10 Female Characters Who Kick Ass (Without Actually Kicking Ass)

I saw a list of 100 greatest film characters not long ago and was fairly appalled by the lack of female characters on the list. And the few girls who did appear were in the iconic action heroine mold - the likes of Ripley, The Bride, Pussy Galore and any number of Angelina Jolie ass-kickers. Sure, there were plenty of male action heroes on the list too, but the top 10 also included characters like Atticus Finch, Vito Corleone and Charles Foster Kane. There seemed to be few comparable women. Worst of all, while listing the Scarlett O'Hara's 'defining moment', they picked Rhett Butler kissing her - a moment in which she was utterly passive.

So, on goes my feminist hat, and here's my list, in no particular order, of the top 10 strong female characters in TV, literature and film who aren't action heroines. They're just women who know their own mind and whose lives do not revolve around their men. Sorry Bella Swan fans - you're going to be disappointed.

Peggy Olson (Mad Men)

Joan gets the best outfits, but Peggy is the thinking woman's idol. She's clawed her way up the male-dominated ladder of the 1960s without ever compromising her principals. Writer Matthew Weiner and actress Elisabeth Moss have created a believably complex woman, torn between her passion for her work and her desire to conform (on some level) with what is expected of women.

Hildy Johnson (His Girl Friday)

Hildy is the newspaper reporter about to quit to get married, until her editor ex-husband pulls out all the stops to get her to stay. But it's not his manipulations that change her mind - the scent of a good story and her own passion for the job is what causes her to ditch the fiance. It's slightly depressing to compare this (from 1940) and any Katharine Hepburn roles to female characters in modern romantic comedy.

Elizabeth Bennet (Pride and Prejudice)

Long before women could vote, Jane Austen created the wonderfully independent Elizabeth Bennet, a woman who only entertained the idea of marriage when she met a man who was her equal. You even get the impression that had Mr Darcy not been interested, she'd have gotten over it. Two centuries later, we got Bridget Jones - a woman obsessed with her weight and her love life. Hmm.

Lyra Silvertongue (His Dark Materials)

I refuse to use a picture of Dakota Blue Richards for this since the Lyra of the shoddy adaptation bears no resemblance to the loveable, three-dimensional character in Philip Pullman's brilliant books. Over three books she grows seamlessly from a naive, showboating child to a sensitive, mature young woman, and in a novel famous for it's religious viewpoints it's a shame that no-one ever points out that it's also a beautiful allegory for puberty.

Marion Ravenwood (Raiders of the Lost Arc)

Action movie producers take note - here's how you do a love interest. Marion isn't just tagging along because she fancies Indy, or because someone got her into this mess. She has her own motivation throughout and even when she's imperilled she's never weak. Just don't ever engage her in a drinking contest.

Lynette Scavo (Desperate Housewives)

She's a wife, a mother and so much more. In its early days the show bravely tackled the topic of a stay-at-home-Mum losing her identity and her marbles while stuck in the house looking after the kids, and as played by the brilliant Felicity Huffman, Lynette remains the only rounded character in a show increasingly populated by caricatures.

Rose Tyler (Doctor Who)

Rose is the ultimate everywoman, an ordinary girl who meets an amazing man and gets caught up in a crazy, magical life. But she stands out from the dozens of other companions because the Doctor needed her as much as she needed him. Alone, they were miserable and unfulfilled, but together - thanks to great writing and even better chemistry between the leads - they were, in the words of the Ninth Doctor, brilliant.

President Laura Roslin (Battlestar Galactica)

In a show populated by women who could literally kick your ass, President Roslin was the strongest, battling her own personal uncertainty, genocide, rebellion and eventually cancer with one of the strongest wills seen on screen. She's not perfect (she did try to rig an election) but perfect isn't believable. Laura Roslin is.

Lois Lane (DC comics)

Lois Lane is the comic book equivalent of a Katharine Hepburn character. Ostensibly, she's Superman's girlfriend/wife, and yes, occassionally she does need her big strapping man to fly over and save her, but we can forgive her that. Because the rest of the time she's a tenacious Pulitzer-winner with more balls than her famous hubby, and all the various screen and print versions of the character have had the sense to make her Clark Kent's equal in every way. Except, y'know, all the superpowers.

