Queering Kansas in the Pictures

Flow (Still) Matters

Alex Doty

Ryan Murphy, Activist?

American Queer Horror Story

Showing posts with label homophobia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label homophobia. Show all posts
Posted by Taylor Cole Miller - -

Originally published in FlowTV (16.01): 2 July 2012.

Before she was Miss Ida Blankenship, actor Randee Heller was Alice on Soap
Before she was Miss Ida Blankenship on AMC's Mad Men, actor Randee Heller was Alice on ABC's hit '70s sitcom, Soap, American television's first recurring lesbian character.

Most of Flow’s quality-concerned readers will probably remember actor Randee Heller from her role as Miss Ida Blankenship, Don Draper’s illustrious elderly secretary in the AMC series Mad Men. But long before she was incensing Draper by calling his daughter chubby and announcing his toilet visits, Heller created controversy with a nine-episode arc (( Heller acts in only eight episodes, but her character is referenced twice in a ninth. )) of the half-hour hit ‘70s sitcom, Soap, as American broadcast’s first recurring lesbian character, Alice. I had the opportunity to speak with Heller about the show and her part in it.

Soap originally aired weekly on ABC between 1977 and 1981. The creators of the show (Susan Harris, Paul Junger Witt, and Tony Thomas, who later created The Golden Girls) crafted the primetime sitcom into a parody of the daytime soap opera with a basic serial narrative that followed the lives of two sisters, one wealthy and one working class. As the series evolved, it began to incorporate more and more bizarre and melodramatic plot elements, from demonic possession to alien abduction and everything in between.

Soap: A Quick and Dirty History
Randee Heller as Alice - Meeting the Dallas Family
Randee Heller as Alice in Soap Meeting the Dallas family, 1 March 1979.

Even before it premiered, Soap was controversial on both sides of the fence for its deployment of a homosexual series regular, Jodie Dallas, played by a young Billy Crystal. Jodie was involved with a closeted professional football player, Dennis (Olympic pole vaulter Bob Seagren) and spent much of the first season toying with having a “sex change operation,” as he continually calls it, in order to be able to be with his man openly.

Both gay advocacy groups (such as the National Gay Task Force) and religious conservative groups (Southern Baptists, United Church of Christ, United Methodist Church, National Council of Catholic Bishops, etc.) objected to Jodie’s portrayal.  According to Rodger Streitmatter, the series was reportedly so controversial, it generated 56,000 protest letters by the time it premiered in September 1977. (( Rodger Streitmatter. From "Perverts" to "Fab Five" The Media's Changing Depciction of Gay Men and Lesbians. New York: Routledge, 2009. pp 39. )) But this controversy also largely inspired its ratings success.

At first news of the series’ potential gay content, the Washington Post wrote, “If this situation comedy makes it into the ABC schedule, it will be a breakthrough in prime-time network television programming” (( ibid. )). Later stories were decidedly more critical: Newsweek called Soap “99 and 44/100% Impure” noting that affiliates were “understandably uneasy,” while the New York Times quoted a minister as saying, “By scheduling this program in prime time, ABC will be exposing children to something they really can’t handle.” In a later published memo, ABC execs allegedly said that as a gay character, Jodie must “at all times be handled without negative stereotyping” ((ibid.)) (even though many scholars and protestors think he was all stereotype), and that his relationship with the football player “should be handled in such a manner that explicit or intimate aspects of homosexuality are avoided entirely.” ((ibid.)) The result was that the two never touch.

Because of the magnitude of the break-out role, the character of Jodie has been extensively explored in most queer histories. Scholars like Larry Gross (Up From Invisibility: Lesbians, Gay Men, and the Media in America (2001)) as well as Stephen Tropiano (The Prime Time Closet: A History of Gays and Lesbians on TV (2002)) are critical of the character’s flamboyance and how it conflates homosexuality with transgenderism. Other scholars, namely Suzanna Danuta Walters (All the Rage: The Story of Gay Visibility in America (2003)) and Steven Capsuto (Alternate Channels: The Uncensored Story of Gay and Lesbian Images on Radio and Television (2000)) applaud the character as non-stereotypical and a welcome role model for isolated gay viewers. Most of these reviews are centrally focused on the first season because even as the series progressed with more and more outlandish storylines, Jodie’s character became increasingly tame: He decides not to have sex reassignment surgery (after a failed suicide attempt), and he and his boyfriend split for good. He never seriously dates another man but becomes confusingly involved with at least three women, one of them a lesbian named Alice.

