Televisual Shared Universes: Expanded and Converged Storyworlds on the Small Screen 1666915610, 9781666915617

Citation preview

Televisual Shared Universes

Televisual Shared Universes Expanded and Converged Storyworlds on the Small Screen

Edited by CarrieLynn D. Reinhard and Vincent Tran

LEXINGTON BOOKS

Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

Published by Lexington Books An imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www​.rowman​.com 86-90 Paul Street, London EC2A 4NE, United Kingdom Copyright © 2024 by The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Reinhard, CarrieLynn D.,1978– editor. | Tran, Vincent, 1993–editor. Title: Televisual shared universes: expanded and converged storyworlds onthe small screen / edited CarrieLynn D. Reinhard, Vincent Tran. Description: Lanham : Lexington Books, 2024. | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Summary: “This book presents a variety of televisual shared universes to open up discussion and critically engagewith the extensive storyworlds possible in the medium. Scholars of film studies, media studies, and popular culture will find this book of particular interest”— Provided by publisher. Identifiers: LCCN 2023031579(print) | LCCN 2023031580 (ebook) | ISBN 9781666915617 (cloth) | ISBN 9781666915624 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Television series—Historyand criticism. | Storytelling—History. | Narration (Rhetoric) Classification: LCC PN1992.8.S4T4575 2024(print) | LCCPN1992.8.S4(ebook) | DDC 791.45/6—dc23/eng/20230804 LC record available athttps://lccn​.loc​.gov​/2023031579 LC ebook record available at https://lccn​.loc​.gov​/2023031580 ∞ ™ The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

To our colleagues, friends, and loved ones who continue to offer their support to our work: Christopher J. Olson, Liam Burke, Dan Golding, Theresa Suckling, and Victor Vuu

Contents

1 Introduction: Televisual Shared Universes Vincent Tran 2 “Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations”?: LGBTQ+ Representation and Diversity in Star Trek’s Shared Universe in the 21st Century Mareike Spychala 3 Nostalgic Intertextuality and the Television Set: Happy Days and Its Shared Universe Raymond I. Schuck 4 From Television to Videotape and Back Again: Intellectual Property Laws in the TSU of Doctor Who Lisa Horton, Peter Soulen, Aaron Propes, David Beard, Clare Ford, and Jason Ford

1

19

35

53

5 Where Everybody Stays the Same: Failures, the American Dream, and the Realism of the Boston-Nantucket-Seattle Flight Path CarrieLynn D. Reinhard and Erin K. Burrell

69

6 “What Ever Happened to the Disney Afternoon?”: Nostalgia, Remixes, and DuckTales Shared Universe Peter Cullen Bryan

89

7 Women in the Sam Raimi and Robert Tapert Universe: Reflections on/of Feminism in History and Mythology Princess O’Nika Auguste

vii

109

viii

Contents

8 Mighty Morphin’ Continuity: Shaping a Universe through Authorship and Nostalgia Vincent Tran

125

9 The CW’s Crisis on Infinite Earths and the Shared Multiverse as (Anti)Transmedia Storytelling Chris McGunnigle

143

10 The Institutional Basis of the One Chicago Universe Melina Meimaridis 11 Wrestlers-as-Marks and Producers-as-Fans: BTE, AEW, and the Televisual Shared Universe of the Forbidden Door CarrieLynn D. Reinhard, Christopher J. Olson, and Christopher Medjesky 12 Conclusion: Extending the Shared Universe Concept Christopher J. Olson and CarrieLynn D. Reinhard

165

183

203

Index207 About the Editors and Contributors 215

Chapter 1

Introduction Televisual Shared Universes Vincent Tran

A moment exists in the Wings (NBC, 1990–1997) episode “Planes, Trains and Visiting Cranes” (S3E16) where Helen Chapel boldly exclaims at Frasier Crane that “Yes, you Dr. Crane! You ruined my life.” The episode later revealed that Helen had attended one of Dr. Crane’s self-help seminars in Boston, and the advice left her financially broke. Prior to this episode, Wings’ “The Story of Joe” (S2E2) saw Norm and Cliff from Cheers visiting Nantucket for a fishing trip, passing through the fictional regional airport at which Wings was set. These two episodes served to establish Wings, Cheers, and subsequently Frasier (NBC, 1993–2004) as belonging within the same shared universe (see chapter 5 in this collection for more). This crossover is just one example of a long history of shared universes across all media. The ubiquity of shared universes as a narrative device can possibly be traced back to Greek mythology, wherein Apollodorus’ Library collected together the “main myths and legends [and] were organized into a pseudo-historical pattern” (Hard 4). Early examples in literature can be found in Honoré de Balzac’s La Comédie humaine (1829–1849), a shared universe comprised of over 90 novels, charting the lives of dozens of individuals during the French Restoration. The fantasy and science fiction boom, beginning in the 1900s, saw a wave of shared universes, such as Robert E. Howard’s Hyborian Age, H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos, or Isaac Asimov’s Foundation universe. Arguably one of the more notable shared universes around this time was the formation of the DC and Marvel comic universes, both of which have spawned multi-billion-dollar multimedia franchises, with the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) being one of the most prolific cinematic shared universes to date. The idea then of shared universes is by no means new. However, research and inquiry into shared universes exists in a very nascent stage. Much of the 1

2

Vincent Tran

research found is in specific universes, such as the aforementioned Marvel and DC Universes, which represents a starting point for discussing shared universes as a whole. Many have explored the complexities of continuity within these universes that have endeavored since the 1940s, exploring notions of reboots, retroactive continuity, and how audiences navigate such dense and vast storyworlds (see Bainbridge; Booker, Friedenthal; Jenkins “‘Just Men in Tights’”; Nader). Works such as The Marvel Studios Phenomenon: Inside a Transmedia Universe also represent a growing subset of research into the MCU as a transmedia shared universe and the intricacies of its social and industrial factors (Dantzler; Flanagan, Livingstone, and McKenny). Transmedia storytelling involves a narrative spread across different media, multiple authors working in tandem, the sense that the congregation of texts builds a universe or lived fictional world. This frames broadly the majority of research into shared universes currently: which as Scott Jeffery describes that the “notion of the shared universe has become so central to the superhero genre” (38). While limited, some exploration of shared universes exists outside of the superhero genre. Patricia Monk provides a detailed study into shared universes of science fiction literature from the 1940s–1990s, while pulp historian Jess Nevins details the history of crossovers across comic books and literature. Mark J.P. Wolf also contributes immensely in their examination of building imaginary worlds across history, with a notable case study of L. Frank Baum’s Oz shared universe as the “first great transmedial world” (117). Notably absent from these examples is that of shared universes in television. Much that can be found falls within the realm of MCU analysis, usually focused on Marvel’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (ABC, 2013–2020), a spin-off television show following The Avengers (Joss Whedon, 2012), also usually within the context of transmedia storytelling universes (Hadas). Herein lies what this edited collection aims to examine: televisual shared universes. The example of the Cheers-Wings-Frasier universe is indicative of one instance amongst a plethora within television, and one that this collection will further explore. Television has long relied on the spin-off, a common method in which shared universes are formed. Spin-offs have been a staple since The Adventures of Champion (CBS, 1955–1956), a spin-off of The Gene Autry Show (CBS, 1950–1956). One of the first shared universe TV spin-offs can also be found within this decade, with a three-tiered hierarchy: a spin-off of a spin-off of a spin-off. Dick Powell’s Zane Grey Theatre (CBS, 1956–1961) was an American Western anthology television series hosted by the eponymous Dick Powell based on the western stories of Zane Grey. Due to its anthological and episodic nature, five episodes served as backdoor pilots for subsequent shows: Trackdown (CBS, 1957–1959), Johnny Ringo (CBS, 1959–1960), The Rifleman (ABC, 1958–1963), The Westerner (NBC, 1960), and Black Saddle (NBC, 1959–1960). Trackdown and The Rifleman would

Introduction

3

also see their own spin-offs: Wanted: Dead or Alive (CBS, 1958–1961), with Steve McQueen’s Josh Randall headlining the series after appearing in two episodes in Trackdown; and Law of the Plainsman (NBC, 1959–1960), which saw Michael Ansara’s Sam Buckhart as a Native American Deputy Marshall. It is debatable whether the second tier of shows, the original five spin-offs, count as a shared universe. Within the original anthology show, no narrative crossovers existed between the episodes of the anthology; although, by the same measure, nothing occurred between each episode that contradicted the events of any other. Marie-Laure Ryan proposes the “principle of minimal departure” to explain how the audience can fill gaps within a narrative. From this theoretical perspective, so long as the audience constructs the mental image that this is a shared setting of wholly unrelated characters, and the producers do not contradict this interpretation, then a shared universe exists. This aside, Trackdown and The Rifleman, with their respective spin-offs, are much better candidates as early television shared universes, with both having some level of narrative cohesion with their “originator.” Regardless, this logic of character spin-offs as a beginning point for shared universes is a staple across most media, especially for television, that is still prevalent today. From the early years of The Danny Thomas Show (ABC, 1953–1957; CBS 1957–1964) and The Andy Griffith Show (CBS, 1960–1968), to Homicide: Life on the Street (NBC, 1993–1999) and its numerous crossovers, to the Buffy universe (The WB, 1997–2001, UPN, 2001–2003) and the Arrowverse (see chapter 8 in this collection), shared universes have seemingly always been present in television. Since the early 1900s, then, the dual pressures of franchise profiteering and fandom appeasing have normalized the business model of shared universes. The MCU’s popular and fiscal successes have increased academic and popular interest into shared universes. Coupled with its record-breaking box office revenue and its position as a darling of transmedia franchising and storytelling, it is unsurprising why there has been so much coverage of the MCU. Yet, the MCU itself is not a model for understanding shared universes on television. After all, the MCU is primarily a cinematic shared universe, with the broadcast and streaming television series meant to support that cinematic storyworld via transmedia storytelling. Indeed, in discussing the HannaBarbera shared universe, Tomasz Żaglewski critiques that currently, shared universe research holds four obstacles. These obstacles include: a) a false idea that a “superhero universe” is a strategy defined only by the characters and narratives from DC Comics and Marvel [and] b) a false idea that a “universe” concept is reserved strictly for the superhero (meta)genre. c) a temptation to ignore fictional universes predating comic books (i.e. a pulp literature heroes) [and] d) a temptation to ignore many “foreign” (non-American

4

Vincent Tran

or British) universe-based productions (like Toho’s original Japanese Monsterverse). (2)

In tackling televisual shared universes, this book hopes to expand and move beyond the focus of superheroes on the big screen and comic books. With both shared universe research relatively scarce and televisual shared universes even more so, through exploring this narrative device, this book aims to give a foundational look into how they operate. The goal of expanding research into shared universes in general is to differentiate how they operate within television in comparison to film, literature, and comic books, as well as to understand their function at a transmedial level. To do so, this introductory chapter will provide working notions on how to conceptualize shared universes across media and how to specifically define a televisual shared universe.

THE FRAMEWORK For the purposes of this book, a shared universe is defined as a transfictional textual environment occurring between discrete texts, series, and/or settings, that attempt to become realized and believable. This definition can largely be distilled into three main aspects: shared universes are transfictional; shared universes occur between discrete texts; and shared universes attempt to become ontologically “real.” Shared universes are transfictional. The concept of transfictionality was originally conceived by Richard Saint-Gelais, with shared universes in mind. First, transfictionality involves expanding the fiction “fiction beyond the boundaries of the work: sequels and continuations, return of the protagonists, biographies of characters, cycles and series, ‘shared universes,’” and so forth. Thus, transfictionality “crosses historical periods as well as boundaries between national literatures or literary genres, it affects literature as well as other media (film, television, comics, etc.), and it penetrates mainstream or experimental literature as well as popular culture” (Ryan “Transfictionality Across Media” 386). Ryan expands on the narratological concept, defining transfictionality as “when two (or more texts) [. . .] share elements such as characters, imaginary locations, or fictional worlds” (“Transmedial Storytelling” 362). Ryan further contextualizes transfictionality in “storyworlds,” defined through two aspects: a “static component that precedes the story and a dynamic component that captures the unfolding events” (“Transmedial Storytelling” 364). The static component is the space wherein the story takes place, which contains the existents inside the world, its history, its laws, and social rules and values. The dynamic component refers to the physical and

Introduction

5

mental events of the story that “bring changes to the existents” of the storyworld (Ryan “Transmedial Storytelling” 364). Transfictionality offers a genre- and media-agnostic approach to shared universes that is easily adaptable across texts. Transfictionality draws upon Lubomir Doležel’s notion that storyworlds may be linked through different “relations.” The first and arguably most important relation is that of “expansion,” where more existents are added to a storyworld (Ryan “Transmedial Storytelling” 366). Not only is this the most common relation in generating shared universes across most media, it is also the most common approach for televisual shared universes. For television, the most common expansion occurs through spin-offs. Studies such as Robert V. Bellamy, Daniel G. McDonald, and James R. Walker suggest that television spin-offs are a successful programming strategy where they “demonstrate success at the outset of their network runs and maintain that success after controlling for a host of trend, channel, and inheritance variables” (294). While such spin-offs often are not as popularly or fiscally successful, their link with a “hit” series allows them more success compared to other series (Bellamy et al. 294). Although this assessment was made in 1990, this notion is echoed by Thomas Kilian and Tessa Schwarz, who conduct an empirical metrics study to determine what contributes to the success of a spin-off. Kilian and Schwarz surmise that “consistency appears to be the key to a successful spin-off,” with spin-offs deviating too much from the established conventions of its parent show more likely to be deemed a failure (58). The second transfictional relation, “modification,” is when “different versions of the protoworld” are created, such as alternate history texts that tell “What If?” scenarios, based on the original storyworld (Ryan “Transmedial Storytelling” 366). While rarer in shared universes, this relation is usually seen when texts, often science fiction or fantasy, construct alternate realities of the main storyworld, wherein details are changed, sometimes substantially. These alternate realities often diegetically encounter the main storyworld. Unlike alternative reality fanfiction, modification in this case refers to producer-led works. For shared universes, this excludes examples if the alternate reality is only ever encountered or present within the texts of the original reality, such as Star Trek’s (NBC, 1966–1969) “mirror universe,” where its version of the protagonists were evil counterparts; because the reality is only ever encountered within the episodes of Star Trek, the mirror universe is relegated as simply a setting and place within the original series. Where modification is relevant for shared universes are when these alternate realities become the focus of discrete textual entries. Paramount’s reboot of the Star Trek franchise with Star Trek (J.J. Abrams, 2009) presents such an example as it is centered on an alternate reality of the original 1966 Star Trek television series. In the film, characters from the original televisual reality

6

Vincent Tran

traverse into the cinematic reality, firmly establishing that the movie exists within a separate narrative continuity from the TV show while also existing within the same shared universe textually. This shared universe thus comprises two alternative realities with shared diegetic narrative consequences through modification. Finally, the last of Ryan’s three relations, “transposition,” is when the text transports the storyworld into a “different temporal or spatial setting” (“Transmedial Storytelling” 366–67). Within shared universes, this is rare and can be seen usually in tandem with modification. The earlier Star Trek film example is both modification (as a new alternative reality is created) but also transpositional relative to the original Star Trek television series, as it is now within a different temporal setting (of the past). Such transposition potentially also exists in Stephen King’s multiverse, wherein characters in The Dark Tower (1982–2012) can traverse to different parallel Earths that are of a different time period or setting, often connecting to King’s other texts, such as It (1986), The Stand (1978), and Insomnia (1994). Discrete texts and spin-offs. Regardless, the prevalence of the spin-off in television (and indeed other media) is not new or novel. They ostensibly present safe economic choices for networks and studios, tapping into pre-existing audiences and fans with the potential to expand to different demographics. Many spin-offs occur as character spin-offs, such as the early Trackdown and Wanted: Dead or Alive, Lavern & Shirley (ABC, 1976–1983) from Happy Days (ABC, 1974–1984), She-Ra: Princess of Power (1985–1986) from He-Man and the Masters of the Universe (1983–1985), or the dawn of the Arrowverse with The Flash (The CW, 2013–2023) spinning off from Arrow (The CW, 2012–2020) as well as DC’s Legends of Tomorrow (The CW, 2016–2022) spinning off with characters from both shows. Whether these take the form of backdoor pilots or direct spin-offs, the character strategy is arguably the easiest to prepare and set up. From a continuity perspective, the character is often already part of the story, lending a legitimacy to the character and its spin-off. The character of Angel, for instance, began on Buffy the Vampire Slayer (The WB, 1997–2000; UPN, 2001–2002) as the love interest to the eponymous Buffy, with further crossovers between the shows cementing that they did exist in the same universe. Otherwise, the leveraging of a character’s popularity or fanbase may often be enough of a motivation to establish a spin-off and subsequently a shared universe. If character spin-offs are the most common, the next would be spin-offs based on setting or location. An early example of the form occurred with the Bourbon Street Beach (ABC, 1959–1960) alongside other locale-based spin-offs from 77 Sunset Strip (ABC, 1958–1964) or Melrose Place (Fox 1992–1999) coming from Beverly Hills, 90210 (FOX, 1990–2000). The CSI, NCIS, and One Chicago universes heavily rely on location/setting-based spin-offs, often denoted

Introduction

7

in the names of the series such as CSI: NY (CBS, 2004–2013), NCIS: Los Angeles (CBS, 2009–present), with the One Chicago universe denoting their series by setting in their Fire, P.D., Med, and Justice shows (see chapter 10 in this collection). Such location and setting spin-offs may often arise when dealing with ensemble casts, where it may be difficult to select one specific character to spin-off—although character cameos and crossovers may be utilized as a way of continuing and maintaining the believability of the shared universe. The last major transfictional extension would be that of the crossover. Historian Jess Nevins’ research into crossovers provides arguably the most comprehensive delve into this function. Like shared universes, Nevins locates that crossovers can be traced back to Greek myths, in melding together many characters from different legends, most notably that of Jason and the Argonauts, with the Argo comprised of heroes such as “Castor, Polydeuces, and Hercules” (175). In historicizing the crossover, Nevins argues for seven major types: the fusion of myths; crossovers within one author’s fictional universe; crossovers in which characters from different creators are brought together by another creator; the afterlife or Bangsian fantasy; the use of real people as fictional characters; crossovers in which characters from different creators are brought together as a team; and crossovers in which a fictional world contains characters from numerous authors. (175)

Of these different types of crossovers, the majority, for the purposes of televisual shared universes, can be aggregated into largely two types: crossovers between related series and crossovers between unrelated series. This summation illuminates the criteria that shared universes must occur between discrete texts. Borders are drawn around groups of texts, and when two or more discrete texts or storyworlds share a continuity, a shared universe is formed. This definition follows the line of thought prevalent within many conceptions of the shared universe. In historicizing the DC and Marvel Comics Universes, Jason Bainbridge emphasizes the formation of the DC Universe proper as occurring with the “confirmation that everyone existed in the same universe” (65). Flanagan et al. also surmise that Marvel’s universe showed “strong commitment to the ‘shared universe’ concept” in the early 1960s, when characters such as Spider-Man, Doctor Strange, the Hulk, and the Fantastic Four frequently crossed over into each other’s issues (Flanagan, Livingstone, and McKenny 3). Common agreement argues that shared universes are formed when different protagonists of different works come into relation with one another. While expansion is one of the core features of transfictionality, a series in which every single text has the exact same protagonist or group of

8

Vincent Tran

protagonists will not necessarily constitute a shared universe. The Die Hard series is comprised of five films that all center on John McClane. It forms its own fictional history and rules and employs expansion through more texts being added to the original Die Hard (John McTiernan, 1988); yet it remains a series that chronologically charts a single character’s explosive experiences. The “shared” in shared universe refers explicitly to settings or characters that are shared with another setting or characters. These three ways of categorizing discreteness cover many of the narrative strategies employed in shared universes. Most commonly, shared universes will involve the interaction of different protagonists across different texts. When no specific protagonist can be identified, as in the case of ensemble casts, the interactive elements may be delineated through the series’ thematic conceits, as seen with the multiple CSI (CBS, 2000–2015) crossovers with its spin-off shows such as CSI: Miami (CBS, 2002–2012) and CSI: NY (CBS, 2004–2013). Finally, if it is not different series interrelating, it may be conceived as a shared setting upon which many texts interact, such as when Baum folded in characters from his non-Oz books into the shared setting of Oz. This was seen with the appearance of Trot from The Sea Fairies (1911), a book Baum wrote with no connection to Oz, in The Scarecrow of Oz (1915). This criterion embraces the multiplicity of how shared universes can be constructed and gives a set of perspectives from which scholars can use to define borders around works that acknowledge the ambiguity of certain shared universes. Completely ontologically real. The use of crossovers as transfictional connections between two separate discrete texts is something particular to televisual shared universes. This is not to say that they are exclusive by any means, but the episodic nature of television lends itself to a larger output of crossover between different series. Crossovers between discrete series can often be more logistically difficult in transmedia storyworlds. Whether it is rights issues, the involvement of many creators or studios, or scheduling or financial limitations, transmedia crossovers often need more involvement in becoming a shared universe. What this brings attention to is the last criterion, that shared universes try to become ontologically real or believable worlds. This criterion is perhaps the hardest to quantify of all three, yet arguably the most important. To put simply, shared universes attempt to project storyworlds which reinforce the sense that the many texts and works do indeed share a fictional history and space. In short, they attempt to establish a history between their texts that seems real. This sense of history is what sets apart the shared universe from oneof-a-kind crossover occasions. However, simply the presence of a crossover does not form a shared universe. As explained earlier, one-off appearances in which the texts moving forward do not acknowledge the crossover at all do

Introduction

9

not help in convincing that the texts exist within the same storyworld. Instead, they exist in separate storyworlds that may or may not interact. With that said, how much is enough? How much do texts within a shared universe need to reference and have causal effects with one another? Do they need to be as overt as the multitudes of crossovers between The Vampire Diaries (The CW, 2009–2017), its spin-off The Originals (The CW, 2013– 2018), and its spin-off Legacies (The CW, 2018–present), which brought back characters from both prior series? Or can they be more tenuous, such as an appearance of Detective John Munch in Arrested Development (FOX, 2003–2006; Netflix, 2013 and 2018). As the “king of crossovers,” the character of Detective John Munch, which originated in Homicide: Life on the Street (NBC, 1993–1999) has been portrayed by Richard Belzer in over ten different television shows. While some of these appearances or mentions are no more than Easter eggs, lasting less than a single scene, most of his appearances do not contradict any pre-established continuity or story beats in the character’s originating fictional history. To what extent does this mean that his appearances in Arrested Development and The X-Files (FOX 1993–2002; 2016–2017) constitute the establishment of a shared universe? In essence, this must be a sustained attempt on the part of the texts to become believable. In describing fictional worlds, Martin Flanagan, Andrew Livingstone, and Mike McKenny argue that “in mature, continuous fictional worlds, characters display history. We can say, then, that a fictional universe allows events to accrue history; that this history affects characters, and is something of which they are aware” (5, emphasis in original). The idea of “sustained” must be viewed on a case-by-case basis, and whether one can argue it as such. This dilemma can be illuminated by Mark J. Wolf’s factors of how “secondary worlds” become “believable and interesting” (33). As a subset of fictional worlds, in quoting J.R.R. Tolkien, Wolf recounts that “[Tolkien] referred to the material, intersubjective world in which we live as the primary world, and the imaginary worlds created by authors as secondary worlds” (23). In this context, shared universes can be considered as secondary worlds. They attempt to establish a shared setting which can be presented as ontologically real, that seems complete and total. Wolf presents three qualities that are needed for a secondary world to be believable, of which two are essential for shared universes. First, the world must be “complete,” as “without an attempt at completeness, there are the beginnings of expansion beyond the narrative, but not enough to suggest an independent world” (23). This criterion disallows the aforementioned appearance of Easter eggs as it remains less of narratively driven attempts of unification and more as appealing to fandom or audiences. “Completeness” does not mean that every historical event and factor of the world must be accounted for in some way from the texts in a shared universe. In fact, in

10

Vincent Tran

drawing on Doležel, Wolf suggests that incompleteness is “a necessary and universal feature” of fictional worlds (38). Rather, completeness in this case is the degree to which a world provides diegetic explanations and details of “all the various aspects of its characters’ experiences, as well as background details which together suggest a feasible, practical world” (38). Wolf’s second factor for secondary worlds to be believable is that secondary worlds, and by extension shared universes, must try to be “consistent” in logic and history, otherwise constant diegetic contradictions will shatter the illusion of the unified storyworld. For shared universes that exist within a common franchise or series, “completeness” is often explicit, as it is very clear that the two or more texts share the same fictional history. When the Arrowverse began proper with Arrow and The Flash, it was immediately apparent that the two shows were connected. Grant Gustin reprised his role as Barry Allen, having been introduced in the Arrow episode “The Scientist” (S2E8), as well as a cameo from Stephen Amell’s Oliver Queen, the lead character of Arrow, on The Flash. With numerous crossovers and references to other shows in the Arrowverse as it grew, culminating in multi-part “events” occurring over a single week across each of the Arrowverse’s shows, is a very overt case of completeness, establishing one diegetic shared universe. However, even when there is not a mutual acknowledgment between texts, it does not mean it is not sustained. In detailing completeness in secondary worlds, Wolf argues that “stories often have very incomplete worlds, and world detail beyond what is necessary to tell the story is often considered extraneous” (38–9). This “detail beyond” when applied to the large textual environments of shared universes means that it is not necessary and often not viable for every text in a shared universe to reference every other text on a regular basis. While more completeness exists if there is a mutual acknowledgment, as completeness is dimensional, not categorical, it is not needed. Jason Mittell separates transmedia storytelling into “balanced transmedia, where no one medium or text serving a primary role over others” and “unbalanced transmedia, with a clearly identifiable core text and a number of peripheral transmedia extensions that might be more or less integrated into the narrative whole” (294). Mittell notes that the more balanced transmedia franchises offer a deep level of “canonic integration” into the universe proper, describing the process where the totality of stories within a series or franchise that “must be consumed across media for full comprehension” (298). For instance, the Bourne Identity has spawned the Bourne transmedia shared universe across film and television. This universe is unbalanced with the Matt Damon films being the core around which other texts orbit, including The Bourne Legacy and the prequel television show Treadstone (USA Network, 2019). Treadstone fits very neatly as an unbalanced transfictional

Introduction

11

extension. Taking place both before and during the Bourne films, Treadstone skirts around and never refers to Jason Bourne by name, except through some vague references to an “agent in New York.” Despite this, the show clearly takes place in the Bourne universe in the same way as The Bourne Legacy, even if it does not directly impact the main core of the universe. As an unbalanced shared universe, this simply means that it is less likely for narrative events outside the mainline Jason Bourne films in its spin-offs and prequels to be canonically integrated into the mainline films, whereas events from the Matt Damon films will more likely be integrated throughout all the texts of the shared universe. Put simply, completeness in shared universes will be affected by balance; the more unbalanced a shared universe, the less complete it is, and vice versa. Where such criteria becomes difficult to quantify is in shared universes that bring together different series and franchises, when it is not overtly clear that there is a shared universe. Put simply, the notion that they must be sustained and complete remains, yet there requires more effort on the texts’ part to convince the audience of the shared fictional reality. As mentioned in the introduction, the shared universe of Cheers and Wings saw characters of Cheers appear in multiple Wings episodes. Its first crossover dealt with two characters from Cheers: Norm and Cliff are present at the start of the episode, interact with the cast of Wings, and have their own scenes throughout the episode as well as in the final scene as they depart for Boston. This example is the beginnings of what would be considered a sustained attempt at completeness and realness. While it may be debatable if this one-time meeting signifies a shared universe, the involvement of the characters in “The Story of Joe” goes beyond that of a cameo or Easter egg, which often involve singular short scenes. Where it becomes significantly more sustained is with the second crossover “Planes, Trains and Visiting Cranes.” In the episode, Cheers psychiatrist Frasier Crane runs a self-help seminar in Nantucket, which sees one of Wings main cast, Helen, attend. Thus, the crossover represents the continuance of not only more appearances of Cheers characters on Wings, but different characters from Norm and Cliff, adding more credence that the entirety of the cast exists in a related setting of Boston-Nantucket. Furthermore, much of the premise of the episode is Helen having already attended one of Frasier’s previous seminars. This prior meeting is never seen nor was present in either Cheers or Wings. Rather it was an establishment of a fictional history outside of the texts, implying a pre-existing relationship between the characters of Cheers and Wings outside the confines of their own shows. It is arguably this attempt that realizes the sustained narrative and history between the two. Different types of shared universes will require different degrees for what is sustained and what is not. Hence, the commitment of the texts (and their producers) to the sustained completeness of a shared universe should be the

12

Vincent Tran

basis on which scholars use to determine whether a shared universe exists. Thus, the litany of television series presents certain challenges in examining whether discrete series unify into a shared universe. This is due to the volume of shows as well as the volume of cameos and crossovers. Fans such as Thomas Holbrook, creator of the fan site Poobala, have created a “master list” of crossovers and spin-offs in television, with over 1000 shows listed. As will be explored by the numerous chapters in this anthology, reasons why cameos, spin-offs, and crossovers are so prevalent may involve studios owning a large selection of shows, the sheer output and quantity of television media which allows for frequent crossovers to happen, or the more amicable relations between different studios. The sheer quantity of cameos and crossovers will then be an important discussion point when analyzing televisual shared universes to determine if there is an attempt at sustained completeness. Shared universes, then, are transfictional by nature, must occur between discrete worlds and, most importantly, attempt to become ontologically real worlds. For many clearly established shared universes, this framework organizes a lexicon of terminology to draw upon for future scholars. For shared universes that exist in a liminal state, these criteria and methodologies are available to cut through the ambiguity.