Juno (Juno)

I wanted a modern film heroine to round out this list (and to prove to myself that the last decent comedy role for a woman wasn't in the 1940s), and Ellen Page's Juno seemed to be the best choice. Juno is that rare thing, a teenage girl who's treated like a real, layered person and not a cliche. She's intelligent and she knows her own mind, the fact that she's 16 doesn't enter into it.


Have I missed any other strong female characters who don't have a gun in their hand or a black belt in kick boxing? Women who aren't just there as love interests or victims. Suggestions welcome!

Coming Out

Okay, deep breath, confession time. I've always known I was different to other girls, but I did my best to fit in. I'd talk about boys and shoes and hope no-one noticed that my heart wasn't in it. But now, finally, I feel like I can embrace the real me, the person I've always been under all the social conventions.

I'm a comic book geek.

There, I said it. Wow. I've talked a lot on this blog about film and TV, but that's more acceptible in some way. They are to comic books what marijuana is to heroin. Buffy the Vampire Slayer was my gateway drug. Now I'm hooked on all things geeky (except gaming - I'm still a joypad-mashing hopeless case when it comes to games).

But comics have actually been an important part of my life since I was a child. My Dad was a comic collector before he had to sell all his comics to pay for nappies and baby food and other frivolities. So my destiny as a geek was sealed from birth (my brother has taken a different but similar path - he's into Manga and World of Warcraft). All of Dad's comics were gone by the time I was born, so he'd tell me the stories from memory instead. My bedtime tales were "once upon a time there was a Caped Crusader, and his name was Batman..." Dad was a DC buff, so I was too. We would stand in the kitchen for hours on end as he smoked out the back door, telling me the stories of Watchmen, of the Talia Al Ghul/Silver St Cloud/Batman love triangle, of Starfire arriving on Earth and snogging Robin to learn English.

Then there were the cartoons. Every day on one of my summer holidays I got up at 7am to watch X-Men and Batman: The Animated Series. Then, when I was old enough to know better, I was hooked on X-Men: Evolution, Batman of the Future, Teen Titans and Justice League (which, for my money, is the best of the bunch). Then there were Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman and Smallville, although, ever my father's daughter, I was never a Supes fan.

The first graphic novel I ever read was The Dark Knight Returns, the one comic Dad had managed to hold onto. Not a bad introduction to comics, but maybe a little heavy for a newbie. But it all really kicked off when I spotted a Watchmen graphic novel, long before the film made it cool again. I remembered Dad's stories, and decided to buy it for his birthday. I think I read it even before he did. It became a tradition. Every birthday and Christmas I buy Dad a graphic novel. Initially, I just got him ones that he reminisced fondly about. Then I nicked it and read it. V for Vendetta, Frank Miller's Daredevil run... Then I started developing my own tastes, and soon I'd even overtaken my father. The day I bought him a comic and handed it to him with the words "I read this the other day, I thought you'd like it" was probably the most proud of me he's ever been. That moment kicked my graduation day into the dirt.

Why is now the time for me to come clean about all of this? Because I've just booked tickets to my first ever Comic Con. In April, I'm off to Kapow!, the brand new British answer to the San Diego Comic Con (thanks Mark Millar!). I'm already excited and most of the line-up hasn't even been announced yet. For the first time I'll be in the company of my nerdy peers, and I'll probably realise how little I actually know about comics, compared to most other people who call themselves fanboys (and girls).

No-one is just one person. I'm about six or seven. The other mes get regular excursions: Professional Me goes to work four days a week, Writer Me never shuts up, Party Girl Me gets glammed up and dances crazily every weekend (ish), Intellectual Me loves the theatre and carries a book everywhere she goes, Lazy Me has her very own sofa arse-print, Friends and Family Me reminds me what's really important. But Geek Me has to sit quietly at the back of the class. It'll never be the loudest or most prominant aspect of me, not unless I achieve my secret secondary dream of being a comic book writer (I really want to write TV), but it's about time I stopped hiding it.

Besides, it makes me quirky and interesting, right?

Back on the Literary Horse

The title's probably a dead giveaway, but in the past I've only used this blog for my latest geek ramblings. Now, I'm not saying that those days are over. I love a good ramble as much as the next tragically nerdy person and I may yet post a lengthy hypothesis on who is hotter: Arthur or Merlin, but for now I'm getting a bit more serious.

Wait, not serious. What's the word I'm looking for? Ah, that's it: self-indulgent.

