Favorite Characters: Alistair Delgado (Huge)

Though Alistair is cut from similar cloth as Rickie, the fantastically loveable queer Latino kid from another Winnie Holzman teen drama (My So-Called Life,) the character is executed in a way that’s wholly his own.  And he’s just lovely.  Terrific writing aside, I’m glad that Huge existed so an excellent actor like Harvey Guillen had the opportunity to play this rich character.  A few Alistair-related spoilers.  (Note:  I think it’s entirely possible that, had Huge lasted longer, Alistair would’ve come out as trans.  However, since that never happened on the show – what we know for sure is that Alistair likes boys and dislikes labels – I’ll stick with male pronouns.)

Making his first appearance at fat camp, Alistair demonstrates optimism and resiliency almost right away.  Despite his friendly openness, the other boys in his cabin avoid him and make fun of him behind his back.  They auto-assume his sexuality, they have secret conversations about who should tell him he smells (Alistair is uncomfortable with the communal showers,) and his unhip hobbies, like knitting and magic, win him no favors.  But Alistair is no stranger to bullying, and he doesn’t let it get to him at camp any more than he lets it get to him back in the real world.  He has a c’est la vie attitude to it, pointing that he is fat, and he is weird, so there’s no benefit to wring his hand when people call him out as such.

None of the misfits on the show, Alistair included, spend much time longing to join the cool group, which I love.  Like Ian, Alistair does have a crush on one of the cool kids, and there’s the added discomfort of his popular twin sister Chloe not wanting people to know they’re related.  Still, there’s no big yen on his part to “fit in;” like I said, it doesn’t bother him when other kids give him a hard time.  But Alistair is a little different than his friends, who are either too shy to approach the cool kids or actively dislike them.  Alistair doesn’t have anything against anyone.  Instead, he’s amiable to all, almost unquenchably positive and sunny.

Furthermore, Alistair is wonderfully confident.  One could argue that, as a teenager who’s both obese and non-heteronormative, he’s kind of had to – see the resiliency and optimism mentioned above.  When the kids are asked to “choose new names” as part of an activity, he has no qualms about calling himself Athena, smoothly shutting down the haters who get incredulous about him picking a female name.  Plus, he has an endearingly geeky enthusiasm that he’s 100% unapologetic about.  Whether it’s the aforementioned knitting or the magic, the LARP Becca creates, or his mad Risk skills, he’ll share his zeal with anyone who will listen.

Finally, this is tied up in all the other traits I’ve mentioned, but considering the crap people put Alistair through, he’s incredibly forgiving.  Even though Chloe’s refusal to acknowledge him is a majorly uncool move, he only tells one person about their relationship, in a very unguarded moment.  When people are mean or insensitive to him, it usually rolls off his shoulders immediately, and when he says no hard feelings, he means it.  There’s no running tally, no list of who’s nice to him and who’s not.  It’s completely water under the bridge, and the one time he gets into it with another camper over a serious betrayal, he just keeps to himself until he cools off and then moves on to detached civility.  While the other kids are having enormous falling-outs every other week or playing passive-aggressive games with each other, Alistair just kind of gets on with things, displaying an impressively-mature level head about all the drama around him.

Relationship Spotlight: Trent & Ian (Huge)

 

This relationship is unlike many that I write about here.  It’s not about how close these characters are or how unexpected their connection is, and it’s not destructive-fascinating like Tony and Sid from Skins, either.  Rather, I’m writing about these two because their dynamic is so unlike most of what you see on television.

 

The initial interactions between Trent and Ian are much what you’d expect on any teen show.  Though both are overweight and neither probably has a lot of game back home, Trent is considered “fit” at weight-loss camp and is a clear candidate for the popular clique.  Ian, by contrast, is far less confident and prefers playing the guitar to playing sports; he falls in with the ragtag misfits like rebellious Will, geeky Becca, and sweet Alistair (who’s widely assumed to be gay and held at arm’s length for it by most campers.)  So, Ian feels inadequate when he sees Trent hanging out with pretty, popular Amber, and when Trent makes unkind remarks about Alistair, Ian writes him off as a stereotypical jock jerk.

 

Rather refreshingly, Ian isn’t the least bit interested in winning Trent’s approval or joining his crowd.  Yes, he’s into Amber, but it’s not about status for him.  In his perfect world, I imagine Ian would want Amber to ditch her group to run with him, Will, Becca, and Alistair – Trent and his sort would have no part in it.  In most day-to-day, non-crushing-on-Amber situations, Ian is perfectly content to hang with his unpopular friends doing their unpopular things.