TRANSMEDIA STORIES AND SHARED UNIVERSES One thing that must be stressed, as will be found throughout this book, is the relationship between shared universes and transmedia storytelling. It should also be noted that transfictionality should not be conflated with transmedia storytelling, Henry Jenkins’s seminal concept where a “story unfolds across multiple media platforms, with each new text making a distinctive and valuable contribution to the whole” (Convergence Culture 95). Transfictionality does not necessarily need to occur across multiple media, as this anthology will show. While all transmedia storytelling is transfictional, transfictionality specifically is simply the sharing of common characters and settings between two or more texts; transfictionality proposes a relation between two texts, not necessarily two media. If superheroes represent the most dominant discourse for shared universes, transmedia shared universes would be the second. Lisbeth Klastrup and Susana Tosca’s conceive of the term “transmedial worlds,” where the “audience and designers share a mental image of the ‘worldness’ of the texts” (1). Klastrup and Tosca frequently use the term universe interchangeably with world in their works, presenting what can alternatively be called “transmedia universes.”1 Unsurprisingly, much of the research into the MCU is under the lens of the MCU as a transmedia shared universe (Graves; Hadas; Flanagan, Livingstone and McKenny; Richter).

Introduction

13

Carlos Scolari, Paolo Bertetti, and Matthew Freeman present three franchises, Conan the Barbarian, Superman, and El Eternauta, each of which constitute their own shared universes; however, they contextualize their studies under a “transmedia archaeological lens.” Furthermore, in Żaglewski’s definition of shared universes, they outline that it is built on a trifecta of “genre hybridization/fractalization, paratextualization and transmediatization” (4). Ryan even explicitly mentions transmedia storytelling in terms of transfictionality, arguing that “transmedial storytelling can be regarded as a special case of transfictionality—a transfictionality that operates across many different media” (“Transmedial Storytelling” 366). Ryan’s distinction that transmedia storytelling is a subset of transfictionality is the logic this collection will apply in separating transmedia storytelling and shared universes. While shared universes may employ transmedia storytelling and be spread over many different media, shared universes can be within one medium. The majority of science fiction literature spanning from Issac Asimov to C.J. Cherryh are each primary print shared universes. Throughout the boom of television in the 1950s to 1990s, many shared universes were spawned that all existed as primarily mono-media shared universes. Although this anthology will draw and explore some transmedial televisual shared universes and their conventions, it will not maintain that all shared universes are transmedia stories and vice versa. At the same time, this approach is not to remove transmedia storytelling from the conversation of shared universes. Rather, it is to emphasize that transmedia storytelling and shared universes are not interchangeable, as much as some scholarship approaches it as such. It is to remove the viewpoint of examining shared universes as proto-transmedia storytelling and collapsing both ideas as the same. Transmedia storytelling that results in an expanded storyworld aligns more with brand than franchise. The concept of the “brand” suggests the desire to establish and maintain a specific relationship with the public. Transmedia storytelling reflects and builds a brand to generate and maintain a specific fandom. Comparatively, the concept of the “franchise” aligns more with the motion picture industry to account for a long history of producing sequels, prequels, and sidequels or spin-offs that all exist within the same media technology as the originating media product. The concept has since been applied to other media technologies, such as video games, while also existing in television, particularly via the spin-off concept. Thus, transmedia refers to the method of content distribution, while franchise and brand refer to the economic incentives behind that content; then, shared universe and storyworld refer to the interrelated nature of that content to form a coherent and cohesive story. These terms are separate yet interconnected, related but not interchangeable. This book explores televisual shared universes across

14

Vincent Tran

time to understand the contexts leading to the text’s formation, the structural features of the texts, and any consistent ideological subtexts across the texts.

CHAPTER OVERVIEW What is it about this long story form that has endured throughout television, almost from its inception? Although there has been renewed and new academic interest in shared universes since the rise of the MCU, as this anthology will show, the mode of large expansive storyworlds has been endemic to television. This then represents the starting point for this anthology: an exploration of shared universes in television. Each of these chapters explores different facets of how the narrative form of televisual universe bends and shapes aspects such as representation, seriality, continuity, legacy, and nostalgia. What hopefully will be revealed is that no one shared universe is necessarily represented the game, nor operates in the same way even when in the one medium of television. From sci-fi to sitcoms, to animation, to fantasy, to superheroes to police procedurals, shared universes are as vast as the narrative skeleton which they embody. Across the next ten chapters of this anthology, there is the desire to explore and build the foundations of how to approach this topic in television. This anthology is first opened on the evolution of representation across a shared universe that spans decades. In her chapter, Mareike Spychala unpacks how different spin-off strategies across the Star Trek universe are updated or changed through its numerous series across the decades. Spychala focuses on the universe’s latest additions: Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: Picard, and Star Trek: Strange New Worlds. Through these examples, Spychala argues that recent additions to the Star Trek mythos include more attempts to represent LGBTQ+ people as regular members of the Federation and of Starfleet. Whether the representation portrayed is positive remains to be seen as Spychala notes, in setting these extensions in the past, they retroactively update the Star Trek history as one that is more inclusive of diversity. Following on with a rearticulation of the past, Raymond I. Schuck argues that the vast Happy Days shared universe advances a specific ideology. Schuck demonstrates that the universe reinforces an image built on 1950s nostalgia, appealing to the “heartland myth” that extends across all its extensions. Schuck emphasizes the universe’s ideological commitments to an ”ordinary” construction of idealized white, heterosexual, middle-class life. From there, Lisa Horton, Peter Soulen, Aaron Propes, David Beard, Clare Ford, and Jason Ford tackle the long-running Doctor Who universe. In their chapter, Horton et al. argue that the Doctor Who universe is uniquely placed in that the central propery is owned by the BBC which liscenses elements

Introduction

15

from various literary estates. Through this lens, they chart how during the “Wilderness-era” of the Whoverse, where few contributions to the mythos existed, this unique ownership arrangement thus became a strategy in keeping the universe alive. In doing so, this contributing to a reconceptualization of the Doctor and their supporting cast to one of “family.” CarrieLynn D. Reinhard and Erin K. Burrell then take us to the shared universe of Cheers, Wings, and Frasier. Reinhard and Burrell argue that the “Flyover Universe” is utilizes nostalgic comedic and narrative tropes to present the realistic cruel optimism of the American Dream. Through an exploration of the three series and its crossovers, Reinhard and Burrell emphasize the importance of nostalgia and the enduring lengths of the series, as characters must be developed over long-term storytelling. Shifting toward animation, Peter Cullen Bryan examines the nuances between shared universes and adaptations of shared universes, comparing the 2017 DuckTales reboot with the original 1990s series and Disney Afternoon block of shows. Bryan illuminates the intricate web of intertextuality, transmedia, and nostalgic connection to its original source. In doing so, Bryan suggests DuckTales 2017 operates as a potential form for future reboots: not simply using references for fans, but being key foundations for world building. Princess O’Nika Auguste’s chapter focuses on auteur-like figure Sam Raimi and the portrayal of women in the Hercules: The Legendary Journeys and Xena: Warrior Princess shared universe. Blending together feminist theory and the historical critical method, Auguste argues of the commonality of theme between Young Hercules, Hercules, and Xena, ultimately showing the universe challenged science fiction and fantasy tropes of female representation. The next two chapters of this anthology shared a commonality in costumed wearing heroes. My own chapter examines the phenomenon of the Power Rangers. Tracking from the original Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers series, I argue that the shared universe of the Power Rangers relies on a continuity system that oscillates: existing in a serial aesthetic that is ruptured by nostalgia as it attempts to connect to a larger storyworld before inevitably reverting to the status quo. Chris McGunnigle analyses the much-famed Arrowverse. McGunnigle explores the notion of the multiverse, how in the five-part crossover, “Crisis on Infinite Earths,” DC and The CW played with narrative form, bringing together disparate texts and shows from DC’s long-running history. McGunnigle argues this is in attempts to repair a disconnected universe resulting from a lack of planning in licensing, resulting in a shared multiverse framework. In the penultimate chapter, Melina Meimaridis focuses on “institutional underpinnings” of the One Chicago Universe. Mermaridis develops that the universe, comprised of Chicago Fire, Chicago P.D., Chicago Med, and

16

Vincent Tran

Chicago Justice, all build an ontologically real “Chicago” that reinforces an institutional status quo. Meimaridis concludes that a conservative world view is what holds the universe together, which is emphasized in the crossovers of the shows. Finally, CarrieLynn D. Reinhard, Christopher J. Olson, and Christopher Medjesky conclude this anthology in a delve into professional wrestling with the “Forbidden Door Universe.” This chapter effectively argues that the FDU operates in a markedly different way compared to the era of the WCW and WWE Monday Night Wars. Such appealing to fans results in an environment that is as fan-focused as it is profit-focused. With the shared universe narrative device having its origins potentially in Greek mythology and the rise in academic and popular interest in this method of storytelling, this anthology hopes to contribute to the still relatively nascent exploration of the idea. In focusing on TV, it is hoped that the many ideas in this anthology that spread across numerous time periods and genres will allow a foundational look at shared universes in television.

NOTE 1. I only highlight Kalstrup and Tosca, but the practice of using universe is quite frequent within transmedia storytelling theory, with Jenkins in Convergence Culture, Matthew Freeman in Historicising Transmedia Storytelling, and Colin in Fantastic Transmedia.

REFERENCES Bainbridge, Jason. “World within worlds: The role of superheroes in the Marvel and DC Universes.” The Contemporary Comic Book Superhero. Edited by Angela Ndalianis, Taylor and Francis, 2009: 78–99. Bellamy, Robert V., Daniel G. McDonald, and James R. Walker “The spin‐off as television program form and strategy.” Journal of Broadcasting and Electronic Media, vol. 34 no. 3, 1990: 283–97. Brooker, Will. Hunting the Dark Knight: Twenty-first century Batman. I.B. Tauris, 2012. Dantzler, Perry. “Multiliteracies of the MCU: Continuity literacy and the sophisticated reader(s) of superheroes media.” Assembling the Marvel Cinematic Universe: Essays on the social, cultural and geopolitical domains. Edited by Julian C. Chambliss, William L. Svitavsky and Daniel Fandino. McFarland, 2018. Flanagan, Martin, Andrew Livingstone, and Mike McKenny. The Marvel Studios Phenomenon: Inside a transmedia universe. Bloomsbury, 2016. Freeman, Matthew. Historicising Transmedoa Storytelling: Early Twentieth-Century transmedia storyworld. Routledge, 2017.

Introduction

17

Friedenthal, Andrew J. Retcon Game: Retroactive continuity and the hyperlinking of America. UP Mississippi, 2017. Graves, Michael. “The Marvel one-shots and transmedia storytelling.” Make Ours Marvel: Media convergence and a comics universe. Edited by Matt Yockey. U Texas Press, 2017: 234–47. Hadas, Leora. “Authorship and authenticity in the transmedia brand: The case of Marvel’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.” Networking Knowledge: Journal of the MeCCSA Postgraduate Network, vol. 7 no. 1, 2014: https://doi​.org​/10​.31165​/nk​.2014​.71​ .332. Hard, Robin. The Routledge Handbook of Greek Mythology. Routledge, 2004. Harvey, Colin B. Fantastic Transmedia: Narrative, play, and memory across science fiction and fantasy storyworlds. Palgrave Macmillan, 2015. Jeffery, Scott. The Posthuman Body in Superhero Comics: Superhuman, transhuman, post/human. Springer, 2016. Jenkins, Henry. Convergence Culture: Where old and new media collide. NYU Press, 2006. — — —. “‘Just men in tights’: Rewriting Silver Age comics in an era of multiplicity.” The Contemporary Comic Book Superhero. Edited by Angela Ndalianis. Taylor and Francis, 2009. Kilian, Thomas, and Tessa Schwarz. “Spinning the wheel: What makes TV series spin-offs successful?” Journal of Media Business Studies, vol. 10 no. 2, 2013: 39–61. Klastrup, Lisbeth and Susana Tosca. Transmedial Worlds: Rethinking cyberworld design. Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers, 2004: https://ieeexplore​ .ieee​.org​/document​/1366205. Mittell, Jason. Complex TV: The poetics of contemporary television storytelling. NYU Press, 2015. Monk, Patricia. “The shared universe: An experiment in speculative fiction.” Journal of the Fantastic in the Arts, vol. 2 no. 4, 1990: 7–46. Nader, Alexander C. “‘Infinite Earths’: Crossmedia adaptation and the development of continuity in the DC Animated Universe.” Master’s Thesis, Bowling Green State University, 2015. Nevins, Jess. “On Crossovers.” n.p., 2001, https://ratmmjess​.tripod​.com​/crossovers​ .html. Richter, Ádám. “The Marvel Cinematic Universe as a transmedia narrative.” Americana: EJournal of American Studies in Hungary, vol. 12 no. 1, 2016: http://americanaejournal​.hu​/vol12no1​/richter. Ryan, Marie-Laure. “Transfictionality Across Media.” Theorizing Narrativity. Edited by John Pier and José Angel Garcia Landa. Walter de Gruyter, 2008: 385–417. — — —. “Transmedial Storytelling and Transfictionality.” Poetics Today, vol. 34 no. 3, 2013: 361–88. Scolari, Carlos, Paolo Bertetti, and Matthew Freeman. Transmedia Archaeology: Storytelling in the borderlines of science fiction, comics and pulp magazines. Palgrave Macmillan, 2014.

18

Vincent Tran

Wolf, Mark J. Building Imaginary Worlds: The theory and history of subcreation. Taylor & Francis, 2014. Żaglewski, Tomasz. “The Impossibles revived: Hanna-Barbera’s superhero universe in TV and comics.” Journal of Graphic Novels and Comics, vol. 12 no. 5, 2020, 589–605.

Chapter 2

“Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations”? LGBTQ+ Representation and Diversity in Star Trek’s Shared Universe in the 21st Century Mareike Spychala

In some ways, the Star Trek franchise has had a shared televisual universe since Star Trek: The Animated Series (TAS) started airing in 1973. Featuring well-known characters from Star Trek: The Original Series (TOS, 1966–1969), it provided a continuation of the USS Enterprise’s (NCC-1701) adventure, sometimes featuring new alien species and planets and sometimes including entities known from TOS, like the Guardian of Forever, an alien who appears in “The City on the Edge of Forever” (TOS, S1E28, 1967) and “Yesteryear” (TAS, S1E2, 1973). These connections continued when Star Trek: The Next Generation (TNG) premiered and featured a cameo by TOS’s Dr. McCoy (DeForest Kelley) in “Encounter at Farpoint” (S1E1 and S1E2). Such cameos, as well as references to characters and events from earlier shows, helped to establish TAS and TNG—as well as later shows—as happening in the same universe as TOS. However, these references did usually not go beyond brief cameos or short comments, like Star Trek: Voyager’s Captain Janeway’s (Kate Mulgrew) famous explanation that earlier show’s characters like “Captain Sulu, Captain Kirk, Dr. McCoy all belonged to a different breed of Starfleet officer” (VOY, S3E2, 27:47–27:54) ) in an episode that featured TOS cameos from Hikaru Sulu (now Captain) and Janice Rand (now Commander) and references to the film Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country. Later series feature even more sustained character crossovers from one series to another, such as when Chief O’Brien (Colm Meaney) and Worf 19

20

Mareike Spychala

(Michael Dorn) join the crew of the titular space station in Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (DS9 S1E1 and S1E2; S4E1 and S4E02). However, despite these characters joining a new show, few links exist back to events they experienced while serving on the USS Enterprise (NCC-1701-D). This lack of recalling earlier shows’ events and how they personally affected crossover characters may have had to do with the more episodic nature of TOS, TAS, and TNG especially. DS9, however, adopted serialized storytelling famously early, and in “Trials and Tribble-ations” (S5E6, 1996) featured DS9 characters traveling back in time and inserted into scenes from TOS’s “The Trouble With Tribbles” (S2E15); even with such formulaic changes, a more sustained creation of a shared televisual universe via tighter connections between it and its predecessors never fully materialized. These patterns fit with Lubomir Doležel’s notion of an “expansion” (quoted in Tran 5); that is to say, a relation where “more existents are added to a storyworld” (5). The above-mentioned series, as well as the newer 21st century Star Trek series, can all, in the broadest sense, be seen as spin-offs of TOS. However, there seems to be a difference in what these spin-offs are based n. The above are all “based on setting or location” (Tran 6). This may have to do with the older shows featuring ensemble casts, one of the reasons Tran has identified for setting spin-offs (7). Some of the newer shows, I will argue below, could be seen as what Tran has called “character spin-offs” (6). The diversification in spin-off strategies, then, is another change for the Star Trek franchise. This chapter explores whether this diversification of spin-off strategies supports an attempt to update the existing shared universe for a 21st century television landscape, for example by including LGBTQ+ characters, and whether this representation lives up to the hopeful future that serves as a premise for the franchise as a whole. In addition, this chapter aims to explore the ways in which these series sustain and stress Star Trek’s shared universe, for example by the reappearance of “legacy” characters like Spock or Captain Pike or by references to events from earlier series, and the legitimizing function these references have, especially after considerable backlash Star Trek: Discovery especially received from certain corners of the fandom.

DIVERSIFYING TYPES OF SPIN-OFFS Ever since CBS (now Paramount Global) relaunched the television branch of Star Trek franchise with Star Trek: Discovery (DSC, 2017–present) in the fall of 2017, there seem to have been greater efforts to create a more integrated shared televisual universe. As Tran has argued, “shared universes attempt to project storyworlds which reinforce the sense that the many texts and works

“Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations”?

21

do indeed share a fictional history and space. In short, they attempt to establish a history between their texts that seems real. This sense of shared history is what sets apart the shared universe from one-of-a-kindcrossover occasions” (8). As noted above, previous Star Trek shows already worked towards creating the impression that they “share a fictional history and space.” However, the newer shows go further in this process. In Discovery’s first season, Michael Burnham (Sonequa Martin-Green) is introduced as Spock’s previously unmentioned adopted sister in the show’s very first episode (S1E1) and Sarek (James Frain) appeared several times throughout the first season; not only helping to establish DSC taking place 10 years before TOS, but also confirming that the show indeed took place in the same timeline as the other Star Trek television shows and not, as some fans initially speculated, in the so-called “Kelvin timeline” constituted by the 2009 movie Star Trek (J.J. Abrams) and its sequels.1 Discovery’s second season continued the first season’s effort of building a more deeply integrated shared televisual universe. This season featured Captain Christopher Pike (Anson Mount), who had previously appeared in the unaired TOS pilot “The Cage” (then played by Jeffrey Hunter) and the twoparter “The Menagerie” (TOS, S1E11 and S1E12), in command of the USS Discovery, as well as a young Spock (Ethan Peck). Additionally, this season put considerable emphasis on Spock and Michael Burnham’s sibling relationship; for example, in the episodes “Brother” (S2E1) and “Project Daedalus” (S2E9), expanding not only what fans knew about Spock, but also featuring several flashbacks to their younger lives as well as considerable foreshadowing to Spock’s later relationships in TOS in the season’s final episode “Such Sweet Sorrow, Pt. 2” (S2E14). Similarly, the episode “If Memory Serves” (S2E8) features a renewed visit to Talos IV, directly referencing events featured in, and even reusing footage of, “The Cage,” thus bringing the unaired pilot into closer connection with the larger universe. “The Menagerie” was also taken up again by DSC in the episode “Through the Valley of Shadows” (S2E12) during which Pike comes in contact with a time crystal in a Klingon monastery on the planet Boreth and learns of his ultimate fate and accident-related disability. In a further step, Discovery Season 3 integrated a scene featuring Leonard Nimoy’s Spock from the TNG episodes “Unification I” (S5E7) and “Unification II” (S5E8) into its seventh episode (“Unification III,” S3E7) via a historical video recording watched by Burnham. This same episode also features the return of the Qowat Milat, an order of Romulan warrior nuns first introduced in the first season of Star Trek: Picard (PIC, S1E4).2 The newest live-action show, Star Trek: Strange New Worlds (SNW, 2022–present), meanwhile, shows viewers a Captain Pike who is still grappling with what he learned about his fate on Boreth and reluctant to get

22

Mareike Spychala

back into the captain’s chair (SNW, S1E1), thus filling in backstory for a character that had previously only appeared in two TOS episodes. This level of weaving together previous characters and storylines was unprecedented in the franchise before its relaunch. While Leonard Nimoy reprised his role as Spock for the TNG two-parter mentioned above, sustained reappearances of characters across different shows, and especially an exploration of their experiences across different shows, were not part of Star Trek’s early shared universe. Thus, while Miles and Keiko O’Brien appear in DS9, their experiences on the Enterprise during TNG are rarely referenced in the latter show; and, if they are, these references usually take the form of a brief acknowledgment, not the more sustained explorations seen in the current expansion of the shared universe. What is more, while the different Star Trek shows used to be location spin-offs that would sometimes feature characters from older shows as part of the ensemble of a new show (the O’Briens and Worf are the most obvious examples here), at least several of the newer shows fit the criteria of character spin-offs.3 Picard and Strange New Worlds, especially, come to mind here. The former, while featuring several new characters in its first two seasons, was clearly always focused on Captain Jean-Luc Picard (Patrick Stewart) in his later years, even though it was originally conceived as focusing more generally on a specific post-TNG era and potentially more on Voyager’s Seven of Nine (Jerri Ryan) and The Next Generation’s Hugh (Jonathan Del Arco) (Reddish n.p.). Picard in particular highlights the fact that character spin-offs make sense for studios and that “the leveraging of a character’s popularity and fanbase may often be enough of a motivation” (Tran 6). This became even clearer after the rest of the main characters from The Next Generation were announced as characters in the show’s third and final season (“Watch: A Special Announcement”), despite insistences during promotion for the first season that Picard would not be a continuation of the earlier show (“‘Star Trek Picard’ Boldly Goes Beyond”). Strange New Worlds is an even more straightforward character spin-off in some ways. While it does not bear a single character’s name, it was created after the appearances of Pike, Spock, and Number One on the second season of Discovery led to a sustained fan campaign for a show centered on these characters.

CORRECTING THE COURSE OF THE TELEVISUAL UNIVERSE Some characters and storylines included in the newer Star Trek shows seem like deliberate attempts to expand the franchise’s shared universe and to correct past shortcomings, especially where issues of representation are

“Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations”?

23

concerned. In one sense, one could see these inclusions as attempts to make the shared universe more real, to align it more closely with contemporary audience expectations. However, one could also argue that these inclusions are mostly a marketing strategy, a form of rainbow capitalism.4 While Star Trek has always been praised for its inclusiveness, scholars have noted that this inclusiveness, especially regarding multiculturalism, has been limited by the entertainment industry’s economic interests (Kanzler 6). Considerable resistance from Gene Roddenberry and studio executives existed to LGBTQ+ representations when fans first brought it up with them in the 1980s. While Roddenberry eventually came around and promised more queer representation, this did not materialize after his death (Jenkins 190). As Jenkins points out, the two TNG episodes that attempted to portray LGBTQ+ characters, “The Host” (S4E23) and “The Outcast” (S5E17) respectively, “treat queer lifestyles as alien rather than familiar aspects of the Federation culture” (190). In addition, fans and producers diverged over the fact that fans wanted meaningful LGBTQ+ representation while producers were, for a long time, unable to imagine a society in which queerness exists without queerphobia (190), an inability that, according to Henry Jenkins, threatened “the credibility of Gene Roddenberry’s oft-repeated claims about the utopian social vision of Star Trek” (190). As I aim to show, at least some of the newer shows have taken steps to course-correct where LGBTQ+ representation alongside more diverse casting in general is concerned. Discovery, for example, features the franchise’s first Black female Captain who is also the main character of a show. It also introduced the franchise’s first gay couple in its first season and has steadily continued this push for more representation ever since. In this part of the chapter, I will focus mostly on LGBTQ+ representation in the newer entries into the franchise and how they change, or do not change, its shared televisual universe. By far, the most diverse LGBTQ+ representation within Star Trek’s shared televisual universe can be found on DSC, which was the first Star Trek show to include openly gay characters in Lt. Paul Stamets (Anthony Rapp) and Dr. Hugh Culber (Wilson Cruz) in its first season. Introduced in their professional capacities first, they were only revealed to be a couple at the end of the episode “Choose Your Pain” (S1E4), a story-telling decision interpreted as “represent[ing] a normalization of LGBTQ characters and relationships” (Mittermeier and Spychala 341). Discovery’s later seasons expanded the show’s LGBTQ+ representation further by adding a lesbian character in Jett Reno (Tig Notaro), portraying Emperor Georgiou (Michelle Yeoh) as bi- or pansexual, and adding a transgender character, Grey Tal (Ian Alexander), and a non-binary character, Adira Tal (Blu del Barrio), in Season 3. While the portrayal of Culber and Stamets in the first two season often veered towards

24

Mareike Spychala

the homonormative (Mittermeier and Spychala 345)—a tendency that became somewhat stronger by the “unofficial” adoption of Grey and Adira by the couple in Seasons 3 and 4—the sustained focus on these characters and their stories, both as a couple/chosen family and as individual characters, presents the most detailed and authentic representation of LGBTQ+ characters in the Star Trek shared televisual universe so far. In addition, Discovery manages to sidestep some of the criticism leveled against earlier attempts at representation, such as on TNG. First, most of the LGBTQ+ characters on the show are human, with the Trill Gray being the notable exception. Having a majority human crew allows the show to avoid the issue of relying exclusively on alien metaphors to represent queer characters and thus moving them outside of Federation culture. DSC has also notably avoided the pitfall of relying on homophobia to tell stories about LGBTQ+ characters. Culber, Stamets, and Reno are fully accepted members of the ship’s crew, which, by extension, hints at a Federation, and human, culture that embraces LGBTQ+ people. This acceptance is further highlighted when Adira Tal asks Stamets to use the pronouns “they” and “them” when referring to them in the future because they “never felt like a ‘she’ or a ‘her’” (S3E8). This request is immediately accepted by Stamets without questioning and other characters also use “they” and “them” for Adira in later episodes. Here, then, DSC portrays a far-future society that has moved beyond debating the existence of trans and non-binary characters and fully accepts their existence, updating Roddenberry’s utopian society for the 21st century.5 This portrayal is further strengthened in the show’s fourth season when Dr. Culber constructs a new body for Gray Tal and Gray’s transition is mentioned but treated without fanfare or questioning (S4E2). At the same time, this portrayal of the universal acceptance of LGBTQ+ characters clashes with how older Star Trek shows dealt with queer people, most notably TNG’s attempts. While LGBTQ+ people are fully integrated members of the crew on DSC, the characters on TNG struggle when confronted with queer-coded alien species. In “The Host,” for example, Dr. Beverly Crusher (Gates McFadden) notably cannot imagine continuing to date a Trill after the symbiont is transferred from a male to a female host (S4E23). Since Starfleet has no openly LGBTQ+ characters on TNG or any other of the older shows, the introduction of out and fully accepted LGBTQ+ characters in Discovery, which is set before TOS in the timeline, puts a certain strain on the shared televisual universe.6 Still, Discovery seems to be engaged in a concerted effort in expanding the shared televisual universe or, more explicitly, the kinds of people who get to inhabit this universe. This effort leads to Bruce Drushel claiming that “[t]he role of [show runners] Harberts and Berger, as well as Fuller, in the introduction of the characters of Reno, Stamets, and Culber points to a greater

“Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations”?

25

reality about queerness in Star Trek: it happens primarily when queers and their allies with influence over the production process act as instruments for its occurrence” (400). LGBTQ+ representation on this show, however, is not without its flaws. For example, the repeated deaths and resurrections of queer characters, most notably Dr. Culber (S1E10; S2E5), has been seen as an imperfect attempt to subvert the “Bury Your Gays” trope because “Culber and Stamets’ ‘gay love [. . .] not only saved the world but saved the universe,’ to quote Wilson Cruz [. . .] and has continued beyond that” (Mittermeier and Spychala 341–2). Additionally, the representation of Emperor Georgiou’s bior pansexuality more or less repeats longstanding stereotypes about pan- and bisexual people (Tremeer n.p.; Mittermeier and Spychala 342–43). Despite these issues, the series continues to do most of the work of LGBTQ+ representation in the Star Trek franchise. Some of the other newer shows in Star Trek’s televisual shared universe seem to be lagging behind Discovery. A several-seconds-long handholding scene between Raffi Musiker (Michelle Hurd) and Seven of Nine in the last episode of Picard’s first season (S1E10) was the only form of explicit LGBTQ+ representation in the season, and it was only added due to a suggestion by actors Ryan, Del Arco, and Hurd (Spry n.p.). What is more, the ex-Borg or xBs featured in this season, which are led by Del Arco’s character Hugh (a fan-favorite from the TNG episodes “I, Borg” [S5E23] and the two-parter “Descent” [S6E26 and S7E01]), were widely seen as queer-coded among fans, leading to shock and anger when not only Hugh, but also most of the minor xB characters, were brutally killed in the PIC episode “Nepenthe” (S1E7). The impact of these deaths was further heightened by the fact that they were juxtaposed against the reappearance of William Riker (Jonathan Frakes) and Deanna Troi (Marina Sirtis), who live on an idyllic homestead with their daughter. Here, the death of queer-coded characters being juxtaposed with an idealized heteronormative family seemed, at the very least, like a missed opportunity for better storytelling and a further expansion of the shared universe. Picard’s Season 2 showed Raffi and Seven in an on-againoff-again dynamic. The beginning of the season sees them during an “off” phase, but they seem to reconcile towards the end, even kissing on screen (S2E10). In addition, the audio drama No Man’s Land (2022) focuses on Raffi and Seven’s relationship between the two seasons. However, this moves queer representation out of the shared televisual universe and into a wider transmedia universe and raises longstanding questions about canonicity.7 Star Trek: Lower Decks (LD), like PIC, is set post-TNG in the 24th century. Thus the series appears well placed to write queerness forward into the franchise’s in-universe future in the same way that DSC has written it backwards into its past and thus to strengthen the televisual shared universe. The series, however, had a similarly rocky start where meaningful and extended

26

Mareike Spychala

LGBTQ+ representation is concerned. The series, specifically, received some criticism for its lack of representation after its first season had aired, prompting showrunner Mike McMahan to go on record about being too implicit in their attempts to represent Beckett Mariner (Tawny Newsome) as bisexual: We weren’t explicit about it, because most of the relationships in this show are familial or friendship love. It’s not physical love. That character showing up, the story we’re telling about them has nothing to do with any previous relationships they’ve had. For me and for the writers as we were making this, we didn’t intentionally mean for anybody to be strictly heteronormative or straight or cis. Every Starfleet officer is probably at the baseline bisexual, in a way. That being said, I am not the most amazing person at writing those kind of stories. I think we get a little bit better about it in the second season. (Vary n.p.).

