Author

Cristina Escobar

A rehabilitated English major, Cristina now runs her own consulting firm at the intersection of intersectional feminism and marketing, choosing only the best projects and spending the rest of her time writing and hanging out with her daughter, husband, and dog.

10 Women-Centered Shows to Watch in 2020
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10 Women-Centered Shows to Watch in 2020

by Cristina Escobar
written by Cristina Escobar

Have you seen the news? According to a new report, we’re getting more media from women’s perspectives than ever before — a whopping 10% of top-grossing films were directed by women last year, representing the highest percentage in 13 years. And while some activists are literally shedding tears of joy, everyone agrees there’s still a lot more work to be done (see how the Golden Globes completely shut out women directors).

So together let’s start 2020 with a TV diet that’s more like 90% women-led, 10% men and keep pushing the ratio in the right direction. To help, we’ve put together a list of the ten women-centered shows we’re most excited about in 2020. Happy watching!

Call the Midwife

This BBC favorite is now in its ninth season and for those looking for a Nonnatus-House fix, you can catch the Christmas special before the new season starts airing state-side in March. Call the Midwife is pretty much the only show that valorizes women’s bodies and work without sexualizing them. And it does this while championing political issues like abortion and mental health to create truly compelling TV. Although, it does make us sad to see women in 1960s London get better maternal care than Americans today…

The Good Fight

We’d watch anything with Christine Baransky in it. And the same goes for Audra McDonald. So we’ll be re-upping our CBS subscription when The Good Fight returns later this year. We’re fine with the departure of Maia Rindell (played by Rose Leslie) and hope the show spends its free time centering its black characters (and hey, maybe there will even be a Latinx or two!). Whatever happens, we know The Good Fight will continue its tradition of cutting-edge political commentary, making this entirely women-helmed show a therapeutic must-see in an election year.

Grey’s Anatomy

We’re still watching Grey’s Anatomy and we’re not embarrassed about it! The second half of the show’s sixteenth season will air in 2020, not to mention whatever they have cooked up for the likely seventeenth installment. The show has morphed from its early bed-hopping days (don’t worry there’s still plenty of sex) to taking on issues ranging from working motherhood to systemic problems with healthcare. But if anyone can fix our medical system, we’re confident it’s Dr. Meredith Grey.

Insecure

We named Insecure one of our top shows to watch in 2019 but then it didn’t come out! So count us even more excited for the fourth season, which both Issa Rae and HBO promise will be out in 2020. That said, we’re happy for Rae whose major movie stardom delayed the premiere. This season, we’re expecting Issa to give us more heartbreak, laughs, and insights as she and her crew celebrate the trials and joys of being young, black, successful, and female in Los Angeles.

Killing Eve

Did you see Jodie Comer in Star Wars? It was blink and you’ll miss it but that’s not what we’re most excited about. The villainess from Killing Eve is having quite the year from her Emmy win to her appearance in the coveted franchise. That said, we all know our national treasure (that we borrowed from Canada) is still Sandra Oh. And we’re excited to see these two back together again, particularly, because women make murder and espionage more interesting (thanks to creator Pheobe Waller-Bridge)!

Pose

Pose is beautiful, heartbreaking, and fun, set in New York’s ballroom scene of the late 80s, early 90s. While we’re glad the show has gotten Billy Porter that much closer to his EGOT (looking at your Oscar), we’re particularly enthusiastic that the show’s Afrolatinx stars Mj Rodriguez as Blanca and Indya Moore as Angel are getting their due. We’re expecting season three to be just as poignant as Blanca continues her recovery from AIDS complications and Angel braves the fashion industry as an out, trans model.

Russian Doll

The first season of Russian Doll was pretty much perfect so we’re having a hard time imagining what they’ll do in season two. That said, we trust this all women writers’ room and directorial team to deliver a stunning sequel. Netflix is cagey about the details but we can’t wait to see Natasha Lyonne, Charlie Barnett, Greta Lee, Dascha Polanco, and Ritesh Rajan back together contemplating life and death. At the very least, we’re promised great music, costumes, and the rare depiction of the true diversity of New York City.

Shrill

Show creator Lindy West holds a special place in our heart from her writing days at Jezebel. Two books, a New York Times column, and one show later, we’re even bigger fans. Staring Aidy Bryant and Lolly Adefope, Shrill follows a young journalist and her roommate as they make careers for themselves in their plus-sized bodies that have nothing wrong with them except how society views them. With the bonus points earned for the abortion scene in season one, we’re sure Shrill’s second season, out this year, will deliver a tragicomic look at the reality of being a young woman in America today.

Vida

We think Vida is pretty much the best thing on TV. Created by Latina Tonya Soracho and following the Hernandez sisters as they deal with gentrification, sexual mores, and identity issues, Vida is as hot as it is compelling. Plus it bucks all the stereotypes of latinidad from how we eat our tacos to how we deal with generational conflict. Season two ended in a hell of a cliffhanger and we can’t wait to see what season three means for the bar, the sisters, and the entire neighborhood.

Westworld

It’s been a while since we’ve been to Westworld (we think it’s destroyed now) but we’re still excited to dive back into HBO’s sci-fi dystopia. Helmed by Evan Rachel Wood and Thandie Newton, Westworld is the ultimate critique of patriarchy — exploring what happens when men get to live out their toxic masculine fantasies (surprise there’s a lot of rape and violence). In season three, the victims of these attacks are fully sentient and ready to fight back with their superior strength and knowledge. Plus watching Tessa Thompson kick ass is always a pleasure.

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Sleeping with Your Priest: From “Fleabag” to “El Crimen del Padre Amaro”
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Sleeping with Your Priest: From “Fleabag” to “El Crimen del Padre Amaro”

by Cristina Escobar
written by Cristina Escobar

Pheobe Waller-Bridge created something rare and amazing with Fleabag — a show that completely inhabits a complicated (some may say “damaged”) woman’s perspective and finds humor and humanity. The second season won all the awards, and rightfully so, for its depiction of the relationship between our troubled protagonist and a Hot Priest.

