Lost and masculine mobility

Locke, a middle aged, bald white man in a wheelchairLast night’s episode of Lost focused on John Locke – three versions of Locke, to be precise. Spoilers follow!

The Locke we first met on Oceanic flight 815 – a wheelchair user who regained his mobility on the island – is dead, his body is being inhabited by another being, and in an alternate universe, Locke is back in his wheelchair and living a different version of his life back in Los Angeles. This Locke is engaged to lost love Helen, and loses his job and begins substitute teaching (meeting Ben Linus), while debating a visit to Dr. Jack Shephard. For analysis of the episode itself, head over to Jason Mittell’s post on Antenna, or Myles McNutt at Cultural Learnings. My interest is in how Locke deals with his disability in this episode, and how he fits into a larger cultural trope of men with mobility impairments.

Locke, in his original timeline, was positioned as trying to overcome his disability, trying to prove he could do the Australian walkabout, trying to assert mastery over nature and his own body. He was denied the chance, until the crash allowed him to regain the ability to walk and take on a leadership role among the castaways. In his new timeline, Locke was still trying to overcome – when he loses his job, he asks for a position in construction work. Alternate-universe Rose tells him to be more realistic, and accept his limitations. But, as the episode makes painfully clear as he mourns his inability to walk down the aisle (literally) with Helen, this version of Locke is a man who no longer hopes for miracles.

Locke’s persistent desire to overcome his disability is presented in strongly masculine terms – he hopes to go on the walkabout to overcome nature and find himself, he asks for a job in manual labor, he wants an able body to go through with his marriage. He perceives his body as an impediment, preventing him from a properly masculine self-actualization. As is so often the case, then, disability is linked to femininity, and understood as less valuable than a traditional masculinity.

Importantly, though, Locke is only one of several current cultural representations of a man with a mobility impairment. Mobility and proper masculinity seem to be increasingly linked, even as popular culture offers cases in which that link is broken or must be reestablished. As eloquently argued at Flow, the lead character in Avatar uses a wheelchair and is given his mobility through the avatar system and then regains it permanently in the form of a Na’vi by the film’s end. Jake in Avatar, like Locke in Lost, begins the narrative with a mobility impairment that is removed during the course of the narrative, leading these men to assume leadership roles in which they master (and coexist with) nature. I’ve blogged before about other media men with mobility impairments, most notably Dr. Gregory House of House, M.D.. House also lost his disability for periods of time, in seasons three and five, though his chronic pain and case reappear in fairly short order.

Even the Dodge charger ad, the most egregiously misogynist ad of this year’s Super Bowl, links true masculinity to mobility, as static, medium shots of men complaining about the sacrifices they make for women are replaced by the fast movement of the car and its driver, unaccompanied by voiceover.

Perhaps the most frustrating thing about men and mobility impairments, particularly in dramatic television, is how often they are seen struggling against disability and attempting to overcome it to regain a properly dominant masculine identity. Disability as narrative obstacle, as it were. How much more novel and relevant would it be to watch a character adapt, craft alternative forms of masculinity, and resist cultural narratives of cure and exceptionalism? If alternate-universe Locke develops in this direction, making sense of his life with a disability and pursuing goals other than traditionally masculine forms of success, I’ll certainly be along for the ride.

February 16, 2010 | liz | 3 Comments »

Britain’s Missing Top Model

Britain's Missing Top Model castLast night, BBC America began airing Britain’s Missing Top Model, prompting a wave of media attention on this side of the pond. Focusing on eight women with disabilities who aspire to be models, and seemingly based on the international hit America’s Next Top Model format, the series originally aired in the summer of 2008 on BBC 3.

A lot of press on this show, in 2008 and today, has focused on the potentially inspiring element of the competition. Presenting disabled women as sexually desirable is still a rarity in most television and mass media, and thus the self-confidence, beauty, and audacity of the contestants has been applauded. Yet, no coverage seems untroubled by the premise of the show. Questions of exploitation, ongoing discrimination, and possible offensive content have been raised both in 2008 and again this week.

In TIME’s 2008 coverage, for instance, the author points out that the guaranteed modelling contract associated with Top Model programs is notably absent, as the winner merely got the chance to be considered by an agency. And Liz Carr, of BBC’s Ouch! radio program, adds

I’m not sure that seeing disabled women prance around in lingerie and having their bodies objectified is the best way to change representation.