It Gets Better, Alice
Randee Heller as Alice
Billy Crystal as Jodie Dallas and Randee Heller as Alice in Soap, on the Triborough Bridge with suicide note in her hand, 18 January 1979. 

On a cold winter’s night, a depressed Jodie stands on the Triborough Bridge above the East River listing woes in a monologue when a woman emerges from the shadows and says she can’t finish her suicide note over all his complaining. Jodie, who says he has no intention to kill himself, tries to talk her out of suicide. “Listen, no matter what has happened to you, it can’t be bad enough to end your life; believe me, I know! What you’re going through can’t be any worse than what I’m going through, and I’d never jump.” 

When his trump card of troubles is that he is a homosexual, an unimpressed Alice responds with, “No big deal ... me too!” Jodie is shocked, “You don’t look like a lesbian ...” he says. “Oh yeah, well, I loaned my black leather outfit to one of the Hell’s Angels,” she says. “Listen, my boss fired me, my lover left me, I’ve got no place to live and no one to talk to. With choices like that you either commit suicide or you kill yourself ...” 

Alice explains that she decided to take the plunge after coming out to her family. “I figured if we talked about it, they’d understand and maybe I’d feel a bit better about what I was. So, I told them. My mother, a very reserved woman, screamed, spit in my face, and stormed out of the room. My father, a noted psychiatrist, called me a sick twisted pervert and threw me out of the house.” After a pause, she chokes down tears and adds, “I really loved my father.” 

Like Jodie, Alice was received poorly not only by conservatives but also by gay rights activists because she was a tragic portrait of the real-world persecution of openly-gay homosexuals. Gay liberationists, who encouraged gay men and women everywhere to come out as a political move, were upset with a portrayal of a homosexual woman who demonstrated the darker side of coming out. Several years later the Boston Herald wrote that Alice’s narrative demonstrated how “the networks have generally depicted lesbians either as suicidal losers or sexual predators.” ((Mark A. Perigard. "Networks' Record Shows Gay Stereotyping." Boston Herald, April 30, 1997. pp. 44)) 

Although I strive to stay away from proclaiming a particular representation as strictly positive or negative (an argument that is unending and fruitless), I read the character, and the intention behind her much differently. While Alice is fraught with suicidal thoughts in her opening scene, the narrative drive behind her character initially seems determined to demonstrate the same thing Dan Savage’s well-intentioned, if problematic, “it gets better” campaign attempts. 

In fact, Jodie stops Alice on the bridge by saying, “Listen, I know it sounds pretty bad, and I’m sure it feels pretty bad. But will you believe me when I tell you, it’ll get better?” By featuring her character, Soap attempts to teach its audience about “gay women” who, despite several gay male portrayals or one-off episodes at the time, were mostly missing in prime time television. Alice is, in fact, the first recurring lesbian character in American broadcast, but her story, like many others, is often lost in the history books. ((AfterEllen.com doesn't list the first recurring lesbian character until 1983 (Donna Pescow as Dr. Lynn Carson on All My Children, four years after Alice.) )) As illustration of the show's earnestness, in many of the episodes, Jodie argues with his family that lesbianism is not a temporary identity a woman claims until she finds the “right man” as they often joke, but it is as much of an actual identity as being a gay man. 

