Women of the Year: A Retrospective 2022

Another year, another bevy of female characters that didn’t quite make the monthly cut, but which are still worth appreciating and discussing. In general, I feel that 2022 was a good year for female characters. Most of the stuff I watched avoided any gratuitous fridgings or assaults (even the Game of Thrones spin-off had a profound decrease in rape and nudity) and there was an uptick in unapologetic portrayals of women who are difficult, unlikeable, messy or all of the above.

Fandom still has a lot of trouble with this concept (the truest dictum I ever saw on this subject was: “ya’ll want complex female characters until you actually get them”) but it’s heartening to see that writers in general are feeling brave enough to commit to more multifaceted portrays of women, depicting them not as either devils or angels, but as people.  

There’s still a lingering fear I think, that female characters have to be presented as strong and good and better at things than everyone else; that they have to be role models for fear of criticism or accusations of sexism. I like watching an assertive woman strut her stuff as much as the next person, but when you end up with identical women girlbossing their way through stories, you just end up with bored viewers (and probably fending off tedious Mary Sue accusations).

This was also the year in which there was vocal pushback against internet trolls that lose their minds over female or non-white leads in their favourite franchises. Spoiler alert: both She Hulk and Scream 5 explicitly acknowledged this phenomenon and baked it into their storylines, with She Hulk depicting an MRA-type organization who launch a campaign of physical and sexual harassment against its protagonist, and Scream 5 eventually revealing its killers to be entitled fans who are literally murdering people in an attempt to get their beloved IP back to its roots.

Ignoring toxic fans is no longer an option, and creatives are fighting back. For better or worse, they’re now recognized elements of pop-culture. And what do you know? By an amazing coincidence, more than one of the women below the cut are characters that have enraged them...

Meilin Lee from Turning Red

This was the second Disney film in as many years to deal with the subject of generational trauma within a non-white extended family, but ended up being the more controversial of the two (though for extremely stupid reasons). Unlike Encanto, the metaphor at the crux of the story was puberty, as explored through the concept of thirteen-year-old Meilin turning into a giant red panda every time she gets emotional.

It was way too much for some minds to grasp, and amidst all the truly bizarre takes (including “it supports abortion!” and “there isn’t enough racism in a film set just after 9/11!”) was an obvious subtext to the complaining: many viewers were confused by the fact it just wasn’t for them.  

Meilin not only goes through the experience of puberty, but does so through a specifically Asian-Canadian lens. The opening montage, in which she cheerfully describes herself as the perfect daughter who is on top of everything in her life, is clearly coming from a person in deep denial (as a friend comments: “she’s so brainwashed”). Having internalized the cultural dictum that her parents must be respected at all costs, Meilin goes through an identity crisis when she unexpectedly undergoes the family tradition of turning into a red panda at the onset of puberty.

From desperately trying to hide her embarrassing transformation, to embracing the freedom and popularity that it brings her, Meilin ultimately wants to be who she is – but that means defying her mother. And that means she’s a bad person, right?

It’s all surprisingly psychologically complex, and makes for an interesting comparison to her spiritual predecessor Mirabel, who was after validation and acceptance from her family, as opposed to Mei’s coveted autonomy and self-expression. But really, it was her Aardman-like design and cringingly relatable dorkiness that did it for me: she’s both a mirror and a window to my own experiences at that age.

Freydís Eiríksdóttir from Vikings: Valhalla

There were a lot of strong female characters in the sequel/spin-off series to Michael Hirst’s Vikings, but I can’t resist a shield-maiden. Freydís very much walks in the footsteps of Lagertha as an unapologetic warrior-woman, though her story starts much earlier than her predecessor, who was already a wife and mother when we first met her. Freydís, in many ways, is still a girl.

I can’t say I was thrilled with her introduction, in which we learn she’s hunting down the man who raped and branded her with a cruciform, but having exacted her vengeance on the guilty party, her story changes into something quite different. The Queen of Kattegat sends her to Uppsala on a spiritual pilgrimage, in what ends up being the closest thing the show has to a coming-of-age story.

She goes on a classic vision quest that leads her to the Seer and some prophetic words, and when her party is attacked by Christian zealots, their leader ends up fixated on her. She returns to Kattegat and begins her training as a shield-maiden, fights in defence of her new home, and finally defeats the misogynistic priest that killed her friends in one of the most satisfying brawls I’ve seen in years.

I saw at least one commentator refer to her as a Mary Sue (*eye-roll*) though I enjoyed her arc for its simplicity. She trains, she learns, she grows, and she vanquishes her foe. What could be more concise and satisfying? She’s certainly not what I’d call a three-dimensional character, but she doesn’t need to be, any more than any of the male characters in this show are.

Plus, she looked incredible. I’m okay with watching six-pound waifs battle men twice their size with heavy weapons (it usually depends on the tone of the film/show you’re watching) but it’s also immensely rewarding to see a woman who is genuinely physically imposing use her body-strength in combat, knowing that she really could pull off these victories in a more realistic context (and I love that actress Frida Gustavsson towers over everyone in sight).

I’m looking forward to what she’ll get up to in season two.

Peggy Scott from The Gilded Age

The thing I liked most about Peggy Scott’s arc in The Gilded Age is that although the obstacles she faces as a Black woman living in 1880s New York aren’t ignored, neither does the show indulge in misery porn, in which she’s mistreated or humiliated at every turn. That’s not to say it’s pleasant to watch (or for her to experience) being stared at suspiciously in a fancy shop or being asked to hide her racial identity by a publisher, but the worst thing that happens is a coachman refusing to give her a ride, which upsets her white friend more than it does her.

My point is, that it’s nice to enjoy a period drama about an attractive, intelligent, ambitious young Black woman whose race is neither ignored nor turned into a terrible burden by the narrative. Julian Fellowes will never write anything truly dark (well, with the exception of Anna’s rape in Downton Abbey) and so despite some hurdles in her way, Peggy surmounts them with dignity.

