Rachael Eyre's Blog - Posts Tagged "tv"
Favourite Genres: Women's Prison Dramas
Certain settings are breeding grounds for drama. Newsrooms. Police stations. Spaceships. In recent years TV has returned to the same premise again and again: the hidden world of women's prisons.
The reasons for its popularity are manifold. As well as a mainly female cast (still a rarity in our male dominated media), it offers strong friendships, politics and alliances, violent feuds. It highlights the best and worst of human nature. And - a vital and, even nowadays - lesbian relationships aren't coy afterthoughts but fully realised.
The trend began with Bad Girls, a groundbreaking British series running from 1999 to 2006. It's sometimes described as "the female Oz", but that's underselling it. Although it devolved into panto in later years, the first three seasons are essential viewing. It looked unflinchingly at serious social issues: child abuse, euthanasia, harassment in the workplace, alcoholism, failings in the care system.
It started the grand tradition of the guards being as damaged as the women they lock up. Though cons came and went, everyone remembers Hollamby, the workshy misanthrope who punctuates everything with "My foot!" and "My bottom!" She must have been a peach of a part to play. For all her bitchiness and bile, Hollamby is a kitten compared with Jim Fenner. The Cro Magnon deputy officer, he's possibly the most dangerous person at HMP Larkhall. Scrape away the superficial charm and schmooze and you uncover a prolific fraud, pimp, rapist and murderer. He nearly always came out on top and made you need a wash. Ugh!
Bad Girls was one of the earliest shows to recognise that monsters are made, not born. Even the psychotic bully Shell Dockley had a tragic backstory, though this didn't excuse her behaviour. Many of the women committed crimes out of love: Julie S turned to prostitution to send her son to public school; Nikki Wade stabbed her girlfriend's rapist.
Indeed, it's with Nikki we come to the real legacy of Bad Girls: its portrayal of lesbian characters. The main arc of the first few series was the secret love between Nikki and Helen Stewart, Wing Governor and the face that launched a thousand sapphists. It wasn't played for shock value or titillation but as a slow burning, genuine connection that even the mustiest straights rooted for. It should come as no surprise that when Bad Girls was adapted for the West End (yes, really!), Helen and Nikki's romance was the central storyline.
Though Bad Girls holds a special place in my heart, there's now a pretender to the throne. This is none other than Wentworth, the gritty reboot of Australian camp classic Prisoner Cell Block H.
If Helen was the focal character of early Bad Girls, Bea Smith is undoubtedly Wentworth's. We watch her metamorphosis from battered wife to undisputed Top Dog, making her a far more nuanced character than the original. The same applies for many of the rewrites. Prison martinet Vinegar Tits is now Vera, a lonely, vulnerable workaholic; Pamela Rabe's rendition of Joan "the Freak" Ferguson has transformed her from a one note sadistic screw to Richard III in epaulettes. Her Machiavellian schemes and descent into madness are unmissable.
Despite its soapy origins, Wentworth has quickly become one of the best dramas in years. Unlike other shows, which stop and start storylines and suffer the occasional duff episode, it keeps its many plots bubbling away. While Prisoner hinted at sickening violence, Wentworth shows it full on.
It's also revolutionary in its depiction of LGBT characters. Although I love Helen and Nikki, at their raunchiest they were like a pair of Disney princesses frolicking in an enchanted forest. We first meet fan favourite Franky Doyle stark naked ploughing her fuck buddy; she progresses to a smouldering affair with the psychologist. There's Maxine, one of the first trans characters in a prison drama. Arrested for attacking her transphobic boyfriend, she overcomes the women's prejudices to become a valued ally.
That's not to say it's flawless. I have reservations about Juicy Lucy, a gruesome butch who goes around infecting enemies with hepatitis - tapping into all the negative stereotypes you can think of. Another character, Kaz Proctor, is a militant feminist who runs a sisterhood of misandrist vigilantes. I cringe whenever she appears.
Though detractors may accuse prison dramas of gratuitous sensationalism, they're much more than that. They examine a stratum of society we seldom see and debate topical issues. In the case of Helen and Nikki, they changed the representation of lesbian relationships on TV for good, giving them equal billing with their straight counterparts. Even more importantly, they invite discussion of the conditions in correctional institutions and the circumstances that lead women to offend in the first place. Great drama with a message - isn't that the whole point of TV?
The reasons for its popularity are manifold. As well as a mainly female cast (still a rarity in our male dominated media), it offers strong friendships, politics and alliances, violent feuds. It highlights the best and worst of human nature. And - a vital and, even nowadays - lesbian relationships aren't coy afterthoughts but fully realised.
The trend began with Bad Girls, a groundbreaking British series running from 1999 to 2006. It's sometimes described as "the female Oz", but that's underselling it. Although it devolved into panto in later years, the first three seasons are essential viewing. It looked unflinchingly at serious social issues: child abuse, euthanasia, harassment in the workplace, alcoholism, failings in the care system.
