibility and awareness. This suggests that looking like a queer woman is more important than whether or not someone actually sleeps with other women (Peele 75). Furthermore, the non femme-looking lesbians are invisible in the media. When they do appear, they are often seen as abnormal (Ciasullo, Making Her (In)Visible 578). Often this character is shown to have intimate relationships, but there is no sexuality indicated (586). Additionally, butch lesbians are often seen as working class characters, so their socioeconomic status does not make them attractive either (600), since it is assumed that people would rather watch upper-class lives. However, it is precisely this butch lesbian who has always been linked to the idea of lesbianism in society. Images of femme-looking lesbians question the audience’s idea of what a lesbian looks like. At the same time, these are also the same images of lesbians that are desirable to the straight male audience (593). This trend of representation is still often seen today. As Sherrie Inness states: “By emphasizing that lesbians are beautiful, well dressed, and born to shop, […] writers build up an image of lesbians as being ‘just like us’ -or, in other words, ‘homosexual = heterosexual’” (67). This then connects to the ‘I know, but’ equation: I know this character is a lesbian, but she is so attractive, she cannot be one (Ciasullo, Making her (In)Visible 592). This not only happens to characters in the media, but in real life as well. Since people often assume that every lesbian looks butch, a feminine looking lesbian does not exist, only when it is for the male gaze. This is why the femme lesbian is overrepresented in most media today. She is not considered to be a lesbian, because she is desirable for straight male audiences. This makes her inauthentic (599). A butch lesbian is not as often shown in the media, because she is not as desirable as a femme. As Inness states: she fails to fulfill heterosexual ideas about what is attractive (200). The butch is marked by conventional masculine

13

characteristics, which is considered ugly for a woman by heterosexual norms. The butch cannot be seen as a non-lesbian, because her body already shows all signs of what is assumed to be a lesbian by society. This can become a trap for lesbian imagining because the masculinity of the butch depends on stereotypical homophobic constructions of what Esther Newton has called “the mythic mannish lesbian” (Halberstam 176). The butch lesbian is more visible than the femme and thus more representable as a lesbian. However, Inness goes on to argue that the butch body is not a useful body when it comes to pleasing the mainstream audience. Since the butch claims a masculine style, she distinguishes herself from the average heterosexual woman. In this way, she fails to represent herself as feminine to appeal to the male gaze (Inness 203), thus the butch neither accommodates desire nor identification for the mainstream audiences. A straight woman cannot identify with these characters, because they do not look like her and straight men cannot desire her, because she is too masculine for their liking. By representing lesbians in the media, the mainstream culture tries to make room for positive representation, but the lesbian figure they choose often becomes a non-lesbian. According to Ciasullo, a butch-looking lesbian would better signify lesbianism for mainstream audiences (Making Her (In)Visible 600). However, it must not be ignored that current queer representation is a step in a positive direction. These stereotypes are supposed to state visible what has been represented as invisible (Halberstam 184). The media helps to disarm prejudice towards these women by depicting happy and healthy queer women and letting them live ordinary lives (Peele 77). By displaying this normalcy to the mainstream audience, the thoughts some people have about queers are discontinued.

The aforementioned scholars have shown how the sexualization of queer women can be represented in the media. For the focus of this thesis, it is important to set a foundation on how this sexualization will be analyzed in the chosen series. As can be read, Dyer has written a lot about stereotypes. The most significant meaning of the word for this thesis is the fact that stereotypes are often used as a shortcut, or are established through iconography. It is important to remember Lippmann’s notion of the fact that stereotypes compose an idea of a certain social group. There are several lesbian stereotypes and tropes, most of these can be found on TVtropes.org, such as the stereotypical psycho lesbian, and tropes like ‘Bury Your Gays’ and ‘Girl-on-Girl Is Hot’. However, the butch-femme debate is one of the most important issues, and this debate goes hand in hand with the sexualization of queer women. For instance, a lipstick lesbian automatically brings being highly sexualized to the table, while a butch lesbian connotes the total opposite. I am not arguing that a femme lesbian is

14

not a real lesbian, because they are real. Rather, the problem emerged when the media constantly started depicting queer women as femme, while many different queer women would also like to be accurately represented. With the later analysis of Orange is the New Black and Sense8, I hope to prove that a more diverse group of queer women is now being represented on Netflix, and that this group is not always sexualized through the mise-en- scène and cinematography.

15

Chapter 2: The rise of queer female characters In this chapter, I outline the history of queer characters in cinema and television. A greater part of this history deals with queer characters in general, instead of solely focusing on queer women. This is mainly due to the fact that queer women were not discussed in the history of media as often as queer men. In the second part of the chapter, I will focus on a more narrow group, particularly queer women in contemporary television shows, as well as focus on one example of this group, namely Lexa from The 100. This chapter sets the scene for the arrival of Netflix original series, the focus of my later analysis

The history of queer characters in cinema and television Queer characters have gone through a remarkable transition onscreen over the years. They were already represented in cinema from the beginning of its invention. In fact, the first film that displayed two men dancing was an Edison experimental film from 1895 (Russo 6). However, back then, two men who were dancing was not seen as something inherently homosexual, but as something friendly. Edison’s depiction was certainly different from how most other films from that time depicted queer people. As Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman explain in their documentary The Celluloid Closet (1995), at this point in history, homosexual characters were often merely there to laugh at and added a sense of humor to the film. They were also shown as something to pity and fear, which resulted in those who were openly queer in real life being subject to negativity. The first authentic gay character that appeared on the screen was the ‘sissy’, which was seen as a person to mock. This person made heterosexual men and women either feel manlier or more womanly, because he occupied the space in between what was seen as a man and what was seen as a woman (Russo 17). This can be seen in, for example, A Wanderer in the West (Robin Williamson, Joseph E. Zivelli, 1927) and Ours Better (George Cukor, 1933). However, when a woman dressed up as a man, not many viewers perceived this as amusing. Instead, it has connotations to strength and authority (6). An example of this is Morocco (Josef von Sternberg, Henry Hathaway, 1930), in which the woman dressed as a man is intended to be portrayed in a positive way, instead of for people to laugh at her. In the twenties and thirties, many American films were considered improper. This was a time when Will Hays created the Motion Picture Production Code, by which the industry regulated itself. “The Motion Picture Production Code restricted film content, particularly in the areas of sex and crime, from 1934 to 1968” (Timmer 29). Elements

16

such as nudity, profanity, defiance of the law and seduction were forbidden. The Code was based on the philosophy that films should uphold the morals of society (30). “Even inference to homosexuality was prohibited in Hollywood cinema, and for the next seven years it was only allowed to be suggested” (Cox 44). In this way, queer characters became harder to find for regular audiences, but they did not disappear. Filmmakers made subtle suggestions that one of their characters was queer by making use of stereotypes. Most queer characters were antisocial and new identities were given to them, such as the cold-blooded villain and monsters. Lesbians were often perceived as vampires, such as in Dracula’s Daughter (Lambert Hillyer, 1936) (Russo 49). Characters also made use of several hints; their sexuality was made clear by looks and gestures. Even though these depictions of queer characters were usually negative and queer audiences could not identify with these characters, they did feel a sense of belonging (92). In the fifties and sixties, another character for queers was constructed. Queer characters were often depicted in ‘buddy films’. In these films it was important to demonstrate that two women who were good friends were not in any way sexually involved. This was usually established through using a ‘real’ lesbian as an object lesson (88). Meanwhile, another character was created as well; the lesbian who was seen as outsider and who was lonely, frustrated and emotionally unstable (102). Homosexuality eventually became a topic that was talked about in films after the Production Code was overthrown. However, only immoral people would talk about it out loud, such as in The Children’s Hour (William Wyler, 1962). Sometimes films displayed ways queer people felt about themselves when they found out they were gay, which is sick. This not only sketched a negative and unrealistic view of queer people, but it also reinforced the way queer people in real life should feel about themselves. Furthermore, another character for homosexuals was created: the suicidal, sad and desperate homosexual. Most queer characters were seen as pathological, predatory and dangerous villains and fools, but never heroes (122). These characters more often than not would die by the end of the film, because they killed themselves, or they would fall victim to their own villainous sexuality (136). However, after the Stonewall riots in 1969, something remarkable happened: the first film with a positive outlook on homosexuality was made, namely The Boys in the Band (William Friedkin, 1970). However, most films continued perceiving queer characters as inherently violent and suicidal due to struggling with their identity. In addition, American cinema could not portray queer characters without them being sex-

17

obsessed (187). Hollywood stuck to this stereotypical way of thinking, but meanwhile the vocal visibility for gays increased (184 – 185). This was also around the time the first queer characters started emerging on television. Television has been around since the late twenties but it did not start fully developing until after World War II. It quickly overthrew the movie industry and created a new powerful entertainment production. In 1973, a series of meetings were held between gay activists and representatives of the film and television industries to discuss the treatment of homosexuality in the United States (220). Due to its regulations by the Federal Communications Commission and the reactions of advertisers to voice public opinions, television was more vulnerable to this than the film industry. Experimentation was also encouraged (221). However, “because commercial television seeks large and heterogeneous audiences, its messages are designed to disturb as few as possible” (Gross 7). This caused plenty of battles between activists, networks, and the right wing politicians. It was not until 1989 the first regular lesbian character appeared on ABC’s primetime show Heartbeat (Sarah Davidson, 1988-1989) (86). Before, queer women had made appearances but these were always very short lived and they were not regular characters on the shows. Interestingly, Marilyn McGrath (Gail Strickland) could still not show any passion towards her girlfriend. “Apparently, for program executives progress means constructing images of lesbians and gays that are not threatening to heterosexuals by erasing any sign of lesbian and gay sexuality” (87). Heterosexual characters showing affection were permitted and have been permitted for years, but many battles still had to be fought over the same rights for queer characters. In the nineties, movie studios were still resisting the stories of queer people, but television went through more positive and developed changes, although not everyone was satisfied with that. As Ron Becker argued, gay television in the nineties was about the commercialization of queerness. Channels wanted to exploit this for economic ends and it was used as a programming trend (Becker 389). Three successful network series introduced lesbian or gay characters with continuing roles, even if these were secondary. What was striking was the fact that their sexuality was not the primary issue every time they appeared onscreen (Gross 89). The first lesbian kiss on American television was shown on NBC’s L.A. Law (Steven Bochco, Terry Louise Fisher, 1986-1994) in 1991 (87). People were furious and the network and advertisers were threatened by boycotts, but this did not stop other networks to start showing kisses between women. The television season of 1993 and 1994 was also called “the season of the kiss”, since there was a lot of controversy

18

surrounding several shows airing kisses (91). Some states refused to broadcast these episodes, while the kisses were not even fully shown to the audiences. Often the back of a head came into view or the camera would pan the other way. However, when a script made clear both women were merely experimenting, kisses were shown in profile, clearly visible (93). Kisses between heterosexual women did not seem to threaten the patriarchy, because experimenting was accepted. The first lead character on a show who came out of the closet was Ellen in 1997. Ellen Degeneres played Ellen Morgan on ABC’s show Ellen (Carol Black, Neal Marlens, 1994-1998). After numerous rumors about Ellen Degeneres’s real life and her coming out in February on The Oprah Winfrey Show, it was only a matter of time till her character also came out, which was in April. The show was canceled only a year later, but her coming out was a milestone in American cultural history: “a narrative punctuated by media events that represented and reinforced transformations in the social climate” (163). After Ellen’s coming out, it slowly became more acceptable for queer characters to be displayed. By the end of the century, American television networks still struggled with the representation of minorities. They wanted to take better care of representation, but “gay and lesbian characters […] are still odd men and women out in a straight world” (257). As has been said, queer characters were allowed as long as their sexuality was erased, which made them odd characters. They would love someone from the same gender, but this could not be expressed. It took paid cable channels to put queer characters at the center of their series. Cable channels were willing to tackle projects that were considered too controversial for public television (193). Channels like HBO and Showtime “dare to be different and push itself into new and often controversial television territory precisely because it is part of a vast economic conglomerate diverse enough to speculate and wait for a return on its investment” (Akass and McCabe 8). This shows in HBO’s tagline “It’s Not TV, It’s HBO”, with which they imply they are a qualitative cut above the usual television programming (Edgerton, Jones 9). By 2001, HBO is one of the most popular destinations on television. This is also the year they started the ‘on-demand era’. Slowly, HBO led other cable and satellite channels into an area of television business once dominated by the major broadcast networks (17). Despite their queer content, HBO had many subscribers not only in the United States, but in the rest of the world as well. Tony Kelso argues that HBO has generally had the opportunity to show more respect for their audiences by not only giving audiences what they are willing

19

to watch, but what they actually want to watch (Leverette et al 46). Other networks and channels realized that more and realistic queer characters were no longer controversial. In this way, HBO’s framework was a predecessor to Netflix. HBO raised the bar for television series, and more queer characters started appearing on daytime and prime-time television on other channels and on the big networks as well. The main essence of this history is that queer characters have certainly developed over the years. These characters went from being negatively represented, to surely being better represented. Nonetheless, there is still tons of room for improvement. In the next section of this chapter, the representation of queer women in contemporary television shows is discussed.

