Chick TV: Antiheroines and Time Unbound

Introduction

The Complexities of Chick TV

The formidable, charming moral relativist Tony Soprano is often considered to have ushered in the era of the television antihero. Being an identifiable protagonist who lacks certain heroic qualities—such as sacrificing himself for the greater good or, in general, working to promote good—marked him as a complex, multilayered character worthy of popular interest and academic analysis. The narrative that surrounded him was also perceived as complex, as it amalgamated various forms of storytelling devices and aesthetic features, most specifically such that play with plot linearity in favor of flashbacks, surreal dream sequences, and other modes of temporal play. Correspondingly, discourse around television, both academic and popular, has recognized that the twenty-first century has seen the rise of the televisual antihero (Poniewozik and Winters 2007; Murray 2008; Christian 2010; Martin 2013; Mittell 2015a; Bruun Vaage 2016; Menon 2008; Bradshaw 2013; Tally 2016; Buonanno 2017; Petridis 2017; Haas, Pierce, and Busl 2020; Brost 2020) as well as of temporal narrative complexity (Ames 2012; Mittell 2006; Booth 2012; Kelly 2017; Shimpach 2010). Interestingly, both of these features of complexity—characterization and temporality—have been examined chiefly via men’s characters, most notably Tony Soprano (The Sopranos, 1999–2007) and the continuing lineage of Don Draper (Mad Men, 2007–15), Walter White (Breaking Bad, 2008–13), Dexter Morgan (Dexter, 2006–13), and other (usually white, heterosexual) men, and the perceivably masculine genres they inhabit, from crime dramas to suspense thrillers.

This era of antiheroes and complex narratives generated ubiquitous recognition of a surge of televisual sophistication but seems to have left out the place of women. Complex antiheroines were often dismissed as marginal or just not antiheroic enough (they may be prickly but too sympathetic or comedic, Mittell notes in his seminal Complex TV), and complex narrative was a label reserved for genres that tend toward masculine appeals (Mittell 2015a, 150). This book sets out to explore the complexities of chick TV—television about and addressed to women, with a focus on dialogue and relationships, women’s issues and desires, in the tradition of chick lit and chick flicks—specifically in regard to its complex characterization of antiheroines and complex temporality. Multilayered complexity, I contend, is present not only in the morally questionable cop or lawyer that is inhabiting stereotypically masculine genres such as action or procedurals but also in the housewife or nurse who inhabits more stereotypically feminine texts, such as family dramas, romance dramedies, or docusoaps, and whose trivialized flaws are in fact a form of antiheroic feminist resistance.

Drawing on the potential of both temporality and antiheroinism to invoke feminist resistance to hegemonic ideologies by representing marginalized women’s stories, celebrating trivialized women’s issues, and gaining women’s agency, this book outlines the ways in which various forms of textual temporalities—intradiegetic temporality; temporal constructs such as flashback and flashforward and their position in episodes; temporal structures in the layout of series and the temporality of seriality; the temporality of intertextuality—are linked to the characterization of 2000s’ television antiheroines in the United States.

Chick TV: Women’s Genres in US Television

The terms chick lit and chick flick refer to literature and films that feature women’s stories and target women audiences (Ferriss and Young 2006 and 2008). Following in the tradition of chick texts, television that focuses on women characters and their stories corresponds with women’s genres (soapy, melodramatic, stylized), articulated by Annette Kuhn as the construction of narratives motivated by female desire and processes of spectator identification governed by female point-of-view (1984, 18). More specific to the televisual context, the chick TV texts of the twenty-first century are often rooted in the tradition of soap operas in terms of their focus on dialogue rather than action, relationships rather than adventures, family and the domestic space rather than the public space, emotional struggles rather than professional ones, and women’s concerns and desires rather than men’s (Fiske 1987; Hatch 2002).

Of course, the distinction of women’s culture is as constructed as gender itself, and chick TV is consequently a discursive concept resulting from conservative and economic interests served by essentializing for the purpose of consumption and marketability. Chick TV series do not inherently have greater ties to women; this tie is the result of popular and critical discourse that perpetuates gendered categories. Nevertheless, since the cultural construction of women’s texts exists in the world, with executives, producers, advertisers, consumers, critics, and viewers perceiving television through gendered classification, this book seeks to examine this arguably overlooked category rather than question its boundaries to reveal its radical potential despite perceived inferiority.