I may have mentioned this, at length, but I'm a writer. Have been for 20 years or so. Fairly impressive for someone who's still only quarter of a century old. I used to staple together sheets of sugar paper covered in felt-tip scrawls and God-awful illustrations (art was never my calling). Then I graduated to ringbinders and finally computers, and along the way I also shifted from a prose writer to a script writer. I love film and TV (again, a cursory glance at the blog will have told you that much), and, while reading an interview with Joss Whedon as a teenager, I had a revelation: I want his job. I still do (although with fewer cancellations) and I am still chiefly a script writer. But recently an idea has been playing on my mind. It began life as a script, but I couldn't help but think: damn this would make a good book.

So here I am, dipping my rusty toes into the pool of novel writing. I used to be good at it. I recently re-read something I wrote when I was younger and it contained the line "Three sales were dipping and rising on the waves, torn, yellowing sales, dragging the remainder of the vessel into sight above the horizon". Not bad for a 17-year-old going through a pirate phase. But the problem is that since then I have been writing scripts that cut out all the fancy descriptive stuff and get straight to what interests me: dialogue, character and story. I'm out of practice with prose.

Hence, this blog. I'm going to use it to get back into the habit of describing tension-laden silences in more literary detail than "(Pause)". I may also use it to muse on the nature of being a writer, which isn't so much a career choice as a life sentence. It has more in common with a religious belief than a job: you know it's irrational and it doesn't quite add up, but that faith you have in it is utterly unshakable. If a bloke broke my heart half as often as writing has I'd have chucked him long ago. But here I am, coming back for more. Glutton for punishment that I am.

Same story, shiny new time period!

The national excitement over Sherlock is finally dying down now. Were we all so thrilled because it's the best programme the BBC have put out since Being Human? Because Benedict Cumberbatch is curiously sexy? Or because its success was such a surprise after all the nay-saying that had been going on from the hardcore fans who did not want a single inflection changed from Arthur Conan Doyle's original, let alone a entire era? And why is it that these days people seem to rank an adaptation by how faithful it was to the source material? Any attempts to change original are met with outcry (in the case of The Golden Compass the complaints were justified, but others actually improved on the source material, as with Watchmen’s ending). But why the resistance to change, especially since in recent years modernised classics have actually been better than their stodgy, faithful counterparts?

People have been putting Shakespeare into the modern day on stage and screen for years without anyone complaining. Back in 2005 the BBC screened its Shakespeare Retold season, a series of modern day updates of his plays, which turned Macbeth into an angry chef (played by James McAvoy, no less) and Much Ado About nothing was transplanted into a news studio. These were inspired by the success of the BBC’s Canterbury Tales two years earlier, which put Chaucer’s 14th century stories into settings including a karaoke bar and touched upon such modern hot topics as illegal immigration. But perhaps Shakespeare and Chaucer are far enough in the past now for audiences to see them as fairy tales and parables, classic story structures ripe for updating.

More recent are Jane Austen’s novels. It feels like every year we get a new Austen adaptation and every one of them involves bonnets and breeches. It’s a shame since Clueless is possibly the best screen adaptation of Emma that I’ve ever seen and ITV’s Lost in Austen was an absolute joy, treading the fine line between honouring the subject matter but still having fun with it. And of course Pride and Prejudice is still the template for just about every modern romantic comedy made, with Bridget Jones and Bride and Prejudice being the two that most readily admit to it.

Steven Moffat, one of the writers behind Sherlock has priors in this field. Back in 2007 he brought us Jekyll, a modern day twist on the classic story. A sequel more than an adaptation perhaps, and one that had mixed results, but its innovation was never in question and the modern setting worked to its advantage. In the same year ITV brought out a modern day Frankenstein, written by Jed Mercurio and turning Dr Frankenstein into a female geneticist.

Why do people insist on revering these old stories to such an extent that we set them in stone? These novels and plays are classics for a reason, and a dodgy adaptation here and there, faithful or otherwise, will hardly dent their reputation. So why not have a little fun with them? I'd love to see a modern day Oliver Twist addressing the problem of homeless children. Or Dr Faustus as a politician selling his soul to the devil to become Prime Minister. Or maybe even Tess of the D’Urbervilles re-imagined as a Kill Bill-style bloody revenge thriller...

