Rachael Eyre's Blog - Posts Tagged "queer-media"
Killing Villanelle: The Survival of a Toxic Trope Into the 2020s
I’m writing this blog because I am ANGRY.
Killing Eve, the stylish sapphic spy drama, finished this weekend. Ostensibly about a shadowy organisation called the Twelve, the meat of the show has always been the complex relationship between special agent Eve Polastri and elite assassin Villanelle. Over four seasons we’ve watched them evolve from enemies, to cautious allies, to friends, to - lovers?
When the two kissed and had a taste of domesticity in the last episode, it looked as though our dreams were going to be realised. But it wasn’t to be. Villanelle was taken out by a sniper’s bullet, tumbling into the Thames. Eve tried to save her, but was left helplessly clawing at water as her beloved’s body disappeared.
This seems very familiar. Where have we seen this before?
If you watched Buffy in 2002, you might recall Willow and Tara’s relationship ending in such a way, thanks to a bullet that wasn’t even intended for them. And in The 100, fan darlings Clarke and Lexa (Clexa) were parted by yet another bullet. The outrage over the tragedy was such, ClexaCon was named for them.
Disinterested viewers might chalk this up to coincidence or a lack of imagination, but LGBT audiences know this isn’t the case. They’re only more recent manifestations of a tired cliche dating all the way back to The Well of Loneliness, the alleged “Bible” of lesbianism, where heroine Stephen commits suicide so her girlfriend Mary can desert her for a man. Morality laws dictated that while you could portray homosexual characters in print, you weren’t allowed to show their relationships in a positive light, terminating them with a last minute conversion to heterosexuality or death.
When the Hays Code was introduced in cinema, it had similar strictures that LGBT figures could only be characterised as villains and their sinful tendencies should be punished. This meant that for many years the only representation the LGBT community had was an endless march of depression, alcoholism, madness and death. Even sympathetic characters like Martha Dobie in The Children’s Hour committed suicide because they couldn’t live with their ‘deviant’ sexualities.
The Hays Code was abolished in 1968, but the cliché had become entrenched in fiction. For every hopeful ending like Desert Hearts or Carol, you have countless more where queer couples are denied happiness - for the sake of drama, the writers insist. This remains the case even though we have equal marriage and are protected under law in many Western countries.
Bury Your Gays, as the cliche is widely known, has assumed a very distinct form in recent years. A lesbian couple (they’re nearly always lesbians) are finally together; they experience true happiness, whether that’s kissing, sex or getting married. Just when their joy seems complete, one of them is brutally, shockingly killed. Bullets are common culprits, as previously mentioned, but car accidents and even collapsing buildings have claimed the life of many a fictional sapphic who dared to say “I love you” out loud to her partner. As you might have noticed, Villanelle’s demise ticks every one of these boxes.
In other shows where the lesbian couple aren’t the leads, writers can pretend they weren’t aware of the optics and it’s only one plot among many. But Villaneve *was* the show. It was the only prime time, mainstream programme about a slowburn romance between women. It had a unique setting where queer relationships were treated as unremarkable, with Villanelle open about her attraction to women and Eve drawn to her nemesis despite identifying as straight.
The understanding was Villaneve would be endgame; it was alluded to constantly and confirmed by Phoebe Waller Bridge, the series creator and original showrunner. Not only have the writers broken this contract, they have displayed an astonishing lack of empathy, vision and even understanding of the show they were supposed to be writing.
Laura Neal, the showrunner for Season 4, describes Eve’s emotions at Villanelle’s death as “relief” and “a rebirth.” She professes none of the writers could picture a future for them, despite the source novels by Luke Jennings showing this very thing. In one interview she treats Villanelle’s death flippantly, saying it’s yet another instance of the show’s black comedy. She doesn’t seem to comprehend how invested viewers were in Villaneve and how this ending is a betrayal.
It’s not as though antiheroines in love is uncharted territory. In the Wachowski’s neo-noir Bound, moll Violet and ex con Corky kill Violet’s mangy boyfriend, scam the mob and drive triumphantly into the sunset. It’s the fabulously queer ending Villaneve should have had, because both characters deserved so much better.
