My Weekend Crush

Gina Torres is a badass. Just so there’s no offense or confusion, I am certain anatomically speaking that she has an exquisitely good ass. But in terms of kicking butt and taking names, she is as bad an ass as they come. Everything about her screams strength, confidence, ability. That she isn’t a bigger star is a crime against the universe. That she has kicked ass in so many different universes points to a larger truth about ours. You see, as I mentioned earlier this week, Gina has popped up all over shows I’ve watched and loved: “Xena,” “Firefly,” “Angel,” “Pushing Daisies,” “The Vampire Diaries.” And looking through her long list of appearances you might detect a very noticeable theme. They’re all have a sci-fi/fantasy component. This has not been lost on Gina herself. As she famously told Venus magazine a few years ago:

“I walk into a room, and for this industry, I’m impossibly tall. When they find it hard to pair you up with the opposite sex, then what’s left for a woman? Either you’re the ball-buster or the not-so-attractive girlfriend standing by the lead. I mean, traditionally not so attractive. Because you have your starlets and then you have their best friends who are these character actresses. When you fall within the cracks, you thank God for sci-fi, because they’ll give you a gun, and they’ll say, ‘Go over there and conquer that world. You kick some ass, girl!’”

As her husband, Laurence Fishburne, is fond of saying, Gina has an innate authority that will always make her more than just the stupid girl in a dress. It’s a gift, really. She has a serene power about her that is at once commanding but equally reassuring. Like, if you were in a spaceship being attacked by alien hordes and you saw Gina Torres sitting at the helm, you’d be like, “Oh, hell yeah, we’re definitely going to make it.” While it’s sad it takes alternate universes to appreciate Gina, those of us who love her just the way she is are happy to follow her into other dimensions and beyond. Happy weekend, all.

And a child shall lead them

Gay teens on TV are kicking the ass of gay adults on TV right now. Like, it’s a serious beat down. No contest. Throw in the towel, grownups. In the past week alone, lesbian storylines on “Glee” and “Pretty Little Liars” have struck a resounding chord with gay viewers young and old.



Watch Santana’s plaintive plea to Brittany: “Please say you love me back. Please.” Didn’t you flash back to the first time you handed someone your exposed heart and asked them to be gentle? Or look at Paige’s confession to Emily: “If I say it out loud, if I say I’m gay – the whole world is gonna change.” Remember when speaking those words seemed like the end of the world as you knew it?



These moments, these confessions – they’re as close to universal as it gets for the GLBT community. Sure, we all have differing ways out, ways in, first loves, last loves. But we’ve all had (or will have, youngsters, take heart) the first time we were finally brave enough to tell someone we loved them and hoped desperately they’d love us back. And we all had the worry that simply admitting our undeniable truth would change everything forever. And it did, but for the better.

The thing about the gay teens on TV right now – from Brittany and Santana to Emily and Paige to Kurt and Blaine and even poor dear Tea – is that, like it or not, their stories feel honest. They’re about discovery and heartbreak, confusion and acceptance. They’re not about just the static afterschool moment: See Jane. See Jane become gay. They’re about what it’s like day in, day out – especially at the start. There’s no perfect way to be gay or come out or understand yourself. Life has no script, yet we all still fumble our lines. So the complexity of their experiences, it’s important to see on TV. It helps people. It helps me even today.



Entertainment Weekly recently wrote about the gay teen revolution on TV and it’s true, there are more than before. But it’s not just that there are more gay teens on TV all of a sudden. It’s that there are more gay teens acting like real gay teenagers on our TV all of a sudden. This isn’t about sweeps month kisses or ripped-from-the-headlines storylines. They’re not just there to jazz things up for an episode or two. They’re in it, we hope, for the long haul.

Certainly, there have been good gay teen characters on TV before. Rickie Vasquez on “My So-Called Life.” Jessie Sammler on “Once and Again.” Willow Rosenberg on “Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” Spencer and Ashley on “South of Nowhere.” And they’ve all made a difference. But to have so many right now, with so many varying experiences right, is kind of special.