Queer women in contemporary television shows In this part of the chapter I take a look at the deaths of queer women and how queer women have been treated on television shows since the beginning of this century. To further extend my point, I analyze Lexa’s character by looking at how she was displayed and at stereotypes and tropes that have been used for her character. As stated, HBO raised the bar for networks and other channels to write more queer characters into their shows. In the past ten years, the amount of queer characters has grown exponentially, but still only a small part of characters shown on television are queer. A demographics about sexuality in Dustin Kidd’s book shows us that in 2014 only 0.6% of the characters on television are lesbian, and only 0.6% are bisexual women. In total, 94.9% of the characters are heterosexual (183). In GLAAD’s annual report on LGBTQ inclusion on the television season of 2016-2017 this number has gone up to 4.8% (4). However, this does not depict an authentic picture of reality, since according to GLAAD’s third annual Accelerate Acceptance report, 20% of the millennials in the United States identify as LGBTQ (3). After Lexa’s death on The 100, which aired in March of 2016, Autostraddle has made a list of all queer female characters’ deaths (Riese All 181 Dead Lesbians n. pag.). The total number at the time of writing is 181. In 2016 alone, 30 queer female characters died in various television shows, including cable channels and Netflix original series. Considering these queer women were only part of the approximately five percent, this number is concerning. Following their article about the deaths of lesbian characters, according to Autostraddle, only 29 queer women in the history of television got a happy ending with another queer character when a show ended (Hogan n. pag.). Others either died, like the 181 mentioned above, chose to be with a man in the end, or stayed single. The first of these

20

29 characters was Ellen back in 1998. What was striking about her series was that it was an intertextual media event. Like Jennifer Reed says, whatever happened on the television show was commented upon in other media as well (Peele 10). That is why the fact her character got a happy ending with her lover Laurie remains an important one. Besides Ellen, there have also been happy endings on Showtime’s Queer as Folk (Ron Cowen, Daniel Lipman, 2000-2005), Once and Again (Edward Zwick, Marshall Herskovitz, 1999-2002), which was broadcasted on ABC, HBO’s The Wire (David Simon, 2002-2008), South of Nowhere (Thomas W. Lynch, 2005-2008), broadcasted on TeenNick, multiple characters on The L Word (2004-2009), and the most recent happy ending took place in Showcase’s Lost Girl (Michelle Lovretta, 2010-2015). On Glee (Ryan Murphy, Ian Brennan, and Brad Falchuk, 2009-2015), a FOX production, there has also been a wedding. Even though Brittany (Heather Morris) and Santana’s (Naya Rivera) wedding certainly was not the only lesbian wedding that ever aired on primetime television, it was one of the only marriages that lasted. Besides happy endings, there have been more significant positive representations of queer women on television shows as well, meaning that these representations are more positive since they show healthy relationships between two queer women. This can improve the lives of queer people in reality. A good example is The L Word, a show that solely focused on the lives of a group of queer women in Los Angeles. The series showed the world that queer women were just like any other people and they went through the same happiness and trouble. Many have claimed that through The L Word they could finally accept themselves and this show gave them a virtual place to belong, due to the huge fan base that existed on the Internet (Kern 447). Even though The L Word did have a wide variety of queer women when it comes to race and style, the problem with the show is that it only used images of beautiful rich women, which Driver says is due to media commodification (9). As discussed in chapter 1, Ciascullo called this representation of lesbians the lesbian chic (578). This was seen on many shows throughout the years and is still seen today. A queer woman who looks more like a straight person is easier accepted by the audience than a woman who looks more butch. A few examples of shows that currently have a queer woman on their show are, for instance, The Fosters (Peter Paige, Brad Bredeweg, 2013–), which is a Freeform (ABC Family) broadcast. Besides showing a healthy relationship between Lena and Stef, played by Sherri Saum and Teri Polo, who are raising their biological and foster children, the show is also tackling the issues of interracial relationships. Another show that has proved itself for positive queer representation is Supergirl (Greg Berlanti, Andrew Kreisberg and Allison

21

Adler, 2015–), which is broadcasted on The CW. Supergirl has accurately portrayed how difficult and confusing a time of coming out can be. Alex and Maggie, played by Chyler Leigh and Floriana Lima, are now officially engaged, and even though their relationship lacks screen time every now and then, they are a happy couple. Furthermore, after many concerning messages from young queer girls, producer Andrew Kreisberg has stated in an interview with The Hollywood Reporter that neither of them are going to die soon (Buckshaum n. pag.). Besides The Fosters and Supergirl, there are multiple other shows such as Grey’s Anatomy (Shonda Rimes, 2005-), an ABC broadcast, Pretty Little Liars (I. Marlene King, 2010-2017), which was broadcasted on Freeform (ABC Family), and How to Get Away with Murder (Peter Nowalk, 2014–), which is also broadcasted on ABC, who have a main or recurring queer female character on their cast who is doing considerably well. However, it has become common for queer female characters to die in the media, and this has affected young queer girls quite profoundly. Speaking from my personal experience, when a new queer female character is introduced to a series, a large part of the community starts watching this particular show, simply because there is a lack of representation in the media. Then, when this character dies not much later and does not get the happy ending everyone hoped for, it is deeply frustrating. Like Driver has stated from her interviews with queer girls: “engaging with popular culture is fraught with anticipations, excitements, disappointments, and frustrations” (5). According to Autostraddle, the first dead queer woman on television was Julie, played by Geraldine Brooks, on the soap opera Executive Suite (Buck Houghton, 1976- 1977) in 1976 which aired on CBS (Riese All 181 Dead Lesbians n. pag.). Julie’s love interest just walked into traffic after realizing she was in love with Julie and Julie chased her, getting hit by a car while doing this. After already dying in films most of the time in the years before, Julie’s death set the foundation for television as well. Even though there have been many changes in television throughout the years, as can be read in the historical account of this chapter, the dying of queer women has been a recurring theme over the years. Furthermore, often a queer woman is killed in order for another story to continue, which usually involves a white heterosexual male. It is a problematic aspect that these deaths are part of a never-ending list. A few of the most shocking deaths in contemporary television series are explained below. One of the first shocking major deaths of a queer woman in the 21st century is the death of Tara on Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Joss Whedon, 1997-2003) in 2002. The show aired on The WB Television Network and was later taken over by United Paramount Network. Tara (Amber Benson) was killed by a stray bullet that was meant for Buffy.

22

However, her lover Willow (Alyson Hannigan) did get a happy ending in 2003, but with another woman named Kennedy. The website AfterEllen claims Buffy changed the world for lesbians on television, by showing three sympathetic lesbian characters during its seven- year run. It also showed the first post-sex scene between two women on network television (Warn n. pag.). Another shocking death was Sandy Lopez’s death on NBC’s ER (Michael Crichton, 1994-2009) in 2002 as well. Sandy (Lisa Vidal) was a firefighter, which is a dangerous occupation in itself, and ultimately kills her in the end. In 2014, Leslie Shay (Lauren German), a paramedic on NBC’s Chicago Fire (Derek Haas, Michael Brandt, 2012–) faced a similar fate. During the season finale of season 2, she was killed while assisting her firefighter’s team during a fire as well. According to AfterEllen, the writers and producers decided to kill off Shay, because her death would create the most drama for the rest of the cast (AfterEllen.com Staff n. pag.) This statement would not be a problematic explanation, had Shay not been a lesbian. Furthermore, there are also shows that continuously introduce a new queer woman, only to kill her off again later on. These shows are all mentioned in Autostraddle’s article about all dead queer women in the history of television (Riese All 181 Dead Lesbians n. pag.). Shows are, for example, American Horror Story (Ryan Murphy, 2011–), which is broadcasted on FX. This show is well known for the fact every season stands on its own. On a few of their seasons they have introduced a queer woman who was killed only a few episodes into the season. HBO’s True Blood (Alan Ball, 2008-2014) has killed four of their queer women throughout the six years the show aired. Not all of their queer women have died, but this number is certainly concerning. Supernatural (Eric Kripke, 2005–), which is broadcasted on The CW, is another show that let three of their queer women die. Even though only one of them has had onscreen sexual interaction with a woman, the other two have stated they had interactions with someone of the same gender. Additionally, shows such as The Wire, and Syfy’s Battlestar Galactica (Glen Larson, 2004-2009), have killed multiple of their queer women as well.

Lexa in The 100 So far I have summarized broad historical issues. Now I turn to a closer analysis of Lexa in The 100. The 100 is a post-apocalyptic drama series broadcast on the CW. The show is set in a world about 150 years from 2017. A nuclear war destroyed all civilization 98 years ago and the only survivors are people living on different space stations who banded together. The massive space station, The Ark, is running low on resources and has been declared

23

dead. That is why 100 juvenile delinquents are sent to Earth to see if the ground is survivable again. Among these delinquents is the female main character Clarke Griffin, played by Eliza Taylor. However, when they land on Earth, they find out they are not alone and humanity has been surviving on Earth all along. These so-called Grounders survived the nuclear apocalypse, as well as a group of people called the Mountain Men, who survived within a mountain. This is also how the delinquents meet Lexa, the commander of the twelve clans of the Grounders, in whose territory they landed on with their spaceship. The 100 tried to not fall into a path of queer tropes and stereotypes, and even though some aspects have been handled reasonably well, by letting Lexa die and not give her a happy ending with her lover Clarke, she has made it onto the long and unfortunate list of dead lesbian characters. Lexa was introduced to the series halfway through season 2. From a young age, Lexa was taught to possibly become a commander when she was older. In Grounder culture, some children are born with black blood, which they call nightblood. When a nightblood child is found, they are brought to the capital, Polis, to be trained as warrior and future commander. When the current commander dies, these nightbloods have to fight each other in the conclave to find out who the next commander is going to be. Lexa won the conclave and became commander at age 16. Set in this post-apocalyptic world, producer Jason Rothenberg expressed great opportunities for the way people deal with sexuality. Trying to survive is far more important than to know who is interested in who. This is first seen from the way Lexa came out to Clarke. In episode 9 of season 2, “Remember Me” (Omar Madha, 2015), Lexa tries to comfort Clarke, who is watching her lover’s body burn to ashes, by telling her she lost someone special to her as well. She mentions her name was Costia, and she was not killed because she was gay, but because she was Lexa’s and her enemy thought that she knew all of Lexa’s secrets. What is also important to mention is the fact Lexa’s sexuality is not the most important thing about her. She was the commander of the twelve clans, a ruthless warrior, who happened to be a lesbian. Overall, Lexa is portrayed to have a quite masculine persona. Masculinity creates notions of power, privilege, and legitimacy (Halberstam 2). The first notion of power surely applies to Lexa. Due to her position as commander, she is privileged and her position gives her a lot of authority as well. This masculine role she takes can be seen within the mise-en- scène. For one, Lexa often wears black warpaint around her eyes. She also wears a piece on her head which is based on the Helm of Awe, which is a symbol of power in Norse mythology (Flowers 121). Additionally, Lexa sports a full armor most of the time on the show

