7. Beautifully Broken

U. MELISSA ANYIWO

7. BEAUTIFULLY BROKEN

True Blood’s Tara Thornton as the Black Best Friend

I always call Tara the flower that grew through the concrete, because she was incredibly insecure and vulnerable, but also fierce and strong and defensive, all of that mixed together. She was an incredibly complex individual. But if you remember her, I would hope you look back at her strengths, her laugh, her smile. (Rutina Wesley, 2014) Primetime television typically creates worlds in which race is either absent or is defined in narrow stereotyped ways. In today’s world, female characters of African descent are most often reduced to the Black Best Friend (BBF), an updated combination of the overtly sexual Jezebel and the know-it-all, undesirable Mammy. This appeared to be the case at the start of HBO’s series True Blood, which ran for seven seasons from 2007–2014. BBF, Tara Thornton (Rutina Wesley), appeared to reflect every narrow racist stereotype of black femininity seen throughout popular culture since the 1800s, from her single-parent alcoholic mother, to her “natural” criminal tendencies, her inability to hold down a job because of her issues with uncontrollable rage, or her “over-sensitivity” to the racism that surrounds her. But the magic of television is that a good show can take the time to develop its characters beyond narrow archetypes, and Tara’s character arguably had the most complex journey on the show (while having the most banal ending). This chapter explores the meanings coded into her characteristics and behaviour to illustrate the ways her character retains and expands existing concepts of blackness and black sexuality. Does this beautifully broken supporting heroine offer us a different version of black womanhood thus suggesting the existence of a post-racial world? Perhaps not, but she certainly entertained us as she stumbled her way to redemption.

THE BLACK BEST FRIEND AND THE LIMITS OF REPRESENTATION First things first, for those of you who aren’t familiar with the term, a BBF is a one-dimensional archetype that exists solely to offer emotional support, provide counsel or serve the white lead in whatever fashion they need. A BBF is loyal, undeniably cool and confident beyond belief. A BBF is typically more honest than his or her white counterparts. A BBF isn’t afraid to dish out tough love or call you on your bullshit. But BBFs don’t do those things because they’re mean; BBFs do those [things] because they love you. And because they have no life outside of you. Oh, and they’re wise. Very, very wise. (Sadie Gennis, 2014) Television provides a wealth of evidence to explore the evolution (or lack thereof) of the ways African American femininity is envisioned in the twenty- first century. Interestingly, the internalization of stereotypes has become so complete that producers appear largely unaware of the connotations of the limiting caricatures they incidentally perpetuate, and viewers, though increasingly sophisticated, accept these fictional images as normalized reality. Contemporary television thus has great potential for the iteration and/ or reiteration of dominant ideologies and the perhaps accidental transmission of those ideologies. Moreover, True Blood, a show created by gay writer/ producer Allan Ball and nominally about the marginalized, is an excellent example since it provides a cultural text that reflects a normalizing gaze under the disguise of political correctness. Some theorists might argue that television reflects reality but, as True Blood demonstrates, this reality is one filtered through a lens guided by prevailing ideologies. Consequently, T.V. shows reveal a great deal about the society and historical period in which they were produced. Since the vast majority of shows are produced by white men; the normalizing gaze is the white male gaze. Annette Kuhn (1992) writes, “It is true (if somewhat reductive) to say that in a patriarchal culture most representations of women [and minorities] are readable as connoting ‘otherness’ or difference – difference from the norm of patriarchy, that is” (p. 19). Consequently the Other represents nothing more than long-held beliefs, stereotypes, and reductive imagery. This normative strategy becomes obvious when we realize that network shows are made predominantly for the pleasure of the male audience and/or, as Laura Mulvey suggests, for the entertainment of white spectatorship (Diawara, 2009, p. 829). Consequently the Western male creation of the Other has become a prerequisite for the