Inspired by the burgeoning middle-class Black society of the time, Peggy’s story starts on meeting Marian Brook at a train station and paying for her stolen ticket. Sensing an opportunity, she presents herself to Marian’s aunt as a secretary and lands the position. Along with penmanship and other secretarial skills, she’s a would-be writer, but in the show’s most memorable scene, a potential publisher asks her to change the protagonist of her story from Black to white, and tells her she would have to sign a document preventing her from ever publicly coming forward as the writer of any story they buy. As she incredulously points out: “The Christian Advocate is asking me to lie!” (She does not submit her work).

There’s also a shadow in her family life. A clear tension exists between herself and her father, and by the end of the season we discover her backstory: that she married against his will, had a child, and became a widow in quick succession. The big reveal is that her son is still alive, his whereabouts known only to her father. It’s a little soapy, and not nearly as interesting as her writing aspirations, so hopefully Fellowes will balance this out in season two.

Olivia “Liv” Moore from iZombie

We spent five years with the cast of iZombie (technically eight for me since I didn’t catch up on the final season until earlier this year) so I would be remiss if I didn’t mention Liv Moore, a character with the most serendipitous name since Remus Lupin grew up to be a werewolf.

At the start of the show she’s the girl that had everything: a good career, a cute fiancé, and a bright future ahead of her. Then she attends a boat party, gets scratched by a deranged guest, and wakes up in a body bag. Five months later, she’s lost everything.

As I’ve said in other posts, this show treats zombie-ism as a metaphor for the disruptive way a mental illness can encroach on a person’s life; an existential crisis with no end in sight that tips you off your axis. Liv spirals, and ends up taking a job at Seattle’s police department morgue to establish an easy (and consistent) supply of fresh brains.

It’s here that she discovers her “superpower”, and ironically enough, it’s her newfound craving for brains that gives her a new lease on life. After every meal of grey matter, she absorbs the memories of the deceased, which manifest as visions that provide context to what they were doing in the days and hours leading up to their deaths. A side-effect is that Liv also temporarily takes on various characteristics, skills and idiosyncrasies of the victim, which is a gift for any actress.

With a sense of purpose comes a way out of the mental fugue Liv was trapped in. Suddenly her undead life has meaning again, and her response to the ordeal is admirable: finding a way to go on helping people, regardless of her own struggles. In this, becoming a zombie also a metaphor for rebuilding one’s life after a crisis, and though the civil-rights allegory the show became in later seasons was a muddle, the show never completely lost sight of Liv’s personal journey.

I’m always happy to see kiwi actresses find success further afield, and with five seasons of iZombie under her belt, Rose McIver can certainly be said to have made it. This was a weird show. But it was the little show that could, and Liv Moore did indeed live up to her name.

Lady Francesca “Frankie” Derwent from Why Didn’t They Ask Evans?

The best shows – and characters – are the ones that take you by surprise, and Lucy Boynton as Frankie was a complete delight. I love lofty, nonchalant, unfazed characters, and with a sharp tongue, quick wits and cute little beret, Frankie floats through the world in a plot of her own making, never not in control and enjoying every second of life. The word “insouciance” was invented to describe her.

A chance reacquaintance with her old flame Bobby Jones draws Frankie into the mystery of a man found dead at the bottom of a cliff. Never one to ignore the chance to get involved in something that isn’t any of her business, she ends up concocting a plan to integrate herself within a household that has some connection to the case by faking a motorcar accident, a head injury, and an elaborate cover story. Tenacity, thy name is Frankie Derwent.

She also has the gift of the gab, being able to breezily talk her way in or out of any situation, and pulls off her undercover mission as a concussed car crash victim with aplomb – for the most part. She’s not superhuman, though she always has a snappy comeback – on being accused of being an arrogant, entitled bitch, she responds: “I’m literally entitled, but I think arrogant bitch is more your wheelhouse.”  

Despite being a classic upper-class English Rose, she gets extremely titchy whenever she feels she’s being accused of snobbery – so of course she eventually marries a mechanic, while eschewing a wedding dress for some white culottes. She really is the most fun female character I watched this year.

Garlic from Garlic and the Vampire and the Witch

So far Garlic, a sentient bulb of garlic, has only appeared in two graphic novels for young readers, but it’s difficult to forget her. Not only is she adorably cute, but her struggles with anxiety and insecurity (or if you don’t want to draw a direct analogy, maybe just her worrisome nature) are recognizable to almost everyone.

Brought to life by a witch to help with the gardening, Garlic and her other vegetable friends live a rather idyllic life, until their attention is drawn to a castle up on the hillside. A vampire is said to dwell there, and because Garlic is... well, garlic, she’s chosen to be the one to vanquish him. In the follow-up story, Garlic and her fellows find themselves gradually transforming into human beings, forcing her to confront the inevitability of change.

I’m not entirely sure how writer/artist Bree Paulson came up with her, and it’s even more difficult to articulate why I find her so charming. But she’s helpful, tremulous, determined and loyal, who sticks to a task once she’s been given it and makes an effort to see the world as it should be, not as it is (only to be surprised that it’s often a whole lot nicer than she gives it credit for). She’s kind of like what Paddington Bear would be like if he was a. a girl instead of a boy, and b. garlic instead of a bear. The world needs more Garlic.

Constance Peterson from Spellbound

Hitchcock’s repertoire is the last place I’d look for a female character who belonged on this list, and yet I found myself intrigued if not impressed by Ingrid Bergman as Doctor Constance Peterson, a psychoanalysis in Vermont. Granted, you have to overlook the veneer of male condescension that surrounds her (which leads to lines such as “your lack of human and emotional experience is bad for you as a doctor, and fatal for you as a woman” and “women make the best psychoanalysts till they fall in love; after that, they make the best patients”) but the fascinating thing is that the entire crux of the film stymies the period’s casual chauvinism.