24

as well. She often wears a long red sash, which has been indicating a sense of authority for years. Likewise, besides her clothing and attributes, her posture is certainly an important aspect. The way Lexa stands in front of an audience is threatening and demanding at the same time. Even though Lexa appears quite masculine in most of her scenes, The 100 does not try to stereotype Lexa into the butch lesbian. However, throughout season 3 it becomes more evident that Lexa’s masculinity is only part of her when she has to be in her authoritative position. When she is with Clarke, her entire demeanor changes and she becomes more feminine, which is also when the male gaze becomes more apparent. This is seen in, for example, episode 4 of season 3, “Watch the Thrones” (Ed Fraiman, 2016), when Lexa is wearing an overly sexual outfit. She is wearing a long black dress that has a slit going up the entirety of her leg. Furthermore, she has her hair loosely draped over one shoulder, and besides wearing a bit more makeup than usual, she is also wearing glitter on her neck. In addition, the lights are softly dimmed and Clarke and Lexa glance at each other often. These are clear hints for a sexual encounter between the two young women. During their love scene in episode 7 of season 3, “Thirteen” (Dean White, 2016), both their faces are half in the light, half in the dark. This signifies that they are equals. The 100, in this way, resists complying with the heterosexual idea of a relationship. Like Dyer states, often films, or in this case a television series, feel the need to recreate the social inequality of heterosexuality in a homosexual relationship (33). However, before it is displayed what unquestionably happens between them in bed, the scene fades to black. Overall, both scenes are not overly sexualized, besides the clothes Lexa is wearing. The camera does not longingly hover over certain body parts, and they are not objectified through the mise-en- scène. However, when looking at the tropes that are commonly used for queer women, this scene is problematic in many aspects. Besides the way the show plays with gender roles and female sexuality, it also makes use of stereotypes and tropes. Most of these only came into play during “Thirteen”. Lexa’s character seemed to defy every stereotype and trope that exists about queer women and this is one of the reasons her death sparked so much outrage from the fans. Lexa was hit by a stray bullet only a minute after finally admitting her love to Clarke. Clarke, who is well known for her quick thinking and medical knowledge, is unable to do anything and helplessly watches her bleed out on her bed. Meanwhile, Titus who fired the gun and is Lexa’s father figure and advisor, already starts preparing himself for the conclave that is to follow after her death. Lexa died of a nonfatal gunshot wound in the tower she lived with too many guards, healers and other people who took care of her. However, when she was dying, suddenly no

25

one was around. By giving the commander of the twelve clans such a meaningless death, it is made clear that this served no other purpose than to add more shock factor to the show. Producer Jason Rothenberg has stated that Lexa’s death served to further the plot of the rest of the season (Holbrook n. pag), but the show itself had already given different options on how to write Lexa off the show before she even died, without her having to die. Killing Lexa right after her sex scene with Clarke played into the idea that queer women only exist in television shows for the male gaze. According to TVtropes.org, this trope is called ‘Girl-on-Girl Is Hot’. In the Western world, women are already generally seen as sexual objects, so when it involves two women, it is twice as arousing. Generally speaking, heterosexual men do not need to see a lesbian relationship, they only want to see the sexual encounter. Lexa was shot only a minute after the love scene ended, which implicates this character was only convenient for this scene and no other plot lines. Looking at Clarke, this trope has another side as well. Clarke is a bisexual character, which means she could still potentially end up with a man. Thus, killing Lexa has opened up this option for this character again. Another trope that plays into the fact that queer women are only there for men is the trope ‘But Not Too Gay’. According to TVtropes.org, there is an obvious double standard when it comes to queer love portrayals and love scenes (n. pag.). Heterosexual people are allowed to have sexual encounters onscreen, but when it involves queer characters, the screen always fades to black. Likewise, this is seen in the scene between Clarke and Lexa. The second they hit the bed, the camera pans the other way. Another name of this trope is ‘Behind Closed Doors’, which accurately describes what happens between most queer sexual encounters. Furthermore, because sex between two women is steamy and men often love to watch it, it must stay behind closed doors. Within this trope there is a contradiction going on; on the one hand it is a source of sexual attraction for heterosexual men, but on the contrary, it has to stay behind hidden doors, because it can threaten them as it presents an image of independent women’s sexuality where men are not needed. Lexa’s death is a prime example of the ‘Bury Your Gays’ trope as well. This trope has been used for years already, but writers and producers still find it necessary to use this trope even though it sends out a toxic message. TVtropes.org defines this trope as: “Often, especially in older works […], gay characters just aren't allowed happy endings. Even if they do end up having some kind of relationship, at least one half of the couple, often the one who was more aggressive in pursuing a relationship, thus “perverting” the other one, has to die at the end” (n. pag.). Even though the writers of The 100 knew about this trope, they still chose to use it. For example, the writer of “Thirteen”, Javi Grillo-Marxuach, has expressed

26

his knowledge and concern about using the trope on Twitter and Tumblr after the episode aired. When looking at the love scene between Clarke and Lexa, and the death scene following right after, this trope is taken quite literally. The love scene is actually the first and last scene in which Lexa is genuinely happy. Lexa always put her people first, and this love scene is the only scene in the show she does not think of them. This gives the audience the impression Lexa did not deserve to be happy, because she was queer. Through the two seasons she was in, Lexa was always seen as the bad person who was indeed perverting Clarke with her ideas. She was perceived as a stereotypical psycho lesbian, which stems back from the days in film that lesbians were crazy, sad and desperate. Besides the tropes and stereotypes, The 100 sent out a very homophobic message by killing Lexa the way they did. Namely, she was killed by Titus, her father figure. He has seen Lexa grow up and become the commander she was and for years had tried to convince her that to be a commander is to be alone. When Clarke came along and Lexa realized his words were not true, Titus did not accept it. He did not accept Lexa gravitating towards Clarke and listening to Clarke the way she did. That is why Titus tried to shoot Clarke, but, unfortunately, hit Lexa instead when she walked into the room. The situation that The 100 created can hit close to home for young queer people, considering Titus looks a lot like a homophobic father who cannot accept his daughter’s sexuality. This homophobic way of handling Lexa’s death is certainly not an ideal of the representation of queer women in the 21st century and looks more like the films back in the fifties. Furthermore, the resemblance to Tara’s death in Buffy the Vampire Slayer is striking. She was hit by a stray bullet as well. It was the love between Lexa and Clarke that got Lexa killed, and because of their love they must be punished. To conclude, queer women have gone through a lot when it comes to their depiction onscreen. The rich history of these queer characters shows a remarkable transition from being negatively represented, to being represented more positively. Particularly in the past few years, the amount of queer women in the media has grown exponentially. However, more than often these women still die. An example of this was Lexa’s death on The 100. By using negative stereotypes and tropes, the creators of the series made her death comparable to the deaths of queer women in the media in the fifties and sixties, demonstrating the lack of real progress in representation. However, this lack of progress is challenged by the arrival of Netflix original series, the subject of my next chapter.

27

Chapter 3: Queer women in Netflix original series In the final chapter, I analyze two Netflix original series: Orange is the New Black and Sense8. The latter only has two queer women on the show, whereas OITNB has multiple. I will focus on several examples of queer women from both shows. My analysis seeks to determine the progressive or subversive aspects of these shows, as well as highlight the ways in which they could improve.

Orange is the New Black Orange is the New Black is Netflix’s fifth original series. It is a comedic drama, and it is based on the memoir, Orange is the New Black: My Year in a Women’s Prison by Piper Kerman. The show follows Piper Chapman (Taylor Schilling), who is a white upper-middle- class woman living in New York City with her fiancé Larry (Jason Biggs). She is sentenced to fifteen months in prison for transporting money for her ex-girlfriend ten years prior and thus ends up in Litchfield Correctional Facility in upstate New York. In the series, not simply Piper’s life is followed, but also the lives of her fellow inmates, illustrating the harsh realities of prison life. OITNB has a female-led cast which is quite diverse when it comes to race, class, gender identities and sexualities. The series as of now has 65 episodes spread over five seasons, and each episode is between 50 minutes to an hour in length. Only the first four seasons are discussed as the fifth season was released too late into the writing of this thesis. The series has received critical acclaim for its depiction of gender, sexuality, race, and body types. On websites such as Rotten Tomatoes, each season has a rating exceeding 90%. Furthermore, on the website of the Emmy Awards it is stated that the show has been nominated for seventeen Emmy Awards and has won four. Part of OITNB’s diversity comes from the fact that they do not have to make the same types of representational adjustments for advertisers as commercial broadcasting networks (Symes 30). Instead, the series is part of a new concept called ‘complex television’. Shows that fall under this concept assist the progress of changes in new technologies, distribution and they defy the episodic and serial conventions of mainstream American television (30). For example, Netflix releases all the episodes of one season at once, which is different from mainstream television. Furthermore, the series often presents flashbacks throughout the episodes, which not only demand a more aware mode of viewing, but contribute to the humanizing qualities of the inmates’ narratives as well. The flashbacks show that most inmates end up there for a reason that corresponds correctly to their personality. For example, Sophia Burset (Laverne Cox), a transgender woman, stole credit

28

cards so she could pay for her sex-reassignment surgeries, and Brook Soso (Kimiko Glenn), known for protesting, was arrested for protesting logging by living in a tree. The series’ cast consists out of many female characters who identify as queer. In total the show has had twelve queer female characters; two have died, and one was released early in season one never to return. The show has also displayed sexual encounters between two women that involved women who identify as heterosexual. Piper’s sexuality is a big topic, especially in the first season. In this way, the series invites female viewers who identify as heterosexual to interact with a queer medium they not necessarily would watch otherwise (30). For this analysis, the main focus is on characters Piper Chapman, Carrie Black or Big Boo (Lea DeLaria), Poussey Washington (Samira Wiley), and Sophia Burset. My analysis will highlight the ways in which OITNB deals with the representation of queer women and the issues surrounding this topic that it underlies. The idea of lesbians in prison began to attract attention in the United States in the mid-twentieth century. In popular culture, women’s prisons became identical with female homosexuality (Freedman 397). As Ciasullo explains, the standard narrative trajectory for the women-in-prison genre goes as follows: a woman is sent to prison enduring the welcome ritual, while usually being watched by perverse administrators. When she is placed in her cell, she meets the prostitute, the snitch, and of course the aggressive prison lesbian. One of the male employees will help her as much as possible to make her life less of a living hell. Throughout the narrative, the character is nearly consistently thrown into solitary confinement; there are shower scenes, catfights and the death or suicide of a minor character. Usually, the story concludes with her release and going back to the love of her life (Containing “Deviant” Desire 197). Examples of these films are Caged (John Cromwell, 1950), and Caged Heat (Jonathan Demme, 1974). In both films, a young woman is incarcerated and is exposed to coldhearted criminals and sadistic guards. The conventions used for these films made heterosexuality the center of the narrative. However, through time the lesbian became a more valuable asset of the genre, because the stories stayed consistent, as well as the fact that homosexuality in prison was the most inescapable influence in prison (198). In this way, the image of a prison lesbian slowly became a precondition for the genre. One of the defining features became the promise of lesbianism, which is read in the films’ tag lines, such as the one from Caged: “You don’t know women until you’ve seen them without men” (200). This tagline indicates that these women started showing their real nature the moment they were solely surrounded by other women. OITNB has used most of these conventions that come with the genre as well; however, crucially, the series plays with these conventions for a more knowing outlook. Dyer