Watching it, I was conflicted. Am I supposed to root for the relationship or want Fleabag to get the hell out of there? On one hand, the Hot Priest is in fact hot. He’s also adorable (see the thing with foxes) and really sees Fleabag (he’s the only one who notices her asides). But on the other hand, he’s not available! I mean, the man has taken a vow of celibacy. And he likes being a priest so it’s not exactly a surprise (spoiler coming!) that he picks God over Fleabag (although it’s not out of the realm of possibility that one might choose Pheobe Waller-Bridge’s incredible magnetism over the Catholic God).

No matter what side you fall on though, Fleabag is notable for how it takes you through the relationship from the (white) woman’s perspective. We are with her as she first meets the Hot Priest, checks out his congregation, learns a bit about the Bible, and eventually, even, has sex with him. From Fleabag’s perspective, we see the pain and the pleasure of another manifestation of her self-destructive behavior. Only this time, it’s more poignant because she finally manages to forge a real connection, even if it’s doomed from the start.

Catholicism is harmless, horny, and hilarious when seen through Fleabag’s eyes

In her relationship with the Hot Priest, Fleabag’s happiness is at stake and we want her to have it. To her, the Catholic church is an oddity, a quirk of her family. It didn’t help commit genocide against her ancestors, destroying their sacred places and building churches on top of them. It doesn’t still influence the politics, economies, and culture of her homeland, providing social services in failed states while also upholding patriarchal anti-abortion laws. It holds no greater power than to thwart her love life.

Obviously, that’s not true for many of us. So when the story of transgressing the vow of celibacy is told from the Latino perspective, it looks really different. Take the 2002 sensation, El Crimen del Padre Amaro. It also features a hot priest (who didn’t/doesn’t have a crush on Gael Garcia Bernal?) who breaks his vow, this time with Ana Claudia Talancón’s Amelia. This Spanish-language film won all sorts of awards too, even becoming one of nine films from Mexico ever to get nominated for Oscar’s Best Foreign Language Film.

But while the set up’s and critical responses are the same, pretty much everything else is different. For one, El Crimen is told from the priest’s perspective. We don’t learn much about Amelia, other than that she masturbates to Jesus (¡Dios mio!). And even that tidbit is meant to just make her more desirable for Padre Amaro. She’s the early aughts version of a priest thirst trap, a Bible-thumping virgin who Amaro literally dresses up as La Virgin. And of course, things don’t go well for her. She gets pregnant, gets a back alley abortion with Amaro’s help, and dies.

Male gaze much? Amelia as the perfect priest-sex-object in El Crimen del Padre Amaro

So while the stakes for Amelia are life and death, they exist only to illustrate how far Amaro has fallen. The young father starts out good but his ambitions get the better of him as he forsakes his moral code for career advancement, betraying Amelia, his mentor, and his broader community. Meanwhile, we see the Church supporting cartels, curtailing free speech, and ex-communicating the only priest who puts the well-being of his congregation first. As Padre Amaro falls from grace so does the church, making the whole movie a critique of the church as a power-hungry hypocrite without a moral compass.

It may be worth noting here that El Crimen del Padre Amaro set the box office record when it premiered in Mexico.

Hot priests sell. Rewatching the film in 2019, I couldn’t help but wonder how different it would be from the woman’s point of view. Fleabag only half-answers that question, flipping the gender perspective but also transporting us to the colonial power. Certainly, a Latina would tell the story differently. But our stories are so rarely told — we still struggle to keep critically acclaimed, feel-good family sitcoms (cough One Day At A Time cough) on air, let alone transgressive sexual narratives that risk angering the Catholic Church. So I may just be waiting a long time.

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Our Top 10 Shows of 2019
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Our Top 10 Shows of 2019

by Cristina Escobar
written by Cristina Escobar

2019 was the first full year of latinamedia.co and we were blessed with a bounty of riches when it came to TV. So many great shows centered women, people of color, and even the oh-so-elusive women of color. Here we’ve ranked our top ten shows of the year. Our criteria? How much we liked it (duh), its overall quality (based on our scientific quality meter), and how smart it was when it came to matters of gender, race, sexuality, etc.

10. The Good Fight

The Good Fight is the perfect show for the Trump era. It tackles breaking news and longstanding conspiracy theories (the pee tape) with equal amounts of the sincerity and absurdity of this moment. This year’s season three saw the ever-wonderful Christine Baranski as Diane Lockhart join, lead, and eventually quit a #Resistance group, with her firm Reddick, Boseman at times supporting and at times detracting from that work. We also got more of Audra McDonald as Liz Lawrence (née Reddick) plus standout performances by Cush Jumbo as Lucca Quinn and Sarah Steele as Marissa Gold. Really, the only thing that would make this show better is a guest appearance by Alan Cumming, reprising his role from The Good Wife’s Eli Gold, aka Marissa’s scheming father. Well, that and broader distribution. Who pays for CBS?

9. Crazy Ex-Girlfriend

We were sad to see Crazy Ex-Girlfriend end this year but at least it ended on its own terms, pulling off a pitch-perfect ending. With original songs each episode, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend managed to be technically difficult without ever appearing overworked. We’re talking about the show with the most nuanced depiction of mental illness on television, thanks to numbers like “Anti-Depressants Are So Not a Big Deal.” The show was intentional about its feminism (the entire premise), anti-white supremacy (see the casting of Josh Chan, Valencia’s arc, when we learn Heather’s background), and even a nuanced discussion about being bisexual (Thanks Darryl). It’s also jammed packed with jokes about Southern California, the law, and musical theater. We’ll miss Rebecca and crew but are excited to see what show creator Rachel Bloom does next.

