Unpacking the Subtle Misogyny in the Netflix show 'Midnight Mass'
Image; Netflix
Midnight Mass (2021) is a well-paced, brilliantly acted mini-series that manages to capture life inside a decaying town that has seen better days. The citizens of Crockett Island are constantly grappling with death — the death of their fishing industry, the death of their town, and pretty soon, the death of each other. There are a lot of great themes to untangle in this work. The piece manages to discuss religious fundamentalism, authoritarianism, and much, much more.
It was a great show that I couldn't stop binging. I loved the acting, the score, the writing, the cinematography, and everything in between. I can't remember a single episode that I didn't like. I never felt like it was being done cheaply or that it was simply a cash grab. The series has one of the most creative, and interesting casts I have seen in recent memory.
Unfortunately, one of the ways this TV series achieves this deconstruction is by ultimately placing the thematic blame of the town's downfall on one overly determined woman. We are left with a story that doesn't deconstruct the authoritarianism behind religious, fundamentalist cults, as much as it demonizes one woman's sociopathy — a framing that comes with some messy, misogynistic baggage.
There are a lot of villains in this series: the priest, Father Paul Hill (Hamish Linklater), who brings back from Jerusalem a homicidal monster to terrorize the town; a mayor, Wade Scarborough (Michael Trucco), who does nothing in the face of a growing vampiric cult; a handyman (Matt Biedel), who willfully follows the order of a cult leader without question; as well as all the other townspeople that see problems enfolding around them, and do nothing.
Yet the evilest character, and by far the primary villain, is Bev Keane (Samantha Sloyan), a zealous church member who turns the town into a homicidal cult of vampires bent on the human race's destruction. Bev's actions lead to the deaths of countless people and, ultimately, the burning down of the entire town. She is not a good person, but as we have already established, many people on Crockett Island, cheekily referred to as the Crockpot, are not good people. The entire reason the events of the series enfolded is that the priest decided to bring a vampire (referred to as an angel in the show) back with him in some misguided effort to extend the lifespan of himself and his loved ones. Bev is hardly the only person whose actions kill others — although she is arguably the worst one.
Something interesting in this series happens in the story's "framing" or how the work is composed to impart certain values to the viewer. The majority of the shows "villains" all get narrative redemptions. By the end of the series, the priest, who is a full-blown vampire at this point, spends his final moments reconnecting with his secret lover Mildred Gunning (Alex Essoe). They share one last kiss before the sunrise kills them both. The handyman, who assisted Bev in some of her most heinous actions, literally asks forgiveness from the alter boy Ooker (Louis Oliver) and receives it, subtextually telling the viewer that he deserves it. The mayor, and most of the townspeople, for that matter, all spend their final moments awaiting the sunset (something that will kill them). They sing the hymn Nearer, My God, to Thee to signify that they have accepted their mortality.
The exceptions to this rule are Bev and the vampire, the latter of which is portrayed as a literal monster. Bev receives no calming send-off. She dies clawing her way into the sand, trying to escape death from the sun's rays. We are cathartically left laughing at her desperation and ultimately at the hypocrisy of her not wanting to meet the maker Bev claims to worship. She killed so many people for a perceived lack of faith, and yet here she is, faithless, and we are not meant to forgive her.
Forgiveness is a major theme in Midnight Mass. One of the main characters, Riley Flynn (Zach Gilford), spends the first few episodes trying to grabble with whether he can forgive himself for killing a young woman in a drunk driving incident. Likewise, there is a poignant scene near the midway point where one person, Leeza Scarborough (Annarah Cymone), a wheelchair user, has just been "cured" of her disability. She goes to the trailer to confront Joe Collie (Robert Longstreet), the man who gave her the injury that resulted in her disability. What follows is a moving monologue about the nature of forgiveness:
“I forgive you, Joe Collie. I forgive you and I see you now. I see you. And I’m still angry with you. But it's different. Even now just saying it, it's different. Do you wanna know why it's different? Because the only thing standing between you and a better life is you. The only thing standing in my way was hate…So if God can forgive you, and He says He can, all over the place He says it, then I can forgive you. And if I can forgive you, Joe Collie, then anyone can.”