29

calls this pastiche. Pastiche is imitation of what you are meant to notice is an imitation (Dyer, Pastiche 1). For pastiche to work, people need to understand that what is shown is undoubtedly a pastiche. Likewise, it has to be acknowledged where it comes from, but the series approach to what it is imitating does not have to be definitive (179). OITNB is well aware of the fact that they are using these conventions; thus they help the audience to recognize what has already been done before. They use their self-reflexive commentary about prison tropes to look at the genre with a modern look, while also copying some of the conventions stated above. Looking at Piper, most of these conventions have been used throughout the first episode to establish the storyline. After that, the series mostly takes its own turn but does at some points still come back to these conventions, although giving it a twist. There are several scenes in which the series comments upon the fact that they are playing into the male fantasy of the sexualized imagery of women in prison, which TVtropes.org calls ‘Girls Behind Bars’. Actually, in Kerman’s memoir, there was no mention of any lesbian activity when she was incarcerated. The fact that OITNB does show sex scenes can be seen as an excessively aware acknowledgment of the women in prison conventions and to feed the audience’s expectation of what women in prison do all the time, rather than show the authentic prison experience (Schwan 478). When looking at OITNB, these sex scenes appear as a way to comment on the fact of what can be easily sold to the popular audience. In the end, the series’ creators are still implicated in the entire procedure of commercialization (478). The series uses sexualized iconography to, at the same time, entertain the audience, as well as highlight awareness of the representational strategies that are used. This creates a pressure between the production of the women in prison experience and progressive undertones (484). In episode 4 of season 2, “A Whole Other Hole” (Phil Abraham, 2014), Piper introduces new inmate Soso to the idea of having a prison wife to protect her from the aggressive lesbians. Likewise, this notion of a butch lesbian having a femme prison wife to protect is a common idea in popular culture (Bryan 280). In this case, Piper is talking about Boo, as an exchange for a blanket that Boo stole from her. However, the whole setup fails, and Soso finds out that Piper was trying to sell her for the blanket. The comedic ambiance of the scenes reveals the self-reflexive way the series attends to this idea of butch lesbians taking care of beautiful girls that the mainstream media has been reinforcing for years. In episode 7 of season 3, “Tongue-Tied” (Julie Anne Robinson, 2015), Piper and some other inmates discuss Lorna Morello’s (Yael Stone) plan of writing to men in order to get money from them for her commissary account. Piper says: “I think that women’s prison

30

feeds into the whole ’70s exploitation fantasy for men. It’s like we’re all in Chained Heat or Cellblock Sisters and all we do is have lesbian sex and strip-searches and naked catfights in the shower.” In this way, she explicates the idea that these men want to write to Morello because that is what they envision prison is like. Morello replies with: “Who cares if it’s a fantasy? They get what they want; I get to make a buck; everybody wins!” This gives Piper the idea to play into the prison fantasy as well: she starts her own panty business. During her work at panty business Whispers, she makes an extra pair which can be worn by the inmates. One of the correctional officers helps them to get the panties out, which are then sold by Piper’s brother, Cal (Neri Feldman). The series not only recognizes the sexualized idea of women in prison, but it also lets their characters recognize it. Piper talks about Chained Heat (Paul Nicholas, 1983), which was about a young woman who served eighteen months in prison after accidentally killing a man. The prison turns out to be a corrupt and dirty prison with many lesbian rapists and guards. By even naming some of the older films that have helped to reinforce this trope, the pastiche is more emphasized. One last example of the series knowledge of the conventions appears in episode 13 of season 3, “Trust No Bitch” (Phil Abraham, 2015), when Piper shows her new tattoo to Cal, which she has received from her new lover, Stella (Ruby Rose). Cal smirks and says: “Your prison mistress give you a prison tat. You are turning into a trope.” In this way, the series builds on and at the same time problematizes the prison fantasy designed for men. Thus, OINTB subverts and plays with the conventions of the women-in-prison genre in order to appeal to queer audiences, as well as distinguish themselves from mainstream television by showing their knowledge of these conventions and tropes. The series self- reflexivity is related to its position as a Netflix original series. Netflix is aware that they are setting themselves apart from network television and this is reflected in their shows. Furthermore, Netflix knows they are filling a gap for an audience that recognizes these tropes. For instance, many queer women have seen or heard of these conventions at least once. It could be assumed that these women are fed up with these tropes and would therefore recognize and take pleasure in Netflix’s self-reflexivity and pastiche.

Next, the focus will be on specific characters, beginning with Piper. Piper, the character based on the real Piper Kerman, surrenders herself to Litchfield to make sure she does not have to serve more time. She calls herself an ‘ex-lesbian’. She is engaged to Larry, who did not even know Piper had been in a relationship with her fellow female inmate Alex beforehand. During the flashback scene in which Piper tells her entire family, they all act surprised she was in a relationship with a woman. Her brother asks if she is still a lesbian,

31

which she denies. This scene immediately establishes that bisexuality is not a sexuality that exists in OITNB. The cause of erasing bisexuality comes from the fact that people often see it as a phase in either becoming a lesbian or going back to heterosexuality. That is why the stereotypes of bisexuals that are created are often quite negative, such as traitors, uncommitted people, closet cases, or individuals who want to hold on to heterosexual privilege (Yoshino 399). The erasure of bisexuality is a common occurrence throughout the series. Many characters call Piper gay or not gay, but none of them ever mention the fact that she could be bisexual. In episode 10 of season 1, “Bora Bora Bora” (Andrew McCarthy, 2013), Nichols (Natasha Lyonne) asks her if she is gay, which Piper denies. She mentions that she and Alex are old friends and that it is about comfort. In this way, she avoids calling herself a bisexual or anything that falls on the spectrum. In a flashback during episode 10 of season 2, “Little Mustachioed Shit” (Jennifer Getzinger, 2014), Piper asks Alex if she can go down on her, adding that she has never done that before. Alex laughs and replies: “What kind of lesbian are you?!” Instead of correcting her, Piper complies. It could mean that she does identify as a lesbian, but her orientation would not match the dictionary term, and thus the episode leaves her reaction ambiguous. However, Piper’s sexuality becomes clearer to the spectator throughout most of season 1 as the series shows her in intimate scenes with Alex as well as showing flashbacks of her and Larry. Most of these scenes are parallel to each other. For example, the first shots of the entire series show Piper in various situations while getting clean; she is seen bathing as a child, as well as in the shower with Alex and taking a bath with Larry. Both scenes are very much alike; when she is with Alex, the background looks green due to green shapes on the shower curtain, and when she is bathing with Larry there are plants in the background. Green in the background could stand for the fact that Piper is proud of who she is and her unchanging nature. To indicate there is something different between the two, Alex and Piper are positioned on the right, while the water is running on the left. With Larry, they are sitting in the bathtub on the left, while the water is running on the right. This could imply that they are of a different gender, but the fact that they are positioned in a situation that looks broadly the same indicates that Piper is attracted to them both. During episode 5 of season 1, “The Chickening” (Andrew McCarthy, 2013), it is revealed that Piper believes in the Kinsey scale when her best friend Polly (Maria Dizzia) asks her if she has turned gay again. Piper replies: “Whoa, that’s not happening. And you don’t just turn gay. You fall somewhere on a spectrum. Like, on a Kinsey scale.” The Kinsey scale refers to a framework proposed by Alfred Kinsey, who thought that sexuality was a

32

continuum, instead of a binary system. By saying this, Piper is defending herself against the gay or straight binary on the show. Without explicitly saying she is bisexual, she makes clear she does not identify as straight or gay. My intention is not to label Piper, but to demonstrate that there is a lack of bisexual representation in the media and by not expressly acknowledging Piper’s sexuality, OITNB could leave viewers frustrated. Furthermore, there is a clear contrast in Piper’s relationship with Alex and her relationships with Suzanne Warren, often called Crazy Eyes (Uzo Aduba), and Stella. Early in season 1, Piper is accidentally ‘married’ to Crazy Eyes, because she helped her obtain jalapeños. Crazy Eyes quickly becomes obsessed with Piper. In episode 3 of season 1, “Lesbian Request Denied” (Jodie Foster, 2013), when Piper wants Alex to disappear, she uses Crazy Eyes’s feeling for her to make her leave. This is when Crazy Eyes calls her her wife, to which Piper replies that she is not. Crazy Eyes says that she threw her pie for her, a grand gesture in her eyes to show her love for her and the meaning of their relationship. Additionally, as has been stated before, Dyer says that the media often tries to recreate the social inequality of heterosexual relationships within a homosexual relationship. This is what has been done between Piper and Crazy Eyes as well. Crazy Eyes is the manly persona in this case, going after Piper and claiming and protecting her. Because OITNB aims for positive representation of queer women and they play with the conventions of the women-in- prison genre, the relationship between Piper and Crazy Eyes is seen as a ridiculous and humorous aspect of this genre for the spectator to pick up on, and to imply that relationships between two women are not based on this inequality. The same thing happens with Stella, which has already been discussed before as well. Piper and Stella’s relationship reflects the typical lesbian prison trope, but by making it slightly humorous, the series not only self- reflects but also shows that they do not take for granted the inequality that is created in their relationship. This is in stark contrast with Piper and Alex’s relationship, which throughout all seasons is based on equality. Piper and Alex’s relationship is as normal as a relationship can be in prison. Just like any other couple, they have their ups and downs. With this relationship, OITNB does not try to make any aspect humorous, except for jokes made by Piper and Alex every so often. For example, in episode 5 of season 3, “Fake It Till You Fake It Some More” (Nicole Holofcener, 2015), Piper tells Alex they could be living lesbian stereotypes as soon as they get out of Litchfield. She hereby refers to the fact that Alex works in landscaping and Piper in electrical. These are commonly seen as jobs that are more suitable to be done by men, or by butch lesbians, which is what Piper is hinting at. However, this is only done to implicate how the general audience thinks of stereotypes, not

33

to stereotype Alex or Piper. Their relationship is one of the major points of the show that helps creating more positive representation for queer women.

OITNB is one of the few series currently airing that have a butch lesbian on their show. As has been said in chapter 1, in televisual history, butch lesbians have not been represented at all in mainstream television. However, Boo is the epitome of the stereotypical butch lesbian; she has short hair, tattoos (one even spells out the word ‘butch’), and she is bigger in size. Critically, Boo’s butch dyke persona is not seen as the stereotypical homophobic construction that was created by the mainstream media. Her character is not only a lesbian stereotype but a type of lesbian as well. The butch makes dyke sexuality and dyke desire more detectable (Halberstam 217). Although the series recognizes that they have a stereotypical lesbian character on their show, they add to this by including humorous aspects to her character. Boo knows that she is butch and looks more masculine than other women, which she jokes about often. This gives the series a welcome variation from other shows that have had a butch in their cast. To name a few examples, in episode 5 of season 2, “Low Self Esteem City” (Andrew McCarthy, 2014), Boo says that she “would love to get her dick in [Alex’s] mouth”, indicating that she knows she looks manlier than most women. People could mistake her for a man, which seemingly happened on a few occasions in her life, and in this scene she jokes about it. Furthermore, there are scenes in which Boo refers to herself as a dyke, such as in episode 12 of season 3, “Don’t Make Me Come Back There” (Uta Briesewitz, 2015), when Boo calls herself a big angry bull dyke, while banging on her chest, which is usually seen as a manly gesture. She once again does the same in season 2 episode 9, “40 Oz. of Furlough” (S. J. Clarkson, 2014), when Vee says that Boo is a “smug little dyke”. Boo shakes her head and replies with: “Oh, no. I am a big, smart dyke.” However, this time she not only bangs on her chest but also shows off her muscles, like men often do in bodybuilding competitions. Likewise, she makes her voice sound deeper and manlier. By making Boo conscious of her own appearance and by letting her joke about it, the series gives a positive touch to the idea of the butch lesbian, allowing Boo to have the ultimate authority on her identity. There are also several scenes in which Boo’s stereotypical masculine appearance is enforced. In episode 6 of season 1, “WAC Pack” (Michael Trim, 2013), the inmates are having a dance battle in which Boo also takes part. When she takes her place in the circle, she immediately takes off her shirt in a non-feminine way, which is not expected when a woman stripteases or dances. She then grabs another inmate, Chang (Lori Tan Chinn), and starts humping her. With this Boo makes it coherent that she is manlier and more dominant