When I spoke with Heller about her involvement with Soap and the process of creating Alice, she told me that the writers very delicately and sensitively created the role aiming not to reproduce negative stereotypes but to craft Alice into a normal character with whom audiences could relate and identify. They created her with earnest intention but were consumed with worry about how she would be received. Of chief importance was Alice's appearance – especially her hair. A newly minted actress in Los Angeles from New York, Heller decided to fold to the trend by spending a considerable amount of money having her hair permed. Because the creators wanted to make Alice seem as down to earth and everyday as possible, Heller's curly locks became an issue for the producers "worried about their sponsors" as she says.
"At that time, perms were very big. ... They hired me with the perm -- they probably thought it was my natural hair ... There was a day when [my perm] was such an issue that they wanted to straighten my hair because they were so concerned about Alice's appearance, and because she was the first homosexual that she can't be too "out there" like a perm was out there. Like, too hip, or too much like a rock star, whatever it was they attributed to a perm. So they spent the day straightening my hair. ... It was just ridiculous, but that's the way it was in those days. Yet [at the same time] they were so forward and so brave ...
Alice and her date
Alice and her date, Maxine (Kit McDonough), 8 March 1979.

Heller said that even though she appreciated the producer's bravado in creating the character, as an actor she was limited by what she could do on the set. For instance, Jodie invites Alice to live with him in his apartment while she gets back on her feet, and the two become loving, if frustrated, roommates. In one scene, Alice returns from a night with her date, Maxine, (who Heller described as her character's "girlfriend") and interrupts Jodie on a date with another man. In the scene neither Jodie nor Alice physically interact with their companions (not even a hug).
"I went to kiss her in rehearsals and they said, "No no no ... you can't do that." I said, "But she's my girlfriend!"
"No, no no no, we can't do that, we just cannot do that." So it was so careful, it was so delicate in those days that you couldn't really do your thing. ... They wanted me to be a heterosexual homosexual ... I don't know! [she laughs]. They wanted me to appear very straight and very middle of the road.
Mutually jealous, both Jodie and Alice end up becoming involved in their own relationship. Alice regularly appears through the end of the second season and again at the beginning of the third season when we learn that the two have lived together for several months. Interrupting their (homo?)normative bliss, however, the Texan grandmother of Jodie’s child (he had a drunken one night stand that resulted in a baby, as they do) offers him custody of his child only if he kicks Alice out. She is uncomfortable with Jodie’s homosexuality, but believes that being raised in the company of two homosexuals will be catastrophic for the baby. Or as she says, "that's just one homo too many!"

This she can do because, as she says, “no jury in the world” would award custody to a homosexual. Overhearing this conversation, Alice runs off, never to be seen again, and Jodie devolves into yet another confusingly hetero(non)sexual relationship before he is finally hypnotized into a past life as a ninety-year-old Jewish man. Confused? You still will be, even if you watch all the episodes. ((This is my attempt at humor based on the show's other famous tagline, "Confused? You won't be after the next episode of Soap.")) Heller remembers being ambivalent about taking the role because she was aware it was so controversial, it could potentially devastate her career:
"When I got the role, I was tentative in accepting it, NOT because I had any issues with ... sexuality, but I was worried that it would limit a career that hadn't even started yet ... [Soap] was like the third thing I did, so I was concerned it would be an issue in my career ... and I spoke to a few people who were further along in their careers, and then I just said, "Oh, the hell with it! This is a great role, and it's fun, and I get to be on this fabulous show that is doing things that no other show had the guts to do, and I want to just do it, and see what happens."
While Alice’s portrayal and narrative trajectory are fraught with issues and activists were critical of the character, Heller says she was warmly received by viewers who were similarly struggling with their sexuality.

"I've run into people that have said, you know, 'Thank God they had your character" and 'it really helped me.'"

Additionally, we do witness a few things through the harmony of Jodie's and Alice's characters we would rarely see on today’s television: By becoming involved in a relationship but continuing to maintain their homosexual identities, both characters demonstrate a kind of sexual fluidity that doesn’t fall within the comfortable rubric of the kind of archetypes token LGBTQ characters seem to have to fit into today. Also, even though by all standards Alice and Jodie are happy as a couple and want to raise the baby as a two-parent family (a homo/hetero/neither? normative relationship), a conservative, gunslingin’ Texan mama splits them up in favor of a gay man raising the child by himself, which, again, you would almost never see on TV today.