 

Things start to change between these two when Ian writes and performs a song for talent night.  When he’s working on it, Trent is at once curious but skeptical.  He immediately urges Ian to play it for him, and when Ian admits that he hasn’t written it yet, Trent suggests that Ian join the skit he’s doing with a handful of other guys, on the grounds that they “know what [they’re] doing, and it’s gonna be really great.”  It’s an invitation to be included (one that he pointedly doesn’t extend to Alistair,) but at the same time, it feels sort of like a dig:  maybe you don’t have your crap together, but we do, and we’re gonna be awesome.  However, when talent night rolls around and Trent hears Ian’s song, all bets are off.

 

From that point on, Trent is completely taken with Ian and seems to want nothing more than to hang out and jam with him (there’s an unused drum set in the rec room, and Trent is eager to brush up on it.)  In the next episode, he talks about Ian’s song while he’s alone with his girlfriend and later bails on plans with her in the hopes of jamming with Ian.  This angle, with the popular athletic desperate to get in good with the insecure musician, is unlike virtually everything you see on teen shows.  It’s made even more pronounced by the fact that Ian is sort of horrified at Trent’s attentions; he takes to hiding from Trent, who he calls his “stalker.”

 

I like it for that twist, and I also like that, for Trent, it’s about himself as much as his admiration for Ian.  Early in the series, we see Trent in an introspective moment wondering how exactly he came to be a “sports guy,” how it emerged as his chief interest and defining factor.  So, he’s at a bit of a loss in terms of figuring out who he is, and when he sees Ian performing for everyone, it hits home.  It sets off something within him, and while it makes him realize how cool Ian is in his own way and want to befriend him, it also makes him want to be like Ian.  From that perspective, he’s widening his friendship horizon and finding himself at the same time.

Favorite Characters: Becca Huffstatter (Huge)

Is it wrong to love a character because they remind you so much of yourself?  I don’t care; this shy, bookish girl resonates with me so entirely.  It’s an acute familiarity, one that pulls me right back to my teenage years.  I wasn’t awkward in the same way – my adolescent awkwardness was a completely different animal – but the feelings, temperament, and sensitivity behind it is wholly the same.  Though “shy, bookish girl” is an admittedly common trope, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen it captured quite so well on TV.

A repeat visitor to weight-loss-centered Camp Victory, Becca is a quiet bundle of insecurities.  To paraphrase a line from Othello, she makes friends not wisely but too well:  the few friendships she manages to forge are extremely cherished, and the loss of one is felt deeply.  She’s incredibly shy but hungry to connect with someone, a difficult one-two punch.  She needs someone like the much-more-outspoken Will to make the first move, to speak in her general direction if not specifically to her.  Then, she can swallow her nervousness enough to timidly dip her toes in the water of friendship.

The resemblance I see in this nervousness, this conversational paralysis, is almost squirmingly uncomfortable.  My heart goes out to Becca when she doesn’t get to watch a certain show because she can’t bear to ask for use of the TV.  So often, she lingers the edge of a scene, waiting for invitations that aren’t forthcoming.  It’s the old feeling that social interactions are like a moving train, and in order to take part, she needs to jump on.

But sometimes, she jumps.  When she wants to start a camp LARPing group (she’s a huge fantasy nerd – I love it,) she sets out to find members, taking along Will for moral support.  She also stands up boldly for her friends, usually Will.  She lays into a pair of self-centered girls who find Will’s private journal in the lost and found, and when Will finds out her crush thinks she’s gay, Becca sets him straight in a hilarious, half-panicky declaration.

She’s not as good at speaking up on her own behalf.  If she can open up to someone, she’ll gently come alive with geeky delight describing the fantasy universe she created for her LARP or the runic cypher she uses when she’s writing something for-her-eyes-only in her journal.  In general, though, she struggles to get her emotional needs met.  She has one of those faces that apparently beg for people to tell her their problems, and she spends a lot of time on the receiving end of other people’s crises, mostly Will’s.  They never seem to get around to Becca’s worries, which build until she simply can’t hold them in any longer.  Then, we get a beautifully messy moment of catharsis where everything she’s bottled up comes tumbling out and Will is forced to be the listening ear for once.  Ah, the sweet taste of introvert victory!