Sickness is Weakness

I'm not one to suffer in silence. When I'm ill, I want people to know it and freely offer up pity and phrases like "go home early, I'll cover for you". Then I want them to leave me alone to wallow in my pit of used tissues. Because when I'm under the weather, I lose half my IQ and regress instantly.

It all started when, as an academically ambitious 17 year old, I insisted on trying to drag myself into college even though I could barely stand. I fainted on the bus and had to get a mates mum to pick me up and take me home. My concerned mother rushed home from work to find me sitting quite happily at the coffee table, having discoved my old Aladdin colouring-in book in a drawer and Spy Kids on Sky Movies.

Aside from discovering that Spy Kids is the natural successor of The Goonies and is possibly Robert Rodriguez's best film, I learnt that kids TV is clearly the best thing for getting over a cold. Unchallenging, cheerful escapism, brain optional. I've been watching The Wire for the last few weeks, but have I put a single episode on since I stopped being able to breathe through my nose? No. I've been watching The Sarah-Jane Adventures and MI High. I even spent 10 minutes in front of Basil Brush's Swap Shop this morning, sniggering at every "boom boom!".

Yesterday I went in search of a DVD that fitted the following criteria: mindless fun, must have a handsome man in it. For some reason I then rented Adventureland (far inferior to 2009's other Jesse Eisenberg-starring '-land' film). I regretted it instantly. It's just not an ill film. If I was going with comedy, I'd have been better off with Anchorman or Zoolander, gloriously stupid films, or anything from the 80's. The Princess Bride perhaps. Ghostbusters. Mannequin (which I was inexplicably obsessed with as a child. That and The Mighty Ducks - another great ill film). TV-wise, we're looking at early-era Ugly Betty or of course Glee, which we all know is basically Lemsip on screen. Pushing Daisies is perhaps too rich a confectionary, a kill-or-cure situation.

Anyone got any advice on the best ill films out there? Surely there's a miracle cure somewhere.

The Art of the Season Finale

With the endorphins still flowing from Mad Men’s fantastic and unexpectedly upbeat series three finale, I've got to thinking: just what makes a great season closer?

The concept of a grand finale at the end of each series was introduced largely via American television as a last-ditch-pitch to the networks to pick up their show for another year, and by now it’s an institution. We tune into the last episode of a series expecting it to top everything that has gone before, hoping to be left OMGing in shock or buying out Tesco’s stock of Kleenex.

But, essentially, season finales can be broken down into seven camps:

The Triumphant Hurrah
This is what Mad Men pulled off so impressively. It’s the moment when, no matter what else has gone on in the series or how miserable everyone’s lives are, everything falls into place. The moment of victory, where everyone gets what they deserve, even if only for a little while. The classic feel-good ending.
Examples: Queer As Folk, Only Fools and Horses’ “This time next year we’ll be billionaires!” sunset ending (and I’m sure I’m not alone in choosing to remember that as the last ever episode…)

The Cliffhanger
The beloved ending of choice for most American shows. Twin Peaks set the standard way back when its series one finale left no fewer than five characters in mortal peril.
Examples: Battlestar Galactica (especially the glorious season one shocker), Desperate Housewives, in which you can actually place bets on which housewife will end up in danger, and of course Lost, which is turning the ridiculous cliffhanger into something of an art form.

The Weepy
The one that leaves you inconsolable for at least ten minutes after the credits roll, and yet strangely satisfied. Six Feet Under managed the impressive feat of making the viewer weep openly for the last three hours of season five.
Examples: Grey’s Anatomy loves a good weepy.

The Surreal
This one is usually a bit of a divider, with message boards being split right down the middle between fans who loved it and fans who think it’s the worst. Ending. Ever. So: where did you stand on Sam Tyler leaping from the roof at the end of Life on Mars?
Examples: The Sopranos, Skins (they’re getting quite adept and not ending where you expect them to).

The Show Must Go On
This is where things end on a (usually upbeat) Life Goes On ending. Doctor Who is of course the king of this ending. Lose one guy, get another. And the fans, fickle as we are, move on with the show.
Examples: So-called ‘precinct’ shows – ones set in hospitals, police stations, etc – necessarily end on this note. A copper might be killed on duty, but the police force carries on as normal. Of course, The Wire puts its own spin on this…

The Happily Ever After
Most commonly seen in period dramas, as the hero and heroine ride off in a carriage to start their married life, sharing a chaste kiss. This is also where you can expect a romantic comedy to wind up.
Examples: Any Jane Austen adaptation ever committed to the small screen, which, yes, includes the underrated Lost in Austen.