Constance has to be a respected expert in her line of work, or else the plot can’t work. She has to be right in her professional and personal opinion of her patient, or else the story would fail. It’s weirdly satisfying (or refreshing, or empowering – I’m not sure how I’d describe it) to watch a film in which the requirements of the narrative ensure authorial fiat is squarely and utterly on a woman’s side. Constance isn’t Doylistically compromised or ridiculed or proved inept. She is simply right.

To wit, Constance is immediately attracted to the new head of the psychiatric clinic, only to realize there’s something wrong with him. He’s an imposter, pretending to be the man he thinks he’s killed. Constance doesn’t believe this is true based on the fact that... well, she’s in love with him, and according to her, she could never love a killer. It’s absurd, but that’s part of the charm.

There are some pointed scenes throughout the film, as when she has to negotiate unwanted (and relentless, and eventually aggressive) attention from a hotel guest while looking for Edwardes, as well as ongoing commentary from her colleagues/mentor that she’s first abnormally stoic and then too mindlessly passionate. A woman can’t win! And yet this dichotomy in her makeup is precisely what makes her successful in her endeavours: her feminine instincts prove true when it comes to Edwardes’ innocence, her analytical brain is what helps her evade law enforcement and solve the mystery, and her spine of steel is what allows her to bluff the real culprit into a confession.

There’s a bit of dialogue at the end that sums it all up: “How does it feel to be a great analysist?” “Not so bad.” “And a great detective?” “Wonderful.” “And madly adored?” “Very wonderful.” I wouldn’t necessarily rank them in that order, but Constance is truly the woman who gets it all.

Anita from West Side Story

As soon as I saw that promotional picture of Ariana DeBose kicking up her heels in that yellow dress with the red petticoats, I knew – I just KNEW – that she would be the one to steal the show. And she did, with a well-deserved Oscar for supporting actress, echoing Rita Moreno’s similar win for the same role back in 1961.

Just to compare the two adaptations of the same musical, I watched the original film just last month, and Anita ended up being my favourite character there as well. Interestingly, she has no direct analogy in the Romeo and Juliet story upon which this musical is based, which is perhaps the reason she feels so fresh and unique.

The girlfriend of Maria’s brother Bernado (the Juliet and the Tybalt respectively) and a pseudo-sister to Maria herself, the 2021 version makes it clear she has ambitions of her own: to work hard enough to own a dressmaking store. It’s a modest goal in the grand scheme of things, but she’s a true believer in the American dream. Her big number “America” has her arguing the advantages of the country against the more cynical Bernado, though her first scene has her declare: “I want to DANCE!” as she twirls across the room.

She straddles the line between responsibility (in looking after Maria, speaking against gang warfare) and hedonism (she loves the excitement and liveliness of her country) but as with the star-crossed lovers, her arc is also one of tragedy. In many ways, she ends up losing more than anyone.

Maria loses the man she’s been in love with for approximately three days, but Anita loses the man she’s been in a long-term relationship with, as well as her integrity, faith, and belief in the American dream. She had so much to offer, she defended it so passionately, and it repaid her with a terrifying assault.

It’s something of a flaw that we never revisit her character after she tells her lie about Maria’s death (which hurtles the story toward its tragic conclusion) and never get any sort of fallout from her sisterly relationship with her. Neither is there any explanation as to what happens to her next – it appears we’re just meant to assume she returns to Puerto Rico.

Perhaps we’re not meant to know, though I couldn’t help but spin a vague headcanon given that Rita Moreno is cast as Valentina, the owner of the drugstore where a lot of the action takes place. In this role (and in a meta sense) she ends up saving her younger self from the Jets’ attack, and in doing so perhaps provides a portrait of where Anita might end up: older, sadder and bereaved, but not without strength or dignity.  

Princess Disa from The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power

One of the most infuriating things about the backlash against people of colour existing in fantasy worlds is the bad faith line about how they only get their roles because they’re non-white, based on the assumption that showrunners are trying to fill some sort of quota. It’s grossly unfair, and even more infuriating when it comes to actresses who are perfectly suited to the roles they’re playing.

Because I can say with absolute sincerity that Sophia Nomvete was born to play a dwarf princess (and future queen). Putting aside the question of whether or not she should have a beard, she’s easily the highlight of the entire show, and embodies her role flawlessly. When Elrond arrives, she steamrolls over her husband’s insistence that he’s just visiting and invites him for dinner. When a cave-in threatens the lives of dwarf miners, she sings to the rocks in the hopes that they’ll show mercy. When Elrond pokes into her husband’s whereabouts, she cheerfully and confidently lies to his face, even after he pokes holes in her story. There’s even a fascinating scene towards the end in which she demonstrates some vague Lady Macbeth qualities when she talks to her husband about their future rule – I’ll be interested in seeing how that develops in later seasons.

She’s vivacious and gregarious and gorgeous. Seriously, she looks amazing. Her gowns and jewellery are incredible, and whenever we see her from behind, it’s apparent that her hair spills all the way down her back to her feet. And her eyes! I’m not sure if she was wearing contacts, or if she really just has that eye-colour, but they’re gold. Bright gold! (They were probably contacts). It’s just a wonderful character design all-round for a dwarf princess. Absolutely no one could have played this character like she did, and I’m thrilled that she got the honour of being the first on-screen female dwarf with a substantial character.

Mon Mothma from Andor

It’s a strange irony that sometimes the female characters in male-led shows/films get a better deal than female protagonists in their own shows/films. Maybe I’m generalizing, but at the same time, I suspect that when there’s less pressure for a heroine to carry her own story, there’s also less pressure on (oftentimes) male writers to make her all the things a female protagonist should be: a role model, a moral compass, perfect but not too perfect, non-offensive to various demographics, etc. When the heat is off, women can just be portrayed as people.