8. Undone

With eight episodes just over the 20-minute mark, Amazon’s Undone could have been a long movie. Instead, it’s a beautiful, short, serialized journey into the mind of one Chicana. Alma, portrayed by Rosa Salazar, is bored with her San Antonio life and sabotaging up her relationships as a result when she starts traveling through time. It’s more than disconcerting at first but her dead, white father played by (Better Call) Saul aka Bob Odenkirk serves as her guide, helping Alma learn to master her power with the hope of avenging his death. There’s only one problem — it may all be in her head, part of the schizophrenia that runs in her family. With a diverse cast each delivering standout performances and cutting-edge visual techniques, Undone is prestige television at its best, engaging with Latinx themes like mestizaje to weave a wonder-filled narrative.

7. Pose

Created by Afrolatino Steven Canals in partnership with Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk, Pose is the real deal. The first season set records for the number of trans actors featured on a TV show and this year’s second season got rid of the obligatory white characters (we love you though Evan Peters and Kate Mara), making it even better. Pose made stars of Black Latinxs like Mj Rodriguez (congrats on the Critic’s Choice nomination!) and Indya Moore, not to mention opening the red carpet for Billy Porter, the winner of every unofficial fashion contest and of course, even official acting ones like the Emmys. And its writers’ room features the likes of Janet Mock and Our Lady J, demonstrating for those in the back, just how great TV can be when you authentically tell underrepresented stories.

6. Fleabag

Fleabag is topping a lot of lists and we love it as much as the next critic. Pheobe Waller-Bridge is an amazing talent, her comedic timing is impeccable and her writing on Fleabag (not to mention on Killing Eve) manages to be cutting, insightful, and hilarious. This year’s season follows Fleabag’s pursuit of the hot priest (Andrew Scott who you may remember as Moriarity in Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock). The priest manages to be the perfect match for Fleabag — he sees her when no one else does, noticing her asides to the camera and matching her self-destruction with his own. Our only issue is how this very funny British lady gets to tell the definitive story of sleeping with your priest when her whole country left the church some 500 years ago.

5. The Good Place

Who would have thought a sitcom that regularly namedrops Immanuel Kant could actually be funny? It turns out the big questions of philosophy can make for great television in the right hands (specifically, Michael Schur’s of Parks and Rec and Brooklyn 99 fame). The Good Place delivers laughs with the stumpers, helped by the outsized charisma of its diverse cast. With an even gender split and featuring as many non-white as white characters, the six principles are loveable and flawed. We want to name a stand out performance but really all six (Kristen Bell as Eleanor Shellstrop, William Jackson Harper as Chidi Anagonye, Jameela Jamil as Tahani Al-Jamil, Manny Jacinto as Jason Mendoza, D’Arcy Carden as Janet and Ted Danson as Michael) are all phenomenal and have fantastic team chemistry. We wish there was a Latinx in the mix but give The Good Place a pass as one of the only meaningful redemption arcs for women out there.

4. Russian Doll

We called it “perfect.” And indeed, Russian Doll functions as a neat little capsule of a show with eight short episodes filled with cool-girl aesthetics, rabbit holes, and memorable one-liners. One might think Russian Doll’s premise — a woman stuck repeating her 36th birthday and death shortly thereafter — could get tiring. Instead, the show allows so many ways to interpret Nadia’s plight (is she in a video game? A religious quandary? A cycle of trauma?) that we found ourselves constantly pondering new theories and eagerly waiting to hear, “Sweet birthday baby” just one more time. It helps that Natasha Lyonne appears to be playing a fantastical version of herself and is surrounded by people that actually look like New York — such as Charlie Barnett as Alan Zaveri and Greta Lee as Maxine A second season is forthcoming and we can’t wait to see how they expand on the perfectly closed and complex narrative of season one.

3. Schitt’s Creek

Schitt’s Creek has been getting a lot of attention since it migrated from Canada to the US via Netflix. We started off skeptical — rich-people-problems shows are not exactly our favorite. But after the first few episodes, Schitt’s Creek proves itself to be something greater and by this year’s third season, we’re seeing the Rose family in their most interesting iteration yet. They both have and haven’t changed — they’re still wearing their ridiculous avant-guard black-and-white outfits while still reconciling their worldly self-concepts to their new roles as citizens of Schitt’s Creek. But they’re also growing with David finding love and purpose in his store, Moira learning how to shine productively in the local theater scene, Johnny using his work ethic and experience in something worthwhile (the hotel), and Alexis learning how to value more than just status and appearance as evidenced by her getting an education and turning down that PR job. With the Roses, Schitt’s Creek has created fully fleshed out people who grow and change without betraying their problematic core. It’s a wonder to watch.

2. Jane the Virgin

We love Jane the Virgin. Yes, it ticked all of our boxes by centering Latinas as we see ourselves, family-oriented with big dreams, trying to find love and happiness while navigating the intricacies of class, religion, race, etc.. We’re talking the human condition here and Jane had lots of that, resisting stereotypes even as it revealed in its telenovela cheesiness. We particularly loved Jaime Camil’s Rogelio De La Vega who managed to be hilarious, desirable, silly, and vain all at the same time. Jane ended this year with a heartbreaking opening arc (really, Michael coming back from the dead couldn’t be more devastating) and concluded by taking care of the Villanuevas with commercial and personal success all around (how can I get a book deal like that?). We’ll be rewatching this one for years to come.

1. Vida

Vida was the best show of the year. Sexy. Thought-provoking. And most importantly for us, Latinx. In season two, the Hernandez sisters (Mishel Prada as Emma and Melissa Barrera as Lyn) are back in Boyle Heights for good, determined to make the bar and building profitable as they figure out what it means to make a new life in the old neighborhood. This year continues the trajectory of the first, exploring gentrification, racial identity, and sexuality with complexity and nuance. Season two is our favorite so far, with visually stunning set pieces like the after-hours party and sex scene between Emma and Roberta Colindrez’s Nico. It also benefits from being able to complicate many of its characters, particularly Chelsea Rendon’s Marisol who struggles with her sexuality, beliefs, and ambitions that pits her both with and against the sisters. Luckily, Vida’s already been renewed who knows it may just top our 2020 list too.