The Sitcom Finale
This is a beast all of its own, which somehow has to tick all of the above boxes without actually changing anything. All the characters need to wind up exactly where they started. The Simpsons has been managing it for 20 years.
Examples: Friends, Gavin and Stacey, Peep Show.

Of course, some manage to subvert your expectations. Mad Men delivered a light-hearted caper when you were expecting a domestic drama. ER’s last ever episode came dangerously close to a self-indulgent weepy before veering off at the last second into Show Must Go On territory. And where the hell does Misfits’ oddball ending fit?

So what are your favourite endings? Any categories I’ve forgotten? What about the Crushing Disappointment? Of the Should Have Been the Finale?

The Doctor is dead... Long live the Doctor!

The new series of Doctor Who is almost upon us, and I am embarrassingly excited. Almost as excited as I was on the day that I was told, as a lowly TV runner, that I would have to pay a visit to Millenium FX. I ended up being given a tour by none other then Neill Gorton, Doctor Who prosthetics guru extraordinaire, when he caught me gawping at the Girl in the Fireplace clockwork droid masks. To this day, it remains the highlight of my geek life.

Anyway, as so many Whovians are saying at the moment: In Moff We Trust. Yes, we're all pretty sure Steven Moffat will be brilliant. But, before a new Doctor comes bounding into our lives, let's take a quick pause to remember Russel T Davies.

I'm an RTD apologist. In fact, I don't think he needs apologising for. I think he's great. Who can read (the excellent) The Writer's Tale without completely loving the guy? Who can watch Queer As Folk and doubt that he's one of the biggest Doctor Who fans around? In the last four series', Moffat had the easy job of swanning in and writing some undeniable brilliant episodes, while Davies had about five a year to trot out on top of editing and Executive Producer duties. Inevitably, some of his episodes weren't great. The Aliens of London and Rise of the Cybermen two-parters were pretty much awful. But he also gave us Midnight, Tooth and Claw, The Christmas Invasion, The Parting of the Ways and Journey's End, which, for my money, are up there with Moffat's output (okay, maybe Blink and The Empty Child stand above them).

It's a shame that his and David Tennant's tenures on the show came to an end with last year's Specials, which never really worked. The development of the Tenth Doctor into a walking ego with a God complex was fascinating but poorly executed (far too rushed), and their final episode was extremely mawkish. Nonetheless, I sobbed like a baby for the last fifteen minutes. Was I mourning the loss of the Tenth Doctor (my Doctor, at the age of 24)? All his supporting cast? RTD? Of Tennant looking positively shaggable in that suit? All of the above, I suppose.

Doctor Who took me from 19 to 24, through uni and into working life. It even spilled over into my real life. I remember phoning my Dad in floods of tears after Father's Day. I remember rushing through BBC TV Centre in Birmingham with my eyes averted while Journey's End played on the big screens, on my way to a date and desperate to avoid spoilers. I was blown away by Christopher Eccleston's performance (he never gets anywhere near as much credit as he deserves - he was better in the role than Tennant, if not quite so appropriate for the family audience) and I thought his regeneration was surely the best ever, with a sign-off line to go down in history. I only wish Tennant could have had such a glorious send-off.

Odd - the Ninth Doctor got a triumphant regeneration for a lonely Doctor, the Tenth got a lonely regeneration for a triumphant Doctor. Look at me getting all analytical.

But we Doctor Who fans are fickle. Mere days after crying my eyes out over the loss of Tennant and Davies, I was already excited about Moffat and Smith. That's the genius thing about Doctor Who - it can start again with a completely fresh slate without anyone having to step out of a shower, and the fans still happily accept it, especially when it's in such safe hands (we hope).

Quick predictions for what we can expect from series five:

1. A properly mad Doctor
2. A companion who is only slightly less barmy (Moffat does like his oddballs)
3. Wonderful female characters (from the man who gave us Sally Sparrow and River Song)
4. Scares a-plenty (Moffat never pussy-footed around kids in the way RTD did)
5. Lots of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff
6. More of a fairy tale feel than a sci-fi one
7. Sex ever-present, but never explicit (Oh, you mean they weren't talking about dancing?)

Come tomorrow evening, I'll finally know if my predictions were right. Ooh, there's that excitement again!