Orange is the New Black could have been terrible. It should have been terrible. On paper, a dramedy about a white girl being sent to prison and reacting to the zany antics of incarcerated minorities filled me with dread, and the first episode didn't do much to dissuade my fears. For once, I'm thankful that my laziness and generalized hatred of physical movement led me to start episode two rather than going outside and doing something else -- after a shaky start this series found its voice and became one of the most unexpectedly enjoyable things I've ever seen.
Unfortunately, the biggest problem with the series is its lead role. Piper Chapman (played by Taylor Schilling), is one of the most unlikeable main characters I have ever experienced on a tv show -- and I'm a Seinfeld fan. Her fiance Larry Bloom (Jason Biggs), and their friends and family are equally insufferable, but more on that later.
I realize that a show about a white girl going to prison and being completely aware of her privilege and arriving with no hard lessons to learn would not only be unrealistic but also make for very bad TV, but her clueless whining and blame-deflecting sense of entitlement are as frustrating for us to watch as they are for the people around her to live with. My biggest fear based on the first episode was that this was going to be a show about a white girl being sent to a horrible place with scary groups of minorities that hate her for no reason!! and were there purely to make us feel sorry for the unfair treatment of this poor blonde princess. Thankfully, as the series continued, there were many times where Piper was called out and forced to check her privilege, and the show seems aware of the problematic nature of her being the lens through which we view the prison and experience this world. For a while, I was unable to decide whether my issue was solely with the character or if Schilling's performance was part of the problem. Finally, in episode nine, there was a moment that proved Schilling has the acting chops to push this character to the point where we may find something redeeming in her. Those of you that have finished the show will probably know the exact scene I'm talking about. She's still terrible, but her character growth is palpable. There is hope.
One of the main ways I determine if a piece of fiction works is whether or not I care about its characters. Not just while watching the show -- sometimes good writing can help force an emotional response to characters you wouldn't otherwise care about -- but after I turn off the TV. Do I still think about these people? Do I care about what happens to them while I'm running around throughout the course of my day? I was about halfway through this initial batch of 13 episodes before I realized that a (sadly large) portion of my time outside of the apartment was being spent wondering about what was happening back at the prison.
And that is what the real joy of this show is, and what makes it something truly special: the people that live inside those walls. And I will say this: despite the inherent problems of trying to fully explore such a large ensemble cast over the course of only 13 episodes, and the fact that we are supposed to experience them through the filtered perceptions of a scared white girl, the writers managed to show something about each character to make them matter to us in some way. If I had initial misgivings about the seemingly flippant tone of the pilot, these were quelled as the show progressed. Yes, the show is often funny and lighter in tone than one might expect (this is not Oz), but it is also quite frequently heartbreaking and powerful, especially as these characters endear themselves to the viewer and become real people to us. Some characters are better developed than others, as is expected in a cast this size, but I'm hoping season two will bring us more deeply into these stories. This is not a Ryan Murphy show -- the characters grow and change, but do so on a trajectory that feels natural and makes sense.
One of the things that impressed me the most was that the women, for the most part, actually look, behave, and interact with each other like "real" women. This show has a cast of women of all colors, shapes, sizes (and the larger characters are not treated as jokes!), and backgrounds, and again, while some are better represented than others, I appreciate the fact that we get to see groups of women talking to each other about things other than men, which is rare in any piece of media. I don't mean to imply that any kind of woman is not a "real" woman, but to critique the fact that no one in Hollywood seems to know how to write women without defining them as either a virgin, a mother, or a whore -- all three of which, of course, being defined solely by their relation to men.
Men, unfortunately (as in real life) are the reason, at least tangentially, that many of these women have been incarcerated, and this is another thing that impressed me. The show doesn't try to moralize. It doesn't sugarcoat the fact that many of these women have done horrible things with trying to pretend that everyone in there is innocent or the victim of accidental circumstances, nor does it attempt to separate people into "heroes and villains" territory based on the nature of their offenses. The show challenges us in an interesting yet subtle and not heavy-handed way to think about our notions of crime and punishment, and this is evident in the fact that, as we get to know these women, we find that many of them who have done "worse" things than Chapman's crime (murder, etc) are actually much stronger, better, and more caring people than Chapman herself is.