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“Charmed” without Feminism is Terrible
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“Charmed” without Feminism is Terrible

by Cristina Escobar
written by Cristina Escobar

I’m sad about Charmed or, to be more specific, season two of the Charmed reboot. Like the upcoming Party of Five update, this Charmed replaces the original white family with a brown one to create something new. I was excited and tore through the first season, telling everyone to watch it (not to say there weren’t problems — like only one of the three leads actually identifying as Latina). Despite my enthusiasm, ratings were not great and attention scarce. The powers that be at CW decided to reboot the reboot, replacing the showrunners and premise. I’ve been watching this season live and now that it’s a third of the way through, I’m ready to call it: it’s terrible.

The first season was billed as purposefully “feminist,” a slant that gave it much of its joy and depth. There were jokes about incels, manic pixie dream girls, and Roxane Gay’s twitter feed. There was also a withering look at rape culture, a re-writing of the Medusa myth, and thoughtful commentary on #MeToo. In the first season, feminism grounded both the show’s off-hand jokes and its larger themes. In the second season, the feminist point of view is gone. Yes, the premise is still three-sisters-must-save-the-world. But I’m trying to think of at least one joke from the last seven episodes and literally, nothing comes to mind. In contrast, I remember plenty of funny moments from the first season and I watched it months ago.

Part of the problem is the change of setting. Last season took place on a college campus. Universities are ripe landscapes, a mecca for youth to ponder “big” questions, debating what society should look like. The second season, in contrast, takes place in a co-working space. And while the show takes jabs at the “visionaries” who work there, the budding entrepreneurs don’t say a thing. Instead, the show focuses on those who serve them — the admin personnel, the guy who runs the boxing gym, the woman who owns the (witchy) boutique. Centering these folks could be an interesting class commentary but the show doesn’t go there. In fact, it doesn’t really go anywhere. Without the backdrop of campus politics, it doesn’t have a way to make its drama-of-the-week about anything more than the plot at hand.

And that plot is not particularly interesting. Without broader meaning, Charmed needs actually compelling characters, relationships, and mysteries and it doesn’t have any of that. Rupert Evans who plays Harry was crushworthy a la Giles of Buffy in season one but his taboo romance with Macy this season is hard to care about. They don’t have much chemistry and without his role as the antiquated department chair of Women’s Studies, his personality seems to have evaporated. He’s just an above-average-looking white guy. Nothing we haven’t seen before.

Moreover, one of the central tenets of Charmed is supposed to be the “power of three,” that it takes three people, our three sisters, working together to solve the world’s problems. This collectivism demonstrates a different type of power, not of the rugged masculine power of individualism but rather the feminine power of working together But in season two, only Macy has magical powers while her sisters have lost theirs. Mel and Maggie are figuring out ways to contribute but it’s Macy’s show now. She’s at the center of most of the adventures and while I like her character, I don’t like the dynamic — one hero, some sidekicks. It’s been done. On pretty much every show ever. Without the power of three, there’s nothing that separates Charmed from other supernaturally inclined teen shows

In fact, even the Latinx premise is largely gone. They didn’t do a lot with it in season one — mostly it was just the coquitos they served in the Christmas episode — but they did explore identity. Macy was raised by her black father and identifies as Black, having not known her mestiza, Latina mom. Maggie and Mel grew up with that mom and both identity as Latina when the show starts. Later, when Maggie learns she actually shares a father with Macy and not Mel, she begins to question her racial identity, joining a Black student group and trying to figure out her place there. In season two? We don’t even get the whiff of a coquito, let alone the bigger questions.

Watching this season, I keep waiting for some of the fun to come back. To see the jokes and social commentary and personality quirks that made the first season so much fun. But it’s just drudgery now, like the faux cheer of a co-working space. Season two is a spell that doesn’t work — incantations in accented Spanish, three actresses who don’t interact very much, romance without any sex appeal, demons who are not deliciously evil or even compellingly bad. Charmed has given up on what made it charming. The magic’s gone.

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“Grey’s Anatomy” Tackles Its Biggest Drama Yet: Motherhood
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“Grey’s Anatomy” Tackles Its Biggest Drama Yet: Motherhood

by Cristina Escobar
written by Cristina Escobar

“For what it’s worth, I hated maternity leave, too. And I am an excellent mother.”

Dr. Miranda Bailey drops this line in the premiere of Grey’s Anatomy’s 16th season. She’s speaking to new-mom Teddy Altman who’s hanging out in the hospital with her newborn on her maternity leave. Dr. Altman’s both bored and overwhelmed, struggling to meet her baby’s needs (diapers are tricky, babies need to eat all the time, and you can forget about sleeping) and her own expectations (aren’t women supposed to naturally love the opportunity to take care of their babies full time?).

This episode premiered just a few weeks after I’d given birth to my second child. Watching it on my own leave, I couldn’t help but relate to Altman. She acknowledges her privilege, saying “There are women the world over who would kill for the privilege of being able to stay at home with their newborn baby and know that they have a job to come back to.” And then she adds, “I know that I should be grateful, but I hate it… I have a brilliant mind with no opportunity to use it.”

Early motherhood is so physical — it’s about feeding, cuddling, worrying, and diaper changing. I’d describe these tasks as somehow hard and boring. I’d forgotten what it’s like to spend all your energy caring for a little creature who can’t so much as smile for six+ weeks. And that’s not counting the physical roller coaster that is life in the weeks after giving birth. It’s not for the faint of heart. It’s also not something that most professional experiences prepare you for. Mine certainly didn’t. Writing, working in an office, running my own business — none of those things gave me a leg up. You can’t set goals or project manage or write a beautiful phrase to nurture a newborn. You just have to be physically there and let concepts like “return on investment” leave your brain or you’ll go crazy.