Part of the constructedness of the term chick is that it is often used pejoratively to establish feminine culture as déclassé and designed to entertain and not be thought-provoking. Given this line of thinking, even acclaimed televisual texts that contain chick aspects (dominance of women characters, women’s issues, family and relationships, dialogue and emotion) may be subject to devaluation. Approaching the soapy, a term quite typically delivered with disdain, is associated with low production values, farfetched plots, and stretched narratives. But the disdain attached to the term is also directed at texts inclined toward what is regarded as feminine (Blumenthal 1997; Brunsdon 2000; Nussbaum 2018). Chick TV is thus a label attached to television that revolves around the experiences of women, specifically experiences that are often trivialized in culture, such as those that involve relationships, friendships, the body, fashion, and women’s sexual desire.¹

Disregard of women’s culture as an art form has remained a traditional constant since medieval chivalric romances of courtly love (Harzewski 2006), to women’s literature (Woolf 2000 [1929]), and on to contemporary women’s culture (Brunsdon 2000). According to Lynn Spigel, artifacts of chick culture have also been repudiated by feminists (Spigel 2004), who perceived their pop inclination as apolitical (Grdešić 2013, 357). The cultural dismissal of chick culture has produced a belated academic perception of the profundities of art that is associated with women, such as melodramas (Kaplan 1983; Modleski 2002; Byars 1991; and Williams 1998) and soap operas (Lopate 1977; Modleski 1979; Mattelart 1981; and Hobson 1982). As its cultural predecessors, from the woman’s novel to soap operas, chick TV’s insistence on celebrating that which is culturally marginalized due to its association with the feminine is in itself political.

While many twenty-first-century television series inform this book’s analyses, a closer examination is devoted to eight series. Each of the four chapters is dedicated to a different layer of the feminist politics of the antiheroine-temporality correlation in chick TV. Each chapter focuses on a main case study that best serves the chapter’s interpretive perspective, with comparative analyses in the background. The first chapter, Resistance, examines key hypotheses via the high production value, women’s-culture oriented, single-protagonist led Girls (2012–17).² Chapter 2, Deviation, does so via the soap-operatic medical drama Grey’s Anatomy (2005–), which features various women characters of different ages, sexualities, and races. Chapter 3, Serialization, examines the highly aspirational docusoap franchise The Real Housewives (2006–), while the fourth chapter, Rewriting, uses the soap-operatic ensemble mystery dramedy Desperate Housewives (2004–12). Throughout the chapters, comparative analyses are devoted to the single-protagonist led dramedy Nurse Jackie (2009–15), the single-protagonist led drama Being Mary Jane (2013–19), the high production value family drama Six Feet Under (2001–5), and the ensemble docusoap Sister Wives (2010–). Though not an exhaustive list of early twenty-first-century chick TV, these texts were selected for their compatibility with the theoretical framework. All are chick TV insofar as they are rooted in or are evocative of the tradition of women’s genres, specifically soap operas in the televisual context, in their focus on dialogue, relationships, family, intimacy, emotional struggles, women’s lives, issues, and desires (Hatch 2002).

The bounds of chick TV and the cultural framework on which they are based are constructed and meandering, and whether a particular text meets the criteria remains debatable. Arguably, other examples may be categorized as chick TV, such as Jane the Virgin (2014–19), Transparent (2014–19), Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (2015–19), to name a few. However, each of the study cases was chosen because it best exemplifies specific features of chick TV antiheroines and temporality. Conversely, texts based on men’s genres—such as the police procedural The Closer (2005–12), the legal thriller Damages (2007–12), the crime drama Saving Grace (2007–10), the legal procedural The Good Wife (2009–16), the political thriller Homeland (2011–20), the political suspense drama Scandal (2012–18), the science fiction action drama Orphan Black (2013–17), the prison drama Orange Is the New Black (2013–19), the murder mystery How to Get Away with Murder (2014–20), the science fiction western Westworld (2016–), the dystopian drama The Handmaid’s Tale (2017–), the spy thriller Killing Eve (2018–), or the psychological thriller Sharp Objects (2018)—are not analyzed in depth despite their presentation of women as main characters, with some distinctly exhibiting antiheroine characteristics.³ In the same vein, I will not address women-led sitcoms, game shows, variety shows, and other subgenres that are not traditionally gendered as feminine. Chick TV framing thus includes family dramas, comic dramas that lean toward the emotional, romantic dramas, docusoaps, and other generic constructions that foreground women’s stories.⁴

