SPOILER ALERT: This post contains revealing plot information about the television programs The Queen’s Gambit and The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.
When my dad told me I had to watch The Queen’s Gambit on Netflix, my first thought was, “The last show you told me I had to watch was Ozark. So no thanks, I’m good.” I realize Ozark is probably a good show. I just. . . If I have to watch something that looks like it was color graded using the blue Snapchat filter, I’d rather watch Twilight.
But then he told me the main character reminded him of me, so my self-absorbed ass had to see it to believe it. The last time my dad told me to watch a show because someone reminded him of me was Nicole Richie’s Candidly Nicole. This was when I was in seventh grade, so suffice to say, from that day on, I started basing my entire personality on Nicole Richie. So I was excited to watch The Queen’s Gambit, if only for the purpose of introducing another persona to my rolodex of characters I employ on a daily basis. But this is a personal issue, so I digress.
I was impressed with myself for not only being able to, but for genuinely enjoying, essentially seven hours of people playing chess. I normally have a hard time watching shows that don’t have constant dialogue. (What can I say? I need to feel like I’m at a party at all times.) But The Queen’s Gambit made introspection work. I think Beth Harmon’s cool outfits helped keep me engaged.
If you want a comprehensive review of this masterpiece, you can find that somewhere else. My objective here is to talk about the one thing this show did. . . probably wrong, definitely questionably. I’m making note of a phenomenon I’ve noticed in at least two period pieces of recent years: There’s LGBTQ representation. But they’re not gonna tell you that.
There’s a weirdly confusing scene in the third episode, “Doubled Pawns.” In the scene, Townes invites Beth up to his hotel room to take photos of her for an article. There’s a total vibe between them, and it seems like something is about to sexcalate, when they are interrupted by Townes’ roommate(?)/friend, Roger. Upon Roger’s entrance, the vibe in the room instantly changes, resulting at the end of the episode in Beth telling Townes basically to leave her alone forever (sic). Probably for leading her on or something. We don’t know. Given that the scenes depicted throughout the show are illustrated exclusively in accordance with Beth’s perspective, I guess the ambiguity here is excusable, as we are meant to adopt Beth’s confusion(?). Except it’s not excusable when we consider that the resolution of this non-conflict between Beth and Townes, in the aptly titled seventh episode, “End Game,” is left just as ambiguous. They end the show forgiving each other, with a renewed friendship based on mutual love and respect, but. . . how? Why? What was the issue in the first place? We just don’t know. If Beth has now come to an understanding of Townes, why haven’t we?
We’re let in on the nuances of all Beth’s other relationships, with everyone from her chess mentor Mr. Shaibel, to her birth mother and her adoptive mother, to her high school nemesis Margeret, heck, even with the two chess loser twins Mike and Matt. Beth’s relationship with Townes is a major recurrence throughout the show. He’s presented as the archetypal soulmate, even moreso than Beth’s fellow champion Benny, with whom we actually see consummation. So why is Townes’ possible gay- or bi-ness the show’s only loose end? It doesn’t help the show’s case that there’s a second example of blink-and-you-miss-it maybe representation, in the case of Beth’s likely hookup with Cleo. We see all her other hookups (with men). Why does the show choose ambiguity only in the case of possible LGBTQ representation? It sticks out in an unnatural way, in a show that is otherwise so raw, so explicit in its depiction of the inner and immediately external world of Beth Harmon’s coming-of-age journey.
I couldn’t help but draw a parallel between The Queen’s Gambit and Amazon Prime Video’s The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. Tone aside, the shows have similarities: they take place in the same era with a superstar female lead who wears cool outfits and whom everyone loves despite her obvious self-obsession. I wish that was where the similarities ended. But no. These shows can’t be as flawlessly assembled as their protagonists’ ensembles. The latest season of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel ended with the titular Midge Maisel losing a major career opportunity after outing fellow performing artist Shy Baldwin in her act. Which would be a really humbling twist of fate for our protagonist, if only I’d actually picked up on the fact that Shy was gay. I didn’t.
(It’s been a minute since I watched this, but I’m pretty sure we were supposed to deduce that Shy was gay purely on the fact that he met Midge in a women’s bathroom. I don’t know. I thought the women’s room just had better mirrors or something.)
It doesn’t help that the show has already gained a reputation (at least among me, myself, and I) for neglecting what could be one of the most interesting characters ever, Midge’s manager Susie, who has only ever hinted at not being straight. Keep in mind, Susie takes up, like, half of the show’s screen time. It’s getting to the point where the show’s silence re:Susie is just weird.
These shows have built into them opportunities to show sides of the sixties that have seldom been seen before in mainstream media (this design couldn’t have been by accident), and yet they don’t take them. The only explanation I can imagine for the weird non-representation in contemporary period pieces is that the creators/writers of these shows are trying to please both audiences of young people and audiences of older people watching these shows not just for the aesthetic, but for the nostalgia. In the latter case, a lot of these oldies are probably still holding tight to fears of the other that the rest of us have outgrown by now. So maybe the shows are being designed so that oldies can retain comfort and pretend they do not see? Weird. Nonetheless.
It should be needless to say, but I shouldn’t have to scrounge Reddit in order to understand the thirty seconds of LGBTQ representation in a TV show. Scrounging Reddit is embarrassing enough in itself, for any reason. I’m ashamed that I’m even admitting that I know what that site is, but it’s necessary to mention here just to properly illustrate the level of depravity these shows have awakened in me.