I’m getting to the point of this entry, which is that this show brings back Genevieve O’Reilly as Mon Motha. The journey of this character throughout Star Wars media tickles me, especially as it pertains to actress Genevieve O’Reilly. The character first appeared in 1984’s The Return of the Jedi, in which she was played by Caroline Blakiston as the epitome of a One Scene Wonder. O’Reilly took over the role in what ended up being a deleted scene in 2009’s The Revenge of the Sith, but went on to voice the character across several episodes of Star Wars Rebels.

She popped up again for a reasonably substantial cameo in Rogue One, but now – FINALLY – she’s been given decent material to work with. In Andor she’s reintroduced as a member of the increasingly defunct Senate, presenting herself as a nuisance who soap-boxes about Imperial overreach in order to hide her true activities as an instigator bankrolling the missions concocted by Luthen Rael.

In none of the prior projects in which she appeared would you know that Mon had a husband and daughter, but here it’s revealed that she not only has both, but also a rather strained relationship with each of them. This is the inherent tragedy of her life: that her duties as someone attempting to save the galaxy from fascist control is completely lost on her loved ones – her husband Perrin is more interested in gambling and socializing, and her daughter Lieda copes with her mother’s busy schedule by (ironically) getting more involved in the fascist teachings that her mother is trying to overthrow!

Mon’s arc culminates in her being pushed into a corner by her secret business dealings, and realizing that the only way out is to accept a loan from a notorious gangster who wants an in to the upper echelons of high society. Now she – like Luthen – must compromise her values, being forced to essentially sell her daughter into an arranged marriage to save herself and continue financing the rebellion. That her daughter is kinda into it does nothing to assuage Mon’s guilt, making for a fascinating dynamic that I hope we see more of in season two.

Kit Tanthalos from Willow

Back in November 2016, I made Sorsha my Woman of the Month, never for a single second considering the possibility that I might one day be watching her daughter have an adventure of her own. And yet here we are, with a legacyquel of Willow, in which that very thing is happening. Kit is the child of Madmartigan and Sorsha, seemingly conceived as the perfect amalgamation of the two of them, and I love that the writers aren’t afraid to follow that concept to its logical conclusion: she’s a cocky little shit.

As of writing this, there are two more episodes to go, and Kit is in the midst of juggling two major plotlines: her obvious crush on her bodyguard Jade and her equally obvious jealousy and resentment of Elora Danan, whom she blames for the disappearance of her father. Naturally, the quest narrative provides the opportunity for Kit to get (repeatedly) knocked down and learn things on her way back up, and though I’ve no doubt a reconciliation with Elora is imminent, it’s always fun to watch bratty characters get taken down a peg or two – even if there are serious abandonment issues at work in her psyche.

But you know me, I’m a sucker for a Rebellious Princess at the best of times, not to mention self-centred Spoiled Brats who eventually learn to look beyond their own desires and do what’s best for everyone. That particular archetype is always considered more acceptable on male characters than female ones, but I was always going to love Kit Tanthalos, no matter her personal foibles. That she’s also a tomboy lesbian is just the icing on the cake.

Chihiro from Spirited Away

Is there a Hayao Miyazaki heroine who won’t eventually end up on one of these lists? Throughout the eighties and nineties, the man was giving us exceptional female protagonists without any fuss or need for congratulations, though it was Spirited Away which finally caught the attention of mainstream Western audiences.

Chihiro is special precisely because she’s isn’t remotely special. It’s almost funny just how ordinary she is. In comparison, most Western-based films would probably give her a special ability that would serve as a Chekhov’s Skill, or a glaring personality flaw she would have to overcome, or just a wide-eyed naivety and innate goodness which would act as a build-in protective shield against harm.

But Chihiro is just a normal ten-year-old girl, thrown into a situation she isn’t remotely prepared for, forced to sink or swim in extremely bizarre surroundings. What she does is what anyone would do – just fumble along half-blindly and hope it’s for the best. Later on in the film, she does muster the courage she needs to help Haku and stand up to Yubaba, but it’s still done in a grounded, realistic way (and she’s on the verge of panic the whole time).

It may seem weird to laud a female character for being utterly mediocre, but that’s the joy of Chihiro. We talk about “audience surrogates,” but she really does embody the hapless child in all of us. Yet for all of that, she has grown in maturity by the end, from a rather sulky and petulant child to someone who world-wearily states: “I think I can handle it” to her father’s comment that school will be starting soon.

You can’t go through something like the events of Spirited Away and not be changed in some way, but the appeal of Chihiro is in reminding us (like Alice before her) that the unexpected could happen to anyone.

 

Honorary Mentions:

Alicent Hightower from House of the Dragon

Alicent veers a bit too close to anti-heroine for me to put her on the list, but naturally the most unpopular female character of any particular show is always someone I have to defend (well, in most cases) without allowing myself to become one of the weird stans, who often end up truly deranged in their frantic defence of a fictional entity.

But I feel overwhelming pity for Alicent, who (if you look at it from the right angle) doesn’t really do anything wrong over the course of the season. If anything, her fatal flaw is being too dutiful and obedient. She’s manipulated by her father into spending time with the recently-widowed king, leading to their marriage – something every girl is meant to want, though it only leaves her lonely and isolated.

Estranged from her former best friend, Alicent’s genuinely good qualities, such as her compassion nature and sensitivity, are rendered useless in the backstabbing world of the royal court. She becomes little more than a broodmare popping out potential heirs.

