societal scrutiny on 'the orville'

One contemporary television show that I have become unexpectedly enamored with is Seth MacFarlane’s The Orville, a comedy-drama about the lives and adventures of crew members on an exploratory spaceship, the USS Orville, set a few hundred years in the future. I initially did not think much of the concept, as I am neither an avid viewer of science fiction nor a caring fan of MacFarlane’s other TV works; but one day last year, I casually watched an episode with a friend who liked the show, and to my pleasant surprise, I found appeal in its novel, genuine mix of everyday charm and epic adventure. Over the course of its two seasons, The Orville has quickly became one of my favorite current series, standing out as the only other-worldly tale amongst the handful of real-life-based comedies and dramas that I watch.

Many of The Orville’s episodes focus on traditional, epic science-fiction scenarios like extraterrestrial exploration and outer-space battles; but other major storylines, in a more toned-down, slice-of-life fashion, deal with social topics like love and sex and the workplace. I enjoy both of these types of narratives, though I gravitate towards the latter ones, due to how they provide much of the show’s humorous relatability and emotional groundedness. But it is this fusion of genres still that is important in making much of The Orville’s plotting work: it presents humanistic allegories through a fantastical lens, able to examine and deconstruct societal and cultural conventions through the unique inclusion of non-human civilizations.

My favorite episodes are those that explore the peculiar, or queer, if you will, nature of relationships in this futuristic setting. The aforementioned chapter I started with was season one’s “Cupid’s Dagger,” in which a male member of an alien race becomes sexually involved with both the crew’s captain, Ed, and commanding officer, Kelly. This being my first impression of the series, I was attracted to the quiet, unquestioned portrayal of queer intimacy, a small yet significant representation of fluidity that I appreciated. Another beloved installment of mine is season two’s “A Happy Refrain,” which explores the burgeoning courtship between the ship’s human doctor Claire and engineering officer Isaac, who is an artificial, robot-like lifeform purportedly incapable of emotion. Though such a bond is unusual, the episode allows it to develop organically with poignant intricacy and authenticity, as the two, like any couple, navigate the complexities of dating, romance, and even sex. I applaud The Orville’s eagerness to tell these simple but affecting narratives about differently-appearing relationships, utilizing the framework of science fiction but maintaining honest, meaningful sentiment.

Outside of these love stories, The Orville’s most noteworthy storylines are those that put up the harshest lens to real-life politics—and those revolve around the species from the planet Moclus. The Moclans are ostensibly a male-dominant species due to the rarity of female births, a fact first examined early in the first season when second officer Bortus and his mate, both Moclan males, bear a female child. The subsequent episode, “About a Girl,” involves a legal trial on Moclus to determine whether the infant will undergo sex reassignment surgery, divulging in further detail the Moclans’ superiority bias against females. The subject is expanded upon in season two’s “Deflectors,” which reveals that being attracted to females is a punishable crime on Moclus; such an idea so easily flips our world’s standard of heteronormativity on its head, illustrating what discrimination against heterosexuality looks like. Moclus’s culture is finally blown wide open in the later chapter “Sanctuary,” which reveals the existence of an entire colony of Moclan females on a hidden world, making for a compelling, universally-echoing political episode revolving around cultural traditions and prejudices, unjust laws and oppression, and the fundamental rights of living beings. More so than its ability to tackle ubiquitous topics like love and relationships, I admire The Orville’s ambitious and, I believe, successful execution of conveying such rich sociopolitical themes that resonate immensely with current issues in human society.

Between the above instances, its endearing and well-developed characters, and also some truly magnificent cosmic action scenes, The Orville manages to hold a place in my heart as a very special, extraordinary piece of entertainment. From a broader standpoint, the show is not perfect: at times, the writing can be questionable and distasteful, and the sillier gags can feel at odds with the weightier narrative material; and in the reviewing space, inevitable comparisons, positive and negative, are made to predecessors in the science-fiction genre, particularly Star Trek. But regardless of these challenges, I give credit to The Orville for the value it brings in this present era of human history: in the face of continually-thriving conservative ignorance, the series examines society with an open perspective, questioning what is customary and proposing freer, kinder images of existence. More fictional stories in entertainment ought to follow this model, as such is the true power of media: to not merely show what life is, but rather what it could and should be.

striving for my perception of fulfillment

“Do what makes you happy” is a message that we constantly hear and absorb; through social media, entertainment, news, and relationships, we are encouraged to strive to live our best, most joyous, most fulfilling lives. To most, this often translates into personal enjoyment and development: climbing the corporate ladder, taking splendid vacations, going to shows and concerts, finding the best restaurants, meeting all kinds of people, and so on. I have certainly tried to follow this sentiment for most of my life too: my parents have always urged me to chase my passions for art, music, and juggling; I love being able to travel the world with loved ones; I relish great food; and I love relaxing with television and music and attending Broadway shows. Like most people I know, I aim to have a fulfilling career, spend time with those I care about, and have fun.