Since this was my second, I knew some things about baby care. I’m a skilled swaddler and diaper changer. I know all the breastfeeding tricks. I even know, in my body and mind, that this phase will pass. That the baby will turn into a toddler and then a kid. I know the specific sweetness, the sorriness, and the joy of childrearing. And yet, I still felt overwhelmed, exhausted, bored, and helpless, all combining to give me the distinct impression that I was failing. Watching this episode, I marveled at Bailey’s confidence. I longed for the day where I too can say “I’m an excellent mother” and believe it.

Bailey’s been a force from day one. She might no longer be “The Nazi” but she’s still the hardass I root for even when she’s wrong (see the episode this season where she originally refuses to help Meredith keep her medical license — I was with her the whole way). Bailey’s son is also in high school. She’s had some time to grow into her maternal role. When she was a pregnant resident or divorcing her husband, she was noticeably less confident. Nonetheless, there she was, in season 16, loudly declaring her skill as a mother. It was classic Bailey — from a different character it could read as arrogance, but from her, it was just a statement of fact, a reminder of who she is.

A few episodes later, Bailey learns that she’s pregnant again and the doubts start to creep in. The pregnancy hormones make even the chief of surgery burst into tears. Her feet are swollen, her body tired. She wonders if she’s crazy to be doing this again. Our hyper-competent heroine seeks out also-pregnant Dr. Amelia Sheppard for advice. The pairing is telling. Sheppard often feels lost and out of control — she’s the opposite of Bailey. But she imparts some tricks (like pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth to stop the tears) that Bailey desperately needs. Pregnancy is the great equalizer. It turns out that a new baby is enough to rattle even the most self-assured women and mothers.

This season of Grey’s has zeroed in on motherhood like never before. Grey, Sheppard, Altman, and Bailey, four of the show’s six leading ladies, have all had plot points about motherhood. In a show with this many seasons and this many couples, we’ve seen pregnancies and babies, miscarriages and abortions, but something feels different now. It’s not just the sheer number of mothers, it’s also the show’s willingness to dive into the realities and nuances of what it looks like to be a high-achieving, working mom.

You see in seasons past, we’ve generally had one pregnant doctor at a time, first with Bailey and later with Callie Torres (miss you!), Meredith (she’s three kids in), and April Kepner (pregnant twice). But when more than one character is pregnant/caring for a newborn at a time, you get to see the diversity in (professional) women’s experience. You get to see how their personal strengths and weaknesses play out in the context of motherhood.

Watching these admirable women struggle, I am comforted. They may be world-class surgeons but their mothering is not Instagram-perfect or an all-fulfilling, sappy, emotional quest. It’s a meaningful part of who they are but it alone doesn’t define them. It’s a rare and nuanced depiction. It’s also one of the only portrayals of motherhood that makes me feel both seen and hopeful.

I find Bailey aspirational in so many ways, including the way she claims motherhood and the way she’s redefining it for herself. Watching this season, I’m not just rooting for her, I’m rooting for myself and all the moms out there (both in and out of Seattle Grace). Let us all be able to declare, truthfully, that we are “excellent mothers.”

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Making Peace and Rooting for Love: the End of “The Good Place”
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Making Peace and Rooting for Love: the End of “The Good Place”

by Cristina Escobar
written by Cristina Escobar

There’s a certain “cool girl” factor in saying I watch The Good Place for the Big Ideas and not the relationships. “I don’t care about Eleanor and Chidi, I’m team Jane (not Rafael or Michael), I’m so glad Rachel Bloom ended up alone.” And while I’d argue feminism is the reason for this (women are more than their romantic entanglements), there’s still a whiff of “I’m not like other women” condescension to it.

So I’d like to come clean and admit I’m rooting for Eleanor and Chidi in this, the final season of The Good Place. Yes, there are plenty of shows that frustrate their romantic leads, pulling them apart and then back together again. And yes, what makes The Good Place different is how it explores philosophical ideas from Kant to Aquinas. But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy both the cliche sitcom trappings and the larger questions about the meaning of life. The combination is what makes The Good Place so genius after all.

This is a show that’s reset itself every season (if not more often) and has managed to do it well, creating believable obstacles for its main pairing. The first season we didn’t know our lovers were really in hell, the second we knew but they didn’t, on the third they were down on Earth having a second go at life, and now in the fourth and final season Eleanor is running “the good place” and Chidi, memories wiped, is just one of four humans who don’t know what’s going on. Throughout it all, Eleanor and Chidi are pulled to each other, falling in love despite their many differences and even greater obstacles.

Watching Eleanor keep her feelings for Chidi secret this season finally got me. Before this, I found their romance somewhat annoying, even rooting for Simone as a better match. This may seem cruel to Eleanor and Chidi shippers, but you have to understand, I have a complicated relationship with Eleanor Shellstrop. You see, I too, am “just a girl from Arizona.” I love all the jokes about my home state and its vapid inhabitants. But while no one’s ever called me a dirtbag (at least not to my face), Eleanor’s failings hit a little too close. Certainly, her sins are exaggerated but that doesn’t mean I can’t find a kernel of self-truth in them. For example, in high school my friends and I made T-shirts shaming a rival girl at another school. It wasn’t quite Eleanor selling the “dress bitch” T-shirts to humiliate her roommate but it wasn’t too far off either (we were both wrong).

So it’s a bit hard-won, this rooting for Eleanor’s happiness and growth. Chidi represents both and seeing her doing the work without him finally got me in her corner. It helps that in this final season we’re less exploring Big Ideas and more plot-focused. The big question of the season is, ostensibly, can humans improve? But we already know the answer having seen our four original insufferables (plus demon Ted Danson) change for the better. This new set of humans may offer some interesting test cases, particularly in Brent Norwalk, the embodiment of white male privilege. How do you goad someone to improve who thinks they’re perfect? Is there redemption for racist misogynists?

But overall we’re free to focus on the plot — how to rescue Janet, Tahani’s quest for growth, Eleanor’s heartbreak, etc. And with this new focus, I can’t help but root for Eleanor and Chidi to end up together. Simone doesn’t need him, she’s doing fine. And maybe Eleanor doesn’t either. She’s growing into her leadership role, rising to the occasion of saving all of humanity. But just because she doesn’t need him, doesn’t mean she can’t still want him.