It started the grand tradition of the guards being as damaged as the women they lock up. Though cons came and went, everyone remembers Hollamby, the workshy misanthrope who punctuates everything with "My foot!" and "My bottom!" She must have been a peach of a part to play. For all her bitchiness and bile, Hollamby is a kitten compared with Jim Fenner. The Cro Magnon deputy officer, he's possibly the most dangerous person at HMP Larkhall. Scrape away the superficial charm and schmooze and you uncover a prolific fraud, pimp, rapist and murderer. He nearly always came out on top and made you need a wash. Ugh!
Bad Girls was one of the earliest shows to recognise that monsters are made, not born. Even the psychotic bully Shell Dockley had a tragic backstory, though this didn't excuse her behaviour. Many of the women committed crimes out of love: Julie S turned to prostitution to send her son to public school; Nikki Wade stabbed her girlfriend's rapist.
Indeed, it's with Nikki we come to the real legacy of Bad Girls: its portrayal of lesbian characters. The main arc of the first few series was the secret love between Nikki and Helen Stewart, Wing Governor and the face that launched a thousand sapphists. It wasn't played for shock value or titillation but as a slow burning, genuine connection that even the mustiest straights rooted for. It should come as no surprise that when Bad Girls was adapted for the West End (yes, really!), Helen and Nikki's romance was the central storyline.
Though Bad Girls holds a special place in my heart, there's now a pretender to the throne. This is none other than Wentworth, the gritty reboot of Australian camp classic Prisoner Cell Block H.
If Helen was the focal character of early Bad Girls, Bea Smith is undoubtedly Wentworth's. We watch her metamorphosis from battered wife to undisputed Top Dog, making her a far more nuanced character than the original. The same applies for many of the rewrites. Prison martinet Vinegar Tits is now Vera, a lonely, vulnerable workaholic; Pamela Rabe's rendition of Joan "the Freak" Ferguson has transformed her from a one note sadistic screw to Richard III in epaulettes. Her Machiavellian schemes and descent into madness are unmissable.
Despite its soapy origins, Wentworth has quickly become one of the best dramas in years. Unlike other shows, which stop and start storylines and suffer the occasional duff episode, it keeps its many plots bubbling away. While Prisoner hinted at sickening violence, Wentworth shows it full on.
It's also revolutionary in its depiction of LGBT characters. Although I love Helen and Nikki, at their raunchiest they were like a pair of Disney princesses frolicking in an enchanted forest. We first meet fan favourite Franky Doyle stark naked ploughing her fuck buddy; she progresses to a smouldering affair with the psychologist. There's Maxine, one of the first trans characters in a prison drama. Arrested for attacking her transphobic boyfriend, she overcomes the women's prejudices to become a valued ally.
That's not to say it's flawless. I have reservations about Juicy Lucy, a gruesome butch who goes around infecting enemies with hepatitis - tapping into all the negative stereotypes you can think of. Another character, Kaz Proctor, is a militant feminist who runs a sisterhood of misandrist vigilantes. I cringe whenever she appears.
Though detractors may accuse prison dramas of gratuitous sensationalism, they're much more than that. They examine a stratum of society we seldom see and debate topical issues. In the case of Helen and Nikki, they changed the representation of lesbian relationships on TV for good, giving them equal billing with their straight counterparts. Even more importantly, they invite discussion of the conditions in correctional institutions and the circumstances that lead women to offend in the first place. Great drama with a message - isn't that the whole point of TV?
Why the WLW Romance in Vigil Matters
Thanks to last night’s Vigil, I witnessed something extraordinary. Its lead, Amy Silva, danced with her subordinate, Kirsten Longacre, moving in for a kiss. Startled, the younger detective said, “I thought you weren’t interested in women.” The response? “I like you.” This misunderstanding cleared up, they shared one of the sweetest embraces I’ve seen on television.
Why is this so groundbreaking?
Speaking as a lesbian in my mid thirties, I’ve watched a lot of pink TV. To say most of it was lipservice was an understatement. Good grief, one show - about the gloomy mésalliances of Glaswegian sapphics - was even *called* Lip Service.
The medium doesn’t know what to do with us. Either we’re the subject of dramas specifically about (though not necessarily *for*) us, in which case it’s strap ons and scissoring ahoy, or we’re an absent minded subplot in a soap or indie show. We’re always the bridesmaid, never the bride: best friends, siblings or children, never the main protagonist. Since that would make it a Gay Show, and capsize the ratings forever.
More often than not we’re an object lesson, teaching Middle England that LGBT People Are Just Like You! Unless it’s cull season, of course. Then we’re sitting ducks, ready to get blown up, run over or buried alive on our wedding days. Since we can’t be shown living happily or even miserably ever after like our hetero counterparts.