But, in my burgeoning adulthood, that sentiment of enjoying life has morphed into a more complicated question, in a couple of ways. The first is how I’ve acquired a greater understanding of myself as an introvert. As a younger kid, the idea of fun precisely equated with going out with friends and doing “cool” or crazy things; and even today, that notion persists in my subconscience. But I have learned in the past few years, in clearer terms, about my heavy inclination towards introversion, which suggests that, while I do thoroughly appreciate being with loved ones and exploring the world’s activities, I am most psychologically at ease when in solitude and I enjoy being lost in my internal thoughts and inklings. Accordingly, I tend to be apprehensive in unfamiliar social situations and stay in my comfort zones, which are issues I am working on moderating; but I also have come to terms with allowing myself to have gratifying times outside of socializing—particularly dating—and expressing this attitude to others.

The second, and more significant, way involves reflecting on the idea of serving my own interests and happiness. I often recall to myself this quote I heard a couple of years ago from filmmaker Ava DuVernay:

“I feel really energized and electrified by the time that we’re in; these times will be studied! So the question is: what did you do? What did you do during this time?”

This question has stuck with me as an important, contemplative inquiry. Now that I’ve come out of my education and set out on a path for the rest of my life, I find myself often wondering: what do I want to make of my time on this earth? What do I want to be remembered for? What do I want to give to this world? I certainly want to continue to indulge in my personal passions and enjoy life’s pleasures; but, with the privilege of being mentally, financially, and physically well-off, I know there is more I could do to contribute to the communities and environments around me.

This process of finding not only what brings me happiness but also what value I can bring to humanity is a never-ending and complex one. Sometimes it can be hard to balance activities and interests that serve only my desires versus those that serve some sort of greater good, and I acknowledge that I am still figuring out that harmony. I have taken the most pride in outwardly exploring gender discrepancies through fashion, though I know this is a very small-scale effort and is also a hobby that simply brings me joy. I have expanded my environmentalist efforts a little bit—I have greatly reduced my plastic usage, started contributing to composting, and have donated a little to organizations—but there is clearly much more I could be doing and researching. As I continue to follow these pursuits, I hope to become the best version of myself that I can be—a version that includes not just a personal fulfillment but also giving back to the world that has let me lead this life.

nonissues of sexuality with 'schitt's creek'

Click to view possibly the most romantic television scene of 2018.

I started viewing Schitt’s Creek a couple of years ago after a previous roommate (who was Canadian, like the show) recommended it. So, without any high expectations, I dove into the two seasons available on Netflix—and I don’t think I’ve ever burned through so many episodes so quickly in my life! The premise was perhaps familiar—an out-of-touch rich family loses everything and starts over in a humble small town—but with its amazingly specific, quirky characters, sharply funny dialogue, and underlying warmth, I could see how exceptional the show was, and it quickly became a favorite of mine to watch and rewatch over and over again.

But more than its entertainment value, Schitt’s Creek does a wonderful job of conveying positive messages about fluid identities. David Rose, the acerbically witty and boldly stylish son of the family (who has partially inspired my own clothing tastes), is revealed to be pansexual in season one and has experienced a number of sexual and romantic events throughout the show, such as sleeping with his best female friend Stevie, dating the same man as Stevie, and presently exploring a relationship with his business partner Patrick. All of the main characters are written with full, layered development, but this is particularly evident with David, who is hilarious in personality, has inspiring professional endeavors, and is thriving (if messily) as a sexually-fluid person.