The reason these teens are touching people, making a difference, mattering so much is because their stories are really everyone’s stories. When you’re older, truly universal moments are fewer and far between. We won’t all become pregnant lesbians (regardless of what TV writers seems to think). We won’t all become adoptive parents (or wear clown costumes at our child’s first birthday). We won’t all get married (or civil unioned, which, gosh doesn’t that sound romantic). We won’t all work for law firms or the FBI or cranky yet brilliant doctors. And unless I’m greatly mistaken about reality, none of us will become vampires. Sure, many of us will want those things (OK, perhaps not the vampire thing), but they won’t necessarily happen.



But aside from the tiny little difference of sexual orientation and the enormous difference of societal acceptance, we all – gay, straight and everything in between – go through adolescence. The teen experience will always be a more relatable. We all grow up. We all have firsts. We all stumble our way towards adulthood.

In the end, what we want from our gay characters – teen or otherwise – is simple. We want to see a little bit of ourselves, our lives, our loves. And, just as important, we want the world to see our lives and our loves and that in the end we really aren’t so different after all. Because if there’s one thing the entire universe can agree on, it’s that being a teenager sometimes really sucks. And then there are other times, even when it hurts, it’s beautiful.

Time makes you bolder

Glee gets so many things wrong. Continuity, consistent characterization, coherent plot progression, comprehensible Glee Club budgets. But when it gets things right, it gets them really right. And last night’s episode was all right when it came to gay teens. Not “all right,” like that pizza was all right – maybe I’ll have another slice. But “all right,” as in there was absolutely nothing remotely wrong with it. In fact, it may be one of my favorite “Glee” episodes ever because the characters were allowed to feel real emotions and have real conversations. This wasn’t about being quippy or snarky, but about how scary and exhilarating and painful it can be to examine the inner workings of your heart for the very first time.

This episode was a gift to gay teens, boys and girls. Kurt and his father’s frank talk about sex was something you don’t really see on American TV when it comes to straight kids, let alone gay ones. That confusion about figuring out what gay sex and sexuality is, that’s real – even in the age of the Internet. And then there was Santana’s heart-wrenching admission to both herself and Brittany that she loved her. These are two major gay storylines running in the same episode of a major primetime television show. This was a Joe Biden-worthy big fucking deal. Let’s be clear – this isn’t cable, this is broadcast. This isn’t a tiny show only the critics love, this is “Glee.” This is a program even your grandma knows exists.

I’m sure some of you are upset that Brittany turned down Santana – or at least turned her down for the time being. But that scene rang true – and that’s not something you can always say about “Glee.” It was a coming out – to oneself, to the person you love – that is like so many comings out. The trepidation. The confusion. The bravery. The vulnerability. It was the second please that said it all. When Santana finally put it all on the line: “Please say you love me back. Please.” That second please, that whisper, that prayer. It’s raw. Naked. Utterly defenseless. It’s the please we’ve all said before, a plea sent into the deepest depths of the universe. And if the answer isn’t “yes,” it seems the world simply cannot keep spinning. And if the answer is “yes,” but still somehow “no” – it seems like the world should go ahead and stop.

Certainly, you could argue that Brittany turning down Santana after it seemed all along that she was the one most interested in making their relationship something more was out of character. But to me it still felt honest. While not everything needs a label, if we must for the sake of expediency and clarity, I’d say that Brittany is probably more bisexual and Santana is probably more lesbian. But, again, what they really are is fluid, and that’s OK. There are gay men and lesbian women and bi men and bi women and trans folks and questioning people and everything else under the glorious rainbow in this big wide world. Showing the full spectrum isn’t problematic, it’s real life.

So then, Brittany saying she can’t be with Santana because of Artie also makes sense. She is already in a relationship. That doesn’t mean I have to like it and don’t not-so-secretly want to find a tall cliff to push him off of (his character, I’m not espousing actual homicide – yet). But she had made a commitment to him and doesn’t want to hurt him. My God, who hasn’t been on the receiving end of that speech? The important thing, the thing to cling to, is that Brittany loves Santana back. “I am so yours.”

Being gay can be really fucking confusing. If it’s not confusing for you, you’re lucky. It’s hard enough to find someone you love. And harder to find someone you love who loves you back. It’s even harder still when 90 percent of the planet doesn’t love the same way you love. And it’s hardest when you’re a teenager and you don’t know what it’s like to really love another person yet. So to see that struggle – not just about what it means to be gay, but what it means to be gay and lay your heart bare to another person – that matters.