On the one hand, Heller's memories of the creation of Alice demonstrate how the danger of harsh critiques and censure paralyze earnest producers with fear even about things like hair styling. But on the other hand, quite simply, what does it mean if we don't make demands of our media?

Ultimately, these questions remain and will remain: Did it, in fact, “get better” for Alice? And if we have been throwing this expression out to a presumably suicidal LGBTQ audience for more than 30 years, has it or will it ever “get better”? Have homosexual representations on TV changed for the better or can we project Alice's limitations onto a couple like Cameron and Mitchell from Modern Family. To take that a step further, even though we now have a sitting president who has vocalized his support of gay marriage (and gay marriage specifically) has our culture really changed for the better, or has it instead only made acceptable a certain kind of "perm-free" gay? Unlike the show’s famous tagline, these questions and more will [not] be answered in the next episode of Soap!

As for Miss Blankenship, Heller says she found the inspiration for the character, "I swear she inhabited me. One day on the set I just felt this spirit come into my body [she laughs]." But Heller remembers working as a young woman on Madison Avenue and believes the experience was very similar. "It was everything you see in Mad Men ... and more." Listen to my entire interview with the captivating Randee Heller -- it includes a special beyond-the-grave message from one Miss Ida Blankenship.


By the way, while there are no Alice Soap clips available on YouTube, please enjoy this video of the Complete Miss Ida Blankenship from Mad Men -- all six and a half minutes of her glory (contains spoilers).




Image Credits:
1. Photo by Bobby Quillard, courtesy of Miss Heller.
2., 3., 4. Screen captures by the author.
5. Photo by Bobby Quillard, courtesy of Miss Heller.

Notes:
1. This article was originally published in FlowTV (16.01): 2 July 2012.
2. Heller also played a lesbian (Joanne, who was with her partner for 40 years) in the 21 October 2010 Grey's Anatomy episode, "Almost Grown."


[ Read More ]

Posted by Taylor Cole Miller - -

Originally published in Antenna from the University of Wisconsin – Madison, 5 July 2012.

Anderson Cooper's "outing" this week beautifully illustrates something I have been writing about for a while: the imperative of coming out. The paradox of homosexuality is and has been that one must at once not be gay while at the same time publicly (confessing/admitting/declaring) that (s)he is. But what does that mean, exactly? If the presumption is that we are straight until we say otherwise, then why are the most common reactions to Anderson's outing, "We already knew!" or "It’s about time!" Hollywood legend might describe the alleged homosexuality of figures like Agnes Moorehead or James Dean as an "open secret"--something about which to argue at pretentious dinner parties. But I bracket "outing" with quotations marks because if everybody already knew Anderson was gay, why was he constantly hounded to declare it? And why aren't people satisfied with his declaration?


I'll admit some guilt here; as an Oprah scholar, I've long thought Anderson’s semi-successful talk show suffered by his Donahue-esque journalistic fourth wall, something Oprah deflated by making herself always already one of her own guests. I draw this parallel because soon after his "outing," Star Jones quite ickily suggested on The Today Show that Anderson outed himself to boost his ratings just like when Oprah admitted she used crack, got pregnant as a teenager, and considered suicide.


"I’m a little bit of a cynic; you know I've been in daytime television a long time.... There are times that you generate information for ratings." Shame on you, Star Jones.


But why didn't Anderson come out on his talk show, instead choosing to write a letter to Daily Beast? Will that letter be good enough, or will he be expected now to discuss it on television? And, indeed, can he discuss it without the kind of appalling accusations constantly volleyed in the news? That afternoon, Anderson, his syndicated talk show, was a rerun (it's on hiatus) and he was absent from his late night news program, Anderson 360. If he came out to help his ratings, he sure has bad timing.



