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

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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

Victory Stands On the

Back of Sacrifice

The representation of queer women in

Netflix original series in relation to

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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(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-feminine-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

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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.

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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

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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.

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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sex-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

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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

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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

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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

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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.

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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

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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

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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