34

than Chang, although Chang has more masculine features as well. Most of this scene is captured in a long shot to clearly display the audience around them in order to capture their reactions. These long shots are varied with medium shots to emphasize on Boo’s body. However, this is not done in a sexualized manner, but more to accentuate on her masculine moves. Nonetheless, when Boo is humping the floor, she is overpowered by Crazy Eyes who in turn starts humping her. This indicates that butch lesbians do not always have to be in control and that they are not always as masculine as they look. The stereotype of butch lesbians being ugly or too manly is reinforced in episode 6 of season 4, “Piece of Sh*t” (Uta Briesewitz, 2016). Due to much contraband, the correctional officers hold more strip searches. Inmates have to wait in line while one officer chooses whether an inmate gets the strip search or not. Mostly, the white inmates are allowed to leave, which automatically gives Boo a pass. When she comes up to the officer, the way he looks at her indicates that it is not just because she is white, but also because they do not find her appealing enough to touch her. In this way, the series shows that being a masculine- looking lesbian is positive, since Boo gains an advantage over the COs by looking manlier than most other women. During Boo’s flashback scenes, it is revealed that she has always been dressing like this. Her parents forced her to wear feminine clothes, even though she did not want to. In episode 4 of season 3, “Finger in the Dyke” (Constantine Makris, 2015), a young Boo is forced to wear a dress by her mom who says: “Do you want the kids to make fun of you? There is good attention, and there is bad attention, Carrie.” This implies that the clothes Boo otherwise wears are not normal in this society. Girls have to wear dresses, and when you do not perform the right gender, you get punished, as has been stated by Butler. Likewise, Boo is being punished in a way. She has a negative relationship with her mom because of the way she dresses, and this ends with Boo not being able to say goodbye to her mom when she is dying, because she will not see her wearing men’s clothes. Her dad is more accepting, but he does not side with her when it comes to putting on the dress. Boo tells him: “I have to go out and pretend to be something I’m not to make [mom] happy?”, which her dad answer with: “One day, we are asking from you.” By compositing Boo and her dad sitting next to each other on Boo’s bed, a sense of equality is felt. However, Boo’s father’s face is in the light, while Boo’s face is in the shadow, indicating that her opinion does not matter at this moment. Tight framing gives a sense of restricted space, in a restricted room, since Boo’s entire room is painted in pink; a color which she hates. Interestingly, Boo is never shown during sexual acts during her time in prison, even though she does comment upon the fact she has a lot of sex. Early in season 1, during

35

episode 4 “Imaginary Enemies” (Michael Trim, 2013), Boo is seen masturbating with a screwdriver. The camera hovers over Boo’s body longingly in an overhead shot to implicate a male gaze. However, Boo is wearing a top and there is a blanket covering her body. In a medium shot, she is displayed having her orgasm, which is also the only orgasm Boo ever has onscreen. The fact that this orgasm was reached by her own hands, creates the feeling that she is not worth being with another woman. In “A Whole Other Hole”, “Low Self Esteem City” and episode 6 “You Also Have a Pizza” (Allison Anders, 2014), Boo and Nichols set up a sex competition, which they call a ‘bang-off’. Nichols is seen having sex with Brook Soso, but Boo is not seen with another woman, though she does score 36 points in the end. Their competition ends because Nichols has told everyone that Boo has an STD, which once again establishes that butch lesbians are dirty. Furthermore, Boo is seen leaving places with girls in different episodes but is never caught in the act. For instance, Boo is seen leaving the greenhouse with a girl in episode 11 of season 2, “Take a Break From Your Values” (Constantine Makris, 2014). Taking up her more masculine role as a butch dyke, she even comments upon the fact that she is the King Bee around the prison, instead of the queen bee. The only times Boo is seen in bed with another woman is during her flashbacks in “Finger in the Dyke”. The girl Boo is having sex with is naked and very feminine. Boo is the total opposite, and she is wearing a top to cover her upper body. The girl is sitting on top of Boo, and while the camera slowly pans over them, Boo’s body is unfocused and the camera takes more time for the other girl’s naked body, making her part of the male gaze. Here, the cinematography deliberately focuses on the feminine girl, because her appearance is more aligned with strong visual and erotic impact (Mulvey 27). Furthermore, she is not only an erotic object for Boo, but for the spectator as well. In the next shot, the girl is seen from behind, which makes Boo totally invisible. In this moment, this could even indicate she is not even having a sex with a woman, but with a man. This not only feeds the fantasy of straight men, but of heterosexual women as well, for the reason that they can identify themselves with the girl. The next shot is a long shot of them together while the girl orgasms. When the girl gets off of Boo, it is revealed that Boo is wearing a strap-on dildo, resembling that she has a penis and is, therefore, manlier than the other girl. By not letting Boo be seen naked the show only continues what Ciasullo and other scholars have commented on back in the 90s about the representation of butch lesbians. I am not arguing, however, that butch lesbians should be depicted naked, since this immediately makes them more appealing for the male gaze. Nevertheless, there should be some change in this idea that butch lesbians cannot be exposed.

36

Lastly, Boo is not only portrayed as the hard butch lesbian who is confronting other inmates all the time, but her soft and sweet sides also show now and then. This makes Boo a very likable character for most viewers. Her character might be the epitome of the stereotypical butch lesbian when it comes to her looks, but she is not as aggressive as what is thought of these women most of the time. Boo is not only open about her appearance but about her sexuality as well. She often hints at it by making comments about liking certain other inmates. Also, in various scenes, Boo comments upon the fact that being a queer woman is not always easy. Having a character on the show that so openly speaks about their sexuality and not only shows the positive sides of being queer, not only adds to progressive representation, but also to the reality aspect of the show.

Proceeding on to Poussey Washington, who is the only black lesbian in the series. She is not the only black queer character, however, since Sophia Burset is also part of the show and she is a black trans woman. Poussey is a recurring character throughout the series, but only has one minor and one major storyline revolving around her sexuality. This is a pleasant variation from all the queer characters in other series that are only there for a queer storyline. Poussey’s first storyline involves her feelings for Taystee, played by Danielle Brooks, who is another inmate and her best friend. According to an Autostraddle article, the lesbian who falls in love with her (straight) best friend is a commonly used trope in television and film (Riese, Lesbian Falls For Best Friend n. pag.). In “A Whole Other Hole”, Poussey and Taystee are sitting on one of their bunks while Poussey is painting her nails. When she is finished, she lies down next to Taystee. Taystee ends up tickling Poussey, which is when Poussey kisses her. The kiss can be seen from a medium close-up of Taystee’s face and a close-up of Poussey to display her emotions better. Taystee abruptly ends the kiss and says: “I’m sorry P. We’ve been through this. I’m not—.” Poussey quickly replies that she knows. The camera is looking down on her, which gives the feeling that she is weak. Next, Taystee offers to cuddle. This action only feeds to Poussey’s idea that she still has a chance with her, even though this will never happen. Poussey’s backstory in “You Also Have a Pizza” focuses on her time living in Germany. Her dad was in the military, which is why her family traveled all around the world. However, he now got a fixed position in Germany, which meant he and his whole family could stay. Poussey had fallen in love with another girl named Franziska (Nina Rausch), the daughter of a German commander. The couple is first presented to the spectator during a party when another man starts talking to them and tells them to get a room. He then later

37

asks Poussey how he has to ask them in German if he can watch them make “sweet, sweet lady love”. This man is exemplary of the male gaze theorized by Mulvey and expanded upon by Sheldon; he sees these two women as a fantasy and wants to look at them while they are having sex. Poussey and her girlfriend should be available to him, but at the same time, they should make love to each other. In a later scene, Poussey and Franziska are seen having sex. The camera hovers over their bodies in a medium shot, clearly showing the different parts of their bodies and especially showing their breasts. The couple is trying out a sexual position called scissoring, which in the media is used as a standard sexual move between two women, while this is not always the case in real life. Due to pornography, the idea was created that lesbians always scissor when having sex, and still, often women’s bodies and their sexual practices barely exist or are not represented at all outside of pornography (Swedberg 603). OITNB uses this scene as an inside joke for the queer community, while at the same time giving the general audience the excitement of seeing two naked women grind against each other, stimulating the male gaze. However, after a few tries the couple gives up, and Poussey tells her girlfriend that scissoring is “not a thing”. They lie down to talk for a little while, while both of their breasts are constantly on full display. The dimmed yellow lights give the entire scene a highly relaxed and joyful atmosphere between these two girls in love. When Poussey proceeds to go down on Franziska, Franziska’s father walks in on them, turning on the lights. Besides Franziska and Poussey’s shocked reactions, the harsh light coming from the fluorescent lights on the ceiling also indicate that what has just happened is distressing and destructive. Since the commander does not agree with a homosexual lifestyle, he proceeds to transfer Poussey’s dad, including his whole family, back to the United States. In stark contrast is Poussey’s father, who turns against the commander when it comes to his opinion on homosexuality. The commander says that Poussey’s father can send her to a program to change his daughter’s confused predilections, to which he replies that Poussey is fine. The contradiction between the two fathers shows the viewer that not supporting your child when they come out as homosexual could do severe mental damage to your child. Franziska and Poussey loved each other, and their relationship ended abruptly due to Franziska’s father’s damaging idea of sexuality. The character of the homophobic commander once again adds to the realistic aspect of the show, because homophobia is still a real concept for many queer people all over the world every day of their lives. Poussey’s major storyline revolves around her relationship with Brook Soso, who states that she loves people, not genders, which makes her the only pansexual on the show

38

and one of the few in the history of television (Donahue n. pag.). Poussey and Soso start out as friends in season 3, but their relationship evolves more throughout season 4. Poussey looks more masculine than Soso, which shows in their sexual relationship. It is one sided, because Poussey never gets to finish. They discuss this after they have sex in one of the shower stalls one day. In “Piece of Sh*t”, the audience gets the feeling they are spying on the couple in the shower. Mulvey has referred to the pleasure of looking in her essay as well; this is called scopophilia (46). When watching a film, the idea of looking in on a private world is created. Spectators are looking in on this private world, while the characters onscreen are oblivious to the people watching them (46). This idea could arise pleasure in the spectator, even to the extent of sexual stimulation by watching someone. When someone is spying on people, it is called voyeurism. In this scene, this idea is even more enhanced by the obstruction of the shower curtain, which perpetuates the male gaze. The spectator gets the feeling they are looking at something they should not be seeing. In the shot, only one part of Soso’s legs are seen, but it is evident that Poussey is in between them. The following shot is a medium shot of Soso moaning while Poussey puts her hand over her mouth. As would be expected from the first obstructed shot, the couple should be naked, but they are not. In this way, the male gaze is reinforced, but at the same time, due to the fact that they are still wearing their clothes, it is discontinued. In another one of their sex scenes, the same thing happens. It seems that what is displayed is not meant for the spectator’s eyes, but at the same time, the spectator wants to look at it because they are two women. This once again happens when Soso tries to initiate sex with Poussey in the library where Poussey works. Not only is the spectator looking in on their private world; the camera is positioned behind the bookcase, as if the viewer is hiding behind the books to spy at these two women having an intimate moment. However, it does not get to sex because Poussey stops Soso. Due to Soso’s sudden initiative, Poussey asks her what is wrong with her. Soso admits that she is questioning her sexuality, which shows a real struggle of what young queer girls go through all the time the first time they fall in love with someone of the same gender. Soso says to Poussey that she is amazing, but that she is a girl, which implies that there is something different about this relationship. Instead of completely dismissing this, Poussey says that “maybe this challenges what you thought you were.” Coming to terms with your sexuality is completely normal, and the series has portrayed this very well in Soso’s character without making her a queer stereotype. Poussey and Soso’s relationship has been one of the most ordinary relationships in the series, as far as that is possible when being in prison. Their relationship showed that whomever you date, it is important to always communicate with each other about who you

39

are and what you want in order to have a healthy relationship. Their relationship did not show any signs of lesbian stereotypes and tropes, and the male gaze has been played with quite well when it comes to their more intimate scenes. Had Poussey not died in episode 12 of season 4, “The Animals” (Matthew Weiner, 2016), their relationship could have lasted for a long time.