I like that, despite her fears and shyness, Becca still musters up quite a bit of bravery.  Organizing the LARP takes massive guts for someone like Becca, and in one of the show’s most memorable scenes, she acquits herself fantastically just when it looks like she might be caught in a fib.  Her accomplishments in these scenes, for her, are akin to looking down the barrel of a loaded gun, and I only hope I had that much nerve when I was her age.

Let’s Talk About Diversity…

The entries I posted last weekend got me thinking – about media diversity of all types, and about myself – and I realized it was time for a “check your privilege” moment.  

 

I recognize the social power of stories, especially on TV.  I’m always on the lookout for strong, dynamic female characters, and I know how beneficial visibility can be for members of any minority group.  As a white, able-bodied American from a good socio-economic background, I clearly won a lot of societal jackpots.  Still, I know I’m hyperaware of portrayals of women, in a way that my brothers aren’t.  I know how aggravating it can be to have a woman relegated to girlfriend status, and I notice how often “strong woman” translates to “conventionally attractive woman with many traditionally-masculine traits/attitudes.”  I don’t generally see female characters who look like me – women with my body type, obviously, women who don’t like makeup, women with a penchant for nerdy T-shirts and jeans that fit comfortably.

 

It wasn’t until recently, when I started deploring the dearth of asexual characters out there, that I really began to yearn for representation.  It’s one thing to want female characters I can root for, or celebrate diverse casts in the abstract; it’s quite another to realize “I don’t see any characters who are like me.”  There’s something so cathartic about seeing Poppy from Huge.  Even though she has a minor role and won’t be cracking any lists of my favorite characters, knowing that she’s there is so powerful.  I didn’t quite know how much I needed her character until I saw her.

 

After writing about Taystee and Poussey, I struck by my own relative viewer-privilege.  Even though I’m always more likely to tune into a show with a diverse ensemble, and I keep an eye on how shows treat their minority characters, I have major blind spots.  Before I started craving openly asexual characters, I see that I took my otherwise fairly easy-to-find representation for granted.  I don’t have to search for white, able-bodied American women on TV.  They’re just there.  In vast swathes of the TV I watch (save the “American” part when it comes to British shows,) they’re just there.  I’m sure they always will be.  Even now, though, there are still shows without any regular characters of color, queer characters, or characters with disabilities, and many that do don’t feature them as protagonists.  Regarding Poussey and Taystee, I’m sure there are women who crave compelling black female characters like I do asexuals, and it sucks that representation isn’t readily available for them.  As much as I like this pair, how much more wonderful must they be to someone who’s really aching for their presence on TV!

 

Also, while Poussey is easily my favorite on Orange is the New Black, I’m honestly not sure if I would have sought out a show solely about her, Taystee, Crazy Eyes, Sophia, and Miss Claudette.  It’s absurd to think, because I love these awesome women’s stories.  But it occurs to me that I may seek out diverse ensembles and grumble when the minority characters are portrayed lazily or unfairly, but I don’t make an effort to find shows expressly about minority characters.  I’ve only watched a few shows with a mostly-LGBTQ ensemble or a disabled protagonist (although I know the pool for the latter is shockingly limited, and the practice of hiring able-bodied actors to play disabled characters is far too rampant,) and I’ve never followed a show that doesn’t have any white characters as regulars.  I don’t know why; it’s not as if I’m hurting for white, able-bodied American representation elsewhere, so why do I not gravitate toward these shows?  There’s no reason for it, and it’s not something that I want to be true of me.

Asexual Sighting: Poppy (Huge)

 

This past year, I’ve been on the lookout for asexual and/or aromantic characters in fiction.  No easy task, let me tell so.  Love looms large in the vast majority of stories, and sex is a popular topic for most writers.  The idea of a character who’s genuinely disinterested in sex and/or romantic relationships probably seems detrimental.  In fact, after a year of keeping my eyes and ears open, the best I could do were a few non-specified asexual-coded characters.

 

Until now.  When I reviewed Huge, I didn’t mention my primary reason for seeking it out: a definitively-stated asexual character.  In this case, the character is Poppy, the perky, friendly-to-a-fault girls’ counselor at Camp Victory.  A former camper herself, Poppy is a sometimes-overbearing ray of sunshine who cares deeply for her teenage charges.

 

Right off the bat, Poppy is unlike the other potentially-asexual characters I’ve encountered (chiefly, Sheldon Cooper and Sherlock Holmes – more on them another day.)  There’s her obvious lack of Y-chromosome, of course; a female character with no potential to be romantically entangled with a man or provide a little girl-on-girl action?  Whatever will we do with her?  More seriously, though, she doesn’t possess the un-relatable genius, standoffishness, and social disregard of her unconfirmed counterparts.  While Sheldon and Sherlock often come across as unemotional insult-machines, Poppy is warm and cheery, giving away hugs like they’re going out of style.