Am I anxious to see how the writers handle Brittany and Santana’s relationship from here on out? Of course. I would be livid if they became yet another casualty of Glee’s gaping vortex of unresolved storylines. But I have to believe that the fact that they’ve even made it this far means there is more to come. Make no mistake, the fans made this relationship happen. I think the writers would have happily left them as a continuing in-joke. They would be a little sexy girl-on-girl aside to Kurt’s Major Gay Storyline, all caps. But Brittana fans demanded it, willed it out of love and tears and fanfic and endless hours on Photoshop.

Sure, I would have liked to have seen some sweet lady kisses in this episode, but to be honest, at this point I’d rather see complex processing of emotions. Yes, I realize that’s the most lesbian thing I think I’ve ever typed ever. But this just feels more like progress. And, never to be forgotten, are the wonderful, nuanced performances and tireless, wholehearted support of the actresses themselves. Naya Rivera and Heather Morris are the reason this ship left the dock in the first place.

Is this the happy ending we’ve been dreaming about? Well, clearly, no. But remember, every story has a beginning, a middle and an end. This is just the beginning of Brittana.

[Every Brittana scene from last night. Get your Kleenex.]

p.s. On a lighter note, I’d like to personally thank Gwyneth Paltrow for coining a new euphemism for lesbian sex: Go forth and get your Stevie Nicks on, ladies.

Putting the Awe into Some

They say Tuesday’s Child is full of grace. Well, grace is nice and all. But outside of ballerinas and Audrey Hepburn, I think being full of awesome is a mite more practical. I mean, who doesn’t want to be awesome? Awesome is awesome. OK, now I feel like I’m saying awesome so much that the word is starting to lose its meaning and just become a collection of sounds. Like whenever I say the word “obey,” I drag it out like how I heard this one Southern minister say it at this wedding where the bride and groom still kept the “obey” part of the vows because they mistakenly though this was 1954. Wow. I’ve gotten awesomely off track. I was saying something about being awesome. Oh, I remember. These videos are awesome.

Cyndi Lauper is awesome.

She lifts the mood of some stranded, cranky air travelers in Buenos Aires with the best girl power song ever.

Daniel Craig & Judi Dench are awesome.

Even 007 knows it’s hard out there for a dame. On this International Women’s Day, remember nothing is sexier than equality.

Thumbs-Up Kitty is Awesome.

Also, a little creepy. Like, now what’s to prevent them from taking over the world?

Brittana being on is awesome.

If tonight’s big Brittana moment is even half as awesome as this fanvid, we’re in for a whole lot of awesome tonight.

There, well I hope those helped make your Tuesday a little more awesome. If you’re still looking for grace, you’re on your own.

Sweet Serenity

You guys, I am an idiot. No, really, much with the stupid. Last night I started watching “Firefly” for the first time thanks to its debut on the Science Channel. Sweet merciful Zeus, it’s so good. Don’t worry, I already slapped myself repeatedly for not watching sooner. What can I say about this show? It’s fun. It’s smart. It’s deceptively complex. It’s, in short, perfect Joss Whedon. I know, I know. You’re going to say: “Dude, you love Joss Whedon. You love Buffy. You never watched ‘Firefly?’” No, I never watched “Firefly.” I don’t have a great excuse except I tuned in only once originally and wasn’t much into the space cowboy thing at the time. I’m not huge into Westerns, period. Sure, I see the occasional one. Some are quite good. But, I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t really have a good excuse.

The thing is, I’ve watched pretty much everything else by Joss. Buffy. Angel. Dollhouse. Dr. Horrible. Hell, I even saw “Serenity” in the theater – on the opening weekend. And I liked it, a lot. But I never circled back because my list of “Stuff I Need to Watch…When I Have Time” is even more depressing than my email inbox. (Oh, and about that, I am really, really, really sorry for not writing you back yet. Yes, you.)

Still I have to saw watching it belatedly on TV (instead of an all-day boxset marathon or late-night download smorgasbord) is kind of thrilling. Sure, not as thrilling – or nearly as helpful, ratings wise – as if I had watched in real-time when it was actually on the air. But gosh if it isn’t kind of fun to be able to watch it in weekly installments. Also, as terrible as it is knowing in advance that the show only lasted one season, my back-logged brain feels a tiny bit relieved about adding it to my schedule knowing there are only 14 episodes to watch (well, now 12). That’s what I call a manageable commitment.