Beyond this mere representation, the show’s portrayal of queer identities feels groundbreaking in its quiet normalization. While LGBTQ+ representation in media has become more positive over the years, many historical depictions have given the idea of queerness a lot of stress, often bringing it about as a large shock or revelation that needs to be addressed and debated. But on Schitt’s Creek, sexuality is but one facet of a person, as equal as any other part, and it is not treated as a problem or something that needs regular mention. One may have expected particularly more fanfare around pansexuality, a part of the spectrum so rarely represented; but, in truth, the word “pansexual” has only been uttered once on the series (when David’s orientation is disclosed). Instead of addressing this topic with argument or scrutiny, the writers simply allow David and the other queer characters to simply live through their identities, letting the idea of non-heteronormative lifestyles to be seamlessly integrated within the show’s world.

And this idealistic depiction was a purposeful choice: Dan Levy, co-creator of Schitt’s Creek and portrayer of David, has asserted that he will never incorporate bigotry or intolerance into the narrative and will instead always illustrate queer people existing as normally as anyone else. As he stated in an interview with People, “If you talk about it, you’re giving it weight. If you can just show people how life should be, then they can’t help but open themselves up to it.” Besides definitely supporting this viewpoint—it is refreshing to see a queer story that does not involve homophobia or repression—I found myself relating to those words dearly, as I’ve come to realize that I choose to live by a similar philosophy. I don’t discuss my asexuality because I consider it a nonentity, and I hope for a future in which sexual orientation becomes a nonissue and sex and romance in general are not so heavily emphasized by society. The principle also applies to my feelings about gendered clothes: when we continue to categorize fashion as women’s and men’s, it just gives more weight to the harmful and reductive gender binary, and I wish to work towards a world in which the deterministic, automatic power of gender is no more.

I have recently seen many enlightening pieces regarding Schitt’s Creek and its currently-airing fifth season, and I couldn’t be happier that the series has grown so immensely in popularity since its premiere in 2015. Outside of simply being an extremely welcome piece of entertaining and well-written escapism, its novel approach of celebrating same-sex relations and fluidity is, I believe, a necessary step towards normalizing queer identities in reality and one that more shows, films, and other items of media should take. Cultural transformation does not happen quickly, but through innovative series like Schitt’s Creek and hopefully more fearless successors to come, the beginnings of change can start now.

asexual or apathetic?

Call this my coming out, if you will: I identify as asexual. I have never been in a romantic or sexual relationship and have never prioritized finding one. I rarely initiate discussions on the matter: when family and friends inquire if I'm dating anyone, I always merely state "No, I'm not interested in dating." For me, coming out, in the official sense of the phrase, has never felt necessary, as I don’t really try to actively hide my orientation.

Then again, I’ve only disclosed this part of myself to a handful of people, namely friends from college and childhood who I know would pay no mind to it and accept it as normal; meanwhile, I have never spoken about the topic explicitly with my family, nor do I prefer to mention it amongst my conservative-leaning friends. While I hold out on mentioning my sexuality with that latter group, out of fear of ruining those relationships—another issue entirely that I choose to ignore, for now—I know my extremely supportive, open-minded family would not respond negatively in the slightest towards the matter. So why do I not care to discuss it with those I love the most?

Well firstly, I feel no need to discuss something that is presently nonexistent: like I stated, my simple answer to the dating question is “no,” and with personal regard, there is not much else to say beyond that. But secondly, I hesitate to talk about my orientation more seriously because of my uncertainty in identifying myself as asexual. Sometimes I do find myself attracted to people and wanting romantic or sexual encounters, and at different points in my life I thought myself to be gay, straight, bisexual, or demisexual. So is my lack of a partner due to an inability to find one, as opposed to a disinterest? Perhaps I seek some sort of intimate relationship but without sex? I feel that asexuality somewhat implies absolute indifference towards romance and sex and dating—which I know not to be true but is nevertheless a sustained impression—and I do not wish to put myself in any such box that suggests I am completely closed off to these things.

Even with these issues and questions sporadically lingering in my mind, the bottom line is that I currently do not feel the need to investigate this aspect of myself. For many people, delving into sex and relationships is a large priority of one's life, and this is not the case for me. I find myself more compelled to follow other pursuits I am more fundamentally interested in and want to attribute to my character and life, particularly creative outlets like fashion and music or, hopefully more so in the future, greater activist efforts. I acknowledge that my sexuality, or lack thereof, is certainly part of my identity; hopefully, in a near time, I will feel more comfortable discussing it openly with everyone I hold close, and perhaps I will even find myself wanting to experience dating in the future. At the present, however, there are other activities and passions that I have become more emboldened to be involved with and disclose to the world, and I am confident in my sense of self to do so with total pride.