Monday, January 17

What mind does ‘L World’ dream of?

Two new seasons of ‘L Word, Q generation’ have been released. The most mythical series of the North American lesbian culture by Ilene Chaiken, after fifteen years, when no one believed that it could be resurrected, it came to tension a generational dialogue between what we were and are with the iconic characters of Bette, Shane and Alice, and a new series of young people satelliteing their small economic empires. That series touched our subjectivities on poor DVD quality and offered some models of thin lesbianism, urban desire, the fury of an androgynous look. He also knew how to gnaw on a sociology of his own with a comical diagram of that endemic custom, self-protective of a community closed by instinct of conservation: the dangerous and sensual inbreeding. In times of thirst for repression and separatism, ‘L Word’ was an oasis in six seasons. The monumental economic access of the protagonists, their enormous houses and well-ironed clothes did not startle us, rather they were the possibility of a denied right. At the time, read as economic, sexual, post-racial inclusion, we gave in to the insistent stories of coming out of the closet, the death of the favorite cake, and the lousy trans male treatment. The visual hunger for identification and equality in consumer spaces mobilized us; occupying the highest spaces permeated the retina and the LGBT agenda of then – and now? – was equitable market share. We were shocked by the speed of time internetized, the monster of serial platforms, algorithms and recognition engines have gained in speed, the L world has widened, population segments have been hyper-studied and the concessions of time are met with the challenge of a new century, in which the pedagogy emotional sex of the great current productions gains the cerebral terrain. The racial, colonial and class intersection became popular as a televised conflict and the individual identity struggles of US residents turned into collective modes – ‘Sense8’, ‘Pose’, ‘Stories from San Francisco’.

I, a devotee of filthy TV, without getting on the wagon of signaling morality, devouring the liquid screen with red eyes, the cultural consumptions that squeeze my heart, I experienced a strong emotional connection with grown characters. Not just in age, but in fame and success. And, although we can accept the premise according to which nostalgia as an emotion is a determining factor for the capture of viewers, that bond with the protagonists at the absolute top, where social advancement due to entrepreneurship and conviction seem the answer, continues to drive my insomniac passion. The affective turn is not only queer theory, but we can trace it in the center of the productions, ‘Euphoria’ and ‘Sex Education’, especially, that display that aspect of integral sexuality: the need to learn to put the correct words to the intensity that gallops inside. The effectiveness of this sentimental education queer looms over the new generation Q of L Word. The new generations continue a legacy and do not confront identity agendas. The current themes are instrumentalized in the script as once: polyamory and failure, children of many moms in conflict with donors, ex with ex and ex, horrible parents, straight macho undermining the Show of Alice, religion and drunkenness. And the beautiful trans actress Jamie Clayton, recovering from addictions, sleeps with the best; and young Chinese-American trans actor, instagramer, Leo Sheng, goes from fucking on Tinder to falling in love with an Afro-Latino lawyer with a disability. Well correct before the possible questioning, according to the series, in the generations queer Under 30, among lots of cis girls there is only one trans masculinity and one trans femininity. At each end of an identity spectrum, trans masculinity desires the only person with a disability in the series, and trans femininity gets the prettiest and most coveted cis lesbian.

I, a devotee of television and its classics, will review the three protagonists who are on the heels of the legendary heterosexuals of ‘Sex and the City’. Because, if the series platforms take advantage of something, it is our emotional affectations, that we were once able to fantasize with an absurd identification. The best, the tough and brilliant Bette Portter (Jennifer Beals), from being an art curator to a candidate for the Government of Los Angeles. Bette Portter isn’t exactly Ada Colau, but her new twist is probably inspired by Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez and the trials cis women face in high places of power. Your candidacy is focused on rights queer and Afro as a visible lesbian who suffered the loss of her sister from prescribed opiate use. Bette, the tough Bette, gives moving speeches that make people cry and drag the frown of failure when, strictly speaking, life dances for her like in Flash Dance. A lesbian lady who tries hard, faultless, rigid, even a little aggressive in her form of emotional handicap, of whom she never lets see her vulnerability. Fanatic and lover of those who do, with their injuries, set fires. Fanatic, yes, of those tender and broken hearts that surround her without ever victimizing herself.

On the other hand, Shane Mc Cutcheon (Katherine Moennig), More millionaire than ever and just as skinny and lanky as ever, she has evolved from a heartbreaker to maintaining certain responsibilities, taking pity on one of the girls of the new generation: Filey. Between silly, butch, poor and lost, she finds in her mega apartment the shelter she lacks in the family. Shane regains the lesbian territory of the night, owner of the bar, comes to bet stronger than before, to be a counselor, focused and a good friend. Even good ex. Despite the character’s progression, her hairstyle remains the same as in the 90s. Finally, the most hilarious, the bisexual Alice Pieszecki (Leisha Hailey), He experiments with relationships open to narcissism clothed in kindness, is rewarded with a certain snobbery, and fascinates the big publishing and entertainment industry conglomerates. It is the reference L of mass culture. And so famous and important, she goes through light courses of love in which the sorrows of the duel for her dead lover in the last season are hidden. In short, the three have transcended, they are the most important of their society. Good lesbians of the American dream. I, perhaps belonging to the first generations caring for identity post visibility, I ask myself: what night, what mind, what system continues to dream of them?



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