Anderson in a 2008 issue of The Advocate that I also contributed to.
Our media culture often portrays coming out as this great moment of personal achievement--a bourgeoisie notion of psychological wholeness or self-actualization after which (and only after which) we can become our true, complete selves. This trope is then used to justify our demand that celebrities (and by extension our culture of celebrity mimics) come out of the closet "for their own good." Just look at Ellen DeGeneres, people (like Oprah) often say, ignoring the six or so years after her outing that she was out of work and out of money. We can throw all kinds of Foucault at this: although he never specifically addressed coming out as we understand it today, confession for Foucault functions not only as a mechanism of articulating but also making truth as well as establishing one’s own credibility and authenticity. In other words, the lie we tell ourselves now is that we come out for ourselves, when in reality, we’re mostly supplying the demand.

The coming out imperative comes from an old association between gayness and deception, dating back at least as far as McCarthy and the 1950s (the Lavender Scare) when homosexuals were indicted as deceptive individuals prone to blackmail. After gay activists in the '60s and '70s made the coming out process (as a political tool to combat invisibility) relatively commonplace, talk shows began quietly suggesting openness which ultimately became a demand when AIDS and HIV made homosexuality a "dangerous deception" for unsuspecting heterosexuals (see Gamson, Freaks Talk Back). We might say we're coming out to our friends and family just for ourselves, but if that were the case, I might ask why the repeating line "they deserved to know the truth" is such a staple in coming out stories.


In her remarkably articulate response to Anderson's outing, "fruit fly" Kathy Griffin deftly discusses the continuing dangers of outness: "[D]espite the very real, the very necessary, and the very life-changing progress we have made in this country ... America--the world--is not fully represented by Chelsea in New York City ... [it] is, in larger part, small towns like ... Wichita, Kan., where I was [asked], 'Kathy, how do you deal with so many goddamned fags?'" Foucault writes that our society believes confession "exonerates, redeems, and purifies ... unburdens [us] of [our] wrongs, liberates [us], and promises [us] salvation." But none of those attributes are particularly true of many coming out narratives in certain areas of the country (or the world) where outness can and does lead to greater isolation, bullying, suicide, or homicide.



Anderson's sensible closet (photo parody).
  


In his letter, Anderson writes: “It’s become clear to me that by remaining silent on certain aspects of my personal life for so long, I have given some the mistaken impression that I am trying to hide something -- something that makes me uncomfortable, ashamed, or even afraid. This is distressing because it is simply not true.... The fact is, I’m gay, always have been, always will be, and I couldn’t be any more happy, comfortable with myself, and proud.”

Anderson is an astute television personality--he could have exploited his outing for ratings, and who knows, maybe he will discuss it openly when his show re-premieres in Nate Berkus' former studio this fall. But instead of folding to and perpetuating the cultural myth that public confession psychologically liberates us, Anderson decided to address his sexuality in a well-crafted letter that demonstrates a new, old reason for coming out: to break down invisibility. I applaud him for it.

As a culture we must be more sensitive of our demands and our expectations (of both our celebrities as well as our friends), for the realities of queer individuals all across the world are different--and just because someone isn't out to you or your family, doesn't mean they are living their life in a closet.

Notes:

1. Originally published in Antenna from the University of Wisconsin – Madison, 5 July 2012.
[ Read More ]

Posted by Taylor Cole Miller - -

Originally published in FlowTV (14.03): 6 July 2011.

It can be said with reasonable justification that because we are so programmed to be phobic of our own enduring stereotypes, we have become a generation of self-hating homos. Look on any gay dating website and you will see ad nauseum: “I am interested in masculine men” — “masc-only” — “no fems” — “I’m gay – I don’t want to date girls be masc.” These sorts of statements are typically followed by something like, “I am str8 acting …”
kurt1_tOnce I read a profile that went so far as to say that the poster was straight, right before listing that he’s a bottom, likes twinks and … well … a few other things I’m too shy to mention in a post my mom will probably read.
I believe this distaste for male flamboyance is what is happening when gay men tell me they hate Glee’s flamboyantly gay character, Kurt Hummel, who can best be summed up by his response to the question, Is that a men’s sweater? (It’s not.) Kurt says, “Fashion has no gender.”1
Although for much of Glee’s first season, Kurt explicitly comes out at least once per episode, the show continues to rely on his clothing, speech, mannerisms, and song choice to code his queerness, a practice of stereotyping bemoaned by gay men, like those above, who think he is an offensive, anachronistic stereotype.
Gay characters in broadcasting have been around since radio’s inception, but because homosexuality was not “sayable” on radio and later television, and programs were strictly prohibited from employing explicitly gay characters, broadcasting appropriated the process of stereotyping to articulate characters’ sexualities. Gayness was, however, still largely omitted or invisible in popular culture, and as such, homosexuality was understood as nothing more than a sick perversion or mental illness.