It's unfair but understandable that feelings of resentment would arise in regard to Rhaenyra, who lives as though unfettered by any social or cultural restraint: riding dragons, taking lovers, doing essentially whatever she pleases, seemingly without any of the responsibilities or constraints that define Alicent’s life. (It’s something I wish the show had leaned more into, as it seems obvious to me that Alicent takes the position of queen far more seriously than Rhaenyra does – though as mention in my review of the season, the show doesn’t bother to really explore either woman’s relationship to power).

Alicent just does what’s expected of her, and her jealousy ferments. She spends a lot of time baiting Rhaenyra about the legitimacy of her sons, and what kills me is that SHE’S RIGHT. THEY ARE BASTARDS. By today’s standards we don’t care, but the entire politico-social structure of Westeros in which everyone lives has very different ideas about illegitimate children, especially ones in line for the Iron Throne. Rhaenyra’s existence as a female heir makes her position tenuous enough – that she’s also popping out dark-haired babies and thinks she can get away with it is rather mind-boggling.

Obviously I’m not going to condone Alicent’s demand that she claim an eye from Rhaenyra’s son in compensation for her son losing one of his own, but I can also see how insanely frustrating it would be to see one’s own child horribly maimed, and the ensuing argument turn against you when once again the legitimacy of the very obvious bastards takes over.

And yet when push comes to shove, she tries to spare Rhaenyra, not only for the sake of her late husband who was never truly unkind to her, but for her old childhood friend whom she still loves and misses. Watching her finally make some power-plays of her own in the penultimate episode is one of the most rewarding parts of the entire season.

Of course, it’s inevitable that fandom isn’t being remotely sensible about Alicent’s characterization; it is simply beyond their capabilities to let a woman be complex and unlikeable and conflicted. She’s either an evil bitch or an innocent victim, with no room to be anything beyond either of these binary interpretations. (Bizarrely enough, similar discourse swirls around Galadriel from The Rings of Power – who could have seen that coming?)

But I mostly just feel sorry for her, knowing things are going to get exponentially worse.

Ace and Tegan from Doctor Who

I have to admit not feeling an emotional reaction to the reappearance of Sophie Aldred and Janet Fielding as Ace and Tegan in the last Doctor Who special of Jodi Whittaker’s tenure, as I’ve never seen any episodes of the show prior to its reboot in 2005. But I could still feel the weight and import of their return, and I’m sure that those with more familiarity of the show found each one’s reunion with “their” Doctor (Peter Davison and Sylvester McCoy, respectively) to be quite touching.

Plus, they were used beautifully. There was plenty of banter, ass-kicking, quick thinking, contemplative moments and action sequences. Not bad for women in their sixties!

On that note, if there has been one obvious advantage to this influx of legacyquels in recent media, it’s allowing women of a certain age, who would otherwise have long-since been put out to pasture by the demands of youth-obsessed Hollywood, to return to big-name franchises. Carrie Fisher in Star Wars, Laura Dern in Jurassic Park, Neve Campbell and Courteney Cox in Scream, Karen Allen in Indiana Jones, Carrie-Anne Moss in The Matrix, Laurie Strode in Halloween, Joanne Whalley in Willow, Amy Adams in Disenchanted – I know I’m missing plenty, but that’s quite a list just off the top of my head! They don’t always get the material they deserve, but they’re always a welcome sight.

Cassandra “Andi” Brand from Glass Onion

The film is still a recent release so I don’t want to spoil it for anyone that hasn’t had the chance to catch it yet, but take my word for it: Andi is fabulous. Beautifully played by Janelle Monáe, there’s more to her than meets the eye, and she makes for a more-than-worthy successor to Ana de Armas’ Marta.

***

In general, 2022 was a fantastic year for Black women within the realm of speculative fiction (fantasy, science-fiction, horror). Just off the top of my head: Sophia Nomvete as Princess Disa in The Rings of Power, Lashana Lynch as Miss Honey in the Matilda musical, Sharon Duncan-Brewster as SPOILER in Enola Holmes 2, Bailey Bass as Claudia in Interview with the Vampire, Moses Ingram as Reva Sevander in Obi Wan Kenobi, Kirby Howell-Baptiste as Death in The Sandman, Janelle Monáe as Andi Brand in Glass Onion, Sofia Wylie as Agatha in The School for Good and Evil, Joy Sunday as Bianca Barclay in Wednesday, Denée Benton as Peggy Scott in The Gilded Age, Sisi Stringer as Rose Hathaway in Vampire Academy, Iman Benson as Ilonka in The Midnight Club, Lyric Ross as Kat Elliot in Wendell and Wild, Priah Ferguson as Sydney in The Curse of Bridge Hollow, and Whitney Peak as Becca in Hocus Pocus 2. I also believe that Cynthia Erivo played the Blue Fairy in Disney’s live-action Pinocchio, but there’s no power on earth that will make me watch that movie.

Black women played Velaryons in House of the Dragon, Dora Milaje in Wakanda Forever, and the Agojie in The Woman King. I know I’m missing plenty more, but as you can see, they not only got to play original characters designed especially for them, but also characters that have up until this point been portrayed as white – and there’s more to look forward to in the coming year, from Halle Bailey as Ariel in The Little Mermaid to Leah Jeffries as Annabeth Chase in Percy Jackson.

Of course, there’s a downside to this as well, which is the racist backlash against people of colour “intruding” in stories that are deemed to “belong” to white audiences. Teen Vogue summed this all up pretty well, and I see no need to elaborate beyond this quote:

Haters throw tantrums not because they think a Black elf or a queer Superman will reach back in time and ruin their childhoods… but because they don’t want other people to have any representation or sense of belonging in nerd culture spaces.

For whatever it’s worth, my New Year’s Resolution is to spend less time mentioning stuff like this and more time just enjoying the material that we do have. Yes, I realize that shining a light on shitty behaviour is important, but I also think that at this stage drawing attention to it is increasingly pointless. The ongoing culture war is exhaustive, depressing and repetitive, and at the end of the day, you can tell from the above list that the battle against representation and diversity has been fought and lost.