 

She is socially awkward, but in an entirely different way.  While the others don’t care to play well with others, Poppy is perhaps too eager.  She smiles and skips her way through the summer, leaving some of her jaded teenage campers rolling their eyes at her.  Still, I could buy this as more of a camp-counselor stereotype than anything else, a characterization that likely predated the decision to write her as asexual.  It certainly doesn’t fit any asexual stereotypes I’ve encountered.

 

However, it’s made clear that any awkwardness on her part isn’t what’s keeping her from dating.  Nope – that’s entirely her decision, and it’s based entirely on her orientation.  She explicitly comes out as ace to another counselor, admitting (without an ounce of hand-wringing) that she’s simply never felt the way so many of her friends have, and that she’s figured out that just isn’t who she is.  It’s no cause for concern, nothing abnormal to be whispered about when she’s out of earshot.  She’s asexual (and, it would seem, aromantic,) and she’s perfectly content to be so.  The counselor she tells is surprised and a bit curious, but 100% accepting and supportive.

 

It’s a shame that Poppy is as revolutionary as she is.  How can it be that, in all the books/movies/shows/etc. that I’ve seen or read, I’ve only encountered one character who openly identifies as asexual?   I know that other minority orientations have similar issues with visibility, and portrayals of LGBTQ characters in general still have a long way to go, but that doesn’t make it better.

 

Thank you to Poppy and Huge for this friendly, affectionate ace character, and for simply saying the word aloud.  It needs to be said, and I wish more shows would take your lead.

Huge (2010)

couchtimewithjill.com

I finally decided to do something about the mountain of TV recommendations I’ve acquired from friends, family, and the Internet.  My first foray?  An ABC Family summer replacement show that only ran half a season.  And what might your opinion be of those apples?

 

Well, think again – Huge is awesome!  Based on a young-adult book, it follows the attendees and staff at a teen weight-loss camp.  I was skeptical until I realized it was penned by Winnie Holzman, the woman behind the excellent My So-Called Life.  I’m not sure why I can be so affectionate about teen shows (see also:  Skins, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Veronica Mars,) but when they’re done well, they just really click with me.  And this show is done very well.

 

We’ll start with the richly drawn characters.  There’s nihilistic Will, raging against the parents who sent her.  There’s sweet Alistair, somehow equal parts insecure and self-assured.  There’s shy Becca, timidly guarding her heart.  There’s uncomfortable-in-his-skin Ian, existing in music.  And those are just my favorites.  All the campers are far more than our first impressions of them, and most of the adult characters are no slouches either.  Like My So-Called Life, Huge achieves the aim of the best teen shows – it feels utterly genuine.  The kids are immature, self-conscious, and short-sighted, but they’re also insightful, talented, and brave.  Sometimes they wrestle their dragons down, and sometimes they get scorched.  Their pain pierces, resonates.  They’re teenagers, not types.

 

Plus, all these teens are overweight.  Imagine that:  multiple overweight characters with myriad personalities and interests, with skills, love lives, and problems beyond their size.  We also have characters of different races and orientations, mixed-race families, and a major character with an acknowledged-but-not-dwelled-on disability.  Let’s take a moment and applaud ABC Family.

 

The portrayal of the weight-loss camp itself is iffy (some aspects seem a bit counter-productive,) but the weight-related issues the show brings up are handled with complexity and care.  From the girl who’s “chubby” back home but a “goddess” at fat camp, to the boy who can’t bring himself to look at his weigh-in results, all are touched by their relationship with their body.  Even the slender camp director, a former camper herself, fights a long-life battle with self-esteem.

 

I’d better mention that said camp director is played by Gina “Zoë from Firefly” Torres.  The show also features Nikki Blonsky (star of the movie-musical version of Hairspray) and Raven Goodwin (anyone who was in The Station Agent is amazing forever,) and introduced me to a number of other fantastic actors I’ve never seen before.

 

Some of the romantic drama is a bit much, I’ll admit.  But really, my only big complaint is the length – with just 10 episodes, the show ends mid-summer with basically every plot up in the air.  At least with My So-Called Life, we only have to wonder which boy Angela picks.

 

Warnings

 

Some heavy subject matter (including discussion of eating disorders,) a little drinking, and sexual references.