Glee's Kurt dressed as a Lady Gaga Character - with Executive Producer Ryan Murphy
As Richard Dyer explains, “Making gayness visible had to overcome the fact that, apart from actual sexual acts, homosexuality is not something visible.” To overcome this issue, gay advocacy groups such as the Gay Liberation Front (GLF) began and/or cultivated practices of stereotyping in the mass media to respond to, denigrate, or take possession of representation of gayness. Once upon a time there was the practice of “queerspotting” wherein certain elements of a person’s style of dress or mode of speech might “identify” them. “The gay project wanted a more secure visibility, it wanted to make widespread the face, literally, of homosexuality.”2 In achieving that goal, the gay project perpetuated and heightened flamboyant stereotypes.
But even with a record number of explicit representations of queerness on television today, shows continue to rely on these flamboyant tropes. We have reached terminal velocity with regard to using stereotypes for visibility’s sake and are now subject to them in all characterizations. Gayness, and to an even greater extent queerness, has become so conflated with stereotype, that we have subscribed to a new species of performativity — one that must be carried out flawlessly so our sexuality is not indeterminate. In this process, certain acts, mannerisms, or preferences become arbitrarily associated with sexuality.


From Season 1, Episode 9, "Wheels" - Rachel (Lea Michele) and Kurt (Chris Colfer) have a "diva-off" performing the Wicked tune, "Defying Gravity" -- originally composed for a female singer.
For example, watching Glee has become a sort of fag flag. In the new TV Land comedy, Happily Divorced, starring once-gay icon Fran Drescher, when Fran’s husband comes out to her after several years of marriage, she says that his love of Glee suddenly makes sense.
While many gay men are likely to devalue flamboyant gay characters like Kurt, they continue to perform their sexuality as socially learned by engaging with texts associated with the gay communities. Additionally, what I also learned while writing this post, is that more straight women were engaging with Glee specifically for its gay representations than gay men. A sort of reiteration of the ‘90s “Slumpy class” phenomenon as described by Ron Becker in which what he called Socially Liberal, Urban-Minded Professionals (SLUMPYs) consumed gay programming as “a convenient way to affirm their open-mindedness.”3
To test my hypothesis, I took a small cursory sample of Glee fans from Facebook and Twitter and asked them to complete a survey about the show. I was more or less vindicated in my theorizations about gay men, but reading the answers straight women gave surprised me, and it was in that moment I realized that perhaps characters like Kurt, and to a greater extent gay media culture, aren’t necessarily targeted toward gay audiences.
The first, mandatory question posed was “How do you identify?” The overwhelming majority, 62 percent, were straight women while gay men accounted for only 18 percent of my sample, showing that perhaps Gleeisn’t a “gay-only show.”
Bisexual women accounted for 10 percent and more straight men responded (6 percent), than lesbians (4 percent). No bisexual men or transgendered people responded.
When I filter out all but gay men, I find that the most cherished character is actually Santana, a bitchy, sexually confused former cheerleader, who constantly reiterates her discomfort with being labeled.