While McMahan here admits that he is not the best at writing stories including LGBTQ+ people, some of his other justifications may sound familiar to people advocating for better LGBTQ+ (and in this specific case better bisexual) representation. Presenting queer relationships as being centered around “physical love” is rooted in stereotypes that oversexualize LGBTQ+ people and speak to an inability to imagine stories featuring queer people that are not necessarily focused on queerness as an “issue.” To put it differently, here, queer people and identities are reduced to “physical love” and therefore the stories that can be told about them are only stories about sexuality, not stories about them being regular people who happen to be LGBTQ+.8 Similarly, the argument that Starfleet officers are “at the baseline bisexual, in a way” repeats longstanding tropes of bisexual erasure. As Shiri Eisner points out in Bi: Notes for a Bisexual Revolution: “Claiming that ‘everyone is bisexual really,’ that ‘we are all simply queer,’ or that ‘we’re all just people’ erases differences. Rather than celebrating difference, this creates [. . .] ‘one category to rule them all.’ Instead of subverting social categorization, we end up preserving it” (133). Thus, while on the surface it may sound progressive to claim that all Starfleet officers are bisexual, statements like McMahan’s seem more geared towards deflecting criticism for the lack of LGBTQ+ representation, especially when taking into account that the show has no problem including several straight-coded relationships, such as between Commander Shax (Fred Tatasciore) and Dr. T’Ana (Gillian Vigman) or between Captain Freeman (Dawnn Lewis) and Admiral Freeman (Phil LaMarr). The second season has Mariner saying that she likes “bad boys, bad girls, bad non-binary babes, and bad Bynars” (S2E3). It also has features her mentioning that she prefers constantly dating new people, which seems to fall into stereotypes painting bi- and pansexual people as promiscuous (Eisner 40). However, Season 2 also set up a potential romance with the recurring Andorian character Jennifer Sh’reyan (Lauren Lapkus), which the show explores a little more in

“Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations”?

27

Season 3, for example, by having Mariner meet Jennifer’s group of friends ( S3E6). Here, as on DSC, this relationship is accepted without questions by both Mariner’s and Jennifer’s friends and crewmates, once again indicating an update of Star Trek’s hopeful shared universe for the 21st century. Lower Decks is not the only new show in Star Trek’s televisual shared universe that follows what seems like a somewhat outdated strategy of LGBTQ+ representation. Strange New World’s early episode, “Spock Amok” (S1E5), contains a reference to Nurse Chapel (Jess Bush) having dated another woman once; however,up to and through this episode, the show also makes it clear that she is nursing a crush on Spock. What is more, the episode ends with Chapel saying that she “just needs to wait for the right guy” while longingly looking at Spock—it almost seems like the writers have forgotten about her bisexuality in the span of forty-five minutes. I read this as a case of what Maria San Filippo has called “compulsory monosexuality” (10; orig. emphasis). She uses this term to account for contemporary society’s accommodation of gay identity, albeit within certain boundaries of mainstream acceptability. In the contemporary United States, these boundaries get largely defined as assimilated and domesticized. [. . .] Monosexuality, signaling desire enacted with partners of only one gender, is systemically reproduced by pressing social-sexual subjects to conform to either heterosexuality or homosexuality, and by keeping bisexuality (in)visible. (10)

The repeated scenes showing Chapel pining for Spock, coupled with the insistences that she only needs “the right guy,” present her desire for Spock— and by extension for men—as more important and push her bisexuality back towards “(in)visibility.”9 In addition, Strange New Worlds’s episode “The Serene Squall” (S1E7) features Dr. Aspen, the show’s first non-binary character played by nonbinary actor Jesse James Keitel. In this casting decision, SNW seems to follow in Discovery’s footsteps. In addition, “The Serene Squall” is also directed by a trans woman, Sydney Freeland. On the plot-level, however, this is yet another episode that more or less uncritically reproduces longstanding tropes about LGBTQ+ people, in this case specifically transgender and non-binary people. Over the course of the episode, the story reveals that Dr. Aspen, whose non-binary identity is indicated via the use of they/them pronouns, is an impostor and actually a pirate captain going by the name of Angel. Captain Angel assumed the identity of the real Dr. Aspen, who she admits to having left stranded in outer space, to infiltrate the USS Enterprise (NCC-1701) and use Spock as a hostage to break her partner out of a Vulcan correction facility T’Pring works at (S1E7).

28

Mareike Spychala

This plot, and especially the fact that a non-binary character is presented as assuming a false identity to be able to infiltrate and steal the Enterprise and kidnap and sell its crew, echoes longstanding tropes about non-binary and trans people, and especially trans women, using their identities to deceive people for nefarious reasons. Julia Serano describes this trope as “the deceptive transsexual” (36), and as Si Sophie Pages Whybrew has pointed out in referenceto Serano, the Star Trek franchise is no stranger to this trope (406). Still, it should also be mentioned that the Enterprise crew’s acceptance of Aspen prior to their reveal once again highlights a future in which LGBTQ+ acceptance—and maybe especially trans and non-binary acceptance—are more normalized and widespread than in our contemporary society. Thus, overall, this representation could be an attempt at continuing Star Trek’s portrayal of a hopeful future. What is more, Captain Angel is not only presented as intentionally manipulating the crew and especially Spock, with whom they have several one-onone conversations; some of the things they say about identity are presented as impactful for Spock, in essence making their appearance on the show about Spock rather than about themselves. This characterization retreads familiar ground in which LGBTQ+ people are featured mainly to support the storylines of cisgender and straight characters rather than as fully fledged characters with their own stories. As Laura Copier and Eliza Steinbock, drawing on Christopher Booker, note about the trans character Rayon in Dallas Buyers Club: she “forms the position of the ‘helper’ or ally, a key figure accompanying the hero who themselves has no major emotional or narrative arc but is the catalyst” (927). I suggest that Dr. Aspen/Captain Angel can be read in a similar way. One might even see this as an instance of a trope Copier and Steinbock call the “‘Magical Tranny’” (929) because Dr. Aspen/Captain Angel’s conversations with Spock and insights into identity are often framed around their supposed hardships and identity struggles. The reveal that Aspen is in fact a pirate captain attempting to use Spock in a prisoner exchange, then, serves to emphasize Spock as the character whose identity struggles eventually make him better, while Aspen/Angel firmly remains coded as deviant, dangerous, and deceptive. In addition, SNW has so far heavily focused on cisgender and heterosexual people and their lives. Not only does it expand on Spock’s courtship with T’Pring (Gia Sandhu), thus adding to existing TOS canon and worldbuilding (S2E5), and featuring Captain Pike with different female partners (S1E1 and S1E6). Althoughthe episode “The Elysian Kingdom” (S1E8) introduces romantic tension between Lt. Ortegas (Melissa McNavia) and Number One, this happens while they are mind-controlled and forced to play characters from a children’s book. While the camp aesthetics of the episode and this pairing—which features Ortegas standing in for a male knight—feel like a

“Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations”?

29

nod to queer (re-)readings of the franchise, the fact that this potential pairing is firmly marked as fictional—and indeed as a re-writing of the book’s storyline—seems like another attempt of the show’s writers to have their cake and eat it, too. After four seasons of Discovery, the limited representation of LGBTQ+ people in SNW feels like a step back into the 1990s, when LGBTQ+ representation was largely absent on Star Trek, and in the rare instances it appeared, was introduced via analogies, or a one-off ploy for ratings (Mittermeier and Spychala 337; see also Kanzler, 215). This notable difference in LGBTQ+ representation between DSC and SNW, which are at least originally set in the same time period, puts some strain on the televisual shared universe. A slight disconnect exists between the numerous out queer characters on DSC and the almost complete absence of the same on SNW. This disconnect does not undermine the televisual shared universe, but it somewhat troubles its continuity. While such a disconnect is maybe inevitable when comparing older shows like TNG to newer shows like DSC, it seems like a missed opportunity to more fully integrate the televisual shared universe—both in the sense of integrating the shows into the shared universe as well as integrating LGBTQ+ characters into the shows. Here, then, the Star Trek franchise also shows how uneven developments and expansions of a shared televisual universe can be.

CONCLUSION The Star Trek franchise keeps expanding and more tightly integrating its televisual shared universe, especially since its return to the small screen in 2017. This expansion is not focused on only one kind of spin-off show but features character spin-offs as well as location spin-offs in shows such as Star Trek: Picard and Star Trek: Lower Decks, to name just two examples. Noticeably, this recent expansion has also taken some steps to flesh out and make more real Star Trek’s televisual shared universe, especially when it comes to the representation of LGBTQ+ characters, which were almost completely nonexistent in the earlier series, especially among shows’ main and recurring characters. What is most notable across the shows is perhaps the appearance of a concerted effort to represent LGBTQ+ people as regular and fully accepted members of the Federation and Starfleet. While executives in the 1980s, 1990s, and even 2000s seemed reluctant to include LGBTQ+ representation and, especially in the earlier decades, unable to imagine a future in which queer characters could exist free from queerphobia (Jenkins 190), these newer shows present a future in which LGBTQ+ people are accepted and loved members of

30

Mareike Spychala

the crews of the different starships. Thus, these shows update Star Trek’s shared televisual universe and its portrayal of a hopeful future for the 21st century. At the same time, however, this increased representation has not been without its pitfalls and shortcomings. Most notably is the repeated use of hurtful and damaging tropes, most prominently the “Bury Your Gay” and “depraved bisexual” tropes. But queer representation was also at first most visible on Star Trek: Discovery, with shows like Picard and Lower Decks only adding explicitly queer characters due to audience and, especially in the case of Picard, actor feedback. It does not seem to be the case, then, that the type of spin-off impacts how well the representation of LGBTQ+ people (among other underrepresented groups) is featured in any given show. Rather, whether representation is handled well seems to depend more on how intentionally and carefully showrunners work on these aspects. It is notable that DSC, arguably the show with the most diverse cast and characters, is also the show that has had and continues to have LGBTQ+ showrunners, with Aaron Harberts for Season 1 and the first half of Season 2 and Michelle Paradise since the latter half of Season 2. Thus, further unexplored potential exists for representation in Star Trek’s shared universe—especially representation that does not risk feeling like an exercise in ticking boxes, but that presents fully realized and integrated LGBTQ+ characters. NOTES 1. See, for example, this online discussion by fans touching on this question: https://scifi​.stackexchange​.com​/questions​/171095​/is​-star​-trek​-discovery​-set​-in​-the​ -original​-or​-the​-kelvin​-timeline. 2. The Qowat Milat featured in “Unification III” is Michael Burnham’s mother, Dr. Gabrielle Burnham (Sonja Sohn), who was also stranded in the future after the events of Season 2 and subsequently joined the order. She reappears alongside another Qowat Milat nun in the Season 4 episode “Choose to Live” (S4E3). 3. Some of the other newer shows, especially the animated shows Lower Decks and Prodigy, however, fit the location spin-off pattern. While both feature character crossovers, Will Riker and Q on Lower Decks, for example, or Captain Janeway (both as a hologram and in person) on Prodigy, neither of them is based on these characters. Instead, they feature new characters who sometimes interact with so-called legacy characters. 4. I borrow this term from Horacio N. Roque Ramírez, who uses it when describing the increasing corporatization of Pride events in San Francisco, parenthetically defining it as “rainbow capitalism” “(reducible to the hegemonic rainbow flag)” (192) and notes that “its overly simplified claims for inclusion have brought conflict to local and national organizing efforts” (192). 5. It should be noted, however, that the fact that Adira is a human character who is joined with a Trill symbiont could be read as portraying non-binary characters as

“Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations”?

31

alien. Still, Adira’s reference to “never” having felt like a “she” highlights that they have always been non-binary and that this is not a result of their joining with the symbiont. 6. While DS9’s Trill Jadzia Dax (Terry Farrell) has often been read as queer by fans, the majority of her relationships on the show are with men, except for one kiss with another female Trill (S4E6, 1995). I do, therefore, not count her as a character who was deliberately written as openly queer. 7. For an overview over issues of canonicity in transmedia storytelling, readers are referred to Benjamin W.L. Derhy Kurtz’s essay “Set in Stone: Issues of Canonicity of Transtexts” (2017). 8. Coincidentally, claims that LGBTQ+ identities could only be shown via conflicts or that any representation of queer people would inherently be sexual were exactly the reasons why Gene Roddenberry and network representatives long resisted featuring LGBTQ+ characters on Star Trek shows at all. As Jenkins puts it: “The producers, in a curious bit of circular logic, were insisting that the absence of gays and lesbians in the Star Trek universe was evidence of their acceptance within the Federation, while their visibility could only be read as a signs of conflict, a renewed eruption of homophobia” (197). What is more, network representatives claimed, according to Jenkins, that “[r]epresentation of gay characters would require the explicit representation of their sexual practice. Arnold asked, ‘Would you have us show two men in bed together?’” (197). It is at the very least interesting to see similar arguments still crop up to explain the lack of recognizable LGBTQ+ representation. 9. Indeed, the way Nurse Chapel has been written in Strange New Worlds so far fits a trope the website TVTropes calls “But Not Too Bi.” This trope applies “[w]hen a character’s bisexuality is an Informed Attribute rather than something we ever see portrayed. [A character] is stated or implied to be bisexual, gets flirty with both genders, and/or it’s confirmed by the writers, but within the story itself, all of her romantic and sexual partners are men” (n.p.).

REFERENCES “Absolute Candor.” Star Trek Picard, directed by Jonathan Frakes, Secret Hideout et al., 2020. “Amok Time.” Star Trek, directed by Joseph Pevney, Desilu Productions, 1967. “Anomaly.” Star Trek: Discovery, directed by Olatunde Osunsanmi, Secret Hideout et al., 2021. Beyer, Kirsten and Mike Johnson. No Man’s Land. Simon & Schuster Audio, 2022. Booker, Christopher. The Seven Basic Plots: Why We Tell Stories. Continuum, 2004. “Brother.” Star Trek: Discovery, directed by Alex Kurtzman, Secret Hideout et al., 2019. “But Not Too Bi.” TVTropes​.com​, https://tvtropes​.org​/pmwiki​/pmwiki​.php​/Main​/ ButNotTooBi. “Choose to Live.” Star Trek: Discovery, directed by Secret Hideout et al., 2021. “The Cage.” Star Trek, directed by Robert Butler, Desilu Productions, 1965.

32

Mareike Spychala

“The City on the Edge of Forever.” Star Trek, directed by Joseph Pevney, Desilu Productions, 1967. “Choose Your Pain.” Star Trek: Discovery, directed by Lee Rose, Secret Hideout et al., 2017. Copier, Laura and Eliza Steinbock. “On not really being there: Trans* presence/ absence in Dallas Buyers Club.” Feminist Media Studies, vol. 18 no. 5, 2018: 923–941. “Descent, Pt. 1 and Pt. 2.” Star Trek: The Next Generation, directed by Alexander Singer, Paramount Domestic Television, 1993. “Despite Yourself.” Star Trek: Discovery, directed by Alex Kurtzman, Secret Hideout et al., 2018. Drushel, Bruce. “Queerness I: Representation of Gay, Lesbian, and Bisexual People.” The Routledge Handbook of Star Trek. Edited by Leimar Garcia-Siino, Sabrina Mittermeier, and Stefan Rabitsch, Routledge, 2022: 394–402. Eisner, Shiri. Bi: Notes for a Bisexual Revolution. Seal Press, 2013. “Et in Arcadia Ego, Part 2.” Star Trek: Picard, directed by Akiva Goldsman, Secret Hideout et al., 2020. “The Elysian Kingdom.” Star Trek: Strange New Worlds, directed by Michael Weaver, Secret Hideout et al., 2022. “Encounter at Farpoint.” Star Trek: The Next Generation, directed by Corey Allen, Paramount Domestic Television, 1987. “Farewell.” Star Trek: Picard, directed by Akiva Goldsman, Secret Hideout, et al., 2022. “Flashback.” Star Trek: Voyager, directed by David Livingston, Paramount Network Television, 1996. “The Host.” Star Trek: The Next Generation, directed by Marvin V. Rush, Paramount Domestic Television, 1991. “Hear All, Trust Nothing.” Star Trek: Lower Decks, directed by Fill Marc Sagadraca, CBS Eye Animation Productions, 2022. Hollywood Outbreak. “‘Star Trek: Picard’ Boldly Goes Beyond ‘The Next Generation’.” Hollywood Outbreak, 25 Dec. 2019, https://www​.hollywoodoutbreak​.com​ /2019​/12​/26​/star​-trek​-picard​-boldly​-goes​-beyond​-the​-next​-generation. “I, Borg.” Star Trek: The Next Generation, directed by Robert Lederman, Paramount Domestic Television, 1992. “Is Star Trek: Discovery set in the original or the Kelvin timeline?” Science Fiction & Fantasy Stackexchange, 4 Oct. 2017, https://scifi​.stackexchange​.com​/questions​ /171095​/is​-star​-trek​-discovery​-set​-in​-the​-original​-or​-the​-kelvin​-timeline. Jenkins, Henry. “Out of the closet and into the universe: Queerness and Star Trek.” Queer Cinema: The film reader. Edited by Harry Benshoff and Sean Griffin, Routledge, 2004: pp. 189–207. Kanzler, Katja. “‘Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations’: The multlicultural evolution of Star Trek.” American Studies: A Monograph Series. Winter, 2004. Kurtz, Benjamin W.L. Derhy. “Set in stone: Issues of canonicity of transtexts.” The Rise of Transtexts: Challenges and Opportunities. Edited by Benjamin W.L. Derhy Kurtz and Mélanie Bourdaa, Routledge, 2017: 104–118.

“Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations”?

33

“Lift Us Where Suffering Cannot Reach.” Star Trek: Strange New Worlds, directed by Andi Armaganian, Secret Hideout, et al., 2022. “The Menagerie, Pt. 1.” Star Trek, directed by Marc Daniels, Desilu Productions, 1966. “The Menagerie, Pt. 2.” Star Trek, directed by Robert Butler, Desilu Productions, 1966. Mittermeier, Sabrina and Mareike Spychala. “‘Never Hide Who You Are:’ Queer representation and actorvism in Star Trek: Discovery.” Fighting for the Future: Essays on Star Trek: Discovery. Edited by Sabrina Mittermeier and Mareike Spychala, Liverpool UP, 2020: 331–50. “Nepenthe.” Star Trek: Picard, directed by Doug Aarniokoski, Secret Hideout et al., 2020. “The Outcast.” Star Trek: The Next Generation, directed by Robert Scheerer, Paramount Domestic Television, 1992. “Project Daedalus.” Star Trek: Discovery, directed by Jonathan Frakes, Secret Hideout et al., 2019. Reddish, David. “‘Star Trek’s Jonathan Del Arco on the fate of Hugh Borg, life as an out-actor & showbiz peril.” Queerty, March 12, 2020, https://www​.queerty​.com​ /star​-treks​-jonathan​-del​-arco​-fate​-hugh​-borg​-life​-actor​-showbiz​-peril​-20200312. Date Accessed June 15, 2020. “Rejoined.” Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, directed by Avery Brooks, Paramount Domestic Television, 1995. Roque Ramírez, Horacio N. “Gay Latino cultural citizenship: Predicaments of identity and visibility in San Francisco in the 1990s.” Gay Latino Studies: A critical reader. Edited by Michael Hames-García and Ernesto Javier Martínez, Duke UP, 2011: 175–97. “Saints of Imperfection.” Star Trek: Discovery, directed by David Barrett, Secret Hideout et al., 2019. San Filippo, Maria. The B Word: Bisexuality in contemporary film and television, Indiana UP, 2013. “The Serene Squall.” Star Trek: Strange New Worlds, directed by Sydney Freeland, Secret Hideout et al., 2022. “Spock Amok.” Star Trek: Strange New Worlds, directed by Rachel Leiterman, Secret Hideout, et al., 2022. Spry, Jeff. “Seven of Nine grapples with her humanity in ‘Star Trek: Picard’ Season 2, SFX reveals.” Space, 3 Mar. 2022, https://variety​.com​/2020​/tv​/news​/star​-trek​ -lower​-decks​-season​-1​-finale​-riker​-troi​-1234798405. Star Trek. Directed by J. J. Abrams, Spyglass Entertainment and Bad Robot Productions, 2009. “The Sanctuary.” Star Trek: Discovery, directed by Jonathan Frakes, Secret Hideout et al., 2020. “Such Sweet Sorrow, Part 2.” Star Trek: Discovery, directed by Olatunde Osunsanmi, Secret Hideout et al., 2019. Tran, Vincent. “Introduction to Televisual Shared Universes.” Televisual Shared Universes: Expanded and converged storyworlds on the small screen. Edited by CarrieLynn D. Reinhard and Vincent Tran. Lexington, 2023: 1–18.

34

Mareike Spychala

“Trials and Tribble-ations.” Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, directed by Jonathan West, Paramount Domestic Television, 1996. “The Trouble With Tribbles.” Star Trek, directed by Jospeh Pevney, Desilu Productions, 1967. “Unification I.” Star Trek: The Next Generation, directed by Les Landau, 1991. “Unification II.” Star Trek: The Next Generation, directed by Cliff Bole, 1991. “Unification III.” Star Trek: Discovery, directed by Jon Dudkowski, Secret Hideout et al., 2020. Vary, Adam B. “‘Star Trek: Lower Decks’ EP Mike McMahan on that TNG cameo and LGBTQ characters in Season 2.” Variety, 8 Oct. 2020, https://variety​.com​ /2020​/tv​/news​/star​-trek​-lower​-decks​-season​-1​-finale​-riker​-troi​-1234798405. “The Vulcan Hello.” Star Trek: Discovery, directed by David Semel, Secret Hideout et al., 2017. “Watch: A special announcement about Star Trek: Picard Season 3.” StarTrek​.com​, 5 Apr. 2022, https://intl​.startrek​.com​/videos​/watch​-a​-special​-announcement​-about​ -star​-trek​-picard​-season​-3. “We’ll always have Tom Paris.” Star Trek: Lower Decks, directed by Bob Suarez, CBS Eye Animation Productions et al, 2021. Whybrew, Si Sophie Pages. “Queerness II: Transgender and nonbinary representation.” The Routledge Handbook of Star Trek. Edited by Leimar Garcia-Siino, Sabrina Mittermeier, and Stefan Rabitsch, Routledge, 2022: 403–11. “Yesteryear.” Star Trek: The Animated Series, directed by Hal Sutherland, Filmation, et al., 1973.

Chapter 3

Nostalgic Intertextuality and the Television Set Happy Days and Its Shared Universe Raymond I. Schuck

In the pilot episode of Mork & Mindy, after the two titular characters have met, alien Mork mentions to earthling Mindy that he has been to Earth before, leading to a “time warp sequence” taking viewers to one of the main sets from Happy Days, the living room of the Cunningham family. The Cunninghams’ tenant, Arthur “The Fonz” Fonzarelli, is housesitting when Mork shows up. Mork indicates desire for information about “men dating women” (22:13–22:15), telling The Fonz, “You are known throughout the universe for your expertise in this field” (24:10–24:13). Fonz sets Mork up with his friend, Laverne DeFazio, who had made appearances on Happy Days before becoming the colead in her own show, Laverne & Shirley. The meeting between Mork and Laverne goes disastrously, reinforcing the “fish out of water” theme that Mork & Mindy’s pilot episode had already established and that would become a defining feature of Mork’s adventures on Earth. In addition to helping establish the new show Mork & Mindy, this episode provided a synthesis of three different shows that all emanate from the Happy Days universe. After Happy Days became successful, Laverne & Shirley became its first (and most successful) spin-off. Then, Mork made his first television appearance during the Happy Days episode “My Favorite Orkan” (S5E22), when he visited Earth looking for an average (or as he said, “humdrum”) person to take back to Ork as a specimen, ultimately deciding on Happy Days lead character Richie Cunningham. Meanwhile, Mork’s appearance on Happy Days in “My Favorite Orkan” and the appearance of The Fonz and Laverne in the Mork & Mindy pilot were also situated within themes central to Happy Days.

35

36

Raymond I. Schuck

From its inception, Happy Days was built heavily on depiction of heterosexual romantic relationships, particularly as those relationships occur within the context of white middle-class families and their surrounding communities. The focus on dating in the exchange among Mork, The Fonz, and Laverne illustrates that as Happy Days extended its universe through spin-offs, the thematic framing of heterosexual romance remained a foundation. Meanwhile, Mork’s first appearance established the idea that Happy Days’s lead character Richie Cunningham and, by extension, his family and the depictions on the show itself were “humdrum.” In other words, the show explicitly labeled these characters as average United States (US) people, thus placing value on white, middle-class, heterosexual experiences and, in the process, presuming the centrality and importance of those experiences to US society, a presumption that has historically dominated television production decisions. While explicitly invoking connection to “ordinary” people, Happy Days also articulated its theme through a nostalgic portrayal of US life that invoked a fundamental component of the myth of the American heartland that has represented the US Midwest as a synecdoche for the entire country. As such, the show worked within what Victoria Johnson has called “Heartland TV,” wherein television practices have built viewing experiences on the heartland myth. The show’s spin-offs also advanced Happy Days’s use of intertextuality, relying upon television’s cultural significance in the 1970s along with the nostalgic cultural symbolism of television as a form of popular culture since the 1950s. Bringing together major characters from Happy Days and its two successful spin-offs invoked that intertextual spirit, which is also reflected in the name of the episode, “My Favorite Orkan,” an obvious and deliberate reference to the 1960s television show My Favorite Martian. All of this highlighted the role of television in US life in the 1970s while also building from production practices that guided television at the time. Staging a confluence of The Fonz, Laverne, and Mork, and naming that confluence after another television show explicitly reinforced the primacy of television as a cultural phenomenon of significance in US life and called upon audiences’ knowledge of all three shows to understand what they were watching and what it meant. This chapter examines the Happy Days televisual shared universe, defined as Happy Days and the five television spin-offs it produced: Laverne & Shirley, Mork & Mindy, Blansky’s Beauties, Out of the Blue, and Joanie Loves Chachi.1 The chapter begins by examining the ideological commitments of Happy Days, including how it articulates a nostalgic portrayal of the United States centered on the representations of “ordinary” people built from the heartland myth and the whiteness, middle-class cultural privilege, and heteronormativity that myth invokes. The analysis suggests that that portrayal occurs in part through the show’s reliance on intertextuality. The analysis

Nostalgic Intertextuality and the Television Set

37

also situates Happy Days’s portrayal within prominent television production practices of its time. The chapter then examines each of Happy Days’s spin-offs, discussing how these spin-offs maintained the show’s ideological commitments while incorporating new contexts, including feminism, popular fascination with space, and the development of the entertainment industry, along with new locales such as Chicago; Las Vegas; and Boulder, Colorado. The shared universe these series created was a manifestation of the political economy of 1970s/1980s television, with network executives seeking to capitalize off Happy Days’s success. At the same time, these series provided a means of extending the show’s ideological underpinnings and the cultural nostalgia upon which Happy Days drew. This chapter argues that the Happy Days shared universe demonstrates how a televisual shared universe, built in television production practices, functions as a significant vehicle for the advancement of the universe’s ideological framing. In this particular instance, the development of a shared universe based on Happy Days utilized depictions of a presumed ordinary US identity that provided a means of extending and rearticulating the white, heteronormative, middle-class American ideological underpinnings upon which Happy Days was based.

HAPPY DAYS AND ITS SIGNIFICANCE By various measures, Happy Days was one of the most successful programs in television history. It ran for eleven seasons and was a Nielsen-ratings hit, including being the number 1 show in the United States in 1976–1977, the number 2 show in 1977–1978, and the number 4 show in 1978–1979 (Staiger 33). It enjoyed a long syndication run both during and after its initial airing. The show furthered the star status of Ron Howard, who was already known for the likes of The Andy Griffith Show, while launching other careers, most notably as it made a popular culture icon out of the character Arthur “The Fonz” Fonzarelli (played by Henry Winkler), who in 2004 TV Guide named the fourth greatest TV character of all time (The Editors of TV Guide). Meanwhile, Happy Days’s impact on popular culture also shows in its inspiration for cultural practices and catchphrases. Hitting a machine to make it work derives from The Fonz making the jukebox in the local drive-in restaurant, Arnold’s, work by hitting it. Phrases from the show such as “Ayyyy!” and “Sit on it” became prominent in the 1970s and 1980s. Meanwhile, Happy Days provides the origin of the phrase “jumping the shark,” which refers to a moment when, in an attempt to redevelop its popularity, a television show depicts something ridiculously out of step with its own history. The phrase refers to “Hollywood: Part 3” (S5E3), when The Fonz jumps over a shark while on water skis to demonstrate his fearlessness.