In the transition to American cable television, The New York Times, online newsmagazine Salon and Gawker blog Jezebel have taken up the contradictions and mixed messages in the program. NYT gets off on the wrong foot entirely, claiming modeling as the “last bastion of prejudice” in which people are discriminated against because of their looks. Of course, many people including those with disabilities do face discrimination and/or harassment because of their appearance in many walks of life. Of course, modeling is an industry based on upholding standards of beauty, but even the Grey Lady recognizes that the contestants of BMTM are more conventional than not. Young, thin, white and confident, these women very nearly meet conventional standards of beauty, as Kate Harding snarks in Salon – “Now it’s just about the 100 or so demerits the show deserves for sexism, exploitation, cluelessness, condescension, etc. — and I feel perfectly confident docking those points without having seen the show.” Jezebel’s pre-show coverage and later review have the same takeaway – thin is still in!

Concerns about exploitation of the models run high in the NYT, as the show “makes a spectacle of their hunger for acceptance.” Reality TV is villianized, of course, for its reliance on highlighting the insecurities of participants, and a paternalistic thread runs through the article. Harding, as well, insinuates that the show designs challenges to demoralize each contestant in turn – a tactic that traditional Top Model has always used, as well.

A final controversy centers on the inclusion of women with invisible disabilities, including two deaf women. The judges, and media coverage of the show, can’t decide whether a disability that is not noticeable in a photograph “counts” toward their stated mission of finding a model with a disability to celebrate. In such concerns, it’s hard not to think of Heather Kuzmich, a contestant on cycle 9 of America’s Next Top Model who was open about her Asperger’s.

I haven’t seen Britain’s Missing Top Model yet – it’s on the DVR! and I love shows about models! – but I’m curious about how these intersections of disability, gender, beauty, and fashion will play out. And, I’d add, the intersection of British television and culture with American audiences looks to be another possible site of controversy. Though none of the above sources mention it, the cultural environment around BMTM is quite different from the American media landscape. Produced by a public service broadcaster (BBC 3) with a mandate regarding inclusion, it seems unlikely that exploitation or fetishism is the primary motivation behind the show. Furthermore, from its online presence on the BBC site, BMTM prominently links to Ouch!, “the BBC’s disability website.” Ouch! has forums, a blog and podcasts – it’s an integrated part of the media landscape in a way that disability certainly isn’t by American networks. The UK has its own vibrant history of disability theory and activism, as well, and I can’t help but be interested in the cultural differences that may shape reception of this show in the US, under a different set of discourses and expectations around disability.

December 2, 2009 | liz | Comments Closed

Gleeful Controversy

Artie in his chair

Artie in his chair

Fox’s hit show Glee has been receiving a lot of media attention – about its May premiere, its diverse (and/or stereotypical) characters, its dark humor, and of course its musical numbers. This week, however, as Glee puts the members of the Glee Club into Artie’s shoes (and wheels), it faces criticism for casting an able-bodied actor in one of the few visible PWD roles on network television.

While many media outlets are emphasizing the charms of Kevin McHale and the show generally, USA Today presented an alternate take. Talking to members of a small union of actors with disabilities, including Chill Mitchell, the author argues that given the reach of television, actors with disabilities need the opportunity to perform in roles that represent their lived experience. Glee’s executive producer Brad Falchuk described the casting decision as based on charisma, and singing and dancing skills, implying that actors with disabilities who auditioned were simply not good enough – a claim that the Media Access Office and working actors and producers dispute.

Yet, the issues of “crip drag” involved in Artie’s casting are not the only concerning element of the episode. For one thing, Glee missed an opportunity to showcase the fascinating world of wheelchair dancing. In this behind the scenes segment, we see the cast learning their wheelchair routine:

In the New York Post’s coverage of “Wheels,” the falsity of the performance is highlighted.

Let’s get one thing straight: Kevin McHale, who plays wheelchair-bound underdog Artie Abrams on “Glee,” can really dance.

The implication that he can “really dance” suggests that PWD cannot, and would merely be “pretending” to dance, while his charisma and talents are prioritized, and he only “pretends” to be disabled. Echoing Falchuk’s words, talent is tied to able-bodiedness, and the accomplishments and differences of PWD are discarded.

An integrated dance group

An integrated dance group

Wheelchair dancing and integrated dance troupes (with dancers both in and out of chairs) have a long, and beautiful history. There are numerous troupes, choreographers, and performers who specialize in dance with chairs, and who no doubt could have created something truly remarkable and resonant for the group’s performance. For thoughts on the creativity and strength that are part of wheelchair and integrated dance performance, check out Wheelchair Dancer and her links to other dance groups.