The show also doesn't shy away from turning a mirror back onto itself and the viewer, and this is most cleverly represented later in the series as Larry's radio interview plays throughout the prison in a powerful dialogue-free scene. Like this irritating couple, we as viewers may have initially tuned into the prison as voyeurs, watching the stories of these women and cherry picking the funny or interesting bits to co-opt for our own amusement. Somewhere along the way, though, they stop being stories and become real people, and the entitlement and cluelessness of the people on the outside becomes something we grow more and more detached from (and, in my case, grew to disdain). Eventually, we too feel Chapman's growing distance from her life outside the prison, and the tone shifts and the joke is no longer on the women behind the prison walls -- the people on the outside are the ones that begin to seem ridiculous. And I really appreciate this change in perspective. The topic of the treatment of female prisoners is one of the few subjects in which I am utterly humorless, but if this show can use humor to help people identify and empathize with the idea of women behind bars, I think it is offering a subtle but welcomed idea that goes beyond mere entertainment.
Although the show unfortunately does remain largely Caucasian-centric because of Chapman, it does go further than most in its portrayal of women of color. I was pleasantly surprised to see Sophia (Laverne Cox), a black trans woman, treated as a real person and not there purely as a joke or a clown. It is refreshing to see her struggle with transitioning and the effects it has on her wife and her son, and some of their scenes together are the most touching in the series. Likewise, the rest of the black cast are thankfully treated as people and not purely as comic relief, and if at first their friendships seem superficial and based purely on color, it is interesting to see them develop and witness some of the very real and very emotional moments between them over the course of the series, particularly in the second half.
Its treatment of Latinas is somewhat more problematic. We do get moments of seeing them as individuals, but they are largely lumped in as the harshest and most oversexualized of the groups, and I'm hoping that season two helps us get to know them as individuals beyond their obvious and expected stereotypical roles.
All the women in this show do a great job and work well as an ensemble, but I feel compelled to give some specific shoutouts. I'll admit, Kate Mulgrew is the reason I started watching, and although my initial feelings about her portrayal of Red suffered from suspension-of-disbelief issues, I eventually stopped seeing it as Janeway-putting-on-a-Russian-accent and started believing it. Both brutal and tender, cold and warm hearted, Mulgrew brings a lot of depth to this performance, and I was constantly wanting more. Taryn Manning does a great job as the Jesus-freak "Pennsatucky", the closest thing the show has to a villain. Pennsatucky is absolutely terrible, the one woman in the prison I truly despise, but Manning brings a lot to this performance and really sells it. Being able to create something truly loathsome is an often overlooked skill in Hollywood.
Uzo Aduba as Suzanne/"Crazy Eyes" manages to make us laugh as well as break our collective hearts (I still smile to myself recalling her Shakespearean take on a Scared Straight school visit), and she fulfills an important role in charting Chapman's character trajectory -- as well as ours as an audience. Miss Claudette (Michelle Hurst), stern and dignified and utterly real to me, brought me to tears on several occasions.
Laura Prepon's portrayal of Amazonian lesbian drug smuggler (I enjoyed typing those words) Alex Vause that has been one that has drawn the most harshly divided love/hate opinions in reviews of this show, and I myself took a while to make up my mind. I'm not entirely convinced that Prepon is an amazing actress, but I do think she is perfectly cast here. If she at first seemed flat and obnoxious, as she begins to open up and show us her vulnerable side, I began to get on board. I sympathize with her feelings of love and frustration over Chapman, and their scenes together have a lot more chemistry than any of the heterosexual couples we see onscreen. Speaking of chemistry, Alex and Nicky (Natasha Lyonne) have made me consider wanting to watch lesbian porn for the first time in my life.
The true breakout star of season one of Orange is the New Black seems to be Danielle Brooks. Taystee is a character that could have been strictly one-note comic relief, but Brooks brings such heart and conviction to this performance that it puts us in the uncomfortable situation of wishing the best for her and wanting to see her succeed but also selfishly sort of wanting her to fail so she has to stay in prison so we don't have to see her go. Television success today seems to be measured more by the amount of memes your character generates than winning an Emmy, and I'm hoping that Brooks manages a career for herself outside of this show, because I think she is immensely talented.
For all its flaws, Orange is the New Black is a series that clearly has its heart in the right place and seems to have connected with a wide demographic to become a huge hit for Netflix. Funny, heartbreaking, thought-provoking, surprisingly self-aware, and most of all addicting, Orange is the New Black is one of the best shows I have seen in a very long time. If Season Two steps it up and addresses some of the issues I mentioned, I think it is capable of achieving genuine greatness.
...but the title is still fucking terrible. Rating: B+