38

Raymond I. Schuck

Happy Days’s cultural significance is also manifest in the number of spinoff series it produced. That list includes the successful shows Laverne & Shirley and Mork & Mindy. Happy Days also spawned three unsuccessful spin-offs, Out of the Blue, Blansky’s Beauties, and Joanie Loves Chachi.1 As such, the legacy of Happy Days is, at least in part, inseparable from the creation of a shared universe and the intertextuality accompanying that shared universe. Compounding that inseparability is that Happy Days itself was a spin-off. Happy Days originated as a segment in a 1972 episode of Love, American Style titled “Love and the Television Set.” Set in the 1950s, the family who would become the central characters on Happy Days gets a television set, and their teenage son and his friend decide that the television set might effectively attract girls. From its inception, Happy Days was built on intertextual allusions to a portrayal of reality built in nostalgia for a mass-mediated version of white, heteronormative, middle-class American cultural experiences, particularly those of teenagers and young adults seeking heterosexual romantic partners while situated within the frame of patriarchal nuclear families. As Daniel Marcus writes, “In its most prominent seasons, the series revolves around the soda shop and suburban living room, and shows young men’s attempts to respond to challenges to their emerging sense of masculinity” (24). Happy Days’s pilot episode, suggestively titled “All the Way,” focuses on Richie’s interaction on a date with Mary Lou Milligan, whose reputation for promiscuousness turns out erroneous. The episode’s motifs include use of the Mickey Spillane novel I, the Jury, thus establishing the show’s consistent use of intertextual references to popular culture of the 1950s. The show cemented that pattern by making the Cunningham’s living room, complete with television (presumably the one purchased in the Love, American Style segment), one of the program’s most prominent sets, accompanied by conversations about not only television, but also films, music, celebrities, and other popular culture. The show was also consciously created to build from the nostalgia trend that had become prominent in the early 1970s. According to producer Garry Marshall, with the success of such texts as the film American Graffiti and the Broadway play Grease in the early 1970s, ABC television wanted a show that would draw on the popularity of 1950s nostalgia. Marshall had produced a pilot for a show titled New Family in Town that was used for the segment on Love, American Style. Revamped a bit, including adding The Fonz and replacing Harold Gould with Tom Bosley as Howard Cunningham, Happy Days was born. As Marshall said, Happy Days “was a show in which I was trying to create the fact that people had heroes in the 50s. The heroes are there, and you cheered the heroes. As the years went by, there’s not a lot of cheering anymore. People didn’t cheer anybody. Mostly, they try to say what

Nostalgic Intertextuality and the Television Set

39

was wrong with them or they’d find some National Enquirer thing” (“Garry Marshall Discusses Creating Happy Days” 8:06–8:31”). Marshall has also suggested that nostalgia added to the show’s broad appeal across age demographics. According to Marshall, “the kids thought it was about them and the parents thought it was about their past, and so they watched it together, and part of my intention was to get a show that everybody could watch together” (“Garry Marshall Discusses Creating Happy Days” 9:01–9:14). While Happy Days explicitly drew on the nostalgia trend, Janet Staiger has suggested that the show’s nostalgia differed significantly from that promoted in the likes of American Graffiti. According to Staiger, in Happy Days “the emphasis was still on the innocence of the 1950s, but that innocence was couched not in the arena of the political or public sphere but rather in private terms—more specifically, it was sexual innocence” (118). Packaged as portrayals that could appeal across generations, to both kids and parents, Happy Days benefited from television industry regulation designed to address FCC complaints about the depiction of violence and adult themes. Networks agreed not to show “adult-themed” programs between 7:00 p.m. and 9:00 p.m. Eastern time (Staiger 123). Though Happy Days portrayed content related to sex, it was not deemed “adult themed” and, thus, while airing at 8:00 p.m., it competed against material that lacked its cross-generational drawing power. Meanwhile, the nostalgia of Happy Days, while sprinkled with enough 1970s and 1980s sensibilities to maintain relevance across generations, remained one that promoted a false image of the commonalities of US life in the 1950s. As Daniel Marcus has suggested, Happy Days portrays a society operating with a much greater degree of consensus than early-1970s America enjoyed; this representation in turn became accepted as the consensus view of the 1950s. The show could ignore 1970s social conflict without seeming to actively repress or exclude voices of discontent, since those voices were retrospectively considered silent in the era it depicted. Indeed, the show’s occasional movements toward a social message, as when the Fonz stops a white, racist jury member from convicting a black man wrongly charged with a crime, seem to prove there was little need for social disruption by aggrieved groups to ensure that they would receive fair treatment. With the Fonz in charge, the Sixties seem unnecessary. (27–28)

Happy Days reinforced that sense of consensus by advancing the idea that its characters, and particularly Richie Cunningham and his family, were ordinary, with their lives centered around prominent popular culture, including television, and the patriarchal, heterosexual, nuclear white family.

40

Raymond I. Schuck

Situated in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Happy Days also drew on its geographical location to invoke what has become known as the heartland myth. As Victoria Johnson explains, Presumed Midwestern ideas and the Midwest as imagined, symbolic Heartland have been central to television’s promotion and development and to the broader critical and public discourse regarding the medium’s value and cultural worth. [. . .] The Heartland myth provides a short-hand cultural common sense framework for “all-American” identification, redeeming goodness, face-to-face community, sanctity, and emplaced ideas to which a desirous and nostalgic public discourse repeatedly returns. Positively embraced as the locus of solid dependability, cultural populism, and producerist, “plain folks” independence, the Midwest as Heartland, in this iteration, symbolizes the ideal nation (in other words, “We the People” are, ideally, [M]idwesterners). (5)

Johnson suggests that Happy Days and Laverne Shirley “resonate with Heartland TV’s focus on the cultural imagination of a ‘populist’ American ‘middle,’ but the programs themselves were not [. . .] indicative of a broader shift to interrogation of the myth” (22). Johnson’s characterization of the show aligns with the cultural conservatism identified by Staiger and Marcus, suggesting that Happy Days invokes the celebratory aspects of the heartland myth without challenging the problematic aspects of the myth’s representation of what the US Midwest signifies. Overall, the ideological underpinnings of Happy Days present a nostalgic vision of the United States in the 1950s that rests on portrayal of “ordinary” people. Those ordinary people are largely white, heterosexual, and middle class, emanating from the patriarchal nuclear family, particularly from suburbs of US cities, either from the US Midwest or from places that conform to a sense of community that has been associated with the US Midwest. As these supposedly ordinary people are positioned to represent the United States itself, Happy Days promotes its thematic emphases, most prominently heterosexual romance meant to produce propagation of the patriarchal nuclear family, as the foundation of US society. Intertextual references to other prominent elements of US popular culture, themselves historically built on attempts to appeal to white, heterosexual, middle-class audiences, reinforce that ideological milieu. Generally, Happy Days would have us believe, people in the United States are ordinary people who seek out monogamous heterosexual romantic partnerships that lead to patriarchal nuclear families living in suburban homes and partaking in popular entertainment, most prominently by gathering around the television set. As I will show, though Happy Days spin-offs extended situations beyond Happy Days’s rather straightforward nostalgia, the Happy Days shared universe maintained the original show’s ideological commitments.

Nostalgic Intertextuality and the Television Set

41

Happy Days as Shared Universe As Vincent Tran indicates in the introduction to the present volume, within shared universes, discrete texts attempt to become ontologically real. In other words, the texts work together to create a fictional universe that not only exists among those texts, but feels real as audiences consume the texts. In theorizing this element of shared universes, Tran draws from the work of Mark Wolf, who suggests that transfictional and transmediated shared universes are an important part of worldbuilding. Wolf suggests that such worldbuilding requires consistency, completeness, and balance to form a believable reality, and Tran argues that the vitality of those qualities applies particularly to televisual shared universes. Considering the importance of ontological realness to a televised set of texts such as Happy Days and its spin-offs, the image those texts create and project serves a foundational role in the texts’ shared universe. As Tomasz Żaglewski suggests, “the most fundamental thing about the fictional universe is that it is supposed to refer to a number of textual objects that remain in mutual cooperation in developing a mental image of a given storyworld and its characters” (591). Żaglewski’s suggestion conveys the greater fullness represented by a shared universe. Shared universes are not just casual references and connections texts make to one another. Rather, texts within a shared universe are explicitly designed to create a common image. Corresponding to that image creation, while texts within a shared universe can offer ideological differences, their common ground also provides a basis for maintaining ideological commitments, and any common elements that must remain intact for the universe to maintain its existence will bear the ideological commitments of the texts’ construction. A well-established and well-maintained common ideological ground provides the basis for the consistency, completeness, and balance required for a successful shared universe. Because of the structure of Love, American Style as a show, Happy Days’s origin on it does not really make it a shared universe with the show’s other segments. That origin, though, does make Happy Days a spin-off and a show built from intertextuality. The shared universe that proceeded from Happy Days constitutes a form of transfictionality Tran identifies as expansion, as television producers sought to add texts to the storyworld through five spin-offs, all of which were character spin-offs, originating from characters introduced previously (or, in one case, with near simultaneity) on Happy Days. Those spin-offs, especially Laverne & Shirley and Mork & Mindy, provided the basis for a multitexual shared Happy Days universe that was prominent in US popular culture from the mid-1970s to the mid-1980s. By examining each of these spin-off series, this chapter demonstrates how the Happy Days shared universe extended Happy Days’s thematic reach in ways that aligned with television production practices of

42

Raymond I. Schuck

the 1970s and 1980s while also maintaining the show’s ideological underpinnings based on its portrayal of the ordinary as a standard for US life. As such, Happy Days and its spin-offs demonstrate how a shared universe can advance a set of ideological interests while incorporating additional thematic content. Laverne & Shirley The first and most successful of Happy Days’s spin-offs was Laverne & Shirley. As producer Garry Marshall has suggested, the show was created out of 1970s television’s prevailing practice of creating spin-offs, as network executives sought to capitalize on popular products by creating additional shows that could also attract audiences. Also, as Staiger has suggested, Laverne & Shirley helped make Happy Days into the success that it was, raising the parent show’s ratings to a new level of success that the two shows would enjoy with one another for a number of years (136). Laverne & Shirley is, thus, a product of television practices explicitly built for the creation of a shared universe meant to produce additional consumption. Premiering in January 1976, the show depicts the experiences of two of The Fonz’s friends, Laverne DeFazio (played by Marshall’s sister, Penny) and Shirley Feeney (played by Cindy Williams, who had been in American Graffiti alongside Ron Howard). Laverne and Shirley rent an apartment together in Milwaukee and work at a brewery. By depicting two single working women, Laverne & Shirley articulated the advancement of second wave feminism that was prominent in the 1970s and present in other television programs of the time, most notably The Mary Tyler Moore Show. Like The Mary Tyler Moor Show, Laverne & Shirley explicitly built from that feminism from its outset with a memorable theme song. While The Mary Tyler Moore Show’s theme exclaimed, “You’re gonna make it after all!” for Laverne & Shirley the theme was the very similar “We’re gonna make our dreams come true . . . for me and you!” Laverne DeFazio and Shirley Feeney articulated that feminism differently from the likes of Mary Richards, though. As Marshall has indicated, the fact that Laverne and Shirley were workingclass women motivated the decision to make them into a show (“Garry Marshall Discusses Creating Laverne and Shirley”). The characters had made several appearances on Happy Days, and as television executives sought new material, Marshall mentioned building a show on them, which appealed to executives who “were dying for somebody who didn’t look like Mary Tyler Moore or all the pretty girls on TV. They wanted somebody who looked like a regular person and these two [. . .] My sister looks like a regular person, talks like a regular person, and Cindy Williams was brilliant as Shirley Feeney” (“Garry Marshall Discusses Creating Laverne and Shirley” 3:32–3:49). As

Nostalgic Intertextuality and the Television Set

43

Marshall’s comments convey, Laverne & Shirley was explicitly designed to depict “regular” people, aligning with Happy Days. Placing Laverne and Shirley’s work within a brewery also situated them within the cultural significance of Milwaukee. Like with Happy Days, Milwaukee geographically placed the show within the US Midwest, allowing Laverne & Shirley to draw readily from the heartland myth, like its predecessor. Since breweries are synonymous with Milwaukee, the women’s employment at a brewery further emphasized their geographic location. The fictional brewery was named Shotz, a clear reference to Schlitz beer, which was so synonymous with Milwaukee that it used the slogan “The beer that made Milwaukee famous.” Meanwhile, both factory work and beer signified working class for Laverne and Shirley, once again distinguishing them from female leads such as Mary Tyler Moore. Even when the show moved its fictional location to Los Angeles for the final three seasons, it had already established itself as a product of the Midwest, and in that regard, the characters’ adventures in southern California assumed the US trope of the young Midwesterner who embodies a sense of innocence and inherent goodness while seeking to make it in L.A., typically in the entertainment industry. Laverne & Shirley thus differed from Happy Days in that it placed women squarely into its lead roles, it gave those women lives as independent working women in the early 1960s, and it moved the social class locus more fully into the working class. Yet, even as it expanded in those ways, it maintained the focus on romantic relationships that was central to Happy Days. Episodes consistently revolved around the two central characters’ dating lives. Also, while the two main characters were single working women sharing an apartment, the show still situated them within the support network of a patriarchal family with Laverne’s family as main supporting characters. The duo’s upstairs neighbors, Lenny and Squiggy, who embodied the greaser image like the Fonz but as comic relief rather than paternalistic expert, also served as pseudo-family members, like brothers or cousins who were partners in Laverne and Shirley’s exploits. The show also relied on similar forms of intertextuality that linked it to US middle-class experiences. Cindy Williams herself constituted an intertextual reference to 1950s nostalgia given her role in American Graffiti. Among many other popular culture references, the show featured allusions to The Tonight Show, Peter Pan, “High Hopes,” The Talking Magpies, and other texts that were prominent during the time period portrayed. Laverne & Shirley’s initial episode, “The Society Party” (S1E1), highlighted these themes, particularly in its use of the Fonz to connect it to the Happy Days shared universe. In this episode, Tad Shotz, the nephew of the owner of the beer company at which Laverne and Shirley work, invites the two women to a high society party. The invitation itself establishes the show’s

44

Raymond I. Schuck

two main characters as working class, “regular” people, as Tad is explicitly working on the front lines of the bottling factory to learn the company “from the ground up” (00:44–00:45), and he would like Laverne and Shirley to attend the party to demonstrate that he relates to the factory workers. Shirley is excited about the possibility because she might meet a rich man who falls in love with her, at one point even singing Frank Sinatra’s “High Hopes” in the women’s apartment, thus reinforcing the shared universe’s pattern of intertextual references. Laverne, however, does not wish to attend and tries to get out of it by making up an excuse that she has a date with Arthur Fonzarelli. Tad, though, indicates that Fonzarelli can come, too, thus setting up the use of the shared universe to embed the show within patriarchal ideology. Numerous incidents at the party emphasize Laverne and Shirley as working class set against the upper-class norms they encounter, culminating in guests accusing the women of stealing the dresses they rented for the event. As tensions mount, The Fonz asserts patriarchal authority by mediating the conflict, all while acting smoothly as if he fits in with both working and upper classes, perhaps best represented when he tells the upper-class guests that Laverne and Shirley “don’t have nice clothes like you and me,” all while he insists on keeping his leather jacket on, complemented by a collared shirt and a tie but also jeans. Laverne & Shirley extended the Happy Days shared universe to a fuller working-class portrayal and into a depiction of women that embodied aspects of developments in the women’s movement in the 1970s and 1980s. The spin-off also eventually extended the universe’s reach to Los Angeles, a connection that had been briefly used in Happy Days when, for three episodes of Season 5, the Cunninghams and their friends took a vacation to Hollywood. Yet, Laverne & Shirley maintained the Happy Days ideological commitments as it situated its working women within white, patriarchal, heterosexual structures of relationships that included both actual and pseudo family structures and that emphasized the characters’ romantic interests as central to their experiences. Laverne & Shirley also explicitly cast its characters as “ordinary” people, living in the US Midwest and invoking the heartland myth that suggested these people embody authentic US experience. Finally, the show continued Happy Days’s tradition of emphasizing intertextual references that asked the audience to know and understand US popular culture geared toward white, middle-class, heterosexual audiences. Mork & Mindy Thanks in large part to the 1977 success of Star Wars, space became a prominent part of US popular culture in the late 1970s and early 1980s. The Star Trek franchise was revived in 1979 with Star Trek: The Motion Picture

Nostalgic Intertextuality and the Television Set

45

(Robert Wise), and numerous other films sought to find success with space settings. Television also took part in the trend, as shows such as Battlestar Galactica and Buck Rogers aired during this time. In 1978, Happy Days deliberately joined the trend by introducing Mork from Ork in “My Favorite Orkan” (S5E22), where Mork comes to Earth and selects Richie Cunningham in his search for an ordinary, a.k.a. “humdrum,” specimen to take to his planet as exemplary of humans. As producer Garry Marshall has suggested, the character Mork was deliberately created when Marshall was asked to develop a new show and he drew on suggestions from his then-sevenyear-old son, who had become more interested in space than in watching shows such as Happy Days (“Garry Marshall Discusses Creating ‘Mork and Mindy’”). By the beginning of the 1978–1979 television series, Mork had his own show, Mork & Mindy, as ABC continued the television production practice of developing spin-offs from successful programs. In this show, Mork comes to Earth in the 1970s to continue his study of the planet and its inhabitants. He meets Mindy McConnell, a single woman living in Boulder, Colorado, and working with her dad in their family-owned musical store. Mindy takes him in, and over the course of the show’s four seasons, romance develops between the two main characters, who eventually get married and have a child. As such, the show continued the Happy Days universe’s focus on heterosexual relationships within the context of white, middle-class experiences portrayed as emblematic of ordinary people. In this case, the show highlighted heterosexual relationships largely through the development of Mork and Mindy’s relationship, which develops romantically by the end of the first season; however, in early episodes, various romantic encounters occur, including, among others, Mork falling in love with a mannequin; Mindy reconnecting with her ex-fiancé; and attempts by Susan, a former dating rival of Mindy’s, to hook up with Mork. Even Mork and Mindy’s initial meeting is situated within the world of heterosexual relationships, as Mindy is left at the Boulder Reservoir after breaking up with her boyfriend when he pushes sexual advances further than she wishes. Here she encounters Mork, whom she mistakes for a priest because of his outfit, and she uses their walk home to express her frustrations about her now-ex-boyfriend. Additionally, while Mork and some of the show’s other characters, most notably Exidor, are anything but ordinary US people, Mindy is positioned as normality through the trope of the girl next door who has historically embodied white, middle-class, heterosexual identity in ways that invoke the heartland myth. Meanwhile, the show was filled with popular culture references, especially television references, that are a hallmark of the Happy Days universe. The pilot episode alone includes references to The Jeffersons and Perry Mason, among others. This routine of using intertextual allusions would become a pattern throughout the show, especially

46

Raymond I. Schuck

as it highlighted the comedy performances of Robin Williams, whose act was heavily based on impersonation. Mork & Mindy’s location moved the universe out of the US Midwest as it was set in Boulder, Colorado. Producer Garry Marshall chose the location because his niece lived there and when asked for a location for the show, it was the first thing he thought to offer as an answer (“Garry Marshall Discusses Creating ‘Mork and Mindy’”). Yet, setting the show in Boulder offered thematic significance as well. The setting echoed US western expansion, establishing the heartland community on the western frontier. It also aligned with the focus on space in the United States in the 1970s. In the 1960s, the Kennedy administration made getting to the moon an explicit part of its “New Frontier” vision, and Star Trek made the link even more direct by calling space “the final frontier.” In 1977, Star Wars drew on these same cultural themes as George Lucas, who was also, notably, the director of American Graffiti, deliberately created the film to embody the Westerns with which he had grown up in the 1940s and 1950s (Seabrook). Meanwhile, Mork & Mindy advanced the theme of female independence Laverne & Shirley had begun. While Mindy begins the pilot episode in a romantic relationship, she is a working woman who lives alone when Mork meets her. The show would also reveal that she went to college to become a journalist, a career she eventually reasserts, and that Mindy was the first girl in Boulder to play Little League baseball, which presents her character as a challenge to traditional gender roles. In Season 4, after Mork and Mindy get married, the show offered another challenge to traditional gender roles as the male Mork gets pregnant and gives birth to a baby Orkan. However, while Mork’s pregnancy reversed traditional sex roles, its context within the science fiction motif of Mork as an alien muted its challenge. It also happened squarely within the context of the nuclear family since Mork and Mindy got married before they had a child. Additionally, while the show depicted contemporary times in the late 1970s and early 1980s, and with that offered social advancements such as new developments regarding gender, its characters continued to make explicit overtures to nostalgia for the 1950s. In the pilot episode, after finding out that Mork is living with Mindy, Mindy’s father, Fred, drinks a bottle of wine in despair. When his police officer friend Tilwick checks on him, Fred articulates the nostalgia for the 1950s that is central to the Happy Days shared universe. As Fred exclaims, “A toast . . . a toast to the old days when values were values and morals were morals. I remember when sharing a pad meant borrowing a notebook” (36:56–37:05). When Fred explains why he is upset, Tilwick first thinks that’s not consistent with Mindy, then offers to go over the next morning to scare Mork away from Mindy, thus reinforcing that the past needs to be defended. Subsequently, in the spring of 1979, after Mork

Nostalgic Intertextuality and the Television Set

47

& Mindy had been established, Mork articulates 1950s nostalgia himself in a second appearance on Happy Days. In “Mork Returns” (S6E24), Mork visits again with Richie and The Fonz. When they ask Mork about life in the 1970s, Mork offers characterizations of both girls and cars as faster, and he provides subtle commentary on Jimmy Carter and Richard Nixon. More fully, he characterizes the 1950s as a more “humdrum,” and thus more valued, time period than the 1970s. Later, in a report to his superior, Orson, at the end of the episode, Mork characterizes the 1950s as a “wonderful, naïve, and romantic time.” Blansky’s Beauties Preceding Mork & Mindy as the second spin-off from Happy Days was the short-lived Blansky’s Beauties, which lasted just thirteen episodes as a midseason replacement in 1977. Blansky’s Beauties centered around Happy Days dad Howard Cunningham’s cousin, Nancy Blansky, who made an appearance on Happy Days a week before Blansky’s Beauties’s debut, introducing her character to television audiences. Taking place two decades later, like Mork & Mindy in the contemporary times of the 1970s, Blansky’s Beauties featured Nancy housing several showgirls in an apartment in Las Vegas. Blansky’s Beauties was a product of numerous attempts by Garry Marshall to develop a show around this premise, and much of the cast would try again with Who’s Watching the Kids? in 1978. Though Blansky’s Beauties moved out of the direct confines of the nuclear family, it retained the Happy Days universe’s emphasis on depicting situations emanating from white, heterosexual families. Meanwhile, in line with Laverne & Shirley and Mork & Mindy, it articulated this through the lens of working women. It also, like Mork & Mindy, moved the heartland myth out west, echoing US western expansion, though this time in the name of entertainment. In addition to connecting to Happy Days through Nancy, the show featured Arnold, Happy Days’ original diner owner, and an appearance from Happy Days recurring character Pinky Tuscadero. It also featured numerous actors who would work in other roles on Happy Days and Laverne & Shirley. Perhaps the most poignant use of the shared universe occurred in the show’s eighth episode, “Nancy Remembers Laverne.” In this episode, Nancy remembers the time she met Laverne while doing a show in Milwaukee. Nancy’s regular partner couldn’t make the show, and Laverne filled in, successfully. Following the show, in a dialogue complete with intertexuality through an extended reference to entertainer Señor Wences, the two characters discuss Laverne moving to Las Vegas to join Nancy’s regular show. In the end, Laverne chooses to stay in Milwaukee, explaining, “I got plans. You see, the way I figure it, I get a roommate. I move out. I find a fella and move

48

Raymond I. Schuck

out. Get married, have kids, they’ll all move out, and you know, have like a family life right here” (21:24–21:38). When Nancy approvingly explains that it takes just as much hard work to be a good wife and mother as it does to be a good dancer, Laverne tells Nancy, “For a star, you’re a regular person” (22:33–22:35). Laverne’s appearance thus emphasizes that even as Blansky’s Beauties embodied aspects of US culture that might seem counter to the ideological focus of the Happy Days shared universe, Nancy and, by extension, her fellow main characters remained the kind of “ordinary” people the universe centralized. Out of the Blue A second short-lived Happy Days spin-off (or crossover, depending on how one wishes to characterize its introduction) was Out of the Blue, which aired for eight episodes in the fall of 1979. In this show, an angel-in-training named Random comes to earth to work as a high school teacher and live with a family in the Chicago suburbs. One week after Out of the Blue debuted, Random appeared on Happy Days to help introduce television audiences to his character. Like Mork & Mindy, Out of the Blue moved the Happy Days universe into a fantasy direction, this time to the religious supernatural rather than outer space. In line with that, Mork made an appearance in the show’s pilot episode. Situated in the US Midwest, just down the road from Milwaukee, Out of the Blue reiterated the heartland myth, complete with the white, heterosexual, middle-class family. In this case, the use of an angel connected the myth more explicitly to the United States’ Christian cultural heritage than previous shows in the Happy Days universe had done. As such, it equated the Happy Days universe’s image of ordinary people, and by extension the United States, with Christianity. Joanie Loves Chachi The last Happy Days spin-off was Joanie Loves Chachi, which ran for four episodes as a midseason replacement in March of 1982, then lasted seventeen episodes in a second season before its cancellation. Unlike the other shortlived spin-offs, this series focused on main characters from Happy Days. In it, Joanie Cunningham and The Fonz’s cousin Chachi Arcola move to Chicago in the early 1960s and try to make it in the music business. Like Out of the Blue, it remained in the US Midwest with its Chicago setting. In this case, the focus on heterosexual relationships revolved around the romantic relationship of Joanie Cunningham and Chachi Arcola. The show also echoed Blansky’s Beauties by following the experiences of characters positioned in the Happy Days style of ordinary people seeking to make it in the entertainment

Nostalgic Intertextuality and the Television Set

49

industry. It was also explicit in its references to popular culture of the 1960s, including such cultural phenomena as Beatlemania and the Marx Brothers. In “Fonzie’s Visit” (S2E1), the show drew on the Happy Days shared universe to aid its depiction of “ordinary” people within the confines of white, middle-class heterosexual patriarchy. In this episode, Joanie and Chachi’s band have booked an audition for the television show Twist Fever, a fictional program that is The Fonz’s explicitly declared “favorite show” and that provides intertextual reference to US culture of the early 1960s when dance shows featured prominently on television and Chubby Checker’s “The Twist” became a massive cultural phenomenon. At the audition, the talent judge takes one look at the band and says that she is looking for something “different,” thus situating Joanie and Chachi as “ordinary.” When the two main characters find out that a family band would qualify as different, they make up a story that the act is a family band. To do so, they convince The Fonz to pretend to be their father alongside Chachi’s actual mother, framing their argument as helping out Joanie and Chachi’s “life together” as well as “for the future of the free world” (12:22–12:27), thus explicitly associating heterosexual romantic coupling with the foundations of US society. After their performance wins the band the gig, though, The Fonz expresses his disapproval of Joanie and Chachi lying. As such, The Fonz asserts a patriarchal fatherhood role in word and in action, both serving as the stand-in false father for the ruse and providing the kind of actual guidance associated with parenthood. While Happy Days had been built from its inception on nostalgia for the 1950s, Joanie Loves Chachi attempted to extend the Happy Days universe’s nostalgic reach with its depiction of the early 1960s. Like its predecessor, Joanie Loves Chachi framed that nostalgia heavily within the popular culture of the time it depicted, most notably, for both shows, through music. As Joanie Loves Chachi moved beyond the 1950s nostalgia and sought to invoke the next era in the lives of white, heterosexual, midwestern, middleclass teenagers and young adults, the spin-off ended up offering a sense of the impending closure of the shared universe, demonstrating Daniel Marcus’s point that Happy Days depiction of the 1950s rendered the 1960s unnecessary. By the time the last episode of Joanie Loves Chachi aired on May 24, 1983, Laverne & Shirley had aired its final episode two weeks earlier, Mork & Mindy had aired its final episode a year earlier, and Happy Days would last just one more season. When Joanie Loves Chachi failed, its titular characters returned to Happy Days and were vital to that series’ final act, as they married at the end of Happy Days’s last season, sending off audiences with an event that marked the culmination of the shared universe’s emphasis on heterosexual relationships. Richie Cunningham had already married in Season 8, and now Joanie was marrying, thus completing the Cunningham quartet’s

50

Raymond I. Schuck

generational transformation to the establishment of a new round of nuclear families. THE SIGNIFICANCE OF HAPPY DAYS’S TELEVISUAL SHARED UNIVERSE The Happy Days shared universe was a prominent part of US popular culture from Happy Days’ beginning in January 1974 through its end in July 1984. Along the way, Happy Days and its five spin-offs demonstrated both the successes and the failures that could occur as television executives produced a shared universe while seeking to create new programming. At times, the shows even made tongue-in-cheek reference to their creation as a shared universe, perhaps nowhere as explicitly as during Mork’s report to Orson at the end of the “Mork Returns” episode of Happy Days (S6E24). Orson notes that this is not Mork’s day of the week to report. The statement comments on the in-universe practice of Mork reporting once a week to Orson on the same day each week. At the same time, outside of the universe, the line counted on a double meaning, as Mork appearing on Happy Days occurred on a different day of the week in the television lineup than Mork & Mindy aired. Adding to the consciousness of the shared universe, Mork responds to Orson by saying, “I know that, sir. I’m doing a spin-on to pay back for my spin-off” (22:37–22:39). Amid these television production practices, the shared universe created an image built on nostalgia about the 1950s, associating innocence and calmness with that decade through depiction of pursuit of romantic relationships within a nuclear family model that had become associated in US popular culture with a white, heterosexual, middle-class sense of what constitutes the ordinary. That sense of the ordinary invoked the heartland myth that equated US identity with a constructed sense of the US Midwest as a place of purity and community. Even as Happy Days’s spin-offs, and to some extent some elements of Happy Days itself, extended beyond the confines of that original nostalgic image, their shared universe maintained a nostalgic tone and appeals to the heartland myth and that myth’s connection to a constructed white, heterosexual, middle-class sense of the ordinary. In line with Mork’s comments, the spin-offs were simultaneously spins on Happy Days itself. NOTE 1. For the purposes of this chapter, I am focusing on just live-action spin-offs. Happy Days also produced two Saturday-morning animated shows: The Fonz and the Happy Days Gang and Mork & Mindy/Laverne & Shirley/Fonz Hour. Connections

Nostalgic Intertextuality and the Television Set

51

between these shows and the themes I identify exist, but their status as Saturdaymorning cartoons rather than primetime live-action series creates enough of a difference in audiences and in production decisions that I chose to focus just on the live-action programs for the present analysis.

REFERENCES “All the Way.” Happy Days, written by Rob Reiner, Phil Mishkin, and Garry Marshall, directed by Mel Ferber, Miller-Milkis, 1974. The Editors of TV Guide. TV Guide Guide to TV. Barnes & Noble, 2004. “Garry Marshall Discusses Creating Happy Days.” YouTube, uploaded by FoundationINTERVIEWS, 13 July 2012, https://www​.youtube​.com​/watch​?v​ =hTDz6nDJh2E. “Garry Marshall Discusses Creating Laverne and Shirley.” YouTube, uploaded by FoundationINTERVIEWS, 13 July 2012, https://www​.youtube​.com​/watch​?v​ =uCm1c​-EyrPU. “Garry Marshall Discusses Creating ‘Mork and Mindy.’” YouTube, uploaded by FoundationINTERVIEWS, 13 July 2012, https://www​.youtube​.com​/watch​?v​ =ECjDO​_iX8Xw. Gordon, Andrew. “Star Wars: A Myth for Our Time.” Literature Film Quarterly, vol. 6, no. 4, 1978: 314–26. “Hollywood: Part 3.” Happy Days, written by Fred Fox, Jr., directed by Jerry Paris, Miller-Milkis, 1977. Johnson, Victoria E. Heartland TV: Prime time television and the struggle for U.S. identity. New York UP, 2008. “Love and the Television Set.” Love, American Style, written by Garry Marshall, directed by Gary Nelson, Paramount, 1972. Marcus, Daniel. Happy Days and Wonder Years: The Fifties and the Sixties in contemporary cultural politics. Rutgers UP, 2004. “Mork Returns.” Happy Days, written by Walter Kempley, directed by Jerry Paris, Miller-Milkis, 1979. “My Favorite Orkan.” Happy Days, written by Joe Glauberg, directed by Jerry Paris, Miller-Milkis, 1978. “Nancy Remembers Laverne,” Blansky’s Beauties, written by Roger Garrett, directed by Jerry Paris, Miller-Milkis, 1977. “Pilot.” Mork & Mindy, written by Dale McRaven, directed by Howard Storm, Miller-Milkis, 1978. Seabrook, John. “Why Is the Force Still with Us?” The New Yorker, 6 Jan. 1997, https://www​.newyorker​.com​/magazine​/1997​/01​/06​/why​-is​-the​-force​-still​-with​ -us. Staiger, Janet. Blockbuster TV: Must-see sitcoms in the network era. New York UP, 2000.