The angry hoard can scream “woke pandering!” until they’re red in the face and review-bomb websites until their hands fall off, but it’s not going to stop these women from getting these roles, or me from enjoying their performances. So going forward, I’m going to ignore them. The trolls are missing out on some great stuff, and that’s entirely their problem.

***

As ever, the three franchise juggernauts, the ones that take up so much oxygen when it comes to discussion and engagement within the wider reaches of fandom, made some questionable decisions with their female characters in 2022 (which they’ve never had a great track record with anyway).

Yet because I’m an optimist at heart – and because I’m still largely on a Game of Thrones, Star Wars and MCU hiatus – none of it seemed as frustrating this year. Instead, I could watch and comment from the side-lines without feeling any personal engagement.

The general consensus is that the MCU has officially overflooded the market, with viewers suffering from superhero-saturation, so I was surprised to look at the studio’s output of content this year and discover it was actually comprised of three films, three streaming-shows, and one Christmas special. Which is still a lot, but nowhere near as much as I had expected.

In release order, they were Doctor Strange and the Multitude of Madness, Thor: Love and Thunder, and Black Panther: Wakanda Forever. On Disney+ we got Moon Knight, Ms Marvel and She Hulk: Attorney at Law, with The Guardians of the Galaxy Holiday Special wrapping up the year.

If there’s a general theme to the women in these stories, then the answer is teenage girls. America Chavez, Riri Williams and Kamala Khan all debuted this year, and all were presented as big hitters and important characters going forward. Throw in Shuri taking on the Black Panther mantle and the aged-up Cassie Lang for the next Ant-Man movie, and the future is overwhelmingly female for the next generation of Avengers. Depending on how it all plays out, we might even see Thor’s adopted daughter thrown in the mix.

Wakanda Forever saw that incredible roster of female characters return to the fore, the double-edged sword being that they were given even more of a central role due to the tragic passing of Chadwick Boseman in 2020, and by extension, T’Challa. A part of me might always wish that the sequel to Black Panther was simply set during the five years of the blip, before T’Challa was back brought back to life, but Ryan Coogler opted for this sequel to be a lasting tribute to Boseman, and I can’t say I blame him for that.

On the television front, Moon Knight gave us the no-nonsense Layla El-Faouly, the first on-screen Middle-Eastern superhero – just beating Kamala Khan to the punch by a few months. Iman Vellani played the Pakistani-American Muslim teenage superhero in Ms Marvel (and we’ll see her again in the Captain Marvel sequel) and I’m sure at some point – once I’ve gotten over my superhero fatigue – I’ll end up watching their debuts, as both look like fairly compelling characters.

She Hulk was a light but rather confusing introduction to Jennifer Walters – I ended up watching a few episodes, but the CGI on the She Hulk was distractingly bad and the feminist commentary no deeper than a paddling pool. I mean, I’m not going to complain that it’s there, but the serious issues that were raised jarred with the comedic tone, and the arc of the season was completely scattershot.

Finally, it was a pleasant surprise to learn that the Guardians of the Galaxy Holiday Special put the underused Mantis front-and-centre, and news broke that even more female-led spin-offs were in the works, showcasing characters like Echo and Agatha Harkness. Who I know absolutely nothing about.

But it wasn’t all roses.

Queen Ramonda joined Aunt May and Queen Frigga in the “dead mothers” category, which feels like a very strange choice given the so-recent loss of Chadwick Boseman, and though Love and Thunder saw the return of Natalie Portman as Jane Foster, it ended up being a swansong for her character given that she gradually succumbs to cancer over the course of the film (yes, I know it was based on the Mighty Thor comics, but by all accounts it wasn’t handled particularly well). Meanwhile Valkyrie was largely side-lined and returning alumni Darcy and Sif reduced to cameos.

And then there was Wanda, a.k.a. the Scarlet Witch. To be honest, I have mixed feelings about this one. Her corruption arc was certainly better seeded than, say, Daenerys Targaryen, but that’s only relatively speaking. The truth is, Wanda has been throwing up red flags since her introduction in Age of Ultron, in which she mind-controlled the Hulk into attacking Johannesburg, something that (at the very least) caused a lot of collateral damage, but which she was never held accountable for. Not even Bruce, whose mind was violated and whose rampage might well have resulted in casualties, seemed that bothered by it.

Fast forward a few years, and Wandavision could very easily have been staged as Wanda’s Start (or Continuation) of Darkness given how she transforms a suburban community into her own pocket universe, where the residents are helpless puppets dancing to her tune – were it not for the fact the writing was at pains to reassure the audience she didn’t understand what she was doing and that nothing was actually her fault – even though she did, and it was.

Sam Raimi is on record saying he didn’t watch Wandavision, which ended with the tease that Wanda would go looking for her lost children in the multiverse, so there’s little in the way of connective tissue between the two stories (yes, I know she’s looking for her twins in the film, but the show depicted them as crying out to her for help, which is an important motivational detail that’s ignored in Doctor Strange 2).

And of course, a woman with too much raw power inevitably becomes mentally unstable due to traumatic emotional issues and has to be destroyed. Really? This shit, again? Why are dudes so obsessed with putting female characters through this weirdly specific arc? You know women can become evil through other means, right? At least Wanda eventually kills herself as opposed to a man who supposedly “loves” her doing it this time.

Look, I’m not strictly opposed to any type of story as long as it’s done well. A long-gestating arc for Wanda in which she suffers so much pain and loss that she eventually decides to break bad could have worked, if it had been seeded early and acknowledged clearly. But it wasn’t. Instead, her story feels like it was constructed by half-a-dozen different writers and directors who weren’t sure where they wanted her to end up, or how she would get there.

