Woman of the Month: Ellen Ripley

Ellen Ripley from Alien and Aliens

When we discuss trailblazing and iconic female characters from the eighties (or in sci-fi generally) two names spring immediately to mind: Sarah Connor and Ellen Ripley. Way back in 2017, I watched the two Terminator films (there are only two) and always meant to follow up with the two Alien movies (also only two), as the comparison between these women is fascinating.

Everyone already knows this, but Ellen Ripley as written in Alien was originally a male character, and when the decision was made to cast Sigourney Weaver, absolutely nothing was changed. This makes sense, as gender is largely irrelevant in the first Alien film. Rape subtext aside, it’s essentially a crew of miners attempting to survive a life-or-death situation in closed quarters, and Ripley’s most defining scene is refusing to let her crewmates back on the ship when there’s the chance they could be contaminated, instead wanting to follow safety regulations.

It’s the exactly opposite of what we’d expect a Screw the Rules, I’m Doing What’s Right protagonist to do, but it’s also indisputably the right call.

It also has nothing to do with the fact Ripley is a woman, in stark contrast to Sarah Conner, who absolutely has to be a woman. The whole reason the plot takes place is because time travellers want to kill the mother of the Resistance leader fighting them in the future – before she’s given birth.

This is of particular interest since James Cameron directed The Terminator before taking on Aliens, which does have more of an interest in the fact Ripley is a woman, particularly as it pertains to motherhood. Waking up from cryogenic sleep to discover her daughter has died in the intervening years, the emotional core of the film is Ripley becoming a mother to Newt, the sole survivor of the latest Xenomorph attack.

It doesn’t feel like a coincidence that James Cameron was the man behind this change, bringing Ripley more in line with Sarah Connor, as a Mama Bear protecting her young at all costs. But that doesn’t change the fundamentals of her character: a determined, no-nonsense, tough-as-nails but fundamentally decent woman who represents the best of humanity – whether it’s comforting a little girl or going back for the cat. This is the reason for the character’s longevity: that she’s a normal woman in terrifying circumstances. No superpowers, no extraordinary talent, just grit and bravery.

(Just like Sarah Connor).

Reading/Watching Log #123

February has come and gone, and I’ve continued my foray into the worlds of Wonderland, Neverland and Oz, which I think of as the Big Three of children’s literature. Perhaps the most interesting thing about reading the original stories concerning these worlds is how much of what we assume about them is based on adaptative material with no basis in the actual books. For instance, Neverland is always referred to as the Neverland in J.M. Barrie’s text, and before his transformation, the Tin Man was initially called Nick Chopper – not Boq, though there is an unrelated Munchkin that goes by that name.

There’s also a lot of material that never made it into any adaptation: for example, I’m sorry that Baum’s delightful Queen of the Field Mice never made it onto the screen, though I can obviously understand the limitations there.

Likewise, there’s a lot more emphasis on the weird and wonderful events being framed as dreams in the adaptations, even though Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland is the only one that actually used this framing device in a book. MGM’s The Wizard of Oz famously made Dorothy’s adventures a prolonged dream, with actors playing characters both in the real world and fantasy counterparts in Oz, something that wasn’t part of Baum’s book at all. The concept became so pervasive that Return to Oz used it too.

They also hinted at it in Disney’s animated Peter Pan, which ends with the Darling parents returning home from their party to find Wendy asleep by the window, the implication being that she dreamt it all (unlike the book, where the three children are gone for a long time). Likewise, the 2003 film leans into the double casting of Jason Isaacs as Captain Hook and Mr Darling, providing a degree of commentary on Wendy’s relationship with each one.

More than that, the concept of madness barely figures into the books, but has since become an intrinsic part of these stories, with the mental facilities of the girls being called into question much more than in the books themselves. ABC’s Once Upon a Time spin-off starts with Alice in a sanatorium, with doctors trying to convince her that her adventures were a hallucination. Obviously Return to Oz starts with Dorothy (nearly) receiving electric-shock therapy, and the facility staff becoming the villains she faces in Oz.

And Andy Weir’s Cheshire Crossing is a crossover graphic novel in which Alice, Dorothy and Wendy all meet at a remote research facility and sanatorium. It’s interesting the way these components have soaked into our understanding of the stories, becoming an intrinsic part of retellings, even though that subtext isn’t present in the original texts. Sometimes they even borrow from each other: Dorothy in Return to Oz has a scene in which she appears to do some slow-motion rabbit-hole falling.