52

Raymond I. Schuck

Wolf, Mark. Building Imaginary Worlds: The theory and history of subcreation. Routledge, 2012. Żaglewski, Tomas. “The Impossibles Revived: Hanna-Barbera’s superhero universe in TV and comics.” Journal of Graphic Novels and Comics, vol. 12 no. 5, 2021, 589–605.

Chapter 4

From Television to Videotape and Back Again Intellectual Property Laws in the TSU of Doctor Who Lisa Horton, Peter Soulen, Aaron Propes, David Beard, Clare Ford, and Jason Ford

The science fiction television series Doctor Who features a Time Lord, the Doctor, who adventures through time and space, thwarting malevolent aliens, cyborgs, and robots. He typically travels with at least one human companion who stands in for the audience, allowing the Doctor to offer exposition about the alien worlds and times. His TARDIS is a ship bigger on the inside than its outside, capable of carrying him from ancient Rome to the edge of the universe and beyond. Because the Doctor is an alien (and because actors often exit the role for fear of becoming typecast), the character is recast periodically by design through a process called regeneration. As of this publication, there have been more than a dozen actors and two actresses to play the Doctor. In some cases, the Doctor’s enemies have been more famous, particularly the Daleks (visually distinctive and cartoonishly evil robotic-sounding creatures bent on the conquest of the universe), whose popularity saved the show from being canceled in its first season (in 1963). The Daleks spawned two movies and were a constant in English society even when Doctor Who was off the air. For example, the Daleks were licensed for product promotions, proclaiming “Peace! And! Love!” (rather than their usual cry to “Exterminate!”) to sell Kit Kat bars. For new viewers, the Doctor can be found on the BBC (the British Broadcasting Corporation) and, beginning with the sixtieth anniversary, the new adventures of the Doctor can be found worldwide on Disney+; episodes broadcast between 1963 and 1989 can be found on the streaming service BritBox. Over those sixty years, the televisual shared universe (TSU) of Doctor 53

54

Lisa Horton et al.

Who has been developed in three stages. The first stage, called Classic Who (CW, 1963–1989), includes the main Doctor Who serials and the K-9 and Company pilot with Sarah Jane Smith.1 The main audience for the Doctor Who serials was initially children; over time, the show developed into “family” programming, enjoyable for both children and adults. In 1989, the show went on an indefinite production hiatus. Only smaller projects were made during the second stage, between 1989 and 2005, called the Wilderness Years.2 On broadcast television, the story of The Doctor advanced in the FOX Doctor Who movie (1996); the Red Nose Day comedy “The Curse of Fatal Death” (1999), and other charity specials. On direct-to-home media, short and long films featured characters from the world of Doctor Who without the Doctor. The main audience for these products was the existing fans, now mostly adults, and their families (Aaron Gulyas, “Don’t Call it a Comeback”). The third stage, New Who (NW, 2005–present), includes the new BBC Doctor Who shows (2005–present), the spin-off shows Torchwood (2006–2011), The Sarah Jane Adventures (2007–2011), and Class (2016). This differentiation is most starkly marked by showrunner Russell T. Davies’ decision to begin with “series one” for the first series of the revival in 2005 (rather than “season twenty seven” if he had continued the numbering of Classic Who seasons). Doctor Who is a genuinely transmedia phenomenon, appearing in movies, comics, stage plays, audio dramas, novels, and novelizations. Paperback retelling of the plots of episodes, published by Target Books, made it “across the pond” beginning in the 1970s,3 and Doctor Who Weekly (now Doctor Who Magazine) is still shipped overseas and distributed to nearly every Barnes & Noble in the United States, for example.4 Comics have appeared since the 1970s, including those published by Marvel Comics. In the 1980s and 1990s, Virgin Publishing printed original Doctor Who novels; today, BBC Books is their primary publisher.5 In 1999, Big Finish began to license and release audio dramas in the Doctor Who universe. The Doctor has appeared on stage, both in original productions, (e.g., The Ultimate Adventure (1989) and Seven Keys to Doomsday (1974)), and as a cameo in, for example, the live Muppet stage show in the London O2 arena of 2018 (Allen; Logan). The complicated intellectual property history of Doctor Who makes it unusual among all the televisual shared universes in this book. To explore the Doctor’s universe, we will begin with a cursory definition of a TSU, to illustrate the features that Doctor Who shares with the other properties in this collection. Then, we will outline the peculiar intellectual property laws that affect the shared universe of Doctor Who. In brief: the BBC attempted to keep scriptwriting costs low in the Classic Who era by decreasing the fees paid to freelancers. Instead, the freelancers retained ownership of the characters, alien species, and planets created in their work. Those freelancers (and

From Television to Videotape and Back Again

55

their literary estates, after the passing of the writers themselves) were free to license their characters to fans who sought to create stories within the world of Doctor Who. In the case we look at most closely below, we follow the Haisman estate as they licensed fan creations that extended the family of the character of the Brigadier. In both direct-to-video productions and in novels, the Haisman estate has encouraged the creation of descendants and ancestors of the Brigadier, in part because British copyright law gives the estate ownership claims on these derivative characters. The Brigadier acquires a daughter and a grandchild in videos licensed from the Haisman estate, stories created in the world of Doctor Who but without the character of the Doctor. Not only those characters, but the storytelling dynamics around family, follow into the 2005 Doctor Who revival, where family becomes a driving force of the stories. We note that the Haisman estate and the BBC have complementary missions to keep their shared universe alive and engaged in the minds and hearts of fans, so that their individually owned properties flourish. We end with an exhortation for other properties to consider the power of sharing ownership of their universes as a powerful strategy in an increasingly transmedia world.

DEFINING THE SHARED UNIVERSE OF DOCTOR WHO Using Vincent Tran’s definition from the introduction to this collection, we understand a TSU to refer to the “world” in which more than one television property is set. As Tran defines it, a TSU is a “transfictional textual environment occurring between discrete texts, series, and/or settings, that attempt to become realized and believable.” Characters within that world have a chance of meeting each other and interacting with each other, the way that Mork could learn about dating from Laverne and Shirley in the Happy Days TSU (see Schuck in this collection). We can operationalize a TSU with a critical vocabulary drawn from media studies and science fiction studies. The “universe” of Doctor Who meets three criteria for a TSU. The Doctor Who universe demonstrates narrative continuity and stable character identity (Paolo Bertetti) within a “fictional historico- geographico- sociological megatext” (Brooke-Rose 243). These three features come together in what Sam Ford, Abigail De Kosnik, and C. Lee Harrington call “immersive story worlds,” with a large ensemble of stable characters, sprawling backstories, and a sense of continuity (Ford, De Kosnik, and Harrington 12). Roughly speaking, the story of the Doctor from 1963 to the “Power of the Doctor” story of 2022 is a continuous narrative. The story of the Doctor begins in black and white in an episode called “An Unearthly Child” (in which we meet a time traveler), and we follow him through what

56

Lisa Horton et al.

John Tulloch called an “unfolding text,”6 opening up, unfolding, over the decades in a single story. Across that unfolding text, a stable character identity defines the characters throughout the televised episodes. When Sarah Jane Smith reappears thirty years after her last appearance on Classic Doctor Who, we have no doubt that Elizabeth Sladen is playing the same woman she did thirty years before; when William Russell returns in the BBC centenary special, he is surely playing the same Ian Chesterton he first played on TV fifty-nine years earlier. Similarly, the more than a dozen actors (including more than ten men and two women) have all played the lead character of The Doctor—always, though, a single character. “Don’t Call It a Comeback.” The combination of narrative continuity and stable character identity yields “secondary worlds” that are consistent. If the worlds are not consistent, “constant diegetic contradictions will shatter the illusion of the world,” as discussed by Vincent Tran in the introduction to this book (10). Christine Brooke-Rose describes a shared universe as “fictional historico- geographico- sociological megatext” 243). A well-constructed megatext becomes what Tran calls “ontologically real or believable worlds” (8). The creators of Doctor Who have generated a universe, a megatext, all its own, with a history of the Time Lords, a history of the Daleks and Cybermen, and even the histories of Earth through its destruction in the year 5,000,000,000 (The End of the World, NW S1E2). Doctor Who, across its televised manifestations, has created a coherent megatext.7 This megatext, the world of Doctor Who, is developed over multiple television shows: Doctor Who, the BBC’s K9 and Company, the Sarah Jane Adventures, Torchwood, and smaller projects like Downtime and the Australian K9 series. One feature of the shared universe of Doctor Who makes it unusual among the universes discussed in other chapters of this book: its complicated intellectual property status.

THE SHARED UNIVERSE OF DOCTOR WHO: A QUILT OF INTELLECTUAL PROPERTIES The shared universe of Doctor Who (across nearly all media, comics, novels, stage plays, and more) is mapped in Ahistory, a multivolume timeline of the Doctor Who universe. In its fourth edition, the timeline encompasses dates and events from more than 2000 stories. As the editors note, the book creates a single, continuous chronology for all events from “Event One” (the Big Bang, as represented in “Castrovalva” (CW S19E1), through the end of the universe, including historical events directly related in stories and including events only referenced within stories (e.g., the year in which dogs will evolve

From Television to Videotape and Back Again

57

thumbs, revealed in Mad Dogs and Englishmen, a Doctor Who novel). What this continuous timeline elides is the fact that Doctor Who is not a single intellectual property at all—this continuous timeline is composed of a patchwork of intellectual properties, deployed together. Lars Pearson and Lance Parkin explain that “Doctor Who is a very unusual property in that, generally speaking, the BBC retained ownership of anything created by salaried employees, but freelance script writers working on the TV show in the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s (and the novelists working on the books in the ’90s) typically wound up owning the rights to any characters they created” (2007). Pearson and Parkin provide a window into what this means for some of the most famous properties in Doctor Who: “[T]his has meant that writer Terry Nation (and his estate) kept ownership of the name ‘Dalek’ and the conceptual property therein, but the BBC retained the rights to the likeness of the Daleks, which were created by staff designer Raymond Cusick” (2007). When the Daleks reappear on the series, it is with the consent of (and with compensation for) the Nation estate. Other elements of the show’s intellectual property are owned by the freelance writers who wrote the episodes in which they first appeared. For example: The character of the Doctor’s friend, Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart, is owned by the estates of Mervyn Haisman and Henry Lincoln, the freelancers who created the Brigadier for the 1968 episode “The Web of Fear” (CW S5E5). By agreement with the Lincoln family, the character is managed by the estate of Mervyn Haisman. Another example is the alien race the Sontarans, which is owned by the estate of Robert Holmes, who wrote the episode in which they first appeared in 1973, in “The Time Warrior” (CW S11E1). The holders of the diverse intellectual property in the Doctor Who universe work together with the BBC to keep their property in the public eye, thereby maintaining its value outside of the BBC show. It serves the best interests of the BBC and of the estates of the freelance creators to keep their properties visible in the audience’s mind. As an elaborated example, the Brigadier has returned to New Who (NW). From the perspective of the Haisman estate, allowing the Brigadier to appear in New Who introduces the character to new viewers and sparks the nostalgia of old viewers, making the property more desirable among fans. The Bridgadier’s appearance in New Who helps the DW TSU by triggering what Henry Jenkins, Sam Ford, and Joshua Green called “affective relations” among older viewers (which increase viewer loyalty; see Spreadable Media, 163). These affective relations increase the value of both the Doctor Who property and the Brigadier property. Building upon this new interest in the property, the Haisman estate has licensed the Brigadier to Candy Jar books for use in more than fifty books about the Brigadier and more than a dozen thus far about his descendant, Lucy Wilson. The

58

Lisa Horton et al.

BBC and the Haisman estate collaborate to stimulate and support the interest of fans, enhancing the value of their independently owned properties. Profits from the independently owned properties never reach the BBC; the Candy Jar books licensed from the Haisman estate, featuring the Brigadier, are not affiliated with or approved by the BBC, which makes no income from the venture. The broadest account of the Doctor Who TSU, then, reaches beyond the BBC. The TSU includes media created without the Doctor at all: the Australian K9 production (26 episodes on Disney XD between 2009 and 2010), Shakedown (direct-to-video in 1995), Sil and the Devil Seeds of Ardor (directto-DVD in 2009) and other video projects that license characters other than the Doctor. The BBC has expressed no desire to pull the diverse properties of Doctor Who together into a single ownership (by, say, purchasing the Daleks from Terry Nation’s estate or purchasing the Brigadier from the Haisman estate).8 As a publicly-funded entity, the BBC may not have sufficient funds to do so. Beyond that, there would be, we think, little benefit. At present, the Nation estate, the Holmes estate, the Haisman estate, and the other creators who added to the universe in the Wilderness years (Iris Wildthyme, created by Paul Magrs; Bernice Summerfield, created by Paul Cornell; Faction Paradox, created by Lawrence Miles) all have intrinsic interests in cultivating their properties, which by association also cultivates the larger Doctor Who brand. This complicated patchwork of intellectual property has created opportunities to grow the TSU in unusual ways. In the next section, we will demonstrate that the individual rights holders grew and expanded the world in a way that could not have happened within the official BBC production itself, nor would have been possible had the BBC owned all the intellectual properties. They expanded the world in which their creations lived without the anchor of the Doctor character. The anchor that they used, instead, to grow the universe (and their properties) was family. In the Wilderness Years, the Shared Universe Is Grown through Family In the Wilderness Years, there were few contributions to the TSU of Doctor Who, and a significant number of those contributions were made through properties licensed from the freelancers who created them. One of the central licensed figures was the Brigadier. Through the development of LethbridgeStewart as a character (through televisual media licensed through and from the Haisman estate), the Doctor Who TSU developed new dimensions, previously unexplored in the Classic era of the series. Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart appears in Classic episodes of Doctor Who beginning with the 1968 serial “The Web of Fear” (CW S5E5).9 He appeared

From Television to Videotape and Back Again

59

repeatedly with the third and fourth Doctors. He was present from the first appearance of Jon Pertwee’s third Doctor, in “Spearhead from Space” (CW S7E1) through the regeneration into Tom Baker’s fourth Doctor, in “Planet of the Spiders” (CW S11E21) and “Robot” (CW S12E1). In a series filled with nostalgic callbacks, he returned in the twentieth anniversary season, with Peter Davison’s fifth Doctor (for “Mawdryn Undead” [CW S20E3] and “The Five Doctors” [CW S20E7]) and appeared alongside Sylvester McCoy’s seventh Doctor in “Battlefield” (CW S26E1). In the post-2005 New Who era, the Brigadier (still played by Nicholas Courtney) appears in the Sarah Jane Adventure “Invasion of the Bane” (SJA S1E0).10 To sate fans who clamored for a meeting between Colin Baker’s sixth Doctor and the Brigadier, who never met onscreen in the sixth Doctor’s run, the BBC included a scene with the pair in “Dimensions in Time,” a charity special that aired on November 26 and 27, 1993.11 The character of the Brigadier is a fan favorite. As the character grew in popularity over the decades, the relationship between the Doctor and the Brigadier developed, too, from a gentle antagonism to a genuine friendship. Like nearly every character in Classic Who, the Brigadier has no observed life outside his connection to the Doctor. We hear of his future first wife, Doris Lethbridge-Stewart, in “Planet of the Spiders” (CW S11E21); she finally appears more than a decade later in “Battlefield” (CW S26E1). In both, she is a background character; the relationship the Brigadier has with the Doctor remains central. During the Wilderness Years, with Doctor Who off the air, the fans became content creators and stepped into the gap left by the show’s cancellation to generate new stories and grow the universe further. They turned to the lessexpensive-to-license intellectual properties owned by the freelancers as space to add to the Doctor Who TSU. For example, Reeltime Pictures Ltd. began releasing direct-to-video movies with characters owned by the Haisman estate (Wartime, in 1988; Downtime in 1998; and Dæmos Rising in 2004, using the Brigadier, Sergeant Benton, and the Great Intelligence). Wartime introduces Sgt. Benton’s parents and brother, Chris, whose death still haunts Benton. In Downtime, the villainous Great Intelligence seeks a gateway for invasion of Earth. The Brigadier, his estranged daughter, Kate, and his grandson, Gordon, are called upon to fight the invasion. To save the world from the Great Intelligence, then, the Brigadier must first save his family. In Dæmos Rising, Kate Stewart takes center stage to prevent an invasion by a Dæmon (an alien species last seen in the 1970s). Without license from the BBC, content creators during the Wilderness Years could not include the Doctor in these direct-to-video releases. Absent the Doctor, the Brigadier, Kate, and Sgt. Benton are therefore forced to foil these invasions on their own. With the characters licensed from the Haisman estate, the writers were forced to

60

Lisa Horton et al.

explore other relationships. For reasons both creative and economic, the writers chose to explore family. Many reasons explain why these fan creators may have wanted to flesh out the private lives of favorite characters. Perhaps knowing that Sgt. Benton had family enriches the fan experience of the character. Perhaps, as televisual storytelling grew more complex in the 1990s (with Buffy the Vampire Slayer and The X-Files changing the nature of science fiction television generally), characterization could ascend. The emphasis on plot and world-building that typifies Classic Who began to look dated, and characterization took over. However, there is an important legal and economic reason that, within the universe of Doctor Who, the imperative to develop Sgt. Benton and the Brigadier through additions to their family tree is even stronger. The Haisman estate has intentionally cultivated the expansion of their properties through family. This is true across the transmedia appearances of the Brigadier. In their licensing, the Haisman estate has encouraged the creation of ancestors. In the Virgin novels, the Lethbridge Stewart family traces as far back as 1603 (William Lethbridge-Stewart, in The Dying Days). In the BBC Past Doctor Adventures novels, the Brigadier’s paternal grandfather Alistair Conall Hamish Lethbridge-Stewart worked for British Intelligence in Russia during World War I (The Wages of Sin). The Brigadier’s uncle, Mario, was introduced and developed in the novel and audioplay, The Ghosts of N-Space. The list of ancestors has only grown in the transmedia in the dozens of Lethbridge-Stewart books. The Haisman estate has also encouraged the creation of descendants. The Virgin New Adventures novels introduce Kadiatu Lethbridge-Stewart—a descendant of the Brigadier from his early military career in Africa (Transit). In other short stories, the Brigadier fathers Albert Wilson, who is father, in turn, of Lucy Wilson (“The Enfolded Time”; “Lucy Wilson”). Lucy Wilson would go on to center in dozens of her own novels, as well. But the descendant of the Brigadier who grew furthest and most within both the transmedia and televisual shared Universe was his daughter. Officially, BBC-sanctioned Doctor Who episodes have embraced Kate Stewart, the Brigadier’s daughter, but there are a thousand years of Stewarts awaiting the producers of the future who might draw deeper from that well, all of them developed as “derivative” characters within the Doctor Who universe. Characters identified as “derivative” are owned by the Haisman estate. According to the Haisman estate, “Under UK Copyright Law, a derivative work is a creative work derived from an original copyrighted work (that is, it could not have existed without the original work already existing), and can only be created with explicit permission from the copyright owners” and, as a result, “the Haisman Estate and Henry Lincoln are within their right to state that, under Copyright Law, no character directly derived from any

From Television to Videotape and Back Again

61

of our characters can be created without the express permission of Hannah Haisman and/or Henry Lincoln” (The Haisman Literary Estate website). Commensurate with this interpretation of copyright law, the Haisman estate has explicitly encouraged the development and cultivation of their intellectual property through the creation of new family members for their existing characters. Most significantly, and with the longest repercussions for the TSU, is his daughter, Kate. In Downtime, the Brigadier’s estrangement from his daughter and grandson motivates the plot. Kate and her son Gordon believe that the Brigadier is a workaholic, not understanding that he sacrifices time with his family solely to protect the Earth. In a meeting on the houseboat where Kate lives, she asks the Brigadier why he was absent so often for her childhood: “Army families get to live together, so why didn’t we? Was your career that important? [. . .] Mum used to think that you were some sort of spy. We used to hope it, because at least that would be interesting. But it’s just soldiers, isn’t it?” (41:00–41:20). Because of the Official Secrets Act that governs his work, the Brigadier cannot explain the alien invasions that kept him distant. The Brigadier’s family reunites at the end of Downtime. Kate came into her own in the Reeltime videos of the early 2000s and in post-2005 New Who.12 She appears alongside Matt Smith’s eleventh Doctor in “The Power of Three” (NW S7E4) and “The Day of the Doctor” (NW S7E3), and alongside Peter Capaldi’s twelfth Doctor in “Death in Heaven” (NW S8E12), “The Magician’s Apprentice” (NW S9E1), and “The Zygon Invasion / The Zygon Inversion” (NW S9E7-E8). She also appears alongside Jodie Whitaker’s thirteenth Doctor in “Survivors of the Flux” (NW S13E5), “The Vanquishers” (NW S13E6), and “Power of the Doctor” (NW S13E8).13 The New Who series also expands her ancestors, as Archibald Hamish Lethbridge-Stewart appears, extending the family generations into the past in “Twice upon a Time” (NW S10E13).14 With the Doctor’s return in New Who and the return of classic characters like Sarah Jane, the show brought back much of the LethbridgeStewart family. The characters are brought into the new production in more than just name. Some of the family tensions that defined Kate and the Brigadier (in Downtime) are resolved in new ways in episodes of the revived series. Under New Who showrunner Steven Moffat’s direction, Kate attempts to resolve the conflict that kept her father away from her in her childhood. When Kate addresses an invading Cybermen army, she introduces herself as, “Kate Stewart. Divorcee, mother of two, keen gardener, outstanding bridge player. Also, Chief Scientific Officer, Unified Intelligence Taskforce, who currently have you surrounded” (3:13–3:20, “Death in Heaven” [NW S8E12]). While it can be difficult to save a marriage and save the Earth in the same week, Kate is always a mother of two in ways that her father was not.

62

Lisa Horton et al.

The distinctive character of intellectual property in Doctor Who created a space for the family of the Brigadier to grow and expand. In the Wilderness Years, when the BBC let the property go fallow onscreen, the creators of officially licensed stories dug deeper into characters and their relationships. To further the intellectual property of the Haisman estate, they did so by creating derivative characters, whom the estate would continue to own—ancestors, uncles, children, descendants. When the Brigadier returned to the screen on the BBC-produced Doctor Who spinoff, the Sarah Jane Adventures, he did so with a family, richly developed. In ”Enemy of the Bane” (S2E11) , he references the Black Archive, a warehouse of the unexplained and alien maintained by UNIT and introduced in the 2004 direct-to-video release, Dæmos Rising—again, a Reeltime production starring his daughter, Kate. With the return of officially sanctioned BBC episodes of Doctor Who in 2005, the show was suffused with the theme of family. Episodes like “Father’s Day” (NW S1E88) explore the 9th Doctor’s companion’s desire to be reunited with her father, the way Downtime begins with Victoria’s desire to be reunited with hers. In series three, companion Martha’s relationship with her sister and parents becomes a powerful background to Martha’s story with the 10th Doctor. In series four, Donna’s relationship with Wilf, her granddad, offers stability to the 10th Doctor as he prepares to regenerate. When Doctor Who returned to the screen in 2005, Russell T. Davies reframed the show, making the companion the center of the show and making family dynamics core to the companion’s development. While there are many reasons for this development in the TSU, we argue that the unusual development of the property in the Wilderness Years, foregrounding the companions and making family the center of their development, was an important factor. That development was enabled by the unusual intellectual property structure of Doctor Who, which allowed fans to license individual companions and to grow them, specifically, through the development of ancestors and descendants—family.

CONCLUSION We began this essay by defining the TSU of Doctor Who across several television shows and direct-to-video televisual releases, creating a single story, following stable characters, growing and changing through the unfolding of a coherent world. But we noted that Doctor Who’s structure, from an economic and legal perspective, is unlike most shared universes, insofar as components (characters and aliens, especially) are owned by the individual literary estates of the freelancers who created them, while the central property (the Doctor and his story) is owned by the BBC. As a result, when the BBC was refusing

From Television to Videotape and Back Again

63

to create televised programming between 1986 and 2005, independent productions filled the gap by licensing characters from the freelancers or their estates. Such productions moved the show forward in innovative ways. Notably, this new material foregrounded the companions and the development of family for those companions. Showrunner Steven Moffat, in an interview with Den of Geek, affirmed this transformation in the New Who era: “Doctor Who is almost more in a way about the story of the companion. It’s her take on the Doctor, it’s her adventure. While the show revolves around the Doctor, it’s the companion, the other characters who change more than the Doctor ever does” (as qtd​.​in Schuchman). Arguably, this insight, that the Doctor is not the core of the story, but the companions are, became clearest in the Wilderness-era programming like Downtime, Wartime, and Dæmos Rising. These programs put the companion, and their family, at the center of the show. Wilderness-era programming, then, contributed not just characters to the revival of the show (as Kate Stewart has appeared in more than a dozen stories between her official BBC television appearances and independently licensed productions since Downtime), but it also contributed to the rethinking of the show—the rethinking of the focal point that drives the narrative and audience identification. Wilderness-era programming contributed to the show’s massive success after 2005. This formula for growth and transformation places Doctor Who alongside some of the quirkier properties of the twentieth century, shared properties like the Cthulhu Mythos. The Cthulhu Mythos developed an increased sense of reality as creators like H. P. Lovecraft, Robert E. Howard, Clark Ashton Smith, August Derleth, and others added their own creations to a shared universe. The authors retained copyright to their own works while cultivating a shared reality. Doctor Who works in a similar shared reality. What began as a formula for reducing scriptwriting costs became a strategy for a diverse array of Doctor Who content creators to keep the property alive during the Wilderness Years. Other TSUs beyond Doctor Who may benefit from more readily licensing their characters to similarly devoted fans. Such fans may then create their own stories and become more invested in the ongoing existence and expansion of their favorite TSU. As we look forward into a transmedia future, with every fan potentially becoming a creator, it behooves the owners of new shared universe properties to consider the power of sharing ownership, and thus sharing investment, in the growth of their universes, which may grow and flourish in surprising ways. Ultimately, the long-term survival of TSUs may depend upon the creativity of their fans.

64

Lisa Horton et al.

NOTES 1. The Classic period spawned non-televisual offshoots in the two (admittedly non-canonical) Peter Cushing Dr. Who movies, Doctor Who Weekly comics, the novelizations of the Doctor Who serials, and the novels that presented original stories. The comics, novels, and some of the novelizations (which introduced material not in the broadcast serial that they were novelizing) did not feed into the broadcast Doctor Who serials’ continuity (but instead would reflect the continuity of the broadcast text). 2. For a discussion of the Wilderness Years as a name for a “period” of the show coined by fans, see Girard, Danielle S. “The Wild Canon.” 3. For the story of the production and reception of the Target novelizations, see The Target Book: A History of the Target Doctor Who Books by David J. Howe (Telos Publishing). 4. The story of Doctor Who Weekly, then later Doctor Who Monthly, finally Doctor Who Magazine, is traced in Gareth Kavanagh and Colin Brockhurst, Vworp Vworp, a fan publication. 5. The story of the Virgin novels set in the Doctor Who universe is told in Howe’s Who Adventures: The Art and History of Virgin Publishing’s Doctor Who Fiction (Telos). 6. See Doctor Who: The Unfolding Text (1983), by J. Tulloch and M. Alvarado. 7. The megatext of Doctor Who is traced in books like The Discontinuity Guide, by Paul Cornell, Martin Day, Keith Topping, and AHistory: An Unauthorized History of the Doctor Who Universe, by Lars Pearson and Lance Parkin. 8. The Nation relationship is discussed in Turner, Alwyn W., The Man Who Invented The Daleks: The Strange Worlds of Terry Nation (Aurum Press). 9. In this episode, his rank is Colonel; he becomes a Brigadier before his next appearance, in The Invasion (CW 6.3, 1968). 10. After the passing of Nicholas Courtney, the Brigadier appears in photos and archival footage in “The Day of the Doctor” (NW S7E3), in “Death in Heaven,” (NW S8E12), and in “Survivors of the Flux” (NW 1S3E5). 11. The Sixth Doctor also appeared alongside Nicholas Courtney in the Big Finish audio play, The Spectre of Lanyon Moor (2000). 12. Chris Chibnall claimed to have created the Kate Stewart character without reference to the Reeltime productions (Space Helmet for a Cow, 550), though it seems clear to us that the development of the character after the introduction is consistent with those origins. 13. Kate, in making the move from video productions independently licensed from the Haisman estate to broadcast productions on the BBC, has become canon. For a discussion of canon, see Harvey (2010) and Kurtz and Derhy (2017). 14. The Doctor safeguards the Brigadier’s timeline in the same story that he makes the choice to continue his own. The Haisman estate issued statements after the airing of this series, ensuring that their rights to the Archibald character were established (see Jones).