Lastly, Sophia Burset is discussed. Sophia is a black trans woman and has a notably harder time in prison compared to others because of this. She runs the hair salon at Litchfield and always lends a listening ear to everyone who comes in for a haircut. Most of Sophia’s storylines deal with the fact that she is transgender, which is groundbreaking in itself because there have not been that many trans characters in the media yet. The spectator is first introduced to Sophia in the first episode of season 1, “I Wasn’t Ready” (Michael Trim, 2013), when she is in line with Piper at the cafeteria. She goes through Piper’s hair, telling her it is pretty, and she tells her to stop by the salon anytime soon. By showing this action, even though Sophia is unmistakably displayed as a woman, it needs to be established even further for the spectator. This is done in “Lesbian Request Denied” as well. Sophia is seen putting on her make-up and hair like a woman would. All of this is filmed in either an extreme close-up or regular close-up, which captures her facial expressions and emotions better. The scene cuts to a long shot of Sophia checking herself out in the mirror naked. This shot has no further meaning to the plot of the story besides showing the viewer that she is indeed a real woman. Many of the inmates at Litchfield often make transphobic comments, even coming from other queer characters such as Boo. In “The Chickening”, Boo calls another transgender she knows “a tranny”. Furthermore, Morello calls Sophia a lady-man during episode 1 of season 3, “Mother’s Day” (Andrew McCarthy, 2015). When Sophia tells her it is offensive Morello explains herself. She thought it sounded nice, and she does not know anything about these things, which is why she is asking questions now. This shows that sometimes people do not know how to approach transgender people and that they are ignorant when it comes to these issues. In that way, it is valuable that Morello gets told off by Sophia so she can learn from her, and by extension the audience’s, possible mistakes. There are several more episodes in which Sophia is called weird, a he-she whatever, a she- male, or cyborg pussy. Likewise, Sophia is misgendered a lot. In her flashbacks, this is usually done accidentally, but in Litchfield, it is generally done on purpose to hurt her feelings. Other women at Litchfield, such as inmate Mendoza, played by Selenis Leyva, compare themselves as ‘real’ women against Sophia, who is fake in their eyes. They say

40

she is trying too hard because she wears too much make-up, which is not what real women do. Mendoza tells her real women grow their roots out and grow bags under their eyes. Essentially, she compares herself and other hardworking women to famous women that are often seen on television and positions Sophia in the latter category. Also, in episode 10 of season 3, “A Tittin’ and a Hairin’” (Jesse Peretz, 2015), Mendoza calls herself a real mother, which Sophia would not know anything about, because she was not born with female sex characteristics. In “Don’t Make Me Come Back There”, Sophia is cornered in her hair salon by a group of inmates who want to see if she actually has a vagina. They claim she is pretending to be a female to have an easier life in prison. After this act, Sophia is taken to SHU, Security Housing Unit, for her own safety. The series makes it clear that no one of the prison’s administration wants to deal with the responsibility of their trans inmate getting beaten up or worse due to their gender, which makes the SHU a suitable option. This implies that the administration does not care for their transgender inmates, which is a transphobic act in itself as well. One of the more positive threads throughout Sophia’s life is her wife Crystal (Tanya Wright). Even though Crystal occasionally struggles with the fact that her husband turned into her wife, she is as accepting of Sophia as she possibly can be. During a flashback in “Lesbian Request Denied”, Sophia has gone shopping for herself and has bought outfits that make her look like a teenage girl. Crystal gives Sophia one of her dresses to show her what she should dress like as a grown-up woman and teaches her how to do her make-up as well, even though she finds it hard. All throughout the seasons, Crystal comes to visit Sophia as much as she can, and when Sophia is thrown in SHU, she does everything to find her and get her out again. This love and support from Crystal shows the spectator that this is what trans people need from their loved ones in order to be able to fully be themselves. The transphobic and ignorant comments towards Sophia give the series a realistic feeling and do not try to set any stereotypes. The inmates are disrespectful, because as warden Joe Caputo (Nick Sandow) says: “people don’t like what they can’t understand.” OITNB shows what kind of impact discriminating people for their gender does to someone and could be a real eye-opener to some people. However, the show could improve in this regard and also give the character a positive storyline in the future that does not only revolve around the fact that Sophia is transgender. To conclude, through examining queer female characters in OITNB, issues surrounding queer representation come to the surface. These problems are bisexual erasure, the representation of butch lesbians, the sexualization of queer women, and

41

transgender issues. The show does give visibility to many different queer women, but, especially in the first two seasons, the focus is still on white characters such as Alex and Piper. The reason for this could be because the series tried to hold on to the women-in- prison genre conventions. The stereotypes and tropes that the conventions have generated are still widely used on the show, but the creators look at them with self-reflexive commentary. Inside jokes and comical aspects are added to show their knowledge of these conventions and to fill a gap for queer audiences who recognize them. By displaying their knowledge, Netflix branding themselves as different from mainstream television is reflected within this show. Furthermore, the series tries not to perpetuate the male gaze as much as other television shows. For example, a feminine character like Soso keeps her clothes on while she is having sex. However, my analysis has highlighted that the show is filled with ambivalences and therefore does not always succeed in representing their queer characters well. Negative depictions of queer women have such a long history that it is difficult to completely break out of these conventions, even though OITNB shows a lot more progress than other series. An undeniably positive aspect about this series is the fact that audiences no longer have to look for hidden signs and gestures as had to be done in history, since all the characters in the series are out and proud.

Sense8 Sense8 is another one of Netflix’s original series, and it is created by Lana and Lilly Wachowski and J. Michael Straczynski. Two seasons have been released, with season one counting 12 episodes and season two 11. However, only the first season is discussed in this thesis, due to the release date of season 2 being too late into the writing of this thesis to be able to fully incorporate it. The series tells the story of eight strangers from different parts of the world, who are connected through their minds. They have a mental and emotional connection, which makes them able to communicate with each other and help each other with their own skills. This does not go without a hitch, because another one of their kind wants to take them down. In an interview with website Buzzfeed, Straczynski said that the show is “an examination of politics, sexuality, gender identity in today’s society” (Orley n. pag.) For this thesis, the focus is on sensate Nomi Marks, played by Jamie Clayton, and her girlfriend Amanita Caplan, who is played by Freema Agyeman. It is the first series to feature a transgender character that is not only played by a transgender actress, but also written and directed by transgender creators. Nomi is a transgender activist and hacker who lives in San Francisco with Amanita. She is out and proud, even though her mother still will not stop calling her Michael and she is

42

discriminated against by other queer women. Throughout the first two episodes she finds out she is connected to the other sensates during her days at San Francisco Pride. Most of Nomi’s story does not revolve around her being a male to female transgender, but about how she fits in with the other sensates and the issues that come with being one. The spectator is introduced to Nomi and Amanita through a short shot in the introduction scene of the first episode of the series, “Limbic Resonance” (The Wachowskis, 2015). In this scene, all the sensates see a woman named Angelica (Daryl Hannah). She is dying, and while she is, she makes a new cluster of sensates by appearing to eight different people all around the world. They all look her in the eye, which is what then connects them. Angelica appears to the sensates while they are in the middle of their work, or while doing something that they love. In this way, all the characters are properly introduced to the spectator by only seeing them in hardly any shots. Angelica appears to Nomi while she and Amanita are in the bathroom. Nomi is taking her hormone injections, while Amanita is taking a bath. By showing Nomi taking her injection, the spectator immediately senses that this is part of her life. In this shot, however, it does not become clear that this injection is a hormone injection and that Nomi is trans. Meanwhile, Amanita is relaxing, which indicates that Nomi does this all the time and that it is part of their routine. By putting them in a domestic situation, it also instantly implies that they are a couple who love and support each other. In a later scene, they are having sex in their apartment. Amanita is wearing a strap- on dildo, with which she is penetrating Nomi. By showing her penetrating Nomi, the series still leaves Nomi’s situation unidentified. However, for people who do know that she is trans, the series is breaking boundaries when it comes to what the general audience thinks of how trans people have sex. This scene shows that trans women can indeed be penetrated. Nonetheless, the series leaves the fact whether Nomi is being penetrated vaginally or anally to the spectator. After they finish, Amanita takes off the strap-on dildo and throws it on the ground. A close-up shot of the dildo shows the audience that it is a rainbow dildo, following Nomi and Amanita saying “happy pride” to each other. If the first shots of them in the bathroom and this sex scene still did not establish the fact that they are in a relationship, the dildo and their statements certainly do. The scene feels profoundly real and not sexualized in any way, considering they do not try to make it look like a conventional porn scene in which two lesbians use a strap-on. The only shot when the camera pans over their bodies feels more as a technique to show the audience what is actually occurring. Most of the remaining shots are filmed in close-ups of their face, so that their naked bodies are not even visible.

43

Furthermore, the use of sunlight shining through the blinds, bathing their bodies in the natural early morning light, adds to the realness of the scene. It is not until later in the first episode that it is revealed that Nomi is trans, which is accomplished through a flashback scene of her and Amanita at San Francisco Pride a few years prior. Amanita introduces Nomi to her friends as “the one she’s been talking about.” One of her friends instantly recognizes Nomi as “the tranny that blogs about politics”, which is a transphobic slur in itself already. However, the situation then quickly escalates because of a discussion about the acronym LGBT. Nomi is called “another colonizing male trying to take up any space left to women.” This scene shows that trans people still face a lot of discrimination within the queer community as well. Not only is this scene realistic, it also makes use of the stereotype that trans women are not real women. Nomi is not accepted by Amanita’s feminist friends, because she used to be a man and has an opinion about something these women feel passionate about. In the first scene of episode 2, “I Am Also a We” (The Wackowskis, 2015), Amanita hints at Nomi’s parents being crazy, which is once again established in a later scene in which Nomi is blogging about being part of the pride walk, when she says that her parents taught her there was something wrong with her. It is also in that same episode that the spectator is introduced to Nomi’s mother and sister after Nomi fainted and fell off a motorcycle during the San Francisco Pride March. The first thing Nomi’s mom (Sandra Fish) does is misgender her. She says: “I was sure he was gonna be in a coma the rest of my life.” The scene cuts to a close-up of Nomi’s face, who is still looking a little disoriented, but at the same time very aware of the fact her mom misgendered her the moment she woke up. Next, her sister’s shocked face is displayed, as well as a nurse walking in, calling Nomi Michael. Nomi becomes noticeably annoyed and upset, even more after her mom says that she will always be Michael until they put her in her grave. Her mom then tries to manipulate Nomi into coming back to her by offering her their insurance. Nomi does not fall for her mother’s tricks and only becomes more upset to the point where she is crying and screaming at her mother to leave. This scene between Nomi and her mom exhibits the transphobic behavior of a parent without fail. The response the mother sports, even though it is negative and stereotypical, does add to the accuracy of transgender characters, because of the truthfulness that is displayed. In episode 7, “W. W. N. Double D?” (James McTeigue, 2015), Nomi meets up with an old friend called Bug (Michael X. Sommers), who she used to hack with. At first, Bug is confused as to why his old friend Michael is not there but then recognizes Nomi. Bug constantly calls her ‘buddy’, which is a more commonly used nickname among men than

44

women. However, his way of still naming nicknaming Nomi is not meant in a transphobic way. He seemingly always called her that when they worked together, so he is used to doing it. Nomi does not seem bothered by it either. Amanita is the only one who seems uncomfortable by Bug’s demeanor, which is due to the fact that she is very protective of Nomi and does not want her to be misgendered or discriminated in any way. There is a stereotype that it is not acceptable for men to desire trans women because they are considered ugly, which to some extent puts them in the same category as butch lesbians. There is a commonly used trope in films, such as The Hangover Part II (Todd Phillips, 2011), in which the guy all think one girl is hot, until they find out she is trans; when they discover that, they are all disgusted and want nothing to do with her anymore (Talusan n. pag.). However, Bug is the one breaking this trope. He states that he thinks Nomi is a new, hot version of herself, that she is a total fox and that he would do her. He quickly follows that he does not mean this in any degrading way, but as a compliment. Even though his comment does sound somewhat demeaning, this scene distances itself from other media representations by showing that men are allowed to think that trans women are attractive and that there is nothing to be ashamed about admitting that. Nevertheless, when Nomi mentions that Amanita is her girlfriend, he does respond like straight men do occasionally. Suddenly his grin grows wider, and he says: “Seriously? Shit!” He then starts laughing and even though his reaction is not significant, it does imply that he thinks this entire concept is quite erotic. Nomi quickly halts him stop by saying his name in a more threatening matter, indicating that his attitude is not acceptable. However, this is the only scene in the series’ first season that projects a male gaze on Nomi and Amanita. Since this is still an issue women also face in real life, it does add to the depiction of reality in the series. It is in the same scene that Nomi makes a somewhat positive remark back to when she had not transitioned yet. Bug and Nomi are discussing hacking hardware and when he mentions one of the hardware gave him a ‘serious hard-on’ when it showed up, Nomi replies with: “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Bug looks perplexed for a moment, but before he can say anything, Amanita steps in to ask if all of the equipment is illegal. This seems to be one of the few moments that Nomi does not think back to her old self with a negative connotation to it. There is one flashback from Nomi’s past that accurately portrays her struggle with her body and being trans. In episode 9, “Death Doesn’t Let You Say Goodbye” (The Wachowskis, 2015), Nomi and Lito (Miguel Ángel Silvestre) meet for the first time. Lito is currently struggling with his sexuality, which is why Nomi appears to help him. She explains