What’s happening here is that in gay men’s resistance of flamboyant male stereotypes, residual appreciation for flamboyancy is shifted onto powerful, deviant, and often flamboyant women. In addition to a disgust for male flamboyance, gay men sour at how routinely gay characters are subjugated and victimized solely for their sexuality. Kurt serves as a prime example. This is the genesis of the contemporary notion of the gay icon, think Barbra Streisand, Madonna, and now (arguably) Lady Gaga, on which Glee attempts to market itself. It is typical of the gay icon to be bitchy, sexually explicit, sometimes fabulous, and aggressive with straight men. Several indicated that Sue Sylvester was either a close second, or used to be their favorite but is no more.
One respondent elaborated, “As Sue Sylvester’s character has been softened and moved into a more supporting role, the writers have upped the number of zingers Santana delivers and her struggle with queerness has been handled with a lighter touch than Kurt’s before her.”
Though Kurt is not the most hated character (surprisingly that’s Rachel Berry, Glee’s failed attempt at Barbra 2.0), a few respondents said: “he seems inauthentic” “I do not like him,” “he constantly feels like a victim,” “if he were less flamboyant, people would like him more,” and “his relationship seems silly and contrived.” One even said, “He reminds me of a whiny muppet. Way too over the top.”
Having said that, many of these respondents also conceded that his story lines are the ones they most look forward to and that he is a positive step in the right direction. One comment says, “I most like Kurt’s relationship with his father. Though Burt has some growing to do, we finally have a story of a kid who can be loved by his parents — especially their father.”
Conversely, Kurt is the overwhelming favorite for the straight female viewers of the show. “His story is compelling,” “He’s authentic with a sense of humor,” “He is exactly what young gay individuals need,” “I love him so much. No, I’m not gay, but I still feel like I can relate to him. His troubles and the way he handles them affect me so much.”
What many of these statements articulate is that, because Glee is identified as a gay-friendly or gay-associative show, these straight women watch Glee to have their finger on the pulse of gay culture. They regard their own struggles with social norms, and I suspect with internal resistance to the postfeminist landscape (in which they are stripped of agency), as running parallel with Kurt’s and the gay communities’, and as such, they watch Glee in a place of greater political spirit than many of their gay peers.


Commodifying Gay Icons - Sue Sylvester as Madonna
So while the gay men in the survey watched Glee largely for the entertainment value of the show, which has cleverly studied and commodified popular gay icons of the recent past (Rachel Berry as Barbra Streisand, Sue Sylvester as Madonna, etc.) the surveyed straight women preferred to watch Glee and Kurt because they thought he represented a well-intentioned progressive step for young gay audiences, important to them, even though they’re not gay themselves.
A few other comments illustrate this: “It is more effective in showing gay teens that things get better than the recent, well-intentioned ad campaigns.”
“To me, he is a conglomeration of several guys I know/have known over the years. He is flamboyant, but so were they; therefore Kurt is authentic, not a stereotyped clown.”
“His story can really demonstrate what it can be like for gay students in high school and life. Many students do not get to see that. Especially in small towns where it may not be completely OK yet to come out when you are so young. The more people are exposed to something, the less they fear it.” A case for visibility — quantity over quality.
Vocalizing hate for Kurt is a way for gay viewers to continue to engage with Glee as a gay text, while not subscribing to the media’s continued use of stereotype. Aware of this resistance, Glee creators this season shuffled in two new gay characters, a closeted gay bully, Dave Karofsky, and Kurt’s new, more masculine love interest, Blaine. Those surveyed were indifferent to both, with a few comments stating disbelief in the characters’ interest in Kurt as the cause.  However, Glee’s continued marketing as a gay text has fostered its popularity among straight women allies, eager to associate themselves with gay culture through the “fag hag” stereotype, and all of whom love Darren Criss’ Blaine.
Meanwhile, gay resistance to these gay stereotypes has interestingly created a new breed of stereotype, “the bad gay,” seen by many as a badge of pride for the Respectable New Homosexual. Both of these role rewrites are expertly demonstrated by the hilarious YouTube series Disappointing Gay Best Friend.
Disappointing Gay Best Friend
Image Credits:
NOTES
  1. This article was originally published in FlowTV (14.03): 6 July 2011.
  2. Glee Season 2 Episode 1: Audition []
  3. Dyer, Richard. Gay Icons. London: National Portrait Gallery Publications, 2009. Print. []
  4. Becker, Ron. “Gay-Themed Television and the Slumpy Class: The Affordable Multi-Cultural Politics of the Gay Nineties.”Television & New Media. Vol. 7 No. 2. May 2006. []
[ Read More ]