Archive | July, 2012

Stop hating Skyler White

31 Jul

WARNING: Vague spoilers through the most recent episode of Breaking Bad. Read at your own discretion.

Skyler is my favorite character on Breaking Bad. Seriously. This isn’t a new development: I’ve loved her from the beginning. But over the course of the past three seasons, she’s become the most sympathetic character. In my mind, she’s our point of identification, the sane person caught in the middle of Walt’s bullshit, trying to keep her head above water and protect her family. Skyler gets shit on the most and offends the least. She’s the victim in all of this.

These are my opinions, and I understand they’re contentious. You don’t have to love Skyler the way I do, of course, but hating her seems unjustified. Again, these things are subjective: I can’t help if there’s just something about Anna Gunn that rubs you the wrong way. But what has the character of Skyler really done to earn your hatred? How can you dismiss her as the show’s weakest link? (Especially when that position so clearly belongs to poor Walt Jr.)

Here is what bothers me about the Skyler hate: it’s the same misplaced hostility faced by countless TV wives in the past. And while you certainly can dislike a female character without being a misogynist, so much of the vitriol against Skyler uses the gendered language you might expect: She’s a bitch, she’s a cunt, she’s the shrew wife.

What it comes down to is that Skyler, the ol’ ball and chain, is a thorn in Walt’s side. She’s not submissive or even faithful. She questions his behavior and she challenges his plans. And somehow, that makes her a bitch.

Here’s what all of Skyler’s critics seem to forget — Walt is a fucking terrible person. Whatever noble causes he once had are gone. He’s a power-hungry egomaniac and a danger to those around him. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy Walt as a character, but I can’t fathom siding with him. Meth aside, this is a man who let his friend’s girlfriend choke to death on her own vomit, who poisoned a child just to spur his plan into action. Hating Skyler for the way she responds to Walt is absurd: she’s reacting out of fear and a desire to protect her loved ones.

But she’s a pain in the ass to our main character, and that makes it easy to dismiss her as a “bitch.” We see this often in sitcoms: the obnoxious manchild of a leading man gets a free pass on being an imbecile, while his wife — the one who calls him on his bad behavior — is a nag. In some ways, Malcolm in the Middle is a good example of this, and not only because of the Bryan Cranston connection. It’s not quite the same in that Lois is admittedly a nutball (this being the heightened reality of a sitcom), but I still think she is unfairly maligned. Look at her husband and her asshole kids — is it really any wonder she spent so much of the series losing her shit?

Skyler isn’t without fault: she’s been put into a situation that has forced her to do some terrible things. Which is not to say she’s justified, but rather that her mistakes are a product of her circumstance. There was a time when I would say the same about Walt, but it’s clear he’s no longer doing this for anyone but himself. Skyler’s transition from ignorant wife to scheming accomplice is about protecting her son, her baby, and herself. She’s not mad with power or rolling around in piles of meth money. She’s simply the only one holding it all together.

I’ve posed this question on Twitter and on Facebook, and now I ask it here: Why do you hate Skyler? Of all the characters, she really does strike me as the most blameless. Whether or not she’s a saint, she’s about the furthest thing from a villain. And it’s silly for me to get so worked up, but so much of the response I’ve seen does tend to stem from this anti-feminist conception of a “good wife,” which Skyler isn’t. She’s a bitch because she’s difficult. I can’t accept that.

There’s no denying that, at her most confrontational, Skyler makes things harder for Walt — but can you really argue that he doesn’t deserve it?

Why the right to privacy doesn’t apply to coming out

2 Jul

The more the conversation about coming out changes, the more it stays the same: we’re reduced to the fundamentally opposed sides of “celebrities have a moral imperative to come out” and “celebrities have a right to their privacy.” I’m less concerned with the former — while the world would certainly be a better place if all gay people felt comfortable identifying as such, and while LGBT youth could always use more role models, there’s an element of forced advocacy to suggesting gay people need to be voices for the gay community. Suddenly everything they say or do is viewed through the lens of the cause.

At the same time, the “right to privacy” argument is misguided. It equates sexual identity with sexual behavior — and though the two do go hand in hand, they’re not one in the same. We’re past the point of identifying as “sodomites”: what we do in the bedroom feels secondary to how we carry ourselves in public. Homosexuality may be defined by same-sex attraction, but it’s also cultural. In the same way race may be defined by origin or the amount of melanin in one’s skin, sexuality is based in the biological but not limited to it.