Vigil is a milestone because it’s a mainstream programme in the coveted 9pm spot, made by the same folks who created Line of Duty. It isn’t ‘about’ lesbians, it’s a murder mystery. Yes, Suranne Jones has previous form playing Regency rake Anne Lister in Gentleman Jack, but which actress hasn’t a gay notch to her belt? It’s the one way to guarantee meaty roles once you enter your thirties.
It didn’t have to be gay. Amy could have just as easily fallen for a male colleague and have him working on the case back on land. But in their wisdom, the BBC has made a wlw love story the heart of their show. The use of flashbacks has given them a unique opportunity to explore Amy and Kirsten’s relationship. They clearly regret their breakup and want to get back together. I only hope one or both of them don’t fall victim to the Plot Reaper.
Of course there have been grumbles from the usual quarters, mithering it’s too “woke,” it’s “virtue signalling,” “has nothing to do with anything.” They were noticeably quiet during the earlier episodes, which dealt with the death of Amy’s (male) partner and the loss of her stepdaughter. Bizarrely, many viewers confused the kid with Kirsten, seemingly oblivious to lesbian subtext, or that there’s only a nine year age difference between our leads. There were even suggestions that it was the same person, but she’d hooked up with her stepmother when she was an adult. And they call *us* perverted.
I freely admit: I only tuned in because the publicity referred to a ‘past relationship’ between our leads. I thought it’d be mentioned in passing at best, because that’s what I’ve come to expect. It doesn’t matter we have the right to marry and adopt, and ostensibly equal rights; we’re still only extras or Very Special Episodes in the year 2021.
Until now.
They’ve given us an age gap wlw romance - a classic ice queen meets kooky girl. A woman who can be kissed by another woman and doesn’t react as though a slug has been slingshotted into her mouth - and indeed, likes it. No tedious angst about being gay, no soul searching. Just two people who obviously still love each other. Two flawed, relatable women, rather than the questioning teens or designer dolls we’re used to seeing. Queer characters who feel like actual people.
And it’s about time.
Why is this so groundbreaking?
Speaking as a lesbian in my mid thirties, I’ve watched a lot of pink TV. To say most of it was lipservice was an understatement. Good grief, one show - about the gloomy mésalliances of Glaswegian sapphics - was even *called* Lip Service.
The medium doesn’t know what to do with us. Either we’re the subject of dramas specifically about (though not necessarily *for*) us, in which case it’s strap ons and scissoring ahoy, or we’re an absent minded subplot in a soap or indie show. We’re always the bridesmaid, never the bride: best friends, siblings or children, never the main protagonist. Since that would make it a Gay Show, and capsize the ratings forever.
More often than not we’re an object lesson, teaching Middle England that LGBT People Are Just Like You! Unless it’s cull season, of course. Then we’re sitting ducks, ready to get blown up, run over or buried alive on our wedding days. Since we can’t be shown living happily or even miserably ever after like our hetero counterparts.
Vigil is a milestone because it’s a mainstream programme in the coveted 9pm spot, made by the same folks who created Line of Duty. It isn’t ‘about’ lesbians, it’s a murder mystery. Yes, Suranne Jones has previous form playing Regency rake Anne Lister in Gentleman Jack, but which actress hasn’t a gay notch to her belt? It’s the one way to guarantee meaty roles once you enter your thirties.
It didn’t have to be gay. Amy could have just as easily fallen for a male colleague and have him working on the case back on land. But in their wisdom, the BBC has made a wlw love story the heart of their show. The use of flashbacks has given them a unique opportunity to explore Amy and Kirsten’s relationship. They clearly regret their breakup and want to get back together. I only hope one or both of them don’t fall victim to the Plot Reaper.
Of course there have been grumbles from the usual quarters, mithering it’s too “woke,” it’s “virtue signalling,” “has nothing to do with anything.” They were noticeably quiet during the earlier episodes, which dealt with the death of Amy’s (male) partner and the loss of her stepdaughter. Bizarrely, many viewers confused the kid with Kirsten, seemingly oblivious to lesbian subtext, or that there’s only a nine year age difference between our leads. There were even suggestions that it was the same person, but she’d hooked up with her stepmother when she was an adult. And they call *us* perverted.
I freely admit: I only tuned in because the publicity referred to a ‘past relationship’ between our leads. I thought it’d be mentioned in passing at best, because that’s what I’ve come to expect. It doesn’t matter we have the right to marry and adopt, and ostensibly equal rights; we’re still only extras or Very Special Episodes in the year 2021.
Until now.
They’ve given us an age gap wlw romance - a classic ice queen meets kooky girl. A woman who can be kissed by another woman and doesn’t react as though a slug has been slingshotted into her mouth - and indeed, likes it. No tedious angst about being gay, no soul searching. Just two people who obviously still love each other. Two flawed, relatable women, rather than the questioning teens or designer dolls we’re used to seeing. Queer characters who feel like actual people.
And it’s about time.