45

her dad made her join the swim team. In order to be able to go into the pool, you had to take a shower first. Nomi felt uncomfortable in her body, so she would wear her suit and a shirt. She was bullied because of that, and one day it went wrong. The bullies undressed her and put her under a steaming hot shower, giving her second-degree burns. She says that this was the point when she stopped trying to fit in. Not only because she never would, but because she did not want to fit in either. She then says: “The real violence, the violence that is unforgivable, is the violence we do to ourselves, when we’re too afraid to be who we really are.” Along these lines, Nomi reduces this cruel experience into a more positive thought. Nomi’s positive thinking is beneficial for the representation of trans characters, because she shows that these characters not only need negative storyline all the time. A huge part of Nomi’s strength comes from the love and support of Amanita. The couple shows a mutual respect for each other. Amanita does not think Nomi is weird for hearing voices and talking to people she cannot see and is with her every step of the way. She even supports and joins Nomi when she wants to break into someone’s house to gain more information on why she was hospitalized. Amanita is also one of the first people to fully support Nomi, which she says as well during the flashback in the first episode. Nomi states that no one has ever defended her before, which is why she is crying. Looking back at Dyer’s idea of the inequality shown between two women, their relationship proves this is not the case yet again, just like Clarke and Lexa’s, and Piper and Alex’s relationship. Nomi and Amanita are equals in every sense of the word. In addition, Amanita’s character is unique in itself as well. As a black lesbian, she already has a particularly harder time being accepted for who she is, but this is nowhere to be detected in her personality or demeanor. This positive relationship, as well as Amanita’s free spirit, creates a positive impression for many queer viewers. Nomi’s real power and strength are already shown to the audience in the first episode of the season when she is blogging about herself. She says:

For a long time, I was afraid to be who I am, because I was taught by my parents that there’s something wrong with someone like me. Something offensive, something you would avoid, maybe even pity. Something that you could never love. My mom, she’s a fan of St. Thomas Aquinas and she calls pride a sin. And of all the venal and mortal sins, St. Thomas saw pride as the queen of the seven deadlies. He saw it as the ultimate gateway sin that would turn you quickly into a sinaholic. But hating isn’t a sin on that list. Neither is shame. I was afraid of this parade because I wanted so badly to be a part of it. So today, I’m marching for that part of me that was once too afraid to march. And for all the people who can’t march, the people living lives like I did. Today, I march to remember that I’m not just a me. I’m also a we. And we march with pride.

46

Nomi’s speech not only beautifully portrays her thoughts; it also demonstrates that the ‘we’ she states she is, not only signifies other queer people who cannot join a pride march; it also implies the ‘we’ she has been all that time. Nomi never felt comfortable in her body when she was still a male. Her old self and the person she is now are two completely separate people, but her old self does still live within her as a permanent memory. In such a way, Nomi is more than one person, a ‘we’, and she marches for both of them. This essence of we also comes back in the connotation of trans as stated by Eva Hayward and Jami Weinstein: trans is always “more than and equal to one” (196). This also implies that Nomi is not only trans in her gender identity, but also in her connection with the other sensates. Due to this connection, she becomes many people, but at the same time, they become one. They are sharing their race and genders with each other, and due to the astonishing cinematography these characters often flow into each other. For example, often the cameras are set up to circle around the characters, which give them opportunities to change characters when the view is blocked. The acceptance that all these characters feel for each other is an aspect many people can learn from. There is no prejudice or any judgment when these people first get to know each other, even though they are completely different and come from different backgrounds. To conclude, Sense8 acts as an excellent comparison to OITNB, highlighting the various ways the latter series draws attention to representing issues. Sense8 depicts fewer stereotypes and tropes when it comes to the depiction of queer women. Even though the series displays sex scenes, Nomi and Amanita are never depicted through a male gaze, which is different from OITNB. For example, the strap-on scene between the two is profoundly different from Boo’s. The latter scene does imply that this scene exists to feed the male gaze, but also the fantasy of heterosexual women, which is not the case with the moment between Nomi and Amanita. Their sex scene also involves a strap-on dildo, but they are not sexualized in any way; instead, it feels real and not like a conventional lesbian porn scene. The series is not as self-reflexive as OITNB, which stems from the fact that it is an original story. Moreover, Sense8 makes their audiences aware of the struggle trans people go through, but this is not Nomi’s main story arc. This is in contrast to Sophia, whose entire storyline is about her gender identity with a negative connotation to it. On the contrary, Nomi’s story mainly focuses on how she fits in with the other sensates. Her ability to easily hack into systems is helpful in more than one situation, and the strength she has gained from fighting to be herself for years also makes the other sensates stronger. Some of her negative moments are necessary for a truthful depiction of trans people, but they do not overpower the rest of character, which is the case with Sophia. Additionally, Amanita is with

47

Nomi no matter what happens. The way their relationship is explored is well developed and strong, and their happiness adds to the positivity for queer characters in media. Although season 2 is not discussed, I would like to add that in the season finale, Nomi and Amanita get engaged. This is an exceptional addition to the series since never before has a transgender woman become engaged on a television show.

48

Conclusion: Netflix and its inclusivity Queer women have dealt with a lot throughout history when it comes to their depiction onscreen. They have gone from being represented quite negatively to being represented more positively over time. The analysis in chapter 2 focuses on Lexa from The 100. Lexa’s character is a strong warrior, who happens to be a lesbian and who falls in love with Clarke. Lexa’s love for Clarke ultimately instigated her death. Her character is a prime demonstration of a negative example of the representation of queer women in contemporary television, primarily as her characterization was negatively influenced by tropes. However, this thesis demonstrates that Netflix series Orange is the New Black derives positive representations from tropes by using them in a different way, namely a self-reflexive way. This self-reflexive look assists in giving the series a subversive twist and reveals a refined progression from most mainstream television shows. Additionally, Sense8 tries to steer away from using tropes and stereotypes entirely by using Nomi’s gender and sexual identity as a minor detail of her storyline. When comparing OITNB and Sense8’s way of handling queer characters to Lexa’s character, it seems quite straightforward that they are representing queer women in a more positive way. The characters in both series are greatly diverse, and not just in their sexuality and gender. However, it is mostly Lexa’s death that overshadowed the rest of her character. Overall, Lexa’s character was an important addition to the representation of queer women. Showing a lesbian in this position of power could show younger audiences that they did not have to be limited by their sexuality. Her death, on the other hand, is comparable to how characters back in the fifties and sixties died. Meanwhile, these Netflix shows distance themselves from other media representations by often not trying to sexualize their queer characters as much. Even though OITNB demonstrates a great location for the male gaze and all the male fantasies about what women in prison do, they do not maintain the gaze, despite the fact that women are often seen naked, and both series are not reluctant in showing sex scenes. The fact that these Netflix shows’ sex scenes are often explicit is in stark contrast to other television shows where the trope ‘But Not Too Gay’ is maintained and where scenes fade to black, as also happened when Clarke and Lexa finally became intimate. In OITNB’s sex scenes, frequently women are still wearing part of their clothes, such as Poussey and Soso. This immediately takes away the sexualized aspect. However, even when they are naked, as happens in Sense8, the series does not portray their bodies as overly sexual. The sex scene between Nomi and Amanita is an attempt to show a realistic depiction of two women having sex, instead of feeding into the common fantasies of heterosexual men. Further, whilst the

49

scissoring scene between Poussey and Franziska does stimulate the male gaze, the series makes an inside joke at the same time, which does avert this gaze to a certain amount. By displaying their knowledge of conventions and tropes, Netflix’s brand as different from mainstream television is reflected within this show. Sometimes OITNB falls back on certain stereotypes, such as Boo’s character, which is not the case in Sense8. However, like Dyer stated, stereotypes are not always inaccurate, which is the situation with Boo as well. By adding humorous aspects to her character, Boo is a welcome variation from all the negatively depicted butch lesbians. Along these lines, the series tries to depict the characters as genuine in existence as possible. When situations are real, and for example display a healthy relationship or issues that queer people go through in their everyday life, the show is restrained with its comedy. This is when the series truly comes to life and what makes their storytelling so strong. Two points of improvement for OITNB are, for one, the way they deal with Piper’s sexuality. Even though it is quite evident that Piper is not only attracted to one gender, it is never explicitly mentioned. Although labeling someone is not the ultimate resolve, considering the lack of bisexual characters in the media, OITNB could make some progression in this regard. Furthermore, Sophia’s character, so far, has not had any storyline that did not revolve around her being a transgender woman. Despite the fact that it is important to show trans related storylines in the media, it is also important to consider that Sophia’s character is capable of having another storyline that adds more positivity to her character, rather than to focus on her gender identity exclusively. Likewise, Nomi’s character in Sense8 is portrayed differently from Sophia’s. Most of Nomi’s storyline does not revolve around her being trans. It is still a huge part of her, however, and the series does not shy away from showing several scenes in which it is talked about, but it does not define her. The scenes that incorporated some of the issues that come with being trans only add to a more real depiction, since many trans people do face oppression. Additionally, the positivity in Nomi’s life, which is Amanita, shows queer audiences that it is possible to find love and be happy. Sense8 has been released more recently than OITNB, which indicates that within Netflix there is a shift going on as well. There is not only a difference in representation between mainstream television and Netflix, but within this medium they are already becoming more aware of how minorities should be represented. However, the cancellation of Sense8 in the beginning of June of 2017 displays the fact that even Netflix still has a long way to go when it comes to more positive representation.

50

Thus, Netflix is assuredly representing queer women in a more positive way than other media are doing at the time, but within this medium there is still room for improvement. Netflix not only offers more opportunities due to its system of subscribers, but the platform unquestionably chooses to show its audience stories that are diverse and unique as well. Although the shows do sometimes sexualize their characters, this happens a lot less than other media. OITNB could do better regarding Sophia’s situation and the binary in sexuality that is continuously perpetuated. This is where Sense8 appears who does a better job regarding these circumstances. Nomi and Amanita’s characters are great additions to the representation of queer women. Furthermore, OITNB tries to stay away from stereotypes that connote homophobia. When they do make use of stereotypes, it is because they are accurate. The series uses a lot of lesbian tropes that are common in the women-in-prison genre, but as a result of their self-reflexive commentary, they have subversive potential and do not sabotage their representation in any way.

By undertaking this research, I endeavor to add to the ongoing debate regarding the sexualization of queer women in the media, and the way media still stereotype these women. Throughout the years there has been an abundance of developments, but the ideal goal of the representation of minorities is still not reached. Deliberation regarding the unique aspects of Netflix original series has given my research a modern and contemporary viewpoint. However, much more can be said about these series without comparing them to mainstream television or the history of queer characters. For example, I have not looked at how the characters’ sexualities correlated to the color of their skin. This demonstrates a potential for further research. Hopefully, queer characters will continue to evolve towards being even more positively represented, not only in Netflix original series, but in other media as well. Queer women are not only merely equal to each other, but likewise to other women who identify as heterosexual. Queer women face a double invisibility, because they are not only targeted for their gender, but their sexuality as well. The shift in more positive representation within the medium itself shows that Netflix displays sufficient potential, even with its canceling of Sense8. Not only do the Netflix original shows discussed illustrate the positive sides of being queer, but by not shying away from the negative, they also add to more realistic and fully formed representations of queer women. In this light, Netflix proves that it leads the way for more positively representing queer women, but the platform nonetheless requires improvement too. Thus, like Lexa said, “victory stands on the back of sacrifice”, and the queer woman is not done sacrificing just yet.

