The female antihero on television

Indisputably, many of the greatest shows of television’s golden age have focused on bad but compelling men. Women play roles in those stories, but by nature, they are subsidiary: wives, mothers, daughters, paramours. At the same time, there are plenty of popular, acclaimed shows with women protagonists. Unfortunately, shows starring women are often relegated to being “women’s shows.” It’s a fact that, while women enjoy shows about men, men generally aren’t interested in shows about women, even if those women are doctors, lawyers, or cops.

However, in the last five years or so, the ladies have been catching up. Right now, there’s a crop of shows that both pass the Bechdel test and feature female characters who would feel right at home with Jax Teller and Walter White, and who are appreciated by male and female viewers alike. That’s not to say that these women are stripped of their femininity. Hardly, as they are played by some of the most beautiful actresses ever to grace the screen. But their characters upend many of the clichés associated with female protagonists. Why?

Because they’re outlaws.

Like a more stylish, sophisticated, gender-reversed Oz, Netflix’s original series Orange Is the New Black takes place in a prison. Piper Chapman (Taylor Schilling), an upper-middle-class, well-educated white woman, is sentenced to 15 months for transporting drugs. Immersed in a society very unlike the elite New York culture she came from, Piper’s unconscious snobbery and privilege are stripped from her. In order to survive, she’s transformed into a tougher, savvier, and more violent version of herself.

Orange’s brilliance lies in the humanizing power of context. Though Piper is the ostensible protagonist, this is truly an ensemble which delves into the back stories of many of the women who have, through bad judgment and misfortune, found themselves incarcerated. These are people Piper never would have encountered had she not fallen in love with the dangerous Alex, a drug trafficker she finds herself reunited with in prison. Despite their crimes and the brutality of life behind bars, it’s impossible not to care about, even identify with, many of the women Piper meets. In fact, the only truly unsympathetic characters on the show are the male prison guards.

If you’re not watching Orphan Black on BBC America, you’re missing out. It’s an ensemble science fiction drama wherein the entire ensemble is played by one actress, Tatiana Maslany. The show opens with Sarah Manning, a street urchin and criminal, witnessing someone identical to her jump in front of a train. The woman is a police officer whose identity Sarah steals to escape her troubles. Instead, she discovers she’s a clone, one of dozens, pawns in the shady machinations of corporations, scientists, and frightening religious zealots. Maslany depicts all the clones, at least five of whom feature prominently, with such idiosyncratic verve (and amazing accents) that it’s easy to forget they’re all played by the same person.

What’s so refreshing is that the storyline, while not ignoring the gender of the protagonist, doesn’t feminize the plot as a result. Sarah’s a mother, but not a very good one, and though her motherhood is plot significant, it doesn’t define her. Embroiled in conspiracies and complicated scientific machinations that are over her head, she’s primarily selfish and self-interested. It is only by meeting multiple versions of herself that she learns any perspective or sense of morality. Maslany’s performance is so nuanced that despite all that, we still root for Sarah. It’s as if the show’s writers took the stereotypical male anti-hero — the loner, the criminal, the tough guy on a redemption arc — and had the stroke of genius to let Tatiana Maslany play him. And five of his clones.

The History Channel’s hit Vikings is far better than it has any right to be. Its main character, Ragnar Lothbrok (Travis Fimmel), is an ambitious young Norseman who schemes, marauds, and battles his way from lowly farmer to earl. He is married to Lagertha (Katheryn Winnick), a former shield maiden, but has an affair with a fecund princess when it becomes clear Lagertha can’t bear more children. When he angles for a polygamous marriage, Lagertha employs the Viking tradition of quickie divorce and leaves Ragnar to marry his new flame. She marries another man, who abuses and dominates her, but who protects her vulnerable son. Once her son is old enough, Lagertha kills her husband and takes over as Earl Ingstad.

Ragnar needs allies in his rogue bid for power, and Lagertha as an earl has the means to help him. At this point, the show could have easily descended into soap operatic, love triangle cliché. But that’s not what happens. Lagertha truly loves Ragnar, and when she’s reunited with him after five years, she sees his joy in his new family, which by now has grown by four sons. She eschews his open offer to return to the marriage and embraces life as Earl Ingstad. When she rejoins Ragnar, it’s as an equal, not a lovelorn ex. It’s great fun to see her fighting alongside Ragnar, to the envious consternation of his new wife. However, Lagertha is respectful of his new marriage, and the two women are always gracious to each other. The show defies expectations by not indulging in the type of cattiness, backstabbing, or jockeying for male attention that so often ruins otherwise strong female characters.

There are only so many troubled, edgy men I can watch as they stare broodingly into the middle distance. I’m grateful that there are now female characters who are able to explore this fertile narrative ground, breathing fresh life into what was rapidly descending into another tired television trope.

For Paula Berman's take on the male antihero, click here.

For Judy Weightman's consideration of Orange Is the New Black, click here.