And for the record, Peter Pan is by far the best book of the three. You get the definite sense that Baum and Carroll were simply making things up as they went along, writing as the mood struck them, and though a lot of people have put a lot of effort into trying to understand or cross-examine Alice’s Adventures and Wizard of Oz, by each author’s own admission, they exist mainly to entertain and as such often come across as completely random.

Going forward into March, I’m leaving Wonderland and Neverland behind, but the Yellow Brick Road is stretching on for a while longer. Baum wrote a lot of these books.

Women of the Year: A Retrospective 2025

It’s time for my favourite annual post: a look back at all the female characters I discovered, revisited, and/or enjoyed watching or reading about across the course of the past year. As I’m sure you know, I start every month with a post that spotlights a female character of note, the only two rules being that she has to be a somewhat inspiring figure, and that I can feature only one woman per project (though I can always include more from the same narrative universe in these end-of-year retrospectives).

But last year I decided to do something a little different and make 2025 the Year of the Villainess.

What struck me whilst selecting and compiling these twelve women is that female villains are so often twisted reflections of abnormal femininity. They are women… but wrong.

There’s the overbearing mothers (Norma Bates, Agnes Skinner, the Queen of Shadows in Mirrormask), the abusive nurturers (the Other Mother, Mother Gothel, Nurse Ratchet), the abnormally masculine (Agatha Trunchbull, Lady Macbeth; who asks to be unsexed: “come to my woman’s breasts, and take my milk for gall”), and of course – the crazy bitches (the Queen of Hearts, Daenerys Targaryen, Hexadecimal, Drusilla, even Azula in her final stretch of episodes). In that last case, it’s often the woman’s loosening grip on reality that proves to be her downfall.

Then there are the monstrous mother-figures (pick a stepmother, any stepmother from a fairy tale), the jealous harpies (now pick a stepsister, or any character that’s ever been played by Lucy Punch), the embittered crones desperate to regain their youth (Lamia from Stardust, the Sanderson Sisters, Mother Gothel again), the Alpha Bitches (Regina George, Libby Chessler), the Ice Queens (the White Witch, Hans Christian Anderson’s Snow Queen), the Women Scorned (Hera, Alex Forrest, Isabella of Gisborne) and the Femme Fatales, who use their sexuality to get what they want (Melisandre, the Brides of Dracula – honestly, there are too many of these to name, though shoutout to Delilah, the Ur-Example).

It was at that moment Hylas knew... he'd fucked up.

Occasionally you get women that’ve been possessed by greater powers that transform them into dangerous threats (Jean Grey, Azkadellia from Tin Man), and sometimes they’re just unrelenting, unthinking forces of nature (Shelob, Eris, the dinosaurs of Jurassic Park, weather events that are usually given feminine names and pronouns). Oftentimes, many of these categories can overlap.

Just take a moment here to try and imagine any of these archetypes applied to a male villain. It’s not impossible, and yet it’s also much rarer. When men are villains, it’s usually to do with the corruptive influence of power, or misguided motivation born of desperation or deceit, or the complexities of the human psyche, or… ya know, a woman made him do it. For female villains it’s usually about being the wrong type of woman: a bad mother, or a manipulative seductress, or either so emotional that it disrupts her mental faculties, or not emotional enough for her to count as a proper woman.

Obviously not always, but I feel reasonably comfortable making that generalization. When one looks back at some of our earliest villainesses, the likes of Lilith and Circe and Morgan le Fay, it’s easy to see what they have in common: their own hard power (generally manifesting as magic) and a disregard for male authority. What need have they for men when they have their own inherent abilities to serve and protect them? Stories about such figures read more like cautionary tales to a male audience about the dangers that women pose than anything to do with the characters themselves; a warning not only about the sexuality they embody, which can easily lure a man to his doom, but the dangerous subversion of male power.

It’s rare that a female villain is allowed motivation that transcends gender-coded characterization (“who’s the fairest of them all?”) or which doesn’t embody the anxieties the patriarchy has about them (their sexuality, their mental state, their unchecked emotions), or refrains from commenting (even implicitly) on how she should be controlled, dismissed or ridiculed. When someone like Demona from Gargoyles comes along, who is driven by a multitude of inner demons (her self-loathing and guilt, her desire to protect her people from discrimination, her hatred of human beings), it’s worth sitting up and taking notice.