51

Bibliography AfterEllen.com Staff. “The 35 Most Horrifying Lesbian/Bi Character Deaths on Television.” AfterEllen. 2014. 30 April 2017. . Akass, Kim, and Janet McGabe. Reading the L Word: Outing Contemporary Television. London: Tauris, 2009. Anzaldúa, Gloria. “To(o) queer the writer: loca, escrita y chicanas.” InVersions: Writing by Dykes, Queers and Lesbians. Ed. Betsy Warland. Vancouver: Press Gang, 1987. 249-263. Becker, Ron. Gay TV and Straight America. New Brunswick: Rutgers UP, 2006. Belcher, Christina. "There Is No Such Thing as a Post-racial Prison: Neoliberal Multiculturalism and the White Savior Complex on Orange Is the New Black." Television & New Media 17.6 (2016): 491-503. Bryan, Helen. Inside. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1953. Bucksbaum, Sydney. “‘Supergirl’ Boss on “Thoughtful” Coming Out Story and “Bury Your Gays” Fears.” The Hollywood Reporter. 2016. 10 May 2017. . Chavez, Robert. “Representing Us All? Race, Gender, and Sexuality in Orange is the New Black.” Unpublished Diss. (Master’s). Minnesota State University - Mankato, 2015. Ciasullo, Ann. "Containing "Deviant" Desire: Lesbianism, Heterosexuality, and the Women- in-Prison Narrative." The Journal of Popular Culture 41.2 (2008): 195-223. Ciasullo, Ann. “Making Her (In)Visible: Cultural Representations of Lesbianism and the Lesbian Body in the 1990s.” Feminist Studies 27.3 (2001): 577-608. Cottingham, Laura. Lesbians Are So Chic. . . That We’re Not Really Lesbians At All. London: Cassell, 1996. Cox, Fiona. "Closet Cases: Costuming, Lesbian Identities And Desire, Hollywood Cinema And The Motion Picture Production Code." International Journal Of The Image 1.4 (2011): 43-56. Crewe, David. “Representation, Stereotypes and the Queer Prestige Film: Over the Rainbow.” Screen Education 76 (2015): 50-59. Decarvalho, Lauren, and Nicole B. Cox. "Extended "Visiting Hours": Deconstructing Identity in Netflix’s Promotional Campaigns for Orange Is the New Black." Television & New Media 17.6 (2016): 504-519. De Lauretis, Teresa. Technologies of Gender: Essays on Theory, Film, and Fiction.

52

Bloomington, IN: Indiana UP, 1987. Doane, Mary Ann. “Masquerade Reconsidered: Further Thoughts on the Female Spectator.” Discourse 11.1 (1988): 42-54. Donahue, Anne. “The Golden Age of The Pansexual TV Character Is Upon Us.” Flare. 2016. 20 May 2017. . Douglas, Pamela. The Future of Television: Your Guide to Creating TV in the New World. Studio City, CA: Michael Wiese Productions, 2015. Driver, Susan. Queer Girls and Popular Culture: Reading, Resisting, and Creating Media. New York, NY: Lang, 2007. Dyer, Richard, ed. Gays and Film. New York: Zoetrope, 1984. Dyer, Richard. Pastiche. New York: Routledge, 2007. Dyer, Richard, ed. The Matter of Images: Essays on Representations. London: Routledge, 2002. Edgerton, Gary R., and Jeffrey P. Jones. The Essential HBO Reader. Lexington: U of Kentucky, 2009. Enck, Suzanne, and Megan Morrissey. “If Orange Is the New Black, I Must Be Color Blind: Comic Framings of Post-Racism in the Prison-Industrial Complex." Critical Studies in Media Communication 32.5 (2015): 303-317. Evans, Caroline, and Lorraine Gamman. “The Gaze Revisited, Or Reviewing Queer Viewing.” A Queer Romance: Lesbians, Gay Men, and Popular Culture. Eds. Paul Burston and Colin Richardson. London: Routledge, 1995. 12-62. Flowers, Stephen. The Galdrabók: An Icelandic Grimoire. York Beach: Red Wheel Weiser, 1989. Foss, Bob. Narrative Technique and Dramaturgy in Film and Television. Stockholm: SVT Training, 1992. Freedman, Estelle B. ‘‘The Prison Lesbian: Race, Class, and the Construction of the Aggressive Female Homosexual, 1915 – 1965.’’ Feminist Studies 22.2 (1996): 397–423. Gauntlett, David. Media, Gender, and Identity: An Introduction. London: Routledge, 2002. GLAAD (Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation). Accelerating Acceptance 2017: A Harris Poll survey of Americans’ acceptance of LGBTQ People. 2017. GLAAD (Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation). Where We Are on TV Report: 2016-2017 Season: GLAAD’s Annual Report on LGBTQ Inclusion. 2017. Goldman, Ruth. "Who Is That Queer Queer? Exploring Norms around Sexuality, Race, and

53

Class in Queer Theory." Queer Studies: A Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, & Transgender Anthology. By Genny Beemyn and Michele J. Eliason. New York: New York UP, 1996. 169-182. Grillo-Marxuach, Javi (OKBJGM). “yes. it was much discussed and has been a concern of mine vis a vis this episode since inception.” 3 March 2016, 21.53. Tweet. Gross, Larry. Up from Invisibility: Lesbians, Gay Men, and the Media in America. New York: Columbia UP, 2001. Halberstam, Judith. Female Masculinity. London: Duke U, 2006. Hayward, Eva, and Jami Weinstein. "Introduction: Tranimalities in the Age of Trans* Life." TSQ: Transgender Studies Quarterly 2.2 (2015): 195-208. Hogan, Heather. “All 29 Lesbian and Bisexual TV Characters Who Got Happy Endings.” Autostraddle. 2016. 30 April 2017. . Holbrook, Damian. “The 100’s Executive Producer Breaks His Silence About Lexa’s Death.” TV Insider. 2016. 2 June 2017. . Inness, Sherrie. The Lesbian Menace: Ideology, Identity, and The Representation of Lesbian Life. Amherst: University of Masschusetts Press, 1997. Jagose, Annemarie. Queer Theory. Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1996. Jones, Amelia, ed. The Feminism and Visual Culture Reader. London: Routledge, 2010. Kern, Rebecca. "Imagining Community: Visibility, Bonding, and L Word Audiences." Sexualities 17.4 (2014): 434-450. Kidd, Dustin. Pop Culture Freaks: Identity, Mass Media, and Society. Boulder: Westview, 2014. Leverette, Marc, Brian L. Ott, and Cara Louise Buckley. It's Not TV: Watching HBO in the Post-television Era. New York: Routledge, 2011. Lippmann, Walter. Public Opinion. New York: Macmillan, 1956. McDonald, Kevin, and Daniel Smith-Rowsey. The Netflix Effect: Technology and Entertainment in the 21st Century. New York, NY: Bloomsbury Academic, 2016. Mulvey, Laura. "Afterthoughts on ‘Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema’ Inspired by King Vidor’s Duel in the Sun (1946)." Visual and Other Pleasures (1989): 29-38. Mulvey, Laura. "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema." Screen 16.3 (1975): 6-18. Neale, Steve. “Masculinity as Spectacle.” The Sexual Subject: A Screen Reader in Sexuality. Eds. John Caughie and Annette Kuhn. London: Routledge, 1992. 277-290.

54

Orley, Emily. “Everything You Need To Know About Netflix’s New Show “Sense8”.” Buzzfeed. 2015. 5 June 2017. . Peele, Thomas, ed. Queer Popular Culture: Literature, Media, Film, and Television. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011. Pramaggiore, Maria. "From Screwdriver to Dildo: Retooling Women’s Work in Orange Is the New Black." Television & New Media 17.6 (2016): 547-560. Randazzo, Renee, Kaelin Farmer, and Sharon Lamb. "Queer Women's Perspectives on Sexualization of Women in Media." Journal of Bisexuality 15.1 (2015): 99-129. Riese. “9 ‘Lesbian Falls For Her Best Friend’ TV Storylines From Heart-Wrenching to Heart- Warming.” Autostraddle. 2015. 25 May 2017. . Riese. “All 181 Dead Lesbian and Bisexual Characters On TV, And How They Died.” Autostraddle. 2016. 30 April 2017. . Russo, Vito. The Celluloid Closet: Homosexuality in the Movies. New York: Harper & Row, 1987. Schwan, Anne. "Postfeminism Meets the Women in Prison Genre: Privilege and Spectatorship in Orange Is the New Black." Television & New Media 17.6 (2016): 473-490. Silverman, Kaja. "Masochism and Male Subjectivity." Camera Obscura: Feminism, Culture, and Media Studies 6.2 17 (1988): 30-67. Stacey, Jackie. “Desperately Seeking Difference.” The Sexual Subject: A Screen Reader in Sexuality. Eds. John Caughie and Annette Kuhn. London: Routledge, 1992. 244-257. Stearns, Teija. “Constructed Realities in Women’s Prisons: From “Beyond Scared Straight” to “Orange is the New Black”.” Unpublished Diss. (Bachelor’s). University of Oregon, 2014. Sullivan, Nikki. A Critical Introduction to Queer Theory. New York: New York UP, 2007. Swedberg, Deborah. “What Do We See When We See Woman/Woman Sex in Pornographic Movies.” NWSA Journal 1.4 (1989): 602-616. Symes, Katerina. "Orange Is the New Black: The Popularization of Lesbian Sexuality and Heterosexual Modes of Viewing." Feminist Media Studies 17.1 (2016): 29-41. Talusan, Meredith. “8 Trans Tropes We Need To Retire In 2016.” Buzzfeed. 2016. 5 June 2017.

55

in-2016?utm_term=.umkPlGLlDZ#.slWYx18xMe>. Timmer, Joel. "Restricting Portrayals of Film Violence to Reduce the Likelihood of Negative Effects in Viewers: Did the Framers of the Motion Picture Production Code Get It Right?" Journal of Popular Film and Television 39.1 (2011): 29-36. TVtropes. “But Not Too Gay.” TVtropes.org. 2010. 20 March 2017. < http://tvtropes.org/ pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ButNotTooGay>. TVtropes. “Bury Your Gays.” TVtropes.org. 2010. 20 March 2017. < http://tvtropes.org/ pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/BuryYourGays>. TVtropes. “Girls Behind Bars.” TVtropes.org. 2013. 18 May 2017. < http://tvtropes.org/ pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/GirlsBehindBars>. TVtropes. “Girl-On-Girl Is Hot.” TVtropes.org. 2010. 22 March 2017. < http://tvtropes.org/ pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/GirlOnGirlIsHot>. TVtropes. “Stereotype.” TVtropes.org. 2010. 5 April 2017. < http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/ article_history.php?article=Main.Stereotype>. TVtropes. “Tropes.” TVtropes.org. 2013. 10 June 2017. < http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/ pmwiki.php/Main/Tropes>. Walker, Lisa. “How to Recognize a Lesbian: The Cultural Politics of Looking Like What You Are.”Signs 18.4 (1993): 866-890. Warn, Sarah. “How “Buffy” Changed the World of Lesbians on Television.” AfterEllen. 2003. 30 April 2017. . Yoshino, Kenji. "The Epistemic Contract of Bisexual Erasure." Stanford Law Review 52.2 (2000): 353-461.

Media “Death Doesn’t Let You Say Goodbye.” Season 1, episode 9. Netflix. June 5 2015. “I Am Also a We.” Season 1, episode 2. Sense8. Netflix, June 5 2015. “Limbic Resonance.” Season 1, episode 1. Sense8. Netflix. June 5 2015. “Remember Me.” Season 2, episode 9. The 100. The CW. January 21 2015. Season 1. Orange is the New Black. Netflix. July 11 2013. Season 2. Orange is the New Black. Netflix. June 6 2014. Season 3. Orange is the New Black. Netflix. June 12 2015. Season 4. Orange is the New Black. Netflix. June 17 2016. The Celluloid Closet. Rob Epstein and Jeffrey Friedman. Channel Four Films, 1995. “Thirteen.” Season 3, episode 7. The 100. The CW. March 3 2016.

56

“Watch the Thrones.” Season 3, episode 4. The 100. The CW. February 11 2016. “W. W. N. Double D.” Season 1, episode 7. Sense8. Netflix. June 5 2015.

57