And I want them to end up together. I’m predicting a happy ending to The Good Place with humans having access to heaven again and love finding a way. It’s the reward us girls from Arizona deserve for leaving behind our dirtbag ways.

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The Latinidad of Veronica Lodge
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The Latinidad of Veronica Lodge

by Cristina Escobar
written by Cristina Escobar

I like Riverdale. Yes, it’s a weird show. Both in tone and emphasis, it pretends that solving murder mysteries is a normal part of high school. It’s unsure of what decade it’s in, waffling between 50s-era nostalgia (Betty may not actually wear a hoop skirt, but it’s close) to modern-day plot points(see the episode where Veronica was slut-shamed online or the one on gay-conversion therapy). It is terrible at product placement with characters naming brands from lipstick to dating apps in a way that’s clearly trying to sell you something.

But these quirks give Riverdale a unique style. You know you’re in the Archie-But-Make-It-Sexy universe when you see that terribly died red hair, applique leather jackets, and high school girls at home, alone, in silk lingerie and heels. Everything is both earnest and ridiculous on Riverdale and the same is true of Veronica Lodge’s ethnicity.

Riverdale’s Veronica represents a major break from the source material — she’s not a vapid rich girl who’s biggest challenge is her shoe selection. Instead, she’s a savvy businesswoman, trying to do right despite being raised in a mob family and her former life as a mean girl. She also happens to be Latina.

Camila Mendes, who plays Veronica with charm and verve, is Brazillian-American and her TV parents Hermoine (Marisol Nichols) and Hiram (Mark Consuelos) are both played by actors with Mexican heritage. As far as I can tell, the Lodges are some sort of generic Latinx with no particular place of origin. Their Latinidad shows up in their Catholicism, their mestizo appearance, and their propensity to say “mija” as many times as possible.

Latinx/Catholic plotlines include Veronica’s confirmation and her parents getting their marriage annulled rather than divorcing. Spanglish crosses their family dining table, alternating between silly and cloying. At one point Veronica tells boyfriend Archie that her Dad doesn’t like him because Archie doesn’t speak Spanish — even though we don’t actually see her family speaking Spanish to each other, outside of you guessed it “mija.” Presumably, Veronica’s remark is actually just a coded way to say her dad would prefer her to date inside her race, which she has no chance of doing as there no eligible Latino boys on the show.

In fact, the only Latinx people we meet (and who we’re sure are Latinx) are Veronica, Hiram, and Hermoine. There are no primos, tias, or abuelas swooping in. When we meet Hiram’s mob family, they’re all white. Perhaps some of the Southside Serpents (hi Sweetpea, hi Toni, hi Fangs) are Latinx but we don’t know for sure as they don’t have the backstories (and the actors are not).

Riverdale is one of those one-of-each shows with representation from every group while still remaining white overall. There are Black and Asian and Latinx characters and maybe even Native Americans although whether an indigenous grandparent counts is unclear (just ask Elizabeth Warren). But the show’s main characters, three of the four central group, are lily white and Josie and the Pussycats aside, so is the show’s aesthetic.

I’m not saying Veronica’s latinidad is inconsequential. Certainly, I’m glad she’s in there and holding her own. It’s fun that she’s the rich out-of-towner rather than a salt-of-the-earth or girl-next-door type. That said, I’d prefer the sole Latinxs not being criminals, even in a show where nearly everyone is tainted.

I mean Betty’s Dad is a serial killer and Jughead’s is an accomplice to murder but white people (somehow) get to sin without it reflecting on their entire race. After all, Betty and Jughead’s dads are countered by Archie’s parents (RIP Luke Perry) who are 100% good and other, more ambivalent figures in the town like Sherrif Keller, not to mention the kids themselves. But the Lodges are alone. They’re the only Latinx people in Riverdale and so their story becomes the single story of an entire ethnicity. That’s why we need more than one, not just a single girl and her parents, but rather a multitude.

It’s not too late for Riverdale to deliver a more nuanced understanding of latinidad. Mishel Prada of Vida fame is set to play Veronica’s sister in the current season and I’m excited to see what she’ll bring. Perhaps some new students or visitors from New York could brown the place up. Maybe now dead Joaquin DeSantos (played by Italian Canadian Rob Raco) will have not just the pint-sized brother Ricky (played by Nico Bustamante) but more relatives, this time played by Latinx actors and with more central plotlines. Certainly, if Riverdale’s creators can set their show simultaneously in the fifties and today, they can figure out how to fit in more Latinx people.

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Motherhood and Morality: Catching Up with “Workin’ Moms”
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Motherhood and Morality: Catching Up with “Workin’ Moms”

by Cristina Escobar
written by Cristina Escobar

The protagonist of Workin’ Moms is not a good person. There’s nothing particularly groundbreaking about that. Plenty of shows are about bad people and Kate’s sins are relatively minor. She’s not killing people, dealing drugs, or running a criminal enterprise. Yet, most antiheroes (and heroes to be honest) remain men and Kate’s misdeeds are particularly interesting because of the premise of her show — motherhood.

Or more precisely, working, regular motherhood. Kate and her friends may be privileged (no plotlines yet about the expense of childcare) but they’re also supposed to be relatable. The zany “other” characters sit at the show’s periphery, uttering just a few lines in the mother’s group to signal that the show’s creators know that black and brown and older mothers exist. But these women are outside the central group, not as relatable or flushed out as Kate and her friends.

The main group, of which Kate is the lead, is comprised of working, upper-class white people, struggling to be good parents, professionals, and people. It’s the last one that Kate fails at through acts big and small. She teases a toddler boy for his long hair, showing her propensity to punch down (not to mention her lack of feminist bona fides). Though technically consensual, she starts sleeping with her much younger assistant in a plotline that if the genders were reversed would have people calling for her head. She even serves as the go-to PR person for the local men’s right chapter (before eventually quitting this vile gig).