This motif of having to let go of internal and external hatred to achieve forgiveness is a constant throughout the series. When Sturge asks forgiveness from Ooker in the last episode, it's an affirmation of the idea of letting go of self-hatred. Anyone should be able to obtain forgiveness if they let go of their hate, but Bev cannot receive this absolution for herself because she is not willing to believe that all humans are worthy of love. As the character Annie Flynn (Kristin Lehman) says to Bev:
“Bev, I want you to listen to me. Because your whole life I think you've needed to hear this. You aren’t a good person….God doesn't love you more than anyone else. You aren’t a hero. And you certainly, certainly aren’t a victim…. Why does that upset you so much? Just the idea that God loves everyone just as much as you?”
In essence, the reason Bev cannot sing with the rest of the townspeople at the end of the series is that she is utterly devoid of compassion — both for others and herself. This lack of compassion is maintained throughout the series, serving as the genesis for many of its worst events. Bev is heavily implied to have killed one of the character's dogs — something that American audiences find less forgivable than murder. She serves as the show's TROT (that racist over there), throwing an immense amount of racism towards the town's Muslim sheriff Hassan (Rahul Kohli). She also is suggested to have poisoned Father Paul Hill, turning him into a vampire and beginning the cycle of vampirism that leads to the town's doom. Bev is entirely unempathetic in her actions, making her a hateable and entertaining character to watch (seriously, Samantha Sloyan does an amazing job playing Bev).
Yet, this framing leads us to some very messy places because it puts intent over action. The other characters did do terrible things as well, especially the priest, who willfully brought a homicidal monster into a community he allegedly loved. He already started to deceive the townspeople into drinking the vampires' blood via the communion wine well before Bev stumbled into his plan. If we were to remove Bev from this equation, it's hard to believe that the series would devolve much differently. The end plan seemed to be converting his flock to vampirism from the beginning.
But we forgive the priest because we learn that his actions were grounded in compassion. He wanted to reverse the dementia of his secret lover Mildred Gunning and spend more time with his daughter. It may have been selfish and reckless, but you can argue that his "heart was in the right place." We also forgive the mayor and the handyman because entirely human motivations drove their actions. The mayor didn't want to probe too deeply into why his daughter Leeza had been cured. Intentional blindness, and later, a purposeful callousness to protect his daughter, drove his evil actions. The handyman is likewise seen to be driven by a human, albeit misguided, desire to do good. He cares for others around him, even converting an unbeliever to vampirism because that man was nice to him.
We end with this story that lays the blame for this destructive cult at the hands of one person when countless people assisted in that destruction, many of whom were well aware of what they were doing. I am not here to defend Bev's actions (again, the character is despicable), but the way she is framed, compared to these male "villains," seems strange. While her demonization is valid, it leaves me uncomfortable because the story focuses more on the unempathetic nature behind her actions rather than the actions themselves. It disregards the awfulness of the men around her because of their intent. The men only have to try to care about others while this woman has to mean it.
It should be emphasized that very few bad people rise to the level of sociopathy Bev has demonstrated in Midnight Mass. Most people who perpetrate harm believe in their cause, or at least, they think they have little choice. They have rationalized their awfulness under the banner of protecting others, and that deserves perhaps even more scrutiny than the easily identifiable villains that clog up our screens.
Midnight Mass is an entertaining show — probably one of my favorite this year — and there is still a lot of good to unpack here. Despite everything I have said, I cannot understate how much I enjoyed the acting, cinematography, score, and more. This show deconstructs several worthwhile themes, such as racism (specifically Islamophobia) and mortality, that I did not have time to cover here. I recommend that you give it a watch, if you haven't already, for those reasons alone.
Yet all that being said, it feels odd and a little unsettling for the three male "villains" to be left off the hook, narratively speaking, because they rationalized their awfulness under the banner of helping others. Bev is reframed as the sole beacon of hatred in this small, bitter town, which doesn't sit well with me. The cold, frigid woman is an all too common trope in media, and its frequency is due to our society's larger misogyny, even in texts that do not intend to spread it.
While I was happy that Bev got the comeuppance she deserved, I found myself slightly uncomfortable by how much the text wanted me to revel in her downfall. It framed her clawing into the sand at the end as something I should relish, while simultaneously making me feel pity for Father Paul Hill and his accidental stumble into bloodlust. It speaks to a double standard, one I pray we move past as a society very soon.