From Television to Videotape and Back Again

65

REFERENCES Allen, Ben. “Doctor Who stars David Tennant and Peter Davison set to join The Muppets live on stage.” Radio Times, 4 July 2018, https://www​.radiotimes​.com​/tv​/sci​-fi​ /the​-muppets​-take​-the​-o2​-doctor​-who​-david​-tennant. Beaton, Alex, Philip Segal, and Jo Wright, creators. Doctor Who (Movie). Fox Features, 1996. Bertetti, Paolo. “Transmedia critical: Toward a typology of transmedia characters.” International Journal of Communication, vol. 1 no. 8, Aug. 2014, pp. 2344–61. Brooke-Rose, Christine. A Rhetoric of the Unreal: Studies in narrative and structure especially of the fantastic. Cambridge UP, 1983. Cornell, Paul, Martin Day and Keith Topping. The Discontinuity Guide. Virgin Books, 1995. Crome, A.P. “Heaven sent? The afterlife, immortality and controversy in the Moffat/ Capaldi era” In Doctor Who: Twelfth Night, Adventures in Time and Space with Peter Capaldi. Edited by Andrew O’Day. I. B. Tauris Books, 2018: 111–28. Davies, Russell T., creator. Doctor Who (New Series). British Broadcasting Corporation, 2005. — — —. Sarah Jane Adventures. British Broadcasting Corporation, 2007. — — —. Torchwood. British Broadcasting Corporation, 2006. — — —. Torchwood: Children of Earth, written by Russell T. Davies [and others]; directed by Bharat Nalluri [and others], BBC Worldwide Production; Starz Entertainment, 2012. — — —. Torchwood: Miracle Day, written by Russell T. Davies [and others]; directed by Bharat Nalluri [and others], BBC Worldwide Production; Starz Entertainment, 2012. Dicks, Terrance, and Malcolm Hulke. The Making of Doctor Who. Target Books, 1976. Ford, Sam, Abigail De Kosnik, and C. Lee Harrington. “The crisis of daytime television and what it means for the future of television.” In The Survival of Soap Opera: Transformations for a new media era. Edited by Sam Ford, Abigail De Kosnik, and C. Lee Harrington. UP Mississippi, 2011: 3–21. Girard, Danielle S. “The Wild Canon.” In Who Makes the Franchise?: Essays on fandom and Wilderness texts in popular media. Edited by Donald Quist and Rhonda Knight. McFarland, 2022: 56–69. Gulyas, Aaron. “Don’t Call it a Comeback.” In Doctor Who in Time and Space: Essays on themes, characters, history and fandom, 1963-2012. Edited by Gillian Leitch, Donald E. Palumbo, and C. W. Sullivan III. McFarland, 2013: 44–63. The Haisman Literary Estate. “Licensing.” The Haisman Literary Estate, https://the​ hais​manl​iter​aryestate​.wordpress​.com​/licensing. Harvey, C. B. “Canon, myth, and memory in Doctor Who.” In The Mythological Dimensions of Doctor Who. Edited by Anthony S. Burdge, Jessica Burke, and Kristine M. Larsen. Createspace Independent Publishing, 2011: 22–36. Hill, Steven Warren, et al. Red White and Who: The story of Doctor Who in America. ATB Publishing, 2017.

66

Lisa Horton et al.

Howe, David J. The Target Book: A history of the Target Doctor Who books. Telos Publishing, 2021. — — —. The Who Adventures: The art and history of Virgin Publishing’s Doctor Who fiction. Telos Publishing Ltd, 2021. Jenkins, H. Convergence Culture: Where old and new media collide. New York UP, 2006. Jenkins, Henry, Sam Ford, and Joshua Green. Spreadable Media. New York UP, 2013. Jones, Paul. “BBC rejects suggestions that Doctor Who infringed copyright with new Christmas special character,” Radio Times, 12 Jan. 2018. https://www​.radiotimes​ .com​/tv​/sci​-fi​/doctor​-who​-infringed​-copyright​-lethbridge​-stewart. Kavanagh, Gareth and Colin Brockhurst. Vworp! Vworp! The Doctor Who Fanzine, Volumes 1–4. https://www​.vworpvworp​.co​.uk. Kurtz, Benjamin and W.L. Derhy. “Set in stone: Issues of canonicity of transtexts.” In The Rise of Transtexts: Challenges and opportunities. Edited by Benjamin Kurtz, W.L. Derhy, and Mélanie Bourdaa, Routledge, 2017: 104–18. Logan, Brian. “The Muppets take the O2 review: Kermit quips with Kylie in a riot of silliness.” The Guardian, 15 July 2018, https://www​.theguardian​.com​/stage​/2018​/ jul​/15​/the​-muppets​-take​-the​-o2​-review​-kylie​-minogue. Magrs, Paul. Mad Dogs and Englishmen. BBC Books, 2002. Markstein, Don. “The Merchant of Venice Meets The Sheik of Arabi.” CAPA-Alpha, issue 71, Sept. 1970, https://archive​.ph​/20190531164542​/http:/​/toonopedia​.com​/ universe​.htm. McGrath, James F., and Andrew Crome. Time and Relative Dimensions in Faith: Religion and Doctor Who. Andrews UK, 2013. Monk, P. “The Shared Universe: An experiment in speculative fiction.” Journal of the Fantastic in the Arts, v. 2. no. 4, 1990: 7–46. Montagna P. “Torchwood: Sex, politics and integrity.” 2016,https://www​.paulinemontagna​.com​.au​/torchwood​-sex​-politics​-and​-integrity. Muir, John Kenneth. A Critical History of Doctor Who on Television. McFarland, 2008. Newman, Sydney, and Verity Lambert, creators. Doctor Who (Classic Series). British Broadcasting Corporation, 1963. Pearson, Lars and Lance Parkin. Ahistory: An unauthorized history of the Doctor Who universe. Mad Norwegian Press, 2018. Platt, Mark, creator. Downtime. Reeltime Productions, 1995. Russell, Gary, Jason Haigh-Ellery, and Nicholas Briggs, creator. Doctor Who audio adventures, monthly range. Big Finish Productions, 1999. Schuchman, Matthew. “Our interview with Steven Moffat” Den of Geek, 30 Mar. 2013. https://www​.denofgeek​.com​/tv​/our​-interview​-with​-steven​-moffat. Tulloch, John and Manuel Alvarado. Doctor Who: The unfolding text. Macmillan, 1983. Turner, Alwyn W., The Man Who Invented the Daleks: The strange worlds of Terry Nation. Aurum Press, 2011.

From Television to Videotape and Back Again

67

Turner, John Nathan, creator. K9 and Company. British Broadcasting Corporation, 1981. Vuolteenaho, Leena. “Spare Me the Endurance of Endless Time”: The influence of Christian and Buddhist ethics on the view of immortality in the TV series Doctor Who. Master’s thesis, University of Oulu, Finland, 2013.

Chapter 5

Where Everybody Stays the Same Failures, the American Dream, and the Realism of the BostonNantucket-Seattle Flight Path CarrieLynn D. Reinhard and Erin K. Burrell

From the 1980s to the 2000s, the writing and producing teams of Glen Charles and Les Charles, James Burrows, David Angell, Peter Casey, and David Lee created some of the most popular and memorable characters across three NBC television shows: Cheers (1982–1993), Wings (1990–1997), and Frasier (1993–2004). This sitcom universe spanned the coasts of the United States, from Boston and Nantucket on the East Coast to Seattle on the West Coast. The characters of Sam Malone (Ted Danson), Woody Boyd (Woody Harrelson), Lowell Mather (Thomas Haden Church), Antonio Scarpacci (Tony Shalhoub), Frasier Crane (Kelsey Grammar), and Niles Crane (David Hyde Pierce) were star-making vessels for their respective actors. These three sitcoms created what we refer to as the “Flyover Universe.” In this chapter, we analyze several key episodes from the Flyover Universe to understand the consistency in spaces as places for specific types of activities and characterizations. We argue that these consistencies demonstrate the structure of this televisual shared universe (TSU), producing perhaps a skeletal framework upon which various ideologies of the 1980s–1990s could be laid. The analysis focuses on the first episode of Cheers as the touchstone for this TSU, which set the foundation for the development of specific sitcom tropes that would manifest throughout the Flyover Universe. We then look at Wings and Frasier episodes where Cheers stars appear in new environments that maintain the same functionality as they did in Cheers, and thus the characters perpetuate their same behaviors and personalities by navigating the spaces exactly as they did on their own show. These crossover episodes thereby demonstrate the coherence of this TSU, as characters retread 69

70

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard and Erin K. Burrell

common ground and past relationships, conflicts, and power dynamics by falling back into old patterns. The result is a TSU marked by fan pandering through nostalgic comedic and narrative tropes while simultaneously presenting the realistic cruel optimism of the American Dream. Each of the three sitcoms follows a line that holds true to cruel optimism with a leading man unable to achieve the American Dream while relying on gender and class-based tropes that highlight how challenging it is to navigate life as a part of an odd couple. Each show begins with a “fish out of water” who eventually finds comfort as half of an odd couple.

THE FLYOVER UNIVERSE The Flyover Universe (henceforth TFU) began with one of the most successful American sitcoms in television history. Created by James Burrows, Glen Charles, and Les Charles, Cheers ran on NBC from September 1982 to May 1993. The series’ creators stepped down as showrunners early, and by the fourth season new showrunners David Angell, Peter Casey, and David Lee oversaw the production until Season 7, at which point they left Cheers to develop Wings in 1990 and later Frasier in 1993. Before Frasier, the series spawned an unsuccessful spin-off, The Tortellis, which lasted only 13 episodes in 1987, although the characters of Cliff and Norm both appeared on it (Darowski and Darowski, Cheers 39). NBC considered producing a spin-off with Cliff and Norm but deemed it too hard “to imagine those two characters in a universe that didn’t center on the bar” (Darowski and Darowski, Frasier 15). Cheers is set in the titular bar, a fictionalized version of a real-life Boston bar, which acts as the hub around which characters’ lives spin. The show’s ensemble is led by Sam Malone (Ted Danson), a recovering alcoholic and womanizer who purchased the bar after his career as a professional baseball player ended prematurely due to injury. The show features a supporting cast that includes a head bartender, first Coach Ernie Pantusso (Nicholas Colasanto) and later Woody Boyd (Woody Harrelson), waitress Carla Tortelli (Rhea Perlman), and loyal patrons Cliff Clavin (John Ratzenberger) and Norm Peterson (George Wendt). The series portrayed Sam with two central storylines concerning a transition into serious relationships: first with Diane Chambers (Shelley Long), a waitress, and then with Rebecca Howe (Kirstie Alley), the bar’s manager. Wings, meanwhile, ran on NBC for eight seasons from April 1990 to May 1997. The series was created and produced by David Angell, Peter Casey, and David Lee. Angell had written “many of the most iconic Cheers episodes”

Where Everybody Stays the Same

71

(Darowski and Darowski, Cheers 32). Set in the fictional Tom Nevers Field Airport, a small airport in Nantucket, Massachusetts, Wings explores the daily lives of the airport’s working-class staff as they labor to care for airline guests transitioning through it. Joe Hackett (Tim Daly) and his brother Brian (Steven Weber) own and operate Sandpiper Air, both pilots despite their opposite personalities: Joe is organized, ambitious, and uptight, whereas Brian is lazy, playful, and freewheeling. The supporting cast features dimwitted mechanic Lowell Mather (Thomas Haden Church), uptight diner owner Helen Chapel (Crystal Bernard), eccentric ticket agent Fay Cochran (Rebecca Schull), rival airline manager Roy Biggins (David Shramm), and good-natured Italian cab driver Antonio Scarpacci. Throughout the show’s run, viewers watch Joe fall in love with childhood friend Helen, who is constantly referred to as “formerly overweight” and lives with unfulfilled dreams of being a cellist. Finally, Frasier ran on NBC from September 1993 to May 2004. Show creators Angell, Casey, and Lee, who already had a decade-long relationship with Kelsey Grammar who played Frasier Crane on Cheers, set the stage for a nostalgia-fueled success story—although Grammar “insisted that if the show was about an established character everything else about the series would have to be new and unique” (Darowski and Darowski, Frasier 17). Set in Seattle, the show follows the freshly divorced Crane as he returns to his hometown to host a radio talk show, The Dr. Frasier Crane Show, at fictional radio station KACL, with the help of the show’s producer, Roz Doyle (Perri Gilpin). Frasier lives with his retired and disabled police officer father, Martin Crane (John Mahoney), producing “odd couple” dynamics. The tropes continue as Frasier reconnects with his brother, Niles Crane (David Hyde Pierce), who falls in love with Martin’s live-in physical therapist, Daphne Moon (Jane Leeves), producing a “fish out of water” transition for Daphne from service provider to semi-socialite. Frasier enjoyed the most Cheers guest appearances, especially with Frasier’s ex-wife Lilith and son Frederick. Frasier even took advantage of Cheers’s fame with its sixty-second-long1 television promo featuring the last thirty seconds of Cheers’s closing credits and theme song before introducing viewers to the new show. Creators and network executives even replayed the final episode of Cheers in the spot before the Frasier Season 1 premiere, knowing the appeal of Cheers would hold viewers in their seats and guarantee a big first episode audience. These three series shared connections across both space and time: from Cheers on the East Coast to Frasier on the West Coast with Wings providing the connecting flight between the two more successful series. Characters from Cheers2 visited Wings first and then Frasier, but none visited from Wings to Frasier. These crossover episodes replicate the sense of Wings as an airport, where people spend little time getting to know the airport crew as they move between coasts. Frasier was a direct spin-off focusing on characters

72

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard and Erin K. Burrell

developed for Cheers, but guest appearances on Wings indicate its existence within the same fictional universe. Perhaps unsurprising, then, more has been written about the two coastal series, with Wings not receiving the same critical and academic attention. This chapter considers the Cheers pilot along with the crossover episodes to understand how the characters move within these physical spaces. As seen in Figure 5.1, the episodes analyzed span twenty-two years. This analysis considers three Wings episodes: “The Story of Joe” (S2E2), in which Cliff and Norm visit in a secondary storyline; “Planes, Trains, and Visiting Cranes” (S3E16), which sees Frasier and Lilith visit as the primary storyline; and “I Love Brian” (S4E17), which features a Rebecca cameo. The analysis also examines four Frasier episodes: “The Show Where Sam Shows Up” (S2E16) when Sam visits as the primary storyline3; “The Show Where Diane Comes Back” (S3E14) when Diane (not as a fantasy or dream)4 visits in the primary story; “The Show Where Woody Shows Up” (S6E13) where Woody visits as the primary storyline; and “Cheerful Goodbyes” (S9E21) that sees Carla, Cliff, Norm, and other bar patrons appear in the primary storyline. Not included are the Frasier episodes featuring visits by either his ex-wife, Lilith, or his son, Frederick; while these characters originated on Cheers, they could not be considered crossover guests given their regularity and centrality to Frasier’s life. These crossover episodes demonstrate common features for TFU that were established on Cheers. All three series feature a mix of workplace sitcom and

Figure 5.1  The Flyover Universe Timeline

Where Everybody Stays the Same

73

family sitcom tropes used to explore cultural conflicts occurring in the United States during those two decades. These tensions also manifest in the leading men’s complicated experiences with success and the American Dream during a time when the United States saw advances in economic security for many white, heterosexual, cisgender masculine Americans. The analysis below suggests a televisual shared universe united not just by space and time, but by the ideological tensions such men navigated after the Civil Rights, Gay Rights, and Women’s Movement of the 1960s–1970s.

SETTING THE FORMULA: WORKPLACE FAMILIES, CULTURAL CONFLICT, AND TENSIONS Family Sitcoms. The entire TFU constructs similar characters, settings, and actions to present a consistent story for how the series’ producers saw Americans. Each series occurs primarily within a centralized location, on a few stable soundstage sets, to ensure key storylines unfold only in the comfortable setting. Each series features a workplace set as a primary location, although Frasier simultaneously features a home set. Intriguingly, despite the centralization of the workplace set, all series present relationships among their main and secondary characters more reflective of family sitcoms. These series reflect an overall trend to the creation of a “workplace family.” Domestic family sitcoms of 1950s–60s American television expanded to a “workplace family” in the 1970s featuring a “group of people occupying normal familial configurations but in the context of a place of employment” (Hilmes 216–17). In doing so, these series could present more complicated relationships among individuals with more diverse backgrounds and identities (Hilmes 216–17). Without the standard relationship tropes of a family sitcom, these workplace families developed characters that aligned with the tropes seen in Table 5.1. The diversity of workplace families allowed different kinds of issues to be addressed “that went beyond the limited scope of the intrafamily conflict” (Hilmes 216–17). The primary conflict in Cheers was class-based as it “put high-culture and working-class types together in a neutral space and watch[ed] them interact” (Hilmes 218). The working class included Sam, Carla, Norm, Cliff, Coach, and Woody; the high class featured Diane, Frasier, Lilith, and Rebecca. The series’ version of class, however, was not traditional as based on economics or family: instead, it was “defined almost entirely in terms of allegiance or ‘taste’ [. . .] on attitudes; not on the hard facts of life, but on the ways in which those facts are interpreted and valued by characters” (Hilmes 219). In essence, the series presents the characters’ perspectives and behaviors as defining their identity; aspirations of high-class defines being high-class, whether or not their lifestyle supports it. This conceptualization

74 Table 5.1  Series

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard and Erin K. Burrell Character tropes in TFU Leading Man

Imperfect Love Interest

Cheers

Sam Malone

Dian Chambers Rebecca Howe

Wings

Joe Hackett

Helen Chapel

Frasier

Frasier Crane

Lilith Sternin

Humorous Support Woody Boyd Carla Tortelli Cliff Clavin Norm Peterson Antonio Scarpacci Faye Cochran Lowell Mather Niles Crane Roz Doyle

Insightful Sounding Board Coach Phil Carla Tortelli Frasier Crane Brian Hackett Helen Chapel Roz Doyle Daphne Moon Martin Crane Niles Crane

of class occurs throughout this TSU. On Wings, Joe, Helen, Roy, and Antonio demonstrate such high-class aspirations compared to Brian, Lowell, and Faye who appear more accepting of what they have. On Frasier, Frasier and Niles evince high-class behavior but aspire for more, while Roz, Martin, and Daphne do not share their class-based drives. Additionally, much of TFU’s humor builds on the style established on Cheers. “Knowledge of elite culture values is assumed—but not necessarily valorized and often made laughable” (Hilmes 223). Such tensions are common in TFU. In his discussion of “Quality TV,” Andrew Lynch presents Frasier as “foreground[ing] generic tensions between the highbrow and lowbrow” (631), where the culture clash between middle-class Martin Crane and his upper-class sons provides the central conflict and source of humor throughout the series. On Wings, this clash is represented in Helen’s ambitions to play cello in an orchestra and the more refined sensibilities of her sister, Casey (Amy Yasbeck), contrasted with the low-class ethos of Lowell and the crass middle-class nature of Roy. Yet both series also demonstrate this tension within the characters: Roy’s vulgar nature is paired with more sympathy after his divorce, while Helen’s aspirations are treated realistically and lovingly after she and Joe wed. Additionally, Frasier combines a refined “good taste” with a “carnal, lowbrow” appetite (Lynch 640). By highlighting these tensions, Cheers presents values amenable to the so-called US flyover country: the conservative Midwest and Plains. Coexecutive producer Rob Long wrote for the National Review of the series’ finale, describing it as a “conservative sitcom” because the show did not “attempt to uplift, edify, educate, or raise the consciousness of its audience” (62). Long indicated that the series’ treatment of alcoholism, sexual objectification, psychiatry, and feminism supports his interpretation as Cheers sought to entertain, not educate (62–63). He further added that the series owed its

Where Everybody Stays the Same

75

success to the “Reagan Doctrine” which states “the American people are not stupid. They are not philistines. They do not need to be coddled or educated or sensitized by the cultural elite. They need to be entertained” (63). The series’ success financially and critically suggests its appeal did not simply lie with an audience seeking escapism. Anthony Hlynka and Nancy Nelson Knupfer suggest, however, that Cheers’s genre-blurring and intertextual nature indicates the show could be as enjoyable to the “intelligent viewer” (410). Robert S. Brown argues Cheers represents a more classical liberalism as the public space of Cheers (the bar) allowed characters of “different levels of education, wealth, and social position” to “all have an equal place at the bar” (181). All characters in some way represented stereotypes, and the intellectual elites were “not granted superior status” while, simultaneously, the less educated and skilled were not “relegated to the margin” (181). Such egalitarianism did not completely align with 1980s conservatism, and Brown suggests Cheers had a more progressive ideology in how it presented social and political topics, including homosexuality when Sam decides to support his gay ex-teammate and faces no negative consequences for doing so (182). Appealing to the entire political spectrum helps explain the series’ financial and critical success and the impetus for establishing a shared universe. Additionally, the polyvalent audience suggests the diversity of this workplace comedy allowed for more diversity in its reception, thereby setting the foundation for a TSU replete with tensions. These tensions suggest this TSU understands the dialectical tensions inherent to life. Per Arthur Asa Berger, “Bipolar oppositions [. . .] are a basic means by which we find meaning; this is because nothing has meaning in itself. It is the network of relationships that is crucial to the generation of meaning” (235). We next turn to understanding these tensions and where they consistently occur across TFU.

SETTING THE STAGE: SPACES, TENSIONS, AND DIALECTICS The TSU’s physical construction was important to the ideological tensions of the shared universe. While any on-site or on-set location is important to the construction of the storyworld, a television set holds more significance given the repetition of that set for a serial story: “The truth is the sets of television shows [.  .  .] become intimately familiar to viewers who watch them week after week, or, if binging through a streaming Service for hours on end” (Darowski and Darowski, Frasier 89). In essence, a television set becomes its own character, adding additional layers of meaning to the actors and their actions: “More than simply providing for action, well-designed and decorated sets accent the characters, highlight the comedy, and reveal themes

76

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard and Erin K. Burrell

for a series” (103). Thus, analyzing the physical construction of TFU helps illustrate its shared tensions. While endemic to the basic structure of TFU, these ideological tensions manifest in particular spaces of each series, as can be seen in the crossover episodes. All three series relied almost exclusively on soundstages, with onlocation shooting being a rare exception. Additionally, each had a dedicated set, with Frasier being an exception. Each series featured a primary set with three highlighted locations. This analysis suggests that different types of communication occurred in different types of locations. All series featured consumption-related spaces as professional spheres, where the central characters’ workplaces were locations for relaxation and entertainment for everyone else. Across TFU, these dedicated sets provide the spaces in which the humor and tensions manifest. As the tensions are important to the narrative fabric of this universe, the physical sets provide similar spaces for their appearances. Soundstage Constructions. The physical construction of the Cheers’s set laid the foundation for TFU. The Cheers bar set included multiple points of entrance and exit in which characters could have private conversations (Darowski and Darowski, Cheers 44). The set also allowed the cameras expanded access “into the set [.  .  .] providing new and interesting camera angles” (44). Foregrounding the bar also produced “bottle” episodes where all storylines occurred on this primary set, simplifying production, and reducing costs (45). The set was built on a Paramount Studios soundstage, Stage 25, later the home to Frasier’s apartment, which appeared on all episodes of Frasier (Darowski and Darowski, Frasier 32, 93). Unlike Cheers, however, Frasier featured two other main sets: the KACL radio booth and the Café Nervosa coffee shop. Like Cheers, Frasier’s apartment provided the same flexibility of entrances and exits for varied camera shots (Darowski and Darowski, Frasier 94); indeed, the apartment set was “built with moveable parts to allow needed shots to be easily taken” (94). Information on the Wings set is not available, but the various camera shots of the central airport set throughout the series suggest a similar approach to set construction. The various locations constructed for these soundstage sets also demonstrate a primary difference between the earlier two series and the last one. Both Cheers and Wings are workplace sitcoms, an idea reinforced by how the sets focus on either a bar or an airport. These workplace locations also attempted to replicate locations that exist in the physical world. The bar Cheers was modeled after a real Bostonian pub, the Bull and Finch (Darowski and Darowski, Cheers 42–43). Nantucket, Massachusetts, does have a regional airport, named the Nantucket Memorial Airport rather than Tom Nevers Field. The small airport served as the central hub for Nantucket Island on Wings, and the regular flights to and from Boston provided the conduit through which the TSU formed.

Where Everybody Stays the Same

77

Joseph and Kate Darowski noted that Cheers appeared in every Cheers episode, producing a comforting familiarity for characters and audience alike (41–42). According to Darowski and Darowski, the bar set for Cheers was designed to create “an inviting feeling that makes the audience want to hang out there” (Cheers 44). The result was both a fictional bar and a television show that “became a place for fans to escape to each week” (44). No new set was constructed until Season 2, when action occurred in Diane’s apartment (45). Later, after Sam sells the bar and Rebecca takes over as manager, she seeks to “update” the decor, leading Sam to joke about the lack of familiarity (50). Cheers also established space outside of sets with unseen characters. These “unseen characters” reminded viewers “that these Characters have lives outside” the workplace, with personal lives that matter enough to be referenced, while also suggesting they did not matter enough as the characters “choose to spend the majority” of their lives in the shared location (Darowski and Darowski, Cheers 47). In Cheers and Wings, these unseen characters are related to secondary characters (Norm’s wife and Roy’s wife, respectively), making these extended families less important than the relationships established in the workplace. For Frasier, the primary unseen character is related to a primary character (Niles’s wife) and thus becomes central to the series’ main romance storyline. Frasier takes a different approach by foregrounding Frasier’s apartment as the primary set, shifting the series’ focus from a workplace to a family sitcom. While the two previous series featured workplace families, Frasier centered his family and added to it with his workplace colleague, Roz. Thus, with both Cheers and Wings, the ensemble cast initially came together because of their workplace relationships but over time became a family as well. On Frasier, Frasier returns to his hometown to rediscover himself and rebuild his strained family relationships while developing new workplace camaraderie. Positioning Frasier as a family sitcom set on the opposite coast was intentional to “make it hard for the network to insist on guest stars from Cheers” (Darowski and Darowski, Frasier 25). Only after the show had established itself did they welcome guest stars (25). Each soundstage featured specific locations in which different events occurred. As seen in Table 5.2, the main set contained related areas highlighted for certain comedic and narrative purposes: the bar, the airport lobby, and the apartment’s living room. With most of the action occurring in those locations, the preponderance of jokes occurring there is understandable. Examining the crossover episodes demonstrates certain types of interactions occurring more than others, suggesting that different dialectical tensions manifest in specific spheres. Dialectic Discussions. Interaction themes in spaces from the Cheers pilot set the formula for classed and gendered tensions across TFU. In an

78 Table 5.2  Series

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard and Erin K. Burrell Set locations and their common communication purposes Gags and Jokes

Cheers

Main Bar

Wings

Ticket Counter Airport Lobby Sandpiper Hangar Apartment Living Room KACL Radio Booth

Frasier

Plot Building

Serious Conversations

Pool Room Office Diner Counter Airport Lobby

Office Sandpiper Office Diner Counter

KACL Radio Booth Café Nervosa

Café Nervosa Apartment Kitchen

establishing shot, the bar space is positioned as lower class, given its physical positioning underneath a fine dining restaurant, Melville’s Fine Sea Food. Into this lower class space comes a representation of upper class, as Diane enters with her fiancée, only to set up Diane for a “fall from grace” and a need to learn to live among the working class. Quickly, the pilot establishes the series’ main humor as culture clash with Diane as a disruption of the status quo. Later, the series introduced Frasier and Rebecca as continuing this pattern. The pilot also positions the main bar space as masculine based on the interactions centering on sports discussions, womanizing, jokes about not going home to “absent” wives—all while the only women in the space are workers, love interests, or both. In the pilot, the bar is empty as Diane and her fiancé arrive; her fiancé leaves and the bar phone rings. Diane leans over the bar, already breaking the barriers between patrons and employees, to answer as Sam enters from his office. Diane says it’s a woman calling for Sam, the “magnificent Pagan beast,” and Sam connives Diane to lie for him. The introduction to the main characters quickly establishes Sam as a womanizer and Diane as a busybody with the physical bar representing class separation. Carla, Coach, and Norm all enter, discussing sports; Norm assumes Diane knows baseball, extending the class clash in other ways. Norm, for example, wants to know why she is reading, not what, while Diane challenges Cliff about the “facts” he spouts. The clash, then, is represented in taste and intelligence, between an aspirational upper-class academic intellectual and working class either scoffing at or performing as intellectual. Such general cultural clashes occur within the main space of the set, which represents a public service area as employees provide entertainment through conversations and libations. In Wings, the mixing of classes occurs in another primarily public service location: the airport lobby, as upper and middle class patrons (e.g., business travelers, vacationers) interact with lower class servers (e.g., airline stewards, pilots, and maintenance workers). In the crossover episode “The Story of Joe” (S2E2), Cliff and Norm position themselves as higher class than the series

Where Everybody Stays the Same

79

main characters as they are the tourists there to be served—and they further differentiate themselves from Lowell with a joke about his intelligence. As the episode progresses, their storyline is backgrounded to reflect the secondary nature of their characters on Cheers, as they fill similar roles here for the occasional one-liner while seeking only to drink during their leisure time. Their aspirations remain firmly working class. Additionally, their presence suggests a gendered tension that manifests throughout the Cheers-Wings episodes. Norm and Cliff begin their “fishing vacation” at Helen’s lunch counter, where Cliff annoys Helen until she snaps at him. She confides her annoyance to Joe more than expresses it, but it does emerge through her service persona. Indeed, personal and relationship-building discussions appear in this public eating location. At the lunch counter, Joe reflects on being nervous to Helen, confiding in her (S2E2) at a space once owned by her father. Helen’s annoyance actually represents a more masculine outburst, whereas Joe’s suggests a more feminine one. In these crossover episodes, emotional vulnerability is expressed in supposedly masculine spaces. Helen often has emotional outbursts in public, such as against Frasier in “Planes, Trains, and Visiting Cranes” (S3E16). Later, in “I Love Brian” (S4E17), Rebecca is on the verge of an emotional breakdown at a party for a country-western singer. These emotional interactions suggest a new gender dialectic emerging that the chapter explores in the next section. Frasier often challenged gender role stereotypes and subverted stereotypes about homosexuals (Darowski and Darowski, Frasier 129, 136). With Frasier, any space becomes a space for confession in this series, likely due to Frasier’s profession, but it also demonstrates the New Man masculinity, which sought to produce a softer man more comfortable with emotional vulnerability. Frasier reflected the New Man in Cheers when pitted against Sam, the ultimate man, for Diane’s affections. Each crossover begins with Frasier at work and the guest stars introduced directly (S2E16, S3E14, S6E13) or indirectly (S9E21). Frasier counsels anyone anywhere, whether in public or private. In “The Show Where Sam Shows Up” (S2E16), Frasier counsels and consoles Sam in his living room, in Sam’s hotel room, and in his car. In “The Show Where Diane Comes Back” (S3E14), he helps Diane in his dining area and her theater. In “The Show Where Woody Shows Up” (S6E13), Woody does not require much counseling, but it does occur in a restaurant. Finally, in “Cheerful Goodbyes” (S9E21), Frasier counsels Cliff in a hallway. Interestingly, when Frasier needs counsel, it occurs in private spaces more than public, such as going to Nile’s office, where he deals with his self-denial over Diane before agreeing to tell her the truth about his feelings while in the kitchen with Niles (S3E14). Using the apartment for confidential conversations was common, such as revealing Frasier’s weariness of Woody to Niles in living room and to Martin in kitchen (S6E13). The apartment space, as the

80

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard and Erin K. Burrell

primary set, also served as the backdrop for most of the class clashes between Frasier and Martin, with Martin’s recliner being a permanent visual signifier of this tension. This class clash also reflected a gendered tension between Frasier and Martin, and forcing more feminine discussions into a masculine relationship provided a primary source of humor for the series. Such conversations also reflected the series’ tension between private and public issues. Frasier’s job as psychiatrist, established on Cheers, dealt primarily with people’s intimate affairs, yet those personal matters were made public due to his KACL career—a tension mined for humor when Frasier publicizes Niles’s bedwetting history (S9E21). Other physical spaces reflected this tension. The apartment balcony demonstrated a dialectic of private and public as it was both “exposed and transparent yet simultaneously private from listening ears. While there, characters can speak freely without fear of being overheard, even though they can be seen” (Darowski and Darowski, Frasier 97). Similarly, Café Nervosa serves for more vulnerable discussions. In two instances, at a table toward the back for “privacy” when Frasier recognizes Sam’s fiancée as a woman he slept with (S2E16) and when he has a realization about still loving Diane (S3E14). While Cheers presented more diametrically separated locations for such intimate and emotional conversations, Wings began to blur that line, and ultimately Frasier embraced the dialectic.