You see Kate’s ease with moral missteps are all light enough, small enough that we’re meant to forgive her, to understand. It’s the type of empathy that asks you to briefly cross ethical lines. And in Kate’s universe, most everyone crosses it with her. Her assistant comes back after the men’s rights clients are gone, seeing Kate’s willingness to work for them as a momentary lapse. Her (estranged, having cheated) husband doesn’t see a problem in Kate sleeping with her assistant — he goes so far as to support his wife, acting as her attorney when the young man sues.

The only time Kate is held accountable is for teasing the boy about his hair. The boy’s mother takes offense and uses her power as a journalist to smudge Kate’s reputation. It’s clear this transgression is different from the others — it reflects not just on Kate as a person, but her as a mother. And that distinction, that Kate can be a good mother while not being a good person is what makes Workin’ Moms so distinct.

Usually, TV moms are good or bad and their personality outside of motherhood matches nicely. There are the good moms of yore (from June Cleaver to Claire Huxtable) and their modern variations (Pose’s Blanca, Friday Night Lights’ Tami Taylor), all good people through and through. There are selfish bad moms (like Betty Draper and Lucille Bluth) and criminally abusive moms (from Mommy Dearest to Carrie). But the bad person/good mom is hard to find (and the good person/bad mom seems entirely absent, while men get this characterization all the time).

Now some may argue that Kate’s not a good mom. She consistently prioritizes her career over her family. In season one, she takes an out-of-town job despite having a newborn at home. Later when she’s on a forced-leave, she hates staying home with her baby and takes a second job just to have something else to do. But Workin’ Moms doesn’t demonize her for those choices. Instead, it contextualizes them as part of how Kate struggles to be a good mother. Yes, her husband cheats on her, blaming, in part, how she puts herself (and her career) first. But not only does that not stick (he wants Kate back as soon as he’s found out), it doesn’t affect Kate’s parenting. You can be a good mother and bad partner.

Kate’s mothering may not look like June Cleaver’s but it clearly falls into the “good enough” category. In season one, we see her struggling to get her baby to latch, fighting the good fight to breastfeed, even when it’s clearly not working. Later, she’s figuring out how to co-parent after separating from her cheating husband, first denying him the ability to see his kids and then eventually granting it. By the end of season three, she’s making her toddler’s Halloween costume in a hotel bathroom, sneaking away from her sexy new lover to make sure her kid has something to wear. None of these parenting moments shows a perfect mom. But they each show a woman struggling to do right by herself and her kid.

Kate has to work at mothering, not because she’s a bad person but because she’s human. So much of the portrayal of parenthood omits these day-to-day difficulties. Instead, it’s how best to guide your kid — not how to deal with the constant pressure to subsume yourself to the cult of good motherhood.

In the second season of Workin’ Moms, we see a lot of younger Kate, learning how she met her husband, what she was like before kids. And like everyone I know in real life, Kate is the same before and after having kids. She doesn’t become a different person. Instead, she remains the funny, morally-flexible person who quips to defend herself but can’t predict when she’s about to take a joke too far.

I sympathize with Kate not for her lack of conventions but rather for her flawed nature. She’s not evil or saintly. Simply she’s imperfect and women, particularly mothers, are rarely given the chance to tell that story.

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Teen Gang Members on TV: “On My Block” and “Riverdale”
Justicia and CulturaWhat We're Watching

Teen Gang Members on TV: “On My Block” and “Riverdale”

by Cristina Escobar
written by Cristina Escobar

I don’t normally watch, let alone recommend, shows about gang members. Characters like that are over-represented, giving the false impression that people of color are all cholos. Yet, I found Netflix’s On My Block to be the rare show that manages to depict gangs without romanticizing or pathologizing them. And I particularly like how the show contrasts with the CW’s Riverdale, a similarly structured teen drama, where the main character who joins a gang is white.

Both shows feature a mixed group of four high school friends, navigating coming of age in their troubled communities. On My Block’s main characters are all people of color with the Afro-Latina Monse as the group’s lone girl, Cesar and Ruby representing diverse Latino experiences, and Black Jamal rounding out the group. They’re in Freeridge, a fictional South Central neighborhood of Los Angeles plagued by gang violence. In Riverdale, the central group is much paler with White Archie, Jughead, and Betty getting a bit of color with Latina Veronica. These four inhabit the titular small, picturesque town losing its innocence.

These shows have A LOT in common

On both shows, one member of the central quartet joins a gang — with vastly different results. On On My Block, Cesar’s gang membership is an obstacle, a blatant tragedy. His friends’ attempts to save him propels much of the plot. By the end of season two, he’s negotiating with his brother and gang leader Spooky to be excused from the gang’s violent duties. Meanwhile, on Riverdale, being a Southside Serpent gives Jughead power and purpose. He ends up the leader of the group, keeping his fellow gang members from dealing drugs and protecting them from gentrifiers along the way.

Take for example the initiation process. We learn that Cesar has joined the Santos gang by seeing the bruises on his abdomen, an ugly, painful sign of getting jumped in. He’s not proud of his wounds and the show doesn’t dramatize the process, letting the injury speak for itself. Meanwhile, we see each step of Jughead’s initiation, some of it silly (taking care of a cute dog, being stung by a venom-less snake), some reminiscent of joining a frat (reciting memorized group rules), and some classic hypermasculine “heroics” (surviving a punching line of fellow Snakes). In Jughead’s initiation, he stands defiant and strong, taking his punches while looking his peers in the eyes. This portrayal glamorizes the process, making the violence a chance for Jughead to show his strength of character.

Against all likelihood, Jughead becomes the leader of the Southside Serpents

In fact, violence generally is a way for the teens of Riverdale to prove themselves. They solve the murder of their classmate Jason Blossom and expose a drug kingpin in the process. They catch not one but two suspected serial killers. They cover up murders, attack people, and still run for student council. They may grapple with their “darkness” but the show portrays all this violence with the same seriousness as it does wrestling tryouts, keeping us from having to consider what it’s like to be a teenager facing violence.