Because... it was. The story feels like that because it literally was.

Over in Star Wars, there was some decent material for the ladies, though considerably less of it than was to be found in the ongoing churn of MCU content (let’s called it quality over quantity).

I think we can all agree that although Obi Wan Kenobi wasn’t great, Disney managed to pull off an absolutely masterful Bait and Switch when it came to which Skywalker twin it was going to focus on. I recall fandom being surprised when the trailers so readily depicted Luke as a boy, having assumed his appearance would be the show’s well-guarded ace in the hole – though it turns out this was a deliberate misdirection.

While everyone was busy speculating about Luke, the show somehow managed to keep under-wraps the fact that a ten-year-old Leia, as played by Vivien Lyra Blair, would have a central role to play. And wow, did she nail it. Leia as a child is everything we could have imagined: precocious, observant, brave, stubborn, and with obvious latent Force-sensitive abilities.

I’ll admit to feeling verklempt at the sight of little Leia in the array of GIF-sets that crossed my Tumblr dash, and in many ways the focus on her felt like a tribute and posthumous apology to Carrie Fisher, whose arc in the sequel trilogy was cut short in 2016.

Just as touching was that we finally get a reference to Padme, when Obi Wan wistfully tells Leia that: “you remind me of someone” and attributing some of her mother’s qualities to her in the final episode. Yes, the Skywalker twins are the product of TWO parents, thanks very much, and in a franchise that elevates fatherhood to a central theme, it always comes as a relief when the mums get a nod.

In comparison, Moses Ingram as Reva and Indira Varma as Tala were rather under-served, which is all the more frustrating considering the usual bad faith commentators will leap on any excuse to undermine minority characters and the actresses who play them. It’s horribly unfair, but the writing for characters played by POC just can’t afford to be mediocre or nonsensical, as they’ll always get twice as much scrutiny and abuse as the rest of the show’s absurdities. If Disney (or writers/showrunners in general) really want to protect and defend their minority cast members, then give them good material!

Want proof? Just look at Andor, a show made up of a largely female and non-white cast, which the racists and misogynists and other troglodytes have nothing to say about because it’s incredible!!

I ended up breaking my hiatus and watching this one all the way through, partly because I enjoyed Rogue One, and partly because the praise was through the roof, with some calling it the best Star Wars property since The Empire Strikes Back. I’ve already spoken at length about the show on my reading log (and I’ll say more in my Top Twelve Best Scenes of 2022) but in terms of its female characters (which outnumbered the men 6:4 on the poster) it was exemplary.

Mon Mothma has her own entry above, but the show also gave us Fiona Shaw as Maarva Andor, who performs one of the best monologues of the show, Denise Gough as Dedra Meero, a fascinating portrayal of a ladder-climbing “girlboss” who you root for due to her tenacity within the boys’ club before realizing she’s just as much a fascist as the men around her, and Faye Marsay and Varada Sethu as Vel and Cinta, the franchise’s first gay couple that’s not comprised of a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kiss. They don’t kiss on-screen at all in fact, yet the relationship is undeniable and the show doesn’t expect a round of applause for having included it.

Even female characters with less screentime pack a punch, such as Elizabeth Dulau as Luthen’s “shop assistant” Kleya and Bronte Carmichael as Mon’s budding fascist daughter Leida. The only underserved character is Adria Arjona’s Bix Caleen, who they can’t help but make a Distressed Damsel by the final episode – but I’m more than willing to forgive it, as she’s still a three-dimensional character whose suffering serves a deeply important purpose in the narrative.  

The Star Wars franchise doesn't deserve a show this good, but thank Disney we’re getting at least one more season. And Ahsoka is on her way, which naturally means live-action Sabine and Hera as well...

As for Game of Thrones, which was notoriously awful to its female characters (and their actresses) I noted with interest that an early interview with Olivia Cooke had her state that the exploitation of women’s bodies and the violence inflicted upon them would be lessened in House of the Dragon.

It seemed a little like wishful thinking, though the show ended up following through on this pledge. Nudity was kept to a minimum, as were any gratuitous sex and/or rape scenes (correct me if I’m wrong, but there’s no rape depicted on-screen at all; just the aftermath of one).

Instead, the show very much put a focus on labour and birthing scenes, much to the chagrin of many viewers. In a way, this makes me laugh. How many rape scenes did we have to suffer through in Game of Thrones because it was “realistic” and “that’s the way it was back then,” only for people to now get squeamish about depictions of childbirth?

Guess what! The screaming agony of pushing a baby out of your vagina is realistic, and that’s the way it was back then. It’s also the reason women in general are so concerned with issues of birth control and abortion rights, since giving birth is an excruciating and occasionally dangerous ordeal. That people are complaining about having to see it on television after fervently defending all the other shit women were subjected to in the mothershow is the very epitome of “that’s rich!”

House of the Dragon also seems a little more self-aware of the fact that its female characters are negotiating the harsh societal restrictions of a medieval patriarchy. Every now and then Game of Thrones dropped some insight, but it was always hastily papered over with another rape threat or sexposition scene, whereas for protagonists Rhaenyra and Alicent, the very crux of their stories are hinged on the fact that they’re women struggling to survive in a man’s world.

More poignantly, the writing makes it clear that their relationship is one of true and genuine love before the demands and expectations of the patriarchy tears them apart. Alicent is treated as little more than a pawn in her father’s machinations, while Rhaenyra is declared the next heir to the Iron Throne, developments that drive a wedge between them as they end up on opposite sides of the power struggle within their own family, court, and kingdom.

I was partly dreading this, as fandom – even in the year 2022 – loves nothing more than to elevate/denigrate any two female characters that are pitted against one another – usually depending on which one they project themselves upon and what the preferred ships are. Some of the commentary was jaw-droppingly obtuse (I saw one Tumblr post complaining that Alicent was being made too sympathetic, which robbed them of the opportunity to hate her) but the show has so far refrained from casting either woman in the role of villain, and seems committed to centralizing their relationship as the tragedy at the heart of this particular story.  