LEADING MEN, FAILURE, AND THE AMERICAN DREAM Even with blurred lines, each series features specific, smaller sections of the overall main set as location for more intimate discussions: Cheers’s bar office, Wings’s Sandpiper office, Frasier’s coffee shop. More significantly, perhaps, these locations present a masculine character’s vulnerability as existing in tension between their failures and successes. In this interpretation, all three series present a leading man’s failures as the central comedic and narrative concern. These failures repeat as the characters visit the other shows, suggesting that no matter the time or space, the men remain the same flawed individuals experiencing the same hopes and failures. In a way, then, the men never truly fulfill the American Dream and have a proper happily-ever-after conclusion to their story. Quixotically, such portrayals make these characters feel more real and relatable, which also leaves fans wanting more. Ultimately, the cruel optimism (Berlant) experienced by the characters suggests a thematic undercurrent for TFU: life is about the quest, not the reward. New Men. American hegemonic masculinity leading into the 1980s espoused stoicism and rugged individualism. On Cheers, Sam’s office is his

Where Everybody Stays the Same

81

sanctuary because it is a private space he controls. While it has “some of the most powerful conversations” (Darowski and Darowski, Cheers 48), Sam dictates those conversations until he sells the bar in Season 6 after Diane leaves. The series never shows his apartment, both implying that the bar is his life and reinforcing his guarded and non-committal approach to others (Darowski and Darowski, Cheers 49–50). In the pilot, Diane jokes about the tendency for patrons to tell their troubles to their bartender, which she immediately does. Sam obviously cares about his friends but prefers to protect himself. Sam rarely presents any type of emotional vulnerability. From the beginning, Sam projected “the identity of a man’s man, defined by his attractiveness, his physical prowess, and his success with women” (97–98). However, as the series progresses, this “projected version of Sam Malone begin[s] to crack” so that he “does mature away from the impulsive lothario” (97–98). Toward the end, Sam does attend a sexual addiction group, per Frasier’s recommendation, leading him to recognize his womanizing offers no fulfillment and ending the series with a reflection on his behavior as indicative of “a bygone era” (110). Even with such a self-realization, Sam remains uncomfortable with emotional intimacy. He does have an emotional outburst of disgust in his hotel room when he learns his fiancée slept with Cliff (S2E16). Otherwise, he remains calm and collected when discussing running from his wedding. His outburst operates less as character development, as it is with Frasier’s outburst to Diane (S3E14), and more about a return to status quo and humor at Cliff’s expense. Sam also remains a womanizer and sex object, as both Roz and Daphne swoon over him. At the end of episode, in Frasier’s car, Sam remains upset that he slept with someone who slept with Cliff, and both men say they want meaningful relationships—but the episode ends with a joke about hooking up with stewardesses at the airport. TFU leaves Sam unattached, although he still has Cheers, as Frasier and the audience later learn (S9E21). This representation of American masculinity began to change in the 1990s as “postfeminist masculinity allows men to recognize gender equality and display an array of personality traits previously considered taboo due to their association with femininity” (Gann 104). The men of Wings were more vulnerable, but mostly in private settings. The end of “The Story of Joe” (S2E2) intercuts between the Sandpiper airplane and Sandpiper office: while flying alone, Joe explains his feelings and bears his soul over the radio to Brian in the office. Joe wishes he could be more like Brian, who claims he was not listening, only for the episode to end with Brian saying to himself he wishes he was more like Joe. The two brothers are emotionally vulnerable to one another, even if Brian cannot bring himself to admit it. Their office is used repeatedly for private conversations of vulnerability between brothers. For example, Brian confesses his lying to impress Alex

82

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard and Erin K. Burrell

to Joe (S4E17). Interestingly, the public space of the airport lobby also sees Brian as vulnerable, losing his cool façade when asking out Alex. Later in that episode, Brian demonstrates character development by coming to terms with his vulnerability: on the hotel balcony, Lowell comments on Brian’s soft hands and Brian agrees without any argument or any further conversation that could have been handled with derision. Throughout Wings, in contrast to Cheers, Brian and Joe represent the New Man masculinity of the 1990s. However, while postfeminist masculinity “allows for a wider range of acceptable behaviors” for American men, it also “exacerbates competition and leads to insecurity as men judge themselves alongside other men and prior notions of idealized manhood” (Gann 114). Joe never achieves his ambitions for a career, but he marries Helen, his childhood sweetheart. Brian learns more responsibility, and develops a desire to settle down, but such a relationship does not occur. Yet, the estranged brothers are together and strong by the series end, and, as they never appear in Frasier, TFU suggests they have accepted their lot in life. The New Man ethos apparent in Wings is spotlighted in Frasier. With different showrunners between Cheers and the later sitcoms, this aspect of TFU does not align with Long’s interpretation of Cheers as a conservative sitcom, although the impact of feminism on American hegemonic masculinity is mined for humor in Frasier. Per Dustin Gann’s analysis of Frasier’s leading man: “Frasier’s struggle to balance platonic professionalism and sexual chemistry with female coworkers, compete with other men for occupational and romantic success, and grapple with questions of homosexuality” (104). Where Joe is a failed leading man in terms of career only, Frasier is one in terms of romance. “Over the eleven years of the series, Frasier is seemingly unable to find or to create a new identity in Seattle as a radio psychiatrist with someone who shares his life [. . .] even though he seems competent enough to help others on the air and others in his life” (Hellwig 3). Indeed, Frasier’s life is filled with contradictions and tensions that demonstrate how the 1990s New Man challenged traditional American masculinity while being constantly ridiculed for his effeminate nature (Gann 105). Such tensions become apparent in the crossovers. On Wings, Lilith ridicules Frasier on the Sandpiper airplane, in the airport lobby, and even at his own seminar (S3E16). Frasier’s interaction with Helen, Joe, and Brian causes him to lose his cool in front of the seminar, ruining the taping session as well as forcing him to refund the attendees. With his seminar focusing on holding oneself accountable in life, his loss of control is presented as a humorous contradiction that is also ironic and hypocritical. This contradiction is a consistent feature of the character, who could go from intellectually calm and refined to wildly bombastic when confronted with some frustration. Indeed, Frasier continues to have emotional outbursts in public spaces, such as his

Where Everybody Stays the Same

83

scolding of Diane during a rehearsal of her play (S3E14); however, in that scenario, his outburst is justified and portrayed as character growth for both him and Diane. Across the crossover episodes, Frasier, Rebecca, and Helen have emotional outbursts in public. While Rebecca’s and Helen’s could be read as gendered expressions, Frasier’s outbursts serve as comic effects to contradict the rational calm he has when counseling others. Additionally, Helen’s and Rebecca’s more relate to their career ambitions, as both women deal with the frustration associated with her aspirations. Frasier’s, however, seem to relate more to the contradictions between traditional masculinity and the New Man masculinity. Frasier uses empathy and compassion in his career, which are not “historically idealized male qualities of brute strength and dominance” (Gann 111). Even with Woody, Frasier lets Woody believe he agrees with his friend at the restaurant rather than correct Woody and potentially hurt his friend. Interestingly, working-class Woody is perhaps closest to living his dream with a happy marriage and steady job. Frasier has a steady job and level of local fame, but his ambitions for more in his career do not pan out and he ends up chasing a woman to Chicago, an act that is left open-ended by the series’ ending. At the same time, his counseling is not always presented as helpful. His doggedness to advise helps Helen, Joe, and Brian confront each other, but a focus on truth led to the end of Sam’s engagement. Frasier helps Diane realize her play is not ready, and he makes Woody feel good about himself, but Woody perhaps did not really feel bad about his life and Diane’s future is left uncertain. Frasier’s counseling of Cliff upsets Carla because it changes Cliff’s plans and leaves his former bar buddies’ futures less certain. Frasier’s New Man approach operates as a catalyst for change, but whether the change is beneficial is left unclear. American Failures. Across TFU, the men become increasingly more emotionally vulnerable, but being so does not directly relate to achieving their dreams. Per Michelle Hilmes, television operates as “‘the great mediatory’” as it is a “site at which cultural beliefs, values, and controversies meet daily to affirm our central core of ideology and myth” (214). The United States is full of national myths, including the American Dream which argues that anyone, regardless of class or other identities, can be successful. The American Dream suggests that anyone who works hard can succeed and attain their aspirational goals. Yet, over its two decades, TFU sitcoms repeatedly suggest that this American Dream is an impossible goal that prevents commonplace happiness and satisfaction. All three series mine comedy from the conflict between high and low culture and feature main characters with aspirations for upper-class mobility. TFU is replete with dialectical tensions between classes as characters try to resolve dreams and aspirations within situational

84

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard and Erin K. Burrell

constraints that sometimes require private conversations or public outbursts to cope with the frustrations of setbacks. A common theme within these tensions and representations is the ideology of cruel optimism. Lauren Berlant links cruel optimism to many endeavors where the very thing one desires is the obstacle that prevents one from thriving. The American Dream contained cruel optimism for Baby Boomers and Generation X during the 1980s and 1990s, with mockery awaiting individuals who fail to achieve this promise (Berlant). The sitcom humor of this period focused on men and women not being beautiful enough, rich enough, or traditionally masculine or feminine enough to obtain such goals. This focus reinforces the ideal that it is an individual failing rather than a failing of the myth itself or sociocultural and political-economic institutions being unreasonable or unattainable (Clarke). Underlying the tensions of TFU is a common message implicating the myth itself as unreachable. The first episode of Cheers presents Diane as a graduate student hoping to run away and marry her mentor to live happily ever after, and the last scene of Frasier finds him once again alone and running to a new city in search of his dreams. Joe never realizes significant success with his airline, and Helen never plays cello professionally. Sam, Diane, Rebecca, Brian, and Frasier all remain alone without any certainty of happiness. Across TFU, the main characters embody a realization that the myth and how to achieve it are impossible, implicating the neoliberal methods of “rugged individualism” as being little more than cruel optimism. That criticism, however, may be the point. Tyler Cowen observes that the reality of the American Dream is unattainable and categorizes those questing towards it as “those who dig in, those who get stuck” (117). Seeking to be wholly self-reliant in a quest for financial success is not viable. In this way, the entire TFU may ultimately be ridiculing the American Dream. As Hilmes noted in her analysis, A typical Cheers plot, a character’s aspirations to high culture (or low culture) threaten to separate him or her from the group, but in the end the group triumphs, demonstrating that allegiance to the group is more important than any interpretation or goal. Class and cultural allegiance become less important than the “workplace family” group, showing us that whatever our values, we are all the same under the skin. (223)

Such a formula “invites us to laugh at our own ‘quality’ aspirations, to revel in the very mass-ness of the TV experience” (Hilmes 223). Most often TFU’s humor is directed at individuals and their failings. Sam, Brian, and Frasier have achieved professional success, but they routinely fail at falling in love. Joe and Helen fail at achieving their childhood dreams, but they create a loving relationship and family instead. Niles had achieved his upper-class

Where Everybody Stays the Same

85

aspirations but is willing to sacrifice them to start a family with Daphne, the immigrant, who demonstrates both financial and relational success. Antonio, another immigrant, has neither; Daphne has friends to help her do so while Antonio represents that distinctly American form of masculinity, rugged individualism. TFU also ridicules the American Dream by highlighting the success of those who do not seek it. Martin shows viewers that the American Dream is a fickle mistress. Martin achieved the American Dream and had it stolen from him by a bullet, but he is content with his life. Jokes are not made at Martin’s expense for losing the American Dream. He serves as the comic foil to laugh at the individuals around him who do not know what they want. Similarly, Roz hails from a working-class background and appears comfortable as she does not demonstrate financial ambitions. Her ambitions involve sexual conquests, aligning her with Sam and Brian in seeking fun, with similar jokes that highlight her promiscuity without punishing her. Indeed, all three indicate a desire for more mature relationships. The American Dream is primarily concerned with financial success and, should that be achieved, creating strong romantic and familial relationships. Essentially, the myth encourages Americans to “have it all” and to work hard individually to achieve those goals. The characters of TFU demonstrate that such ambitions cannot work: the drive for success becomes an obstacle to recognizing the happiness the individual has already achieved by being a member of their collective. Whether that collective is a workplace family or blood relations does not matter as long as the individual recognizes the bonds they have forged with those around them. In TFU, dwelling on the past or chasing an uncertain future seem less likely to lead to happiness.

CONCLUSION: NOSTALGIA AND CRUEL OPTIMISM Finally, the thematic underpinning of TFU is intriguing given the role nostalgia plays within it. “Television is arguably responsible for the construction of a popular iconography of nostalgia” (Holdsworth 97–98), and a TSU is particularly prone to creating and exploiting an audience’s desire for nostalgia. Spin-offs and crossovers that rely on the same characters and/or settings provide audiences with a sense of comfort when presented with familiarity while also appeasing fans who yearn for more of what they like. Furthermore, crossovers operate as promotional tactics to garner attention in a crowded popular culture landscape as they intertextually refer to a previous show and the happiness of the domestic viewing space. Indeed, the industry’s reliance on franchises represents a desire to maintain “successful formats [that offer] a form of security and quite often will deliver a pre-existing audience” so that

86

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard and Erin K. Burrell

“the most successful of these present some form of reflection on the original and build upon potential resources” (113). The Cheers-Frasier reunion episode (S9E21) was “likely only truly entertaining to those who were nostalgic for Cheers” (Darowski and Darowski, Frasier 26). Additionally, the episode occurred as NBC celebrated its 75th anniversary in April 2002 (26) and coincided with the nostalgia wave in American popular culture as a post9/11 society sought happier times in the familiar (27). Per Amy Holdsworth, “nostalgic programming and iconography have been read partly as a response to changes taking place in television, generating nostalgia for real and imaginary losses” (125). In TSUs, fans do not deal with “remakes, reinventions, and regenerations” (Holdsworth 113); instead, they encounter revisitations that reconfirm the past as proper, comforting them through familiar characters, settings, and themes that do not change regardless of the time or place. Such a TSU could, then, suggest that what was possible remains so, and that includes the American Dream. Yet, for both Wings and Frasier, the crossovers comprised a minute percentage of each series’ overall episodes. While both series existed in the same shared universe as Cheers, they also stood on their own, with Wings spanning eight seasons and Frasier eleven. Creating a long-running series requires creators to abandon easy solutions in favor of plot lines that develop leading characters over the long term. It is this unique approach that committed more than two decades of television history to the social fabric. All three series feature leading men who fail at the American Dream, but in their journeys learn more realistic means towards happiness. Through these characters’ journeys, viewers see that by abandoning the American Dream, one can discover the foundation of happiness. The success of TFU and the value it adds to sitcom discourse is that sometimes happiness lies in choosing not to conform. As Michael Schneider highlights, breaking the rules of sitcom structures likely made Frasier a success, and the same can be said of Wings and Cheers. TFU likewise breaks the rules of the American Dream by suggesting that the most important thing in life is to find yourself among others who all know your name. NOTES 1. https://www​.youtube​.com​/watch​?v​%3Dn9IOB7zWirM 2. Cheers characters also appeared on St. Elsewhere, episode “Cheers” (March 27, 1985), set at the bar, featuring Cliff Clavin, Norm Peterson, and Carla Tortelli. 3. While not common, NBC heavily promoted them, such as misleading the audience that Sam’s visit would be an hour-long special episode (Darowski and Darowski, Frasier 26).

Where Everybody Stays the Same

87

4. Diane also appeared briefly in a nightmare in the second season, and in a Season 9 episode in which Frasier has an “imaginary conversation with his [mother and] most significant ex-girlfriends/wives” (Darowski and Darowski, Frasier 25–26).

REFERENCES Acland, Charles. “The ‘Space’ Behind the Dialogue: The Gender-Coding of Space on Cheers.” Women and Language: WL, vol. 13, no. 1, Sept. 1990, p. 39. Berger, Arthur Asa. “‘He’s everything you’re not . . .’: A semiological analysis of Cheers.” Television Studies: Textual analysis, edited by Gary Burns and Robert J. Thompson, Praeger, 1989: 229–39. Berlant, Lauren. Cruel Optimism. Duke UP, 2011. Brooks, David. “The Nuclear Family Was a Mistake.” The Atlantic, Mar. 2020, https://www​.theatlantic​.com​/magazine​/archive​/2020​/03​/the​-nuclear​-family​-was​-a​ -mistake​/605536/. Brown, Robert S. “Cheers: Searching for the Ideal Public Sphere in the Ideal Public House.” The Sitcom Reader, edited by Mary M. Dalton and Laura R. Linder, Second, SUNY Press, 2016: 177–184. Clarke, W. N. “Ethical Erosion of American Society?” World Affairs: The Journal of International Issues, vol. 1, no. 4, 1997, pp. 12–35, https://www​.jstor​.org​/stable​ /45064446​?seq​=1​#metadata​_info​_tab​_contents. Cowen, Tyler. The Complacent Class: The Self-Defeating Quest for the American Dream, no. 1, 2018, p. 13. Darowski, Joseph J. and Kate Darowski. Frasier: A Cultural History. Rowman and Littlefield, 2017. Darowski, Joseph J. and Kate Darowski. Cheers: A Cultural History. Rowman and Littlefield, 2019. Gann, Dustin. “‘I’m Listening’: Analyzing the masculine example of Frasier Crane.” In Screening Images of American Masculinity in the Age of Postfeminism, edited by Elizabeth Abele and John A. Gronbeck-Tedesco. Lexington, 2018: 103–19. Hellwig, Harold. “Frasier: A film noir comedy.” Journal of Popular Film and Television, no. 48, no. 1, 2020: 2–12. Hilmes, Michelle. “Where everybody knows your name: Cheers and the Mediation of cultures.” In Joanne Morreale (Ed) Critiquing the Sitcom: A reader. Syracuse UP, 2003: 213–23. Hlynka, Anthony, and Nancy Nelson Knupfer. “A Thinking Person’s Comedy: A Study of intertextuality in ‘Cheers.’” VisionQuest: Journeys toward visual literacy, International Visual Literacy Association, 1997. Holdsworth, Amy. Television, Memory and Nostalgia. Palgrave, 2011. Humphreys, Kristi Rowan. Housework and Gender in American Television: Coming Clean. Lexington Books, 2015.

88

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard and Erin K. Burrell

Long, Rob. “Three cheers.” National Review, 7 June 1993: 62–3. Lynch, Andrew. “Tossed salads and scrambled brains: Frasier, Hannibal and good taste in Quality Television (TV).” Quarterly Review of Film and Video, no. 354, is. 6, 2018: 630–43. Schneider, Michael. “The Doctor Is Out.” Variety, 13 May 2004, pp. A1–8.

Chapter 6

“What Ever Happened to the Disney Afternoon?” Nostalgia, Remixes, and DuckTales Shared Universe Peter Cullen Bryan

The 2017 reboot of DuckTales marks the first serious attempt to unpack the sprawling mythology of Carl Barks in the television format (Don Rosa famously undertook a similar effort in the comics, culminating in the landmark The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck). The reboot emphasized the grand history of the comics in its first season, including direct reference to the post-retirement art of Carl Barks, though with specific references to other 1990s-era Disney animation, including geographic references to places like Spoonerville from Goof Troop and Cape Suzette from TaleSpin, with an appearance from Don Karnage from TaleSpin. The second season took things further: instead of just tapping into the deep well of the comics, DuckTales began to develop a larger universe, with the appearance of Darkwing Duck (albeit here a fictional creation in-universe, akin to Michael Keaton’s Batman), a crossover with the Three Caballeros (from the Disney propaganda film), and a quasi-sequel to Mickey’s Christmas Carol. The third season took the transmedia elements to their ultimate conclusions, with a density of references to the other series that results in a quasi-recreation of the Disney Afternoon programming block that had existed in the early 1990s (see Table 6.1), albeit condensed into a single season of a modern animated series. This is not a televisual shared universe in the same sense that many others are discussing in this collection, but rather a facsimile of one, produced decades later, creating a constructed canon of a shared universe that had only existed in the context of afternoon cartoons. This crossover serves both the economic needs of Disney through making the DuckTales brand more valuable, particularly to nostalgia-driven 89

90 Table 6.1 

Peter Cullen Bryan Disney Afternoon Lineup, 1990–1999

Series Adventures of the Gummi Bears* DuckTales* Chip ’n Dale: Rescue Rangers* TaleSpin* Darkwing Duck* Goof Troop* Bonkers* Aladdin The New Adventures of Winnie the Pooh The Shnookums and Meat Funny Cartoon Show (Marsupilami spin-off) Quack Pack* Mighty Ducks* The Lion King’s Timon & Pumbaa Gargoyles (1994)* 101 Dalmatians Doug (aka “Disney’s Doug,” 1998–1999) Hercules*

Disney Afternoon Lineup

Production

Episodes

1990–1991

1985–1991

65

1987–1992 1989–1993

1987–1990 1989–1990

100 + movie 65

1990–1994 1991–1995 1992–1994 1993–1995 1994 1994

1990–1991 1991–1992 1992 1993–1994 1994–1995 1988–1991

65 91 78 65 86 50

1995

1995

13

1996 1996 1996

1996 1996–1997 1995–1999

39 26 85

1997 1997 1997

1994–1997 1997–1998 1991–1999 1996–1999 1998–1999

78 65 117 (65) 65

1998

* Referenced in the 2017 DuckTales

consumers. The series eventually comes to function as something that does not fit simple categorization of “reboot” or “remake,” although it offers a framework for how those function within the larger fandom-nostalgia complex. Specifically, it endeavors to create an illusory shared universe among the animated series of early 1990s Disney. This reflects the fannish desire to connect certain media properties—cross-media creations have a long history, here aided by a corporate ownership of the properties, something common to other televisual shared universes (which often have shared elements like networks or production companies). DuckTales offers an attempt to create a shared universe where one never existed before, creating an illusory history that binds eleven disparate series together into one post-hoc universe. The new DuckTales serves both as an adaptation of the original and an update of the 1990s Disney Afternoon block, creating a more fully realized shared universe (with direct crossover and canonical cameos) that is nevertheless remixed in key ways. These elements function both as nostalgic appeals as well as a method to build the Disney brand, albeit here as an outgrowth of the Disney Afternoon programming block specifically. This

“What Ever Happened to the Disney Afternoon?”

91

process of adaptation creates a shared universe of reboots: effectively, each series is incorporated to a degree, reworking the reality of each to fit the updated DuckTales (TailSpin becomes part of the show’s historical background, the Rescue Rangers are literally recreated in the background of an episode). This contributes to an overall sense of world-building that allows for a greater array of storytelling beyond the 1987 series treasure-seeking adventure yarns, an approach which eventually incorporates superheroes, spy thrillers, domestic sitcoms, and other genres. Crucially, DuckTales 2017 is not a continuation of the original series, with the narrative framing (Donald and the nephews showing up at Scrooge McDuck’s mansion, where they are met by Mrs. Beakley and Webby) effectively the same in both, with some differences in character and narrative (Donald remains present in the 2017 telling). Finally, the 2017 DuckTales builds a quasi-televisual shared universe out of the various pieces of the Disney Afternoon. The revival series received no spin-offs (as of this writing), but instead utilizes the structure of crossovers, cameos, and references to create a shared world, most specifically with Darkwing Duck, reflecting a divergent evolution within the transmedia moment. While the 1987 DuckTales (and the 1991 Darkwing Duck) are framed as nebulous alternate universes of some stripe to the 2017 DuckTales, there are hints toward a larger shared universe with TailSpin and Rescue Rangers having fairly direct crossovers. This process serves to legitimize all versions of the characters: the larger continuity of these series could be plausible. The reboot avoids displacing the original, both by directly referencing it throughout but also marking it as a canonical text in its own right, in the same fashion that fan fiction converses with the original works. Co-showrunner Frank Angones reflects on his own ethos in rebooting DuckTales and the larger theme of legacy that developed in the third season: “part of the legacy of DuckTales is the Disney Afternoon . . . there’s a narrative reason why you’re seeing the Rescue Rangers pop up, why all of the Darkwing characters are showing up all of a sudden and TaleSpin characters are coming in” (Holub). References in the episode extended beyond the Disney Afternoon, with a momentary visual of a gray costume modeled on the Grey Ghost, a character played by former Batman Adam West that appeared in Batman: The Animated Series, a winking nod to the circularity of the new Darkwing Duck origin story that doubled as a deep dive into the animated television landscape of the early 1990s. The shared universe here does not seem to be a corporate-endorsed crossbranding opportunity (as is the case for video game crossovers like Super Smash Bros. or Multiversus), nor simple in-jokes and references (as with the various cameos in Pixar and Disney features). Instead, this appears to be a nostalgic fan response, a chance to develop a shared universe out of affection

92

Peter Cullen Bryan

for these otherwise dormant properties. Katherine Marazi notes that “for a brand to be strong and endure an identity needs to be forged. In the case of character-driven narratives, that identity is found to be residing predominantly within the character that can act and be perceived as a brand” (233). DuckTales builds its identity around Scrooge first and foremost, positioning the character as the focal point of the narrative universe, even if other characters like Huey, Dewey, and Louie tend to receive more overall screentime in a given episode. This allows the universe to be built around that central point, and the eventual incorporation of the other series will be framed around various permutations of the Duck Family. The greater world (and thus brand) becomes a recreation of the Disney Afternoon that once existed, but one developed by fans, as both showrunners Matt Youngberg and Frank Angones identify as (Hill). The reboot carefully reconstructs the spirit of that moment, and further builds connections between the properties where few existed before.

TOYING WITH A TELEVISUAL SHARED UNIVERSE The Disney Afternoon grew out the creation of the Disney Channel in 1983, though the programming block wound up on the more lucrative network television over cable, at least initially. When Michael Eisner arrived at Disney in 1984, television was seen as an untapped market for the company, with an emphasis on animation. The official Disney blog notes that “television animation, up until this point, had a reputation for being shoddy, cheap, and quickly produced. But these series were gorgeously rendered creations, and while they didn’t have the budgets of their big-screen counterparts, they were positively overflowing with visual nuance, hidden references, and wonderful characterizations” (“Life Is Like a Hurricane”). These were of a higher quality than other television animation (which ranged from decades-old reruns of Hanna-Barbera animation like The Jetsons and Scooby Doo to the borderline toy commercials of Transformers), but even the higher-quality animation had difficulty attracting an audience, with the early efforts being the short-lived The Wuzzles in 1985 and Adventures of the Gummi Bears in 1986, which only reached the traditional children’s television series sixty-five episodes after six seasons. The debut of DuckTales in 1987 effectively created the model that followed for the Disney Afternoon, building on preexisting characters from Disney’s cartoons (Donald Duck’s nephews Huey, Dewey, and Louie, as well as his rich Uncle Scrooge), though with a heavy influence of the comics work of Carl Barks. Though Donald and his nephews were the creation of Walt Disney and the animation studio staff in the 1930s, Barks had created Uncle Scrooge and was responsible for the overall structure and relationships

“What Ever Happened to the Disney Afternoon?”