Within chick TV’s generic coordinates, the classification may apply to diverse stylization and branding variations and inevitably overlap with other televisual classifications, some of which seem conflicting. For example, though the premise of this book leans on the marginalization of series that feature women’s issues and women characters, it bears noting that not all chick TV texts are denigrated or perceived as pulp television. Six Feet Under, for instance, has been outwardly addressed as complex television (Mittell 2015a; McCabe and Akass 2007) despite its chick TV dominance of women characters and focus on family and dialogue. Relatedly, though the medical drama was predominantly male-centered in its early days, the genre has gradually obtained more soapy elements in its later incarnations (Jacobs 2003), of which the melodramatic Grey’s Anatomy is a principal case in point. Correspondingly, the docusoap—the reality subset driven mostly by the stories of cast members (Murray and Ouellette 2009), focusing on family and relationships, and combining observational documentary techniques with serial narrative techniques of soap opera (Hill 2005, 23)—forms a reality version of chick TV. More often than not, a chick TV text would be both compatible with the subgenre’s qualities and with other televisual categories. By examining different forms of chick TV series, I delineate the feminist work of the core features of chick TV, most specifically in relation to temporality and antiheroines.

A Rebel of Many Causes: Antiheroes and Antiheroines

Drawing from Murray Smith (1995), Jason Mittell (2015a) states that an antihero is a character who is our primary point of ongoing narrative alignment but whose behavior and beliefs provoke ambiguous, conflicted, or negative moral allegiance (142–43). According to Neil Cartridge, that antiheroes fail to live up to the very definition of heroism suggested by the texts in which they appear (2012, 3) calls into question ideological conventions, thus working, as articulated by Victor Brombert, to challenge the relevance of handed-down assumptions, induce the reader to reexamine moral categories, and deal, often disturbingly, with the survival of values (1999, 6). The character of the antihero thus serves to call social norms into question and shed light on that which is constituted as heroic by working to deflate, subvert, and challenge an ‘ideal’ image (5).

Antiheroic characterization can be detected throughout American television history, from Maverick’s Bret Maverick (1957–62), who toyed with the notion of moral indiscretions (though mostly opting for the moral high road) to Murphy Brown’s Murphy Brown (1988–98), who consciously resisted the demands placed on women (including one famous extradiegetic dispute with Dan Quayle about single mothers), with characters that protest and disrupt the social order.⁵ However, many critics have insisted that the representation of The Sopranos’ (1999–2007) Tony Soprano has marked a shift in the history of television antiheroes and perhaps in the history of antiheroes in general. According to James Keegan Poniewozik and Rebecca Winters,

You could organize the history of TV dramas into B.T. and A.T.: Before Tony and After Tony. Before The Sopranos, TV drama was mainly divided between good guys and bad guys (with the odd exception like NYPD Blue’s Andy Sipowicz). Tony Soprano and his followers on HBO, FX and elsewhere showed that audiences would follow villains with sympathetic qualities and heroes with addictive, self-destructive personalities. Move over, good guys and bad guys, these dramas said. Make room for the good-bad guy. (2007, 57)

This perception of television antiheroism as apotheosized at the turn of the twenty-first century is a common one in both popular discourse and scholarly writing (Murray 2008; Christian 2010; Martin 2013; Mittell 2015a; Bruun Vaage 2016).