Again, I want to stress that this is a generalization. I’m well aware that the rogue’s gallery of fictional villains has its fair share of abusive fathers, power-crazy tyrants and tantrum-throwing manchildren (the concept of an incel has definitely been the inspiration for several male villains over the last few years). But are there a lot of old men who are vilified for being old and therefore undesirable? Men that are considered unnatural because they’re unfeeling or “icy”? Do we see a lot of men seducing women for nefarious ends (and don’t say James Bond – he’s not only a designated hero, but considered a stud for how many beautiful women he can bed). Are there as many evil stepfathers as there are stepmothers? And if there were, would they be regarded as being as monstrous as an unfit mother?

When there are more male villains anyway, it’s rather obvious to see how the female ones are broadly divided into several recurring categories and themes, and most of them have their roots in what it means to be an “incorrect” type of woman. Simply put, female villains are often the ones that don’t comply with the patriarchy’s expectations of them: to be nurturing, beautiful, virtuous, young, submissive, obliging and preferably sane.

I could write a thesis on all this, but there’s definitely no time for that! Just food for thought as I delve into some of the other compelling villainesses that didn’t make this year’s short list, but who are definitely worth mentioning in some capacity:

Woman of the Month: Maddy Magellan

Maddy Magellan from Jonathan Creek

Having done this Woman of the Month project for over ten years now, I’m surprised that Maddy Magellan has never come up before, as she truly is one of my favourite characters of all time. A few weeks ago I had Jonathan Creek playing as background noise while I did other things, and I was reminded again of just how vivacious she is.

Sometimes the best fictional characters aren’t necessarily the ones you want to meet in real life. Maddy is bad tempered and dishonest, mercurial and fast talking; ruthlessly ambitious in her pursuit of a story and not above tapping into people’s private phone messages or pretending to be a police officer in order to gain access to a crime scene.

She’s everything we hate about investigative journalists, but damn it if she isn’t fun to watch. More importantly, she has a social conscience. The crime exposés she writes are about miscarriages of justice, and – as she frequently likes to point out – she doesn’t get paid much for them. When the time comes to glean more of her family history, we get a sense of why she’s drawn to this particular subject matter, and she’s definitely someone you want on your side if you’re ever the victim of an impossible crime (and not just because she’s essentially the handler of Jonathan Creek, lateral thinker extraordinaire).

It’s really the sheer levels of gumption and verve that Carolyn Quentin brings to the role which makes her so enjoyable as a character. We couldn’t condone half of what she does as appropriate in real life, but her sheer audacity – breaking into houses, reading people’s diaries, going through garbage bags, lying about being Jewish, recruiting a man to impersonate a police officer in order to extract information from her close-lipped colleague – is something to behold. At one point while under arrest she frets that she’ll be injected with a truth serum. Jonathan reassures her: “it wouldn’t stand a chance.”

The show certainly lost something when Quentin left to have a baby, and then for whatever reason, never brought back again. Because the Carla Borrego mysteries are still pretty good, I include them whenever I do a rewatch, but always finish things off with “The Black Canary,” a standalone Christmas Special that I can pretend takes place after Maddy returns from America, ready to pick things up where she left off with Jonathan.

Assertive and confident and quick-witted and unapologetic, she’s someone we could never be… but would secretly like to.

Reading/Watching Log: #122

To kickstart this year, I decided to revisit some of the seminal classics of children’s literature: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz, and Peter Pan, along with some of their assorted television/filmic adaptations.

It intrigues me greatly that three touchstones of early children’s literature involve little girls navigating dangerous fantasy lands, and there’s something about the characters of Alice, Dorothy and Wendy that just goes together somehow.

(I’ve always felt there should be a second-tier trio to this very specific type of heroine, but all I can come with is Clara from The Nutcracker and Gerda from The Snow Queen – there must be a third girl out there somewhere to complete the set, but who? Pippi Longstocking? Ronja the Robber’s Daughter? No, they don’t quite fit into the same dreamlike space as the others. I’ll think of her one day…)

Also interesting is that two famous adaptations of these stories take on a “it was all a dream” framing device that was only ever present in one of the original books: that is, MGM’s The Wizard of Oz and Disney’s Peter Pan, in which the Darling parents arrive home to find Wendy sleeping by the open window. Neither book used this conceit, but it would seem the precedent set by Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland loomed large in the imaginations that followed it. Likewise, a preoccupation with themes of insanity as it pertains to young women specifically has emerged around these stories, almost without anyone realizing. In Return to Oz, Dorothy is taken to a clinic where she faces electric shock treatment to help her with her “delusions” of Oz, while Once Upon a Time in Wonderland begins with Alice locked up in an asylum after she refuses to renounce the adventures she’s had.