On My Block has no such delusions. Its black and brown characters inhabit a place much closer to reality, where murder is not something a normal teen should have to think about. After Cesar and Monse are rolled up on by rival gang member Latrelle, Spooky tasks Cesar with killing this new threat. Cesar attempts it but in the end, balks. You see Latrelle may be a rival gang member but it wasn’t too long ago that they were classmates, peers. Not wanting to become a killer, Cesar tells Latrelle to leave Freeridge and never come back. The threat works for a while but (spoiler) Latrelle returns in the season one finale, shooting two of our principal characters, killing one.

This violence — the death of an innocent fifteen-year-old and near-death of another — does not take a single episode or arc to resolve. The horror of it gives Ruby PTSD and leaves all of our characters in mourning for the entire second season. Meanwhile, Cesar is further punished for his good deed, exiled from the gang and forced to sleep on the street between staying with friends. The adults here respond not by being impressed by the young teen’s action (like they are with Jughead’s) but rather dismayed by the circumstance. For a few episodes there, it felt like everyone was just repeating the sentiment that “no child should be in this situation.”

Cesar is literally the smallest member of the Santos

On My Block illustrates a fact — gang violence hurts the children in its wake. It does not lift them up a la Jughead becoming the leader of the Serpents. And the violence is shown for what it is — ugly, irreversible, and de-humanizing. It’s not the mystery of the week. And it’s not the defining characteristic for any of our young heroines. Monse, Cesar, Ruby, and Jamal may live in a violent world but they’re typical teens, as worried about their latest crush and parent problems as they are about the state of their neighborhood. You see in addition to gang violence, On My Block portrays a slapstick treasure hunt (with gnomes no less), the double standard around hooking up (boys get points, girls a reputation), and an on-going bit about masturbation (socks figure in heavily).

Cesar is not “The Gang Member” to his friends or the audience and neither is Jughead (whose whiteness makes this trick much easier). In fact, they’re both the only gang members in their group of friends, ensuring we see other parts of their identity. With its brown and black point of view, On My Block takes the responsibility of righting the traditional gang narrative. Meanwhile, Riverdale hyper sensationalizes and promotes harmful myths but avoids any major offenses, mostly by keeping its of-color characters out of the Serpents and positioning the group as a response to Riverdale’s classist Northside/Southside conflict. Together, these shows ask viewers to see gangs not as brown or black menaces but rather the result of structural inequality. And for that, I commend them.

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Only 1 Latinx Person Won an Emmy — That’s Just Not Enough
Justicia and Cultura

Only 1 Latinx Person Won an Emmy — That’s Just Not Enough

by Cristina Escobar
written by Cristina Escobar

There were many beautiful moments at the 2019 Emmy’s. Michelle Williams demanding fair treatment at work for women and particularly women of color. Billy Porter becoming the first black gay man to win an Emmy and quoting James Baldwin in his acceptance speech. Alex Borsteinurging women to “step out of line” like her grandmother did to survive the Holocaust.

The best of these was certainly Jharrel Jerome winning best actor in a limited series for When They See Us. The first Afro-Latino to win an acting Emmy, Jerome is also the youngest person to win this category at just 21. In his acceptance speech, he dedicated his award to the Exonerated Five, spoke Spanish, and, of course, thanked writer/director/producer Ava Duvernay, who definitely deserved to win her own Emmy.

“I hope this is a step forward for Dominicans, for Latinos, for Afro-Latinos. It’s about time we are here” said Jerome and we agree. The Dominican, Latinx, Afro-Latinx communities have been passed over for too long, talents not given the opportunity to shine on the main stage. These words were Jerome’s response to a question from Remezcla reporter Manuel Betancourt, the first time the Latinx publication was credentialed for the Emmys. When Latinx are both at the podium and asking the questions, great stuff happens.

So while we take this moment to celebrate Jerome’s win (and Betancourt’s reporting), we are far from satisfied. It was great seeing Latinx multi-hyphenates Jimmy Smits and Lin-Manuel Miranda presenting but that was the extent of our representation. Not a single Latina graced the Emmy stage. Not as a winner, not as a presenter, not even as a nominee. This in the year that saw the final seasons of Jane the Virgin and Orange Is The New Black, original EGOT winner Rita Moreno in ODAAT, AND Vida. Latinas were not just absent but ignored.

This erasure happened despite the fact that we certainly know how to do awards shows. I mean JLo literally caused the invention of Google Images with her green Versace dress, now celebrating its 20th anniversary and still breaking the internet. The women of Pose(not nominated, not brought on stage, seated in the back) arguably won the red carpet. We know how to bring it.

Perhaps the Television Academy is scared of us. Remember the debacle they got in a few years ago when they literally put Sofia Vergara on a pedestal? Or perhaps they’re worried they’ll repeat the mistake the Globes made in confusing Latina actresses for each other. But maybe I’m being too generous. It could be they just don’t know what to do with women of color in general. I mean Sandra Oh’s never won despite all those years as the formidable Dr. Cristina Yang (not to mention her current role as the titular Eve on Killing Eve). They didn’t give Ava Duvernay the statues she deserved last night. In fact, they didn’t give any WOC awards. No black women won, no Latinas were nominated, see the note about Sandra Oh above.

And while white women won all of the acting categories, Phoebe Waller-Bridge was the only woman to win a non-acting category, thanks to her writing for Fleabag (which went on to win Best Comedy). It was a rough night for women in general, and particularly for women of color.

The Emmys have to do better. TV is more diverse than film and the Television Academy shows should celebrate, rather than shun that fact. At a moment where activism around media representation continues to make headlines, we should be further than this. Didn’t we learn anything from #OscarsSoWhite? What about all those studies from Annenberg? Yet, here we are, thrilled to be celebrating some firsts while huge proportions of our community get shut out. Again. It’s past time to make Latinas visible.

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