I’m not sure if Anderson Cooper timed his coming out with the New York Times’ debate “Do Gay Celebrities Have The Obligation to Come Out?” I doubt it, but it’s definitely convenient. Cooper is the latest in a group of “open secret” gays to come out matter-of-factly. (He follows Jim Parsons and Matt Bomer, both of whom prompted reactions of, “He wasn’t out already?”) His wording — “The fact is, I’m gay” — actually reflects the point I’m trying to make. Sexuality isn’t a preference so much as an innate characteristic.

(Brief aside: when Cynthia Nixon referred to her sexuality as a “choice” and got shit on by the queer community, I defended her. The difference is, Nixon was expressing her own journey of self-discovery. Everyone has the right to self-define. Moreover, there’s a distinction between arguing that sexual identity is not fundamental, and explaining one’s personal path toward realizing it.)

Publicist Howard Bragman takes the “right to privacy” argument in his debate contribution, “It’s a Personal Choice, Not a Moral One.” When phrased that way, it’s easy to see his point of view, but Bragman’s opening paragraph betrays the bias of this conversation.

If we suggested that gay celebrities have a moral obligation to come out, then any celebrity would have the same responsibility to acknowledge any hidden situation whose disclosure could theoretically help society. The heartbreak of psoriasis? Do a public service announcement. A victim of sexual abuse? You need to go talk about it on “The View.” Going bankrupt? Get ahead of this story and help other Americans in similar situations.

Implicitly or not, he equates sexual identity with psoriasis, sexual abuse, and bankruptcy — all of which, we can agree, are very bad things. I’m not suggesting Bragman is a homophobe: he’s simply articulating the fact that we conflate “things that are hidden” with “things that are wrong.” The right to privacy, no matter how noble a concept in origin, automatically implies some level of guilt, embarrassment, and shame.

Bragman continues, “We’re talking about people’s romantic lives, which are, by definition, notoriously confusing and fickle.” Are we, though? Aside from Cooper’s saying, “I love, and I am loved,” there is nothing in his email to Andrew Sullivan about his boyfriend or his sexual preferences. A celebrity’s right to privacy in terms of whom he or she dates is respectable (regardless of how difficult it is to maintain in an era of TMZ). But coming out doesn’t mean introducing the world to your significant other, or letting everyone know whether you prefer to top or bottom in bed.

Anderson Cooper gets it. From his email:

I’ve begun to consider whether the unintended outcomes of maintaining my privacy outweigh personal and professional principle. 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.

I question his assertion that, “I have given some the mistaken impression that I am trying to hide something.” What is the act of not disclosing, or deflecting the question when asked, if not hiding? But I’m not going to criticize Cooper for taking his time to come out, not when I’m so glad that he finally did. Obviously I see this as a “the sooner, the better” situation, but the last thing he needs right now is the gay community rejecting him for not coming out sooner.

And that’s not what I’m doing — Anderson Cooper is only a jumping off point for what I’ve long tried to argue. Sexual identity isn’t private. It’s a characteristic as intrinsic as race and should be treated accordingly. Obviously it’s not as simple as that, because we live in a society where a disturbing percentage of people are still ass-backwards enough to view same-sex attraction as an abomination. But catering to bigots isn’t a solution. We don’t tell celebrities of color that they should hide their identity lest racists are turned off to their work.

There’s a difference, of course. You don’t need to come out as a Black man, or a Latina woman. But that’s all the more reason to come out as gay. Unfortunately, not publicly identifying as gay means society sees you as straight — you are essentially “passing.” (Though in the case of the aforementioned Cooper, Bomer, and Parsons, not necessarily well.) That wouldn’t be an issue if we treated sexuality as more of a biological fact: “What color are your eyes?” “How tall are you?” “How do you identify on the spectrum of sexuality?”

I’ll leave the “moral obligation” side of the debate to someone else. (I think Kate Aurthur expresses it well in her debate contribution, “Be a Hero, Not Part of the Problem.”) What I’m advocating is a change in the conversation, a clear distinction between what is and isn’t private. March in the Pride parade or don’t — but accept your sexual identity as a personal characteristic that isn’t going anywhere. The less we talk about it in terms of privacy, the less anyone will care.