***

Like I said at the start of this post, it was a surprisingly good year for female characters, at least throughout the media that I enjoyed in 2022. I’m still chugging along with Legend of the Seeker and Xena Warrior Princess, two shows that never had any shortage of great female characters, and which are clear precursors to  high fantasy television such as The Wheel of Time and The Rings of Power, both of which are also chocka block full of strong heroines (still haven’t caught up with The Witcher though).

There’s no denying that the fraught relationship between Rhaenyra and Alicent lies at the heart of House of the Dragon, while the ostensible protagonist of The Rings of Power is a deeply compromised Galadriel, an interpretation of the character that has sent the fandom into a tailspin. (A female character who... isn’t perfect? Who... doesn’t exist to save the villain from himself? What is reality?!)

Over in Stranger Things, the girls ended up stealing the show, with Millie Bobby Brown, Winona Ryder, Natalie Dyer, Maya Hawke and (especially) Sadie Sink giving powerhouse performances across the board, while the unexpectedly good Arcane provided not only another plethora of fantastic female characters, but also several complex and fascinating dynamics between them.

It was also a great year for Velma Dinkley, who was not only confirmed as gay in Trick or Treat Scooby Doo but is being reimagined as South Asian (and voiced by Mindy Kaling) in an upcoming limited series. Good for her!

Derry Girls (tragically) came to its conclusion, but stuck the landing magnificently, while The Great (despite becoming rather too enamoured of Nicolas Holt’s Peter in its second season) is still a great showcase for Elle Fanning’s talent with some razor-sharp commentary on gender roles.

It was a year for Final Girls, in which I finally introduced myself to Laurie Strode, Alice Hardy and Nancy Thompson in their respective genre-defining roles, and for projects based on the lives and experiences of real women: Pamela Anderson, Catherine the Great, Julia Childs, Martha Mitchell, Joan of Arc and Anne Frank were either watched or read about this year.

Hayao Miyazaki has steadfastly provided us with wonderful heroines for over four decades now, and I loved revisiting Kiki’s Delivery Service, Spirited Away and My Neighbour Totoro, while cartoons from the nineties and early noughts had me covered on the Magical Girl front: thanks be to the likes of Sailor Moon and Winx Club for scratching that very specific itch.

Catwoman made a couple of appearances in both live-action and animation, while period dramas (that ever-reliant source of three-dimensional heroines) gave us Selina Dalton, Julia Thistlewaite, Margaret Hale, Marian Halcombe, Catherine Morland, Lady Susan Vernon, and the Sharma sisters (that’s Mr Malcolm’s List, North and South, The Woman in White, Northanger Abbey, Love & Friendship and Bridgerton). Also, I enjoyed Camila Cabello’s Cinderella. Sue me!

But it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. The second season of The Morning Show was terrible, as was the final season of Killing Eve, not to mention the absolute disaster that was Netflix’s Persuasion. Between the two companies, HBO and Netflix prematurely cancelled several girl-centric films/shows I was looking forward to/meaning to catch up on (Batgirl, Zatanna, Paper Girls, First Kill, Warrior Nun – I’m not holding out much hope for a fifth season of Disenchanted either) and I dragged myself through two seasons of The Handmaid’s Tale despite that show peaking in its first season.

We also saw the end of Jodi Whittaker’s tenure as the Thirteenth Doctor, which only emphasized just how lacklustre her run was. There were a few highpoints (namely Jodi herself, who gave it her all) but she deserved far better than the ever failing-upwards Chris Chibnall for a showrunner. Oh, what she could have been in Russell T. Davies’ hands!

On the book front, there were continuations of my favourite girl-detective series: Enola Holmes released a new title (as well as a graphic novel and film sequel), Aggie Morton was back with a third novel (though I just missed out on reading her fourth, made available at the very end of this year) and Hazel and Daisy of the Detective Society passed the torch onto the latter’s little sister Mei at the onset of World War II.

Rick Riordan’s latest was a retelling of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, which starred Captain Nemo’s descendant Ana Dakker, while Avatar Yangchen was finally given the spotlight in F.C. Yee’s The Dawn of Yangchen and Princess Merida enjoyed a continuation of her story in Bravely, ten years after the release of her film.

There was my annual dose of witches: Morgan Rowlands in Sweep, Cassie Black in The Secret Circle, and Diana Bishop in A Discovery of Witches (none of these books were what I’d call good, but were they entertaining? Hell yes) and I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Myrtle Mumby from Philip Reeves’s Larklight trilogy, a hilarious take on a Proper Lady who is thwarted at every turn to be a Proper Lady. She’s one of many, many great characters in those books.

And of course, the women of The Silmarillion. What Tolkien lacked in quantity, he made up in quality, as every female character of Middle Earth is someone worthy of interest and contemplation. I wrote at length on this subject in my review for the book back in June, but I’ll leave you with two of my favourite quotes of his, one describing the minor character of Aerin: “Many a man of arms misreads patience and quiet. She did much good among us at much cost. Her heart was not faint, and patience will break at last,” and the other explaining Éowyn in a letter to a correspondence: “Though not a ‘dry nurse’ in temper, [Éowyn] was also not really a soldier or ‘amazon’, but like many brave women was capable of great military gallantry at a crisis” (my emphasis).

That’s not even mentioning the female characters that I hope to write about in 2023, whose stories are still unfolding on page and screen: Rayla and Claudia in The Dragon Prince, Maika Halfwolf in Monstress, Kristen Bouchard in Evil, Alice in the Spook series, Nancy Drew in... well, Nancy Drew. It was a good year all things considered, not least because there’s so much more to look forward to.