I thought 2022 would be the year we buried Bury Your Gays with a stake through its heart. Apparently not #KillingEve
Killing Eve, the stylish sapphic spy drama, finished this weekend. Ostensibly about a shadowy organisation called the Twelve, the meat of the show has always been the complex relationship between special agent Eve Polastri and elite assassin Villanelle. Over four seasons we’ve watched them evolve from enemies, to cautious allies, to friends, to - lovers?
When the two kissed and had a taste of domesticity in the last episode, it looked as though our dreams were going to be realised. But it wasn’t to be. Villanelle was taken out by a sniper’s bullet, tumbling into the Thames. Eve tried to save her, but was left helplessly clawing at water as her beloved’s body disappeared.
This seems very familiar. Where have we seen this before?
If you watched Buffy in 2002, you might recall Willow and Tara’s relationship ending in such a way, thanks to a bullet that wasn’t even intended for them. And in The 100, fan darlings Clarke and Lexa (Clexa) were parted by yet another bullet. The outrage over the tragedy was such, ClexaCon was named for them.
Disinterested viewers might chalk this up to coincidence or a lack of imagination, but LGBT audiences know this isn’t the case. They’re only more recent manifestations of a tired cliche dating all the way back to The Well of Loneliness, the alleged “Bible” of lesbianism, where heroine Stephen commits suicide so her girlfriend Mary can desert her for a man. Morality laws dictated that while you could portray homosexual characters in print, you weren’t allowed to show their relationships in a positive light, terminating them with a last minute conversion to heterosexuality or death.
When the Hays Code was introduced in cinema, it had similar strictures that LGBT figures could only be characterised as villains and their sinful tendencies should be punished. This meant that for many years the only representation the LGBT community had was an endless march of depression, alcoholism, madness and death. Even sympathetic characters like Martha Dobie in The Children’s Hour committed suicide because they couldn’t live with their ‘deviant’ sexualities.
The Hays Code was abolished in 1968, but the cliché had become entrenched in fiction. For every hopeful ending like Desert Hearts or Carol, you have countless more where queer couples are denied happiness - for the sake of drama, the writers insist. This remains the case even though we have equal marriage and are protected under law in many Western countries.
Bury Your Gays, as the cliche is widely known, has assumed a very distinct form in recent years. A lesbian couple (they’re nearly always lesbians) are finally together; they experience true happiness, whether that’s kissing, sex or getting married. Just when their joy seems complete, one of them is brutally, shockingly killed. Bullets are common culprits, as previously mentioned, but car accidents and even collapsing buildings have claimed the life of many a fictional sapphic who dared to say “I love you” out loud to her partner. As you might have noticed, Villanelle’s demise ticks every one of these boxes.
In other shows where the lesbian couple aren’t the leads, writers can pretend they weren’t aware of the optics and it’s only one plot among many. But Villaneve *was* the show. It was the only prime time, mainstream programme about a slowburn romance between women. It had a unique setting where queer relationships were treated as unremarkable, with Villanelle open about her attraction to women and Eve drawn to her nemesis despite identifying as straight.
The understanding was Villaneve would be endgame; it was alluded to constantly and confirmed by Phoebe Waller Bridge, the series creator and original showrunner. Not only have the writers broken this contract, they have displayed an astonishing lack of empathy, vision and even understanding of the show they were supposed to be writing.
Laura Neal, the showrunner for Season 4, describes Eve’s emotions at Villanelle’s death as “relief” and “a rebirth.” She professes none of the writers could picture a future for them, despite the source novels by Luke Jennings showing this very thing. In one interview she treats Villanelle’s death flippantly, saying it’s yet another instance of the show’s black comedy. She doesn’t seem to comprehend how invested viewers were in Villaneve and how this ending is a betrayal.
It’s not as though antiheroines in love is uncharted territory. In the Wachowski’s neo-noir Bound, moll Violet and ex con Corky kill Violet’s mangy boyfriend, scam the mob and drive triumphantly into the sunset. It’s the fabulously queer ending Villaneve should have had, because both characters deserved so much better.
I thought 2022 would be the year we buried Bury Your Gays with a stake through its heart. Apparently not #KillingEve