So now, now to the good stuff. First, I’m thrilled that it looks like the Science Channel is airing the episodes in order, instead of all over the place like Fox did originally. How the hell could they have aired “The Train Job” instead of “Serenity” as the pilot? Hey, here’s a good idea. Let’s not introduce the characters or frame the conflict or lay out the premise. Let’s just make sure there’s a train heist. Oh, Fox.

While I’ll admit it takes a little bit to adjust to the gunslinger attitude and, yes, the fiddle music, all of the required Whedonverse elements are there. A morally resolute, yet at times deeply conflicted hero (Mal, Captain Tightpants himself). A strong female lead (Zoe, the glorious Gina Torres who has popped up in just about every TV show I have ever watched from “Xena” to “Angel” to “Pushing Daisies” to “The Vampire Diaries”). An adorable geek (Kaylee, who when she was shot in the pilot made me flash to every single time Willow was in mortal danger). And just enough Joss-speak to make it all funny and poignant and really compelling as hell.

Also, and I haven’t done my Google research, but is there a ‘ship between Inara and Kaylee? Come on, how great are they together? I must say I prefer Morena Baccarin with long, wavy hair to her short, alien crop on “V.” Nothing against short crops, in the least, but on Morena with long hair is just so, well, dreamy.

So, after an appropriate period of yelling at me for not have watching when it mattered most, who wants to watch “Firefly” this go around with me? Sundays at 10 p.m. on the Science Channel. It’s a date. Now all I need to find is a good browncoat.

My Weekend Crush

Jane Russell wasn’t just sexy. She was sex. She was the proverbial roll in the hay. She was grown-up desire wrapped up in monumental curves and raven hair. She was what sin dreamed about when it was having a particularly good night. She didn’t appear on screen as much smolder a hole right through the center of it. Her story is the stuff Hollywood legend. Billionaire eccentric Howard Hughes discovered her and put her (and her ample assets) on full display in “The Outlaw” much to the censors dismay. (The release of the film was delayed for years as a result.) She became an overnight sensation and a sex symbol for the ages. But there was more to her than her most obvious attributes, and more than their complimenting accessories: the perpetually cocked eyebrow and almost cruel snarl of her lips. Of course she was more than beautiful, more than sexy. She could sing and dance and crack wise with the best of them. Like her contemporary and “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes” costar Marilyn Monroe, she was much more than the sum of her parts. Her passing Monday leaves us with one less touchstone to a different era in Hollywood. To a time before Twitter and TMZ, when stars were far away things to wish upon in the night sky. Of course, in her later years she took a hard Christian right turn from her sultry siren start. She was a conservative activist and strongly pro-life (she had a botched back-alley abortion in high school that prevented her from having children). But, well, everyone is entitled an opinion. So perhaps all the better that she came up in an era before we knew everything down to what a celebrity is having for breakfast. I prefer then to just remember her hair all tousled, clothes all askew with a steady, unabashed stare that said, “Who needs a bedroom?” Happy weekend, all.

Punch drunk

You guys, I’m kind of ridiculously excited about “Sucker Punch.” It’s three weeks and a day away now and I’m practically hopping around the room in anticipation. Do I think this will be a “Citizen Kane*”-esque work of cinema to be discussed in film theory classes for generations to come? Well, no. Do I think it’s going to be a ridiculous amount of fun watching five girls flip around in tiny skirts while kicking major ass? Hell yeah. And, yes, we could get into a long conversation about why girl heroes need to be in body suits, short skirts and bitty bikinis to get seen while male heroes need only to show up in a tuxedo, T-shirt or occasionally Batsuit. But, let’s face it, that’s the world. It sucks and it’s tiring and it’s everywhere. And while I will happily rage against it any other day, today I’m going to celebrate the fact that five female leads – regardless of what they are or aren’t wearing –get to headline a big-budget action spectacular. Women just don’t get to do that all that often and definitely not in such large numbers. So, I’m taking it, tiny skirts and all. And, truth be told, I’m not entirely against tiny skirts as a concept. Ahem.

p.s. I’m also pretty damn excited about “Hanna.” And Saoirse Ronan doesn’t even have to wear a tiny skirt.

Bring it, ladies. Bring it.

*Damn, I got too carried away with the alliteration. Or was thinking of that other, less Oscar-worthy “Citizen Cane” which can be found in the backrooms of seedy video stores across the country.