A significant feature of this twenty-first century apotheosized antiheroism, directly addressed by some scholars and social commentators and unmentioned as an unsurprising obviousness by others, is the fact that it has only been observed and analyzed with regard to male characters. Poniewozik and Winters note in reference to the 2000s epitomizing of the good-bad guy in television that "the operative word . . . was guy . . . The shows focused on male antiheroes and their loud, angsty Y-chromosome dramas: Tony, The Shield’s Vic Mackey, Rescue Me’s Tommy Gavin, Dexter’s serial killer Dexter Morgan, Deadwood’s Al Swearengen, 24’s Jack Bauer (Poniewozik and Winters 2007, 57. Women’s antiheroics were not perceived to have been explored by televisual texts in the third millennium. According to Mittell, there was a surge of antiheroes and a lack of antiheroines, because men are more likely to be respected and admired for ruthlessness, self-promotion, and the pursuit of success at any cost, while women are still constructed more as nurturing, selfless, and objects of action rather than empowered agents themselves (2015a, 150). Even when allowed lives beyond merely being either obstacles or facilitators to the male hero’s progress . . . free to be venal, ruthless, misguided, women characters were most often relegated to supporting roles" (Martin 2013, 5), such as The Sopranos’ Carmela (1999–2007) or Mad Men’s Peggy (2007–15), or Breaking Bad’s Skyler (2008–13).⁶ Women characters did not . . . qualify for membership in the antihero clubhouse (Menon 2008).

Adriana Clavel-Vazquez adds that more often than not, women who exhibit antiheroinist qualities are labeled as villainesses rather than as antiheroines, stemming from a resistance to morally transgressive female characters (2018, 206).⁷ Perhaps antiheroines are ubiquitous, Clavel-Vazquez’s observation suggests, but they are not labeled as such. Perhaps instead of being perceived as complex, multilayered antiheroines, as are their male counterparts, twenty-first-century antiheroines have been dismissed as bitches, psychos or bunny boilers (Pilger, quoted in Hughes 2014). Milly Buonanno addresses this inconspicuous sexism as well, as she protests the narrow understanding of the antihero complex nature, along with the hegemonic pretension that masculine templates should mould female characters, and implied inattention and dismissal for worthy antiheroines that did not measure up to the antiheroic standard of Tony Soprano or Walter White, or Don Draper for that matter (2017, 8). The third millennium did not fail to introduce antiheroic women. Rather, it used masculine templates to judge antiheroes, thereby disqualifying women characters from the label of antiheroine. Buonanno ties the dismissal of antiheroine characters as villainesses—versus the adoration of complex men characters as antiheroes—to the destabilization of gender norms that valuing women’s moral or social transgression might engender. She notes that regarding women as antiheroines might disrupt the social order because women are expected to maintain order. Female transgressive agency, Buonanno asserts, does not just break social norms but violates and subverts the natural properties of true womanhood (2017, 11).

It seems, then, that in order to reveal the antiheroic mode in women characters, a different hermeneutic strategy is needed, as women’s antiheroics (that is, antiheroinism) is manifested differently from that of men. Significantly, late 2010s scholarship introduced a newly articulated set of interpretive approaches that focus on antiheroinism as different from, rather than derivative of, antiheroism. These approaches explored antiheroinism’s association with unlikability (Brost 2020), its ties to motherhood and mental illness (Tally 2016; Haas, Pierce, and Busl 2020; Pinedo 2021), or its formulation of antiaspirationalism (Silverman and Hagelin 2018) and trainwreck feminism (Tully 2020). Though not all the antiheroines in this book align with the gendered idiosyncrasies identified in these researches, what such observations significantly indicate is that there exists a need to look at antiheroinism differently from antiheroism.

Indeed, according to Cartridge, it is perhaps a distinctively masculine set of failings that tends to shape the construction of antiheroism, and ‘antiheroinism’ is . . . an essentially different phenomenon. If antiheroism stems from men’s failure to adhere to the socially assigned roles of masculinity as moral and assertive authoritarians (Connell 1995) and leaders (Gray and Ginsberg 2007), then antiheroinism stems from women’s failure to adhere to their socially assigned roles as nurturers (Connell 1995)—sexual, spiritual, culinarily, or otherwise. What antiheroinism thus shares with antiheroism is that both "challenge the relevance