In addition to the dancing, however, this episode of Glee raises a lot of interesting questions about access, introduces the character of Becky (a jump rope savant who also has Down Syndrome), and puts its able-bodied characters in wheelchairs for a few hours a day. I was excited about the potential of the first two plots, but deeply nervous about the play-acting with disability. These exercises have a long history, and are well-intentioned, but frequently misfire by convincing able-bodied users that they now completely understand the challenges of PWD. Just as caring for an egg baby can’t replicate caring for a live infant, a few hours and mistakes can’t replicate a life of experiences and struggles. For more of my thoughts on Glee, head over to Antenna, where I’ll be blogging about it again later today!

November 12, 2009 | liz | 1 Comment »

Disability, Sports and Siblings

Representations of disability on television are fairly rare (and usually seem to be male – which is another post), and it is even rarer for these parts to be played by an actor with a disability. As Anna at FWD/Forward notes, this “crip drag” can make for problematic representations and can further exclude disabled actors. When a character with a disability is played by an actor with a disability, it is worthy of some attention, and thus I offer a clip of Brothers – a FOX sitcom almost certainly not long for this world.

Darryl “Chill” Mitchell was a comic actor in the 1990s (you may remember him from Veronica’s Closet, Galaxy Quest or as the teacher in the film 10 Things I Hate About You) who was paralyzed in a motorcycle accident in 2001. Since then, he has used a wheelchair in both his personal and professional life, first on Ed and now on Brothers. The show focuses on Mitchell, his parents, and his brother (Michael Strahan), who is a former NFL star and whom Michell’s character blames for his accident.

While I don’t want to exaggerate the possible causality here, the fact that his character’s disability is treated as a fact of life that can be joked about is a welcome antidote to common storylines of disability as tragedy or inspiration for able-bodied characters, and may be tied to the lived experience Mitchell brings to the role. Certainly, he is aware of the risks and possible rewards involved in the representation of an African-American man with a disability on network TV, telling The Atlantan:

“And I’m not only part of an African-American family, I’m a person who uses a wheelchair. I’m not pitching for one community. I’m pitching for two. This isn’t just a TV show. It’s a movement.”

Brothers, however, has had terrible ratings, is not particularly funny, and is rumored to be already quietly canceled by FOX.

Turning to a brother on a different low-budget series, Make It or Break It on ABC Family focuses on four teenage girls who are also elite gymnasts. Our protagonist, Emily, has a younger brother who uses a wheelchair. Yet, Brian’s health is never discussed, and he seems to be a peripheral character within the series and his own family, dominated as it is by his sister’s gymnastics, his mother’s sexuality, and the family’s poverty. In fact, Brian seems to perpetuate the representation of PWD as saintly characters who take care of and inspire those around them. So far, Brian is practically a contemporary Tiny Tim, preserving his family’s optimism in the face of other challenges and minimizing his own needs. For whatever it’s worth, Brian is not played by an actor with disabilities. And, of course, this tween-focused dramedy is far from well-written on any level.

Yet, the contrast between Brothers and Make It or Break It is notable for their very different approaches to fairly similar stories of sibling, elite athletics and disability. Apart from the presentations of brothers with disabilities, I find their athletic siblings an interesting counterpoint. To some extent, the same contrast between athletics and disability is present in Friday Night Lights, as well. Why are disabled bodies invoked in these series, in particular? One possibility is that these characters are an attempt to to humanize their physically impressive siblings, bringing them “down to earth” from elite athletics by showing interactions with “pitiable” or “vulnerable” people with disabilities. Related to this, the contrast in bodily representation seems to underscore the skills of the non-disabled athletes by presenting them in connection with a perceived Other; Emily leaps across the uneven bars at nationals and Brian watches her on television while sitting in his chair, at home. Make It or Break It will be back for another season this winter – let’s hope that the characterization of Brian can take a page from Chill and present a somewhat less cliched family dynamic around disability.

For more reading on disability in the media (because I certainly won’t post often enough to keep you up to date!) the series of posts on disability in media and popular culture at FWD/Forward has been fascinating reading lately. I was particularly impressed with Ouyang Dan’s post on House, as well as posts on Torchwood and Joan of Arcadia, and heartily recommend the series and the blog.

November 9, 2009 | liz | 5 Comments »