A lot of this might just be the natural conclusion of retelling stories that are so inherently wild and random, but I do wonder if this theme would be quite as pronounced if the main characters of these books had been boys.

That little girls are so often traversing fantasy lands on vague journeys of empowerment and self-actualization also makes me wonder if there’s a line that can be drawn between these early nineteenth century texts and the recent proliferation of romantasy, but that might have to be a longer post for another day…

(And don’t worry, among my exploration in various adaptations, I’ve spared myself Spielberg’s Hook and James Franco’s Oz the Great and Powerful. Never again!)

Recommendations: The Best of 2025

Well, the year 2025 is over and not a moment too soon (though who am I kidding, 2026 is looking equally grim). This post may be a bit late, but I always get there in the end, so here are my top recommendations for the year that’s just passed: everything I read, watched or played that struck a particular chord and which may help you escape the hideous burden of day-to-day reality.

I actually found it rather difficult to narrow things down into a reasonable list (especially given my OTT gorge of pop-culture franchise material in July), which speaks to the surprising quality of my reading/watching year.

2025 was divided into several themes, and though that sounds like it might impinge on just enjoying myself, it actually gave me the structure I needed to focus on specific interests while also finding new material in each subject, whether it be Arthurian legend, Greek myth, Tudor drama, pirates, unicorns, folk horror, or Magical Girls.

There was also a surplus of television shows that were cancelled after one season, though many of them I was watching for the second time: Crossbones, Nautilus, Around the World in Eighty Days, NBC’s Dracula, Sinbad, Atlantis (okay, that one had two seasons), The Winter King, Camelot, Cursed, Onyx Equinox – and I’ve just this month finished Emerald City. So yeah, I broke my own rule about not starting new shows until I was sure they’d be finished, but there’s still something a little fascinating about projects that get greenlit but are unable to gain enough traction for a continuation.

As it happened, my New Year’s Resolution was to avoid American-made or US-based material, which saw me in good stead for most of the year (sans July, and a few films in December) and made for a nice change of pace. The decrease in violence – specifically gun violence – on the screen was extremely noticeable, and so my viewing intake was considerably more restful as a result. Of course, this meant I missed out on a few shows I’ve been meaning to catch up on (Elementary, 1923, Welcome to Derry) but hey – they’re not going anywhere.

Blog-wise, I managed more reviews and commentary than most years (I see on the sidebar that even though my activity gradually decreases with each year that passes, I managed three more posts than in 2024). Personal highlights include a Contrast/Compare between Black Sails and Andor, an in-depth look at the treatment of Rebecca and Rowena in Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe, meta about the Evolution of the Vampire in projects like Dracula, Nosferatu and Carmilla, Ranking the 39 Episodes of the BBC’s Robin Hood, and reviewing every episode of MGM’s Robin Hood (still no word of a renewal on that front, so I can probably add it to the above list of single-season shows).

There was also an uptick in fandom drama this year, or so it seemed, whether it’s the tedium of the culture war, the astounding lack of media literary in your average viewer, histrionics surrounding thwarted shipping endgames, or stories once again being held hostage by the whims of the loudest online voices. I may have more to say about it in a later post, as bloody hell was it a headache.

Finally, we lost a lot of talent this year, from Robert Redford to Diane Keating, and though I always feel a little uncomfortable about noting such things on a blogpost (it feels so superficial somehow) I was especially saddened to hear of the early death of Michelle Trachtenberg at just thirty-nine years old, who I’ll always remember as Harriet the Spy and Dawn Summers. Likewise, Val Kilmer was probably more of a Han Solo to me than Han Solo himself as Willow’s Madmartigan (sorry, I came to Star Wars later in life!) and Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa as the very sinister, but equally very compelling Shang Tsung in Mortal Kombat (conversely, it would appear I went through my villain phase very early in life, at age ten or so).

And of course Rob Reiner, whose death was a terrible shock and part of an ongoing investigation. I’ve no idea what I could possibly say that could be in any way meaningful, only that The Princess Bride was a staple of my childhood, as it was for so many others.

Robin Hood: One Enemy Falls, Another Rises

My thoughts on this grand finale are super late, but that’s because a dozen other things (including Christmas and New Year) got in the way. Ah well, it’s an excuse to watch the episode for a second time, just to refresh my memory.

We start with Robin waking up in the forest next to Marian, having had a dream/nightmare about Adric and his father’s voice, encouraging him to fight to the bitter end. Mkay? Robin has spent this entire season prevaricating over what he’s going to do, how he’s doing to do it, and whether or not it’s the right thing to do, and it seems he still needs guidance from beyond the grave.