93

within the series, albeit in comic book format from the early 1940s until his retirement in 1965. DuckTales was followed by Chip ’n Dale: Rescue Rangers (featuring the chipmunks Chip and Dale as present-day adventurers/detectives) and TaleSpin (which recast characters from the Jungle Book as a cargo pilot and various antagonists thereof) in 1989 and 1990, with the Disney Afternoon programming block officially premiering in 1990, with further series rotating on over time, maintaining a consistent two-hour time slot, running five days a week in most markets in after school. Notably, the block was syndicated, running variously on FOX, ABC, and CBS depending on local affiliates. The reach of the programming block was immense, especially in a moment before cable eclipsed traditional television, becoming a powerful moment in the cultural zeitgeist of the early 1990s. The original incarnation of the Disney Afternoon collapsed amidst a disagreement over Los Angeles television stations and syndication, limping along on the Disney-owned ABC for a few years afterward (Stewart 132). The block finally disappeared in 1999, though it lingered in the memory of viewers, owing to its decade on the air, a rarity in children’s programming. Scholarly discussions of shared universes tend to be framed in economic terms. Henry Jenkins, Sam Ford, and Joshua Green contend that “companies have been interested in the idea that the audiences that they court form strong social bonds through common affinity for a brand, because, hopefully, these affective relations mean increased customer loyalty at a time when brand attachments are viewed as less stable than they have been in previous generations” (163). Shared universes, particularly those that lean heavily on nostalgia, are a means to more easily create emotional connections in a bid to retain (or regain) audiences in the long term; “rather than striving to move audience interest onto the next new release in a system of planned obsolescence, this model seeks to prolong audience engagement with media texts in order to expand touchpoints with the brand” (Jenkins et  al. 133). This reflects a larger shift toward sprawling, consistent franchises, growing out of the same instincts that prompted fans to develop their own extensions to media properties. Dan Hassler-Forest discusses the shared cinematic universe, explaining that “these highly lucrative enterprises have developed into serialized narratives that now follow the logic more similar to television production than the traditional film industry” (408). In the case of the Disney Afternoon, the value generated was more than just the advertising revenue, with toys, comics, video games, feature films, and other releases spun off from the various series, while maintaining the popularity of several core Disney properties. The brand created connections, even where there were none, that continue to evoke the collective series, rather than just DuckTales or Goof Troop individually, for instance. The original Disney Afternoon programming block

94

Peter Cullen Bryan

was largely disconnected, sharing only the Disney brand identity and a twohour afternoon block. Only two series might qualify as part of the traditional televisual shared universe: Darkwing Duck featured characters from DuckTales’ Launchpad McQuack appeared in the main cast of both series, and the cyborg Gizmoduck guest-starred in both—and Quack Pack served as sitcomesque reboot of DuckTales, with Huey, Dewey, and Louie aged up to teenagers, and trading out Scrooge and the supporting cast for Donald and Daisy. Though Disney’s characters often appeared in the same publications (a typical comic would have a longer feature story and fill out the length with a few one-page back-up stories), at least one major crossover occurred in this period. The spin-off comics featured a direct example of an officially sanctioned crossover, taking place in the Disney Adventures magazine comics in 1994 that was published directly by Disney and written by Bobbi Weiss. The five-part “The Legend of the Chaos God” incorporated the first five Disney Afternoon series—DuckTales, Tailspin, Chip ’n Dale: Rescue Rangers, Goof Troop, and Darkwing Duck—in a massive crossover that had each cast interact, while also clarifying that TailSpin took place decades earlier than the other series (something DuckTales 2017 would utilize). The miniseries further connected each of the properties, though only the DuckTales and Darkwing Duck characters would interact in the course of the story, presaging how Angones and Youngberg would create their own shared universe—with Darkwing Duck as the first major crossover character, TailSpin eventually incorporated into the backstory, the Rescue Rangers appearing (literally) only in the background. This helped set a precedent on the possibilities of having these characters interact, albeit in a print medium.

DUCKS, BEARS, DOGS ALL TOGETHER The 1987 DuckTales did not exist in a vacuum but was part of a programming block, received in conjunction with three other series (with schedule rotations expanding that number even further). Thus, the reboot embodies that temporal space, existing in conversation not just with the original text (and the inspirations thereof, in the form of the comics of Barks and Rosa), but also with the related series. The hints of a televisual shared universe within DuckTales allow the series to function as something more complicated, drawing from media texts ranging from the old Carl Barks comics, Don Rosa’s modern adaptations of the comics, old Donald Duck cartoons, the various other series that aired as part of the Disney Afternoon, and sources even further afield. This represents an intrinsic fannish desire: to create connections between favorite properties, particularly when those properties share creators or settings.

“What Ever Happened to the Disney Afternoon?”

95

Disney would reuse this model in a modern context. The consistent release schedule of both connected films and television indicates a shift in media production: the Marvel Cinematic Universe—the crossover of various superhero film franchises and television series could be framed as an attempt to squeeze dollars out of consumers through cross-promotion and merchandising, even as audiences perceive it as something more. This process of linking properties can have a profit motive: “executives [. . .] hire directors with an established style or track record to handle a particular installment, while ensuring from a corporate level that a strong degree of aesthetic consistency and narrative coherence with other franchise entities is maintained” (HasslerForest 408). Disney’s history with this, of course, goes much deeper into its history: Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck existed in a shared universe, along with all the other Disney characters, appearing together in cartoons, comics, and theme parks. There is a natural tendency for the company to pursue connected projects that exist in shared spaces, albeit one not always formalized within a canon. The same flexibility for Mickey to be a sorcerer’s apprentice, a giant-battling tailor, or a steamboat operator seemingly negates any serious attempts at formalizing a shared universe, though there was room for crafting a canon of the disconnected appearances, particularly in other media. The 2017 DuckTales is an inflection point for reviving a version of the Disney Afternoon, one that potentially exists outside of the larger Disney corporate enterprise. The storytelling instead occurs within the space of the television series itself, metatextually referencing a thirty-year-old syndicated programming block by recreating it within the reality of DuckTales. The reboot utilizes the various series as points of reference but not all in the same fashion: some of the shows referenced roughly occurred within the world of DuckTales (TaleSpin and Chip ’n Dale: Rescue Rangers), are fictional texts within that world (Darkwing Duck), or function somewhere in between (Goof Troop and Quack Pack). Part of the appeal is that DuckTales recontextualizes the Disney Afternoon as a text in its own right, rather than just the relatively loose and ever-shifting syndicated programming block that it was, capturing the spirit of what could have been. The specific “crossover” episodes serve as plausible backdoor pilots for each of the series in question—the Rescue Rangers escape from a lab, Drake Mallard takes up the mantle of Darkwing Duck, Goofy has always lived next to Donald in suburbia—allowing the characters to be updated in the same fashion as the Ducks. The exception is TaleSpin, where time has clearly passed, with the kid sidekick Kit grown into an adult. None of these have yet led to an official revival as of this writing, but these efforts reflect Angones and Youngberg making an argument: that these series could conceivably exist in the same shared universe (in the same fashion as “Legend of Chaos God” argued in comic format), embodying the fannish desire to build those connections.

96

Peter Cullen Bryan

References to other series appear even in the pilot, with Cape Suzette (the setting of TailSpin) and Spoonerville (the setting of Goof Troop) being name-checked. The references grow denser and more complicated with the 17th episode of the first season—“From the Confidential Casefiles of Agent 22!”—features both criminal organization F.O.W.L. (major antagonists in Darkwing Duck) and gummiberry juice (used to same effect as Disney’s Adventures of the Gummi Bears), though no preexisting characters from either franchise, though F.O.W.L. eventually became the big bad of the third season, incorporating Darkwing Duck villains Steelbeak and Taurus Bulba. The next episode—“Sky Pirates . . . In the Sky!”—featured the first returning non-DuckTales character, TaleSpin antagonist Don Karnage and his trademark flying carrier the Iron Vulture. In this moment, DuckTales becomes a quasi-reboot of TaleSpin as well, a franchise previously disconnected from the series outside of the shared ownership of Disney, going so far as to have Don Karnage reappear in later episodes, albeit not in a starring role. Notably, this does not appear to have been some effort at cross-promotion at the behest of Disney; per Angones, “Don Karnage was another one of those characters that we were itching to get our hands on. Again, I love a blustery egomaniac. . . to no one’s surprise” (@FrankAngones, 26 November 2019). This functions as something of a test run; while the other references tended to be fairly specific winks to the other Disney Afternoon series, a passing geographical reference that served as basic worldbuilding but also as a nod to the longtime fans. Don Karnage is the central antagonist of the episode, including the redesigned flying carrier the Iron Vulture. The character is at least removed from his original continuity—there are no direct mentions of Baloo or Cape Suzette in the episode—with Angones stating that this may not even be the original Don Karnage, “the other idea I had was . . . perhaps ‘Don Karnage’ was a title, like ‘The Dread Pirate Roberts’ in Princess Bride. Whenever an understudy mutinies against the current Karnage, they would become the new Captain Karnage . . . the logic being that the events of TaleSpin had occurred in our show’s past, so each generation got a different Don Karnage” (@ FrankAngones, 26 November 2019). However, this was not reflected within the text of the episodes that featured the character, and it is revealed that Karnage knows his former foe Kit from years earlier in the episode “The Lost Cargo of Kit Cloudkicker!” It remains nebulous. This reflected an effort to further frame DuckTales in conversation with the old shows by incorporating some elements to the reboot, in much the same fashion that the series leans on earlier Carl Barks and Don Rosa comics. These elements were the DuckTales versions of the Disney Afternoon, framed within the needs of the show, existing within the histories of Scrooge, Donald, and other characters. Don Karnage only appears once in the first season of DucktTales but represents the

“What Ever Happened to the Disney Afternoon?”

97

first steps into a larger universe that would continue to expand in the following seasons and would become a recurring character in his own right. Chip nDale: Rescue Rangers presents one of the thornier additions to the series. Frank Angones notes that: “It’s pretty well known at this point that at the start of the show, we were told Mickey was pretty much off limits . . . lesser known is the OTHER property we were told was off limits: the Rescue Rangers” (@FrankAngones, 11 April 2020). The property had been the subject of several abortive reboot attempts through the 2010s, which meant that their eventual appearance came with certain restrictions: specifically, that the characters could not speak, which meant that the original voice cast was unable to return. Notably, this fit the Rangers from the original series, who also could not talk to humans, which was not the case for the Disney+ reboot film, Chip ’n Dale: Rescue Rangers (Akiva Schaffer, 2022). One of the key aspects of a shared universe is consistency. While crossovers have existed since the early days of television, as have spin-offs, the persistent, shared television universe has become more common in the modern media landscape. The fundamentals are the same—a breakout character or setting is free advertising, and can keep a successful property profitable in the public consciousness—but this is also a process that plays out in fan spaces. DuckTales creates a persistent story space for its characters to exist within; Darkwing Duck is clearly having his own adventures even when he is not spending time with the Duck family, and goes through development offscreen (going from a starry-eyed fan to a capable crimefighter between seasons). These elements are key part of the framing; Thiago Mittermayer and Leticia Capanema explain that “transmedia storytelling is characterized by approaching distinct media for the constitution of a narrative whole, each of which contributes, albeit autonomously, with new elements for the construction of a single diegetic world” (554). The shared universe fills in the blanks, broadly speaking; the early episodes of the 1992 Darkwing Duck follows a similar arc to what occurs in the third season of DuckTales, even as that series exists as a fictional text within the DuckTales world. The Disney Afternoon serves as the foundation of DuckTales, with the series as a sort of capstone in the same fashion that the Avengers films function for the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Darkwing Duck represents the most complex addition to the 2017 series. The character is one of the most popular original creations to come out of the Disney Afternoon block, with the series reaching 91 total episodes just short of DuckTales’ 100, unusual considering that sixty-five episodes is the typical order for a series aimed at children, as that comprises 5 episodes per week for 13 weeks. The original series is a parody of superheroes, particularly Pulp and Golden Age characters like the Shadow and Doc Savage, and notable predates Batman: The Animated Series (which utilizes similar tropes

98

Peter Cullen Bryan

and aesthetics) to air by a full year. Though the series included Launchpad and Gizmoduck from the 1987 DuckTales, Darkwing Duck creator Tad Stones states emphatically that “I insist, to fans’ delight everywhere, that it’s a separate universe” (Zakarin). There was a clear effort to avoid a televisual shared universe in the original incarnations of the series, reflecting an effort to exercise control over the world-building, with the implications of crossover elements effectively ignored, with the only exception being a comic discussed below. In the 2017 DuckTales, Darkwing’s first “appearance” came in the first season episode “The Last Crash of the Sunchaser!” The episode features a broken video tape of a Darkwing Duck episode, which played a two second clip of the original credits on repeat, which could be dismissed as a twosecond Easter Egg. This was expanded upon in greater detail in the second season episode “The Duck Knight Returns!,” which firmly placed Darkwing Duck as a fictional work within the DuckTales universe. Within the episode, Darkwing Duck is a fictional character played by actor Jim Starling, much in the same vein as Michael Keaton’s Batman. Starling is voiced by Jim Cummings, the voice actor for Darkwing Duck in the original series, and the episode functions as a metacommentary on fandom and stardom, while digging deeper into framing the original Darkwing Duck as a story within a story. When the episode culminates in the casting of a new Darkwing Duck, now played by fan Drake Mallard (which was the civilian identity of Darkwing in the original series), it sets the stage for the character to join the universe. This embodies the approach that Angones and Youngberg, with their version of Darkwing being distinctly different from the original version, shifting to better fit the world of 2017 rather than existing as a standalone piece of media. The follow-up episode appeared in season three, the double-length “Let’s Get Dangerous!” This two-part episode rebooted the original Darkwing Duck pilot, featuring the same villain (Taurus Bulba), basic framework (fledgling crime-fighter Darkwing Duck seeks to build his reputation and winds up adopting an orphan sidekick), while expanding the mythos within the DuckTales universe. Notably, the episode features several of the supervillains from the original series as inhabitants of an alternate timeline, who cross over through a dimensional portal to face off against the DuckTales version Darkwing Duck. Co-showrunner Matt Youngberg explains that “having these super villains showing up seems like less of a DuckTales episode, but we needed Darkwing to fight supervillains because that’s a Darkwing episode . . . instead of giving a gritty, realistic reason for these supervillains to exist, it was like, no they’re just supervillains, and that’s a really fun thing we can do” (Holub). This allows both series to exist as real within their respective spaces; Darkwing Duck might exist as an animated series within DuckTales (in roughly the same shape as our Darwking Duck animated series), but the Darkwing that comes to exist

“What Ever Happened to the Disney Afternoon?”

99

in the DuckTales universe is someone who is inspired to recreate that series in a fannish manner, and specific episodes of Darkwing Duck are referenced. DuckTales even subverts audience expectations with quick cameos. Goofy features in an episode based around DuckTales follow-up Quack Pack, where Donald’s wish for a simpler life causes a quasi-reboot of the series into a domestic sitcom rather than an adventure show (a meta-joke on the same process that created Quack Pack). Goofy appears as the friendly neighbor, nominally playing the same role he did in Goof Troop (wearing the same outfit and having a son named Max), though the end of the episode subverts expectations with the reveal that Goofy was real and apparently lived nearby. Another significant cameo in season three was a Gargoyles reference: that series was a late addition to the Disney Afternoon, and its darker and more serious sensibilities seemed out of step with the world of DuckTales, which created limited speculation that it would be directly referenced. In the midst of the grand finale, the character of the Headless Manhorse (who was present from the pilot, though never spoke) was brought back to life, with actor Keith David intoning “I live again!” a direct reference to his role as Goliath on Gargoyles. Both of these cameos fit the logic of the world created in DuckTales: Goofy fit within the grounded suburban side of the world, and while Goliath (and Gargoyles) did not fit the tone of the series (and incorporated a great deal of its own lore), a similar character that fits within the adventuresome nature of the Ducks’ experience could. As fans, Youngberg and Angones work to emphasize the internal logic of the world, to explain how the mystical and mundane can exist within the same world, the same way they had in the comics of Carl Barks or the 1987 series. Angones’s point that “I’m pretty proud to say that by the end of Season 3, I’m pretty sure we hit everything that I consider to be ‘Peak Disney Afternoon.’ #DuckTales #RewriteHistory” (@ FrankAngones, 23 November 2019) is a clear statement of that intent, not just nostalgically referencing the various series but going so far as to reconstruct its shape within the stylistic and narrative evolution of thirty years reflected in these new adaptations. Crucially, the two-part episode “Just Us Justice Ducks” is directly referenced by name, plot elements, and episode number, with “Let’s Get Dangerous” further delving into the legacy of DuckTales, with Uncle Scrooge becoming trapped in the universe of the 1987 DuckTales (specifically the memetic moment involving a sea monster eating his “ice cream”), firmly positioning the 2017 series as an alternate universe. This echoes the same functions as the alternate universe (AU) fic, one of the predominant forms of fan fiction, in function rather than form. Natalia Samutina explains that The flexible treatment of fictional universes allows fan fiction writers to realize an infinite number of imaginary scenarios, to develop or completely change the

100

Peter Cullen Bryan

characters and to create and/or expand different versions of imaginary worlds. All this is done without losing connection with the community, united by the willingness to enjoy reading and implement other functions of fan fiction as a type of literature, while comparing pre-existing information (canon and fanon) with a unique set of meanings that is formed by the new configuration. (438)

The references expand beyond television and the comics as well. “The Moon Theme” from the soundtrack of the 1989 Capcom DuckTales video game features as a recurring motif throughout the second and third seasons, as well as a plot point relating to the alien invaders from the Moon; Angones explains that “it was a BIG priority for us to not only incorporate the Moon Theme, but to do it in a meaningful way. It’s the second most recognizable song connected to DuckTales, and it felt important for us to pay homage to it. #DuckTales #RewriteHistory” (@FrankAngones, 17 March 2020). Details like this reflect that there were further points of entry into the fandom beyond the original series or the Barks comics; the video game (and particularly the Moon Theme) had been a key site of fan remixes and analytical videos. A later Donald Duck video game—Disney Interactive’s Maui Mallard in Cold Shadow—is off-handedly referenced in season three, as well as mechanics from the video games (Scrooge uses his cane as a pogo stick at one point, as he did in the Capcom video game adaptation). To some extent, these function as winking references to the transmedia nature of the Disney Afternoon—for instance, nearly every series received a video game adaptation, often developed by Capcom—while also extending this shared universe. Presumably, no DuckTales video game exists within DuckTales the series, but elements bleed through to that reality, and serve to recognize that there were multiple points of entry into the franchise, and some fan’s first encounters with these series would have occurred through the video games. These Easter eggs serve to further bridge gaps between the potentially disparate ports of entry to the franchise: fans of the 1987 DuckTales, fans of the Carl Barks comics, and fans of the Capcom DuckTales game might have entered the fandom at very different historical points, and for many the video game might have been more recognizable, considering the rise of emulation and nostalgia around the NES era, and thus created another layer to the shared universe. BRANDS, FANS, AND A QUASITELEVISUAL SHARED UNIVERSE Matt Youngberg and Frank Angones firmly position Scrooge as the anchor for the world that develops, with the elements of the Disney Afternoon carefully introduced to orbit around the preexisting brand, though things spiral

“What Ever Happened to the Disney Afternoon?”

101

further afield as the series continues. This serves Marazi’s larger point, that “the core identity of a Brand enables one to determine the stable, continuous abstract agent that drives any particular character, or world brand;” in this case being Uncle Scrooge (241). Here, the brand is purely an economic consideration by corporate managers, as a media text within the Disney empire, it is intrinsically connected to the larger brand and economic outcomes thereof. DuckTales is an extension of Disney, a money-making opportunity that conceivably allows for merchandising tie-ins and other transmedia potential, much as the original series did. DuckTales is also a reflection of fannish behaviors ranging from arcane references (the Carl Barks painting in the first episode, the “Moon Theme” reorchestrated as a lullaby) to quasi-textual poaching (the various crossovers, including the original voice actors, making a case for the “real” versions of characters and events), albeit done with the approval of the copyright holder. The use of Scrooge reflects Youngberg and Angones’ personal fannish interest that reflects specific efforts to bring certain characters into the series. This embodies Erin Burrell’s point that “content creators carry a responsibility in the views and ideas they share” (Burrell 39). The showrunners position themselves as fans first, using their limited powers to connect over thirty years of content and history, transcending these moments as more than just one-off references. DuckTales in 2017 could be understood as a remake of the 1987 series, retaining the basic framework—Uncle Scrooge, three nephews, the housekeeper, her niece, and a few other key characters—relying on a degree of nostalgia as part of its overall appeal. The complication is that the term “remake” has fallen out of favor; while the thirty years that separate the two series might have prompted a more straightforward remake, the approaches of media producers have changed in recent years. Remakes still serve to draw in audiences of new generations, as the original fandoms age or die out, though this approach is somewhat fraught. Constantine Verevis notes that “remakes were once understood to compete economically and culturally with their previous versions, contemporary remakes typically enjoy a symbiotic relationship with their originals, with publicity and reviews often drawing attention to earlier versions that are increasingly available and appear more connected in time” (276). Previously, the inaccessibility of old media allowed for the creation of relatively straightforward updated remakes, but the arrival of more permanent and accessible forms of home media—the 1987 DuckTales was largely available on DVD by 2007—ensured the series was not lost. The new media landscape favors the arguably more nuanced reboot, which Verevis defines as “a legally sanctioned version that attempts to dissociate itself textually from the previous interactions while having to concede that it does not replace but adds new associations to an existing serial property” (Verevis 278). The 2017 DuckTales is framed nominally as a reboot of the

102

Peter Cullen Bryan

1987 DuckTales, to the degree that incorporates characters from that continuity including Launchpad McQuack, Fenton Crackshell (Gizmoduck), Webby Vanderquack, and Mrs. Beakley, though most are given revamped personalities to one degree or another. There are occasional references to other Disney animated series (Cape Suzette of TaleSpin is mentioned in the pilot), as well as more direct references to the comics like the appearance of Gladstone Gander and Feathry Duck, but it largely exists in conversation with the 1987 series for much of the first season. The televisual shared universe that grows out of this mix is as much a reimagining of nostalgia as it is an effort to revive a mostly defunct brand. This speaks to Verevis’s larger point, that the reboot “marks out a critical-historical moment in which remakes no longer linearly follow and supersede their originals, but a digitalized, globalized one in which multiple versions proliferate and exist” (278). DuckTales 1987 does not precisely exist in the world of DuckTales 2017, but is in conversation with it, both as source material and the meaning that it made as part of the television programming block. DuckTales 2017 exists in conversation with both of Verevis’s proposed definitions: while the creators and marketing refer to it as “reboot,” with Disney blessing and a clear attempt to modernize the characters, it also functions as a “remake,” starting from the same basic scenario as the 1987 series, wherein Donald Duck drops his nephews off with his estranged Uncle Scrooge. The series is generally framed as a reboot, which implies a degree of corporate media ownership, which is the case here, but the resulting series is packed with references to other Disney media to a degree well beyond the confines of the 1987 series. This corporate ownership both allows access to the characters (with permission), though it may offer opportunities for unexpected combinations. Youngberg and Angones are clear that they were happy to work within the restrictions, but still found ways to push against the corporate precepts and even the idea of what a reboot could (or perhaps should) be. There is further difficulty in definitions here in that the 2017 DuckTales showrunners clearly identify as fans of the original series and various facets of the Disney media, stating this fact in interviews and social media, even after the end of the series (@theironwrist, 15 March 2021; @FrankAngones, 21 November 2019). The concept of the shared universe itself might arise from fannish instincts in the first place—judging from the sheer density of crossover fan fiction—with an attention to even minor points of connection, regardless of how vague (or intentional) they might seem; though in the age of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, this has effectively become part of the marketing strategies for many media conglomerates. The balancing act here entails avoiding letting the references overwhelming the text proper, while still making the references at least somewhat accessible. Jenkins, Green, and Ford note that “producers are never certain how deeply fans will be able to

“What Ever Happened to the Disney Afternoon?”

103

engage in each touchpoint, so they either have to make this dispersed material of secondary interest or else must eventually catch up those who only follow certain prioritized installments on what they might have missed in ancillary texts” (148). There are other approaches that foreground fan labor in transmedia efforts, though they retain the traditional split between the fan consumer and the corporate producer. Louis Ellen Stein explains that transmedia products “teach [fans] to play within the network’s participatory paths. These paths always return to the TV series itself rather than spinning outward into fan realms beyond the network’s control” (19). As with the shared universe, this works to keep the fans “in-house,” as it were; while Stein focuses largely on specific digital spaces like Tumblr, their approach can be applied to the increasing preponderance of corporate-mandated shared universes. Stein concludes that “the transmedia flow [.  .  .] is sometimes driven by corporate planning and sometime by fan creativity. As story worlds manifest in interfaces that allow for more direct modes of audience interaction, they invite audience participation in their very creation” (23). The case of DuckTales is one in which the corporate planning and fan creativity function more or less in tandem (at least as far as the official release goes), presenting a case study for approaching the function of the modern productive landscape, which often places fans in at least some degree of creative control. Sam Ford, Abigail De Kosnik, and C. Lee Harrington, discussing soap operas, create a useful definition for “immersive story worlds” that is relevant here: a large ensemble of characters past and present, sprawling backstories both within the episodes and often beyond, a serialized structure (even if the problem of the week varies from episode to episode), and a sense of permanent continuity. DuckTales fits this broad framing, with these elements incorporated, yet complicated—in season two, when Darkwing Duck appears in the second season, he is a fictional character within the universe, played by an aging actor, though he winds up inspiring a new vigilante in-universe. Mittermayar and Capanema argue that “the value of transmedia transfictionality is in the possibility of transcending the original fiction limits, expanding its universe, its events, and characters by different media and languages. The transmedia transfictionality concerns the heterogeneous construction of a fictional world and, at the same time, the activation of different language and media” (558). The 2017 DuckTales presents an alternative approach, one more akin to fanfiction, with its incorporation of crossovers and transmedia elements that subvert the typical approach to shared universes. To be clear, while there are other Disney Afternoon reboots in development (Darkwing Duck and Rescue Rangers), these do not (at the time of this writing) involve DuckTales showrunners Matt Youngberg or Frank Angones, and appear to exist apart from the versions of the characters discussed here.

104

Peter Cullen Bryan

DuckTales complicates traditional fan studies approaches, because its shared universe is primarily creator driven (and thus fan driven), to the degree that certain choices were negotiated. Angones outlined the process on Twitter, explaining that When you start a series, you typically have a meeting with Legal to clear the names of the characters to make sure you’re legally allowed to use those names, or, in the case of pre-existing IP, making sure you’re allowed to use them . . . when we had that meeting for DuckTales, we really got away with something. We asked them to clear every character from the original series, as well as all American, European, and South American duck comics .  .  . they shockingly approved it. To this day I’m not sure that they knew what a gift they were giving us. Long story short, I will never complain about our legal clearances team. (@ FrankAngones, 23 November 2019)

The choices of the characters used in DuckTales was ultimately up to Youngberg and Angones, with approval from the higher-ups required, but limited direction from the top down. The interwoven references were an appeal to nostalgia, at least as far as Angones and the creative team recalled their own fandom, rather than an effort at cross-marketing; this echoes Henry Jenkins’s statement that “the relationship between fan and producer is not always a happy or comfortable one and is often charged with mutual suspicion, if not open conflict” (32). The sheer depths of the references indicates that this was as much a labor of love as a commercial decision, though certain elements (Darkwing Duck in particular) were incorporated as part of the marketing. The use of the characters was more often a means to an end; Angones elaborates that “we typically don’t start off with ‘How would we incorporate THIS character?’ but rather look at the needs of the story and say ‘Is there some interesting way we can incorporate something from Disney heritage while still being true to the character’” (@FrankAngones, 23 November 2019). The characters were approached organically: the goal was not making a Darkwing Duck or TailSpin episode, as such, but to create something akin to the crossover episodes between contemporary series. The result was not an extended universe, with interconnected if disparate media properties, but a homage to the Disney Afternoon programming block that had once existed. With relative control over a property, a series like DuckTales can wear its fandom proudly—indeed, it is at least part of the draw of the show—and encompass a wider array of properties. Functionally, this process serves to reinforce the nostalgic aspects at play. Audiences are appealed to by the references to the original series as well as the sense that DuckTales has its own version of the characters and stories. Youngberg and Angones are positioned as fans because of the care and depth of references, and the elements are not one-time publicity stunts, but a key element of the worldbuilding.

“What Ever Happened to the Disney Afternoon?”

105

Furthermore, they serve to build the community of fans; as per Jenkins, “meanings form the basis for the construction and maintenance of this fan community; the expectations and conventions of the fan community also shape the meanings derived from the series and the forms taken by the fan’s own artistic creations” (88). While Jenkins was considering the development of purely fan creations around television series, the modern media landscape is complicated by the promotion of fans to positions of creative control over the properties they are fans of.

CONCLUSION Ultimately, the 2017 DuckTales presents the modern state of the transnarrative extended universe, built consciously upon works that came before, in function if not form. There are economic benefits to leaning on the Disney Afternoon Brand from a marketing perspective as well, though most of the associated series had largely disappeared from the Disney empire by the end of the 1990s. While it was foremost a reboot of a singular series, it incorporated elements of the branding empire built by Eisner Era Disney, the long shadow of Carl Barks and Don Rosa, the spin-offs and transmedia adaptations, and a weekday afternoon programming block. The storytelling in DuckTales flows in both directions: forward into podcasts, comics, and shorts, but itself draws from a wealth of preexisting texts in telling its story. This seems a plausible future for the reboot, with elements of the other media adaptations figuring into the world-building (as the various SpiderMen and Women did for Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (Bob Persichetti, Peter Ramsey, and Rodney Rothman, 2018), or Star Trek: Discovery’s use of the Prime and Kelvin timelines); the references are not winking nods for astute fans in the know, but key building blocks of the world that exists. DuckTales takes the approach further still because it seeks to capture the spirit of an early 90s animated programming block, where Goofy or Darkwing Duck might appear unexpectedly, but fit within the internal logic of the series. With the reboot, Scrooge’s status here as the “World’s Richest Duck” can be interrogated more directly, and opportunities arose to challenge gendered expectations of Webby that resulted in her being positioned as a clear member of the Duck family. That Angones and Youngberg are fans is a key aspect of this: they are recreating both the series itself but also adapting the context and meaning for a new audience. This is ultimately a commercial product, but one that blurs the lines of expectation and fannish pursuit into a text, resulting in a production that works within the same space and manner as fan fiction, but possesses a degree of authority that comes with ownership (or, moreover, the blessing

106

Peter Cullen Bryan

of the owners) of the property. This will not be the last time that a corporate owner puts fans in charge of handling a reboot, and we scholars need to develop frameworks to better engage with the shift in fan power.

REFERENCES @FrankAngones. “we typically don’t start off with ‘How would we incorporate THIS character?’ but rather look at the needs of the story and say ‘Is there some interesting way we can incorporate something from Disney heritage while still being true to the character.’ #DuckTales #RewriteHistory” Twitter, 23 Nov. 2019, https:// twitter​.com​/FrankAngones​/status​/1198402325045366784. @FrankAngones. “When you start a series, you typically have a meeting with Legal to clear the names of the characters to make sure you’re legally allowed to use those names, or, in the case of pre-existing IP, making sure you’re allowed to use them. #DuckTales #RewriteHistory” Twitter, 23 Nov. 2019, https://twitter​.com​/ FrankAngones​/status​/1198402327289319425. @FrankAngones. “When we had that meeting for DuckTales, we really got away with something. We asked them to clear every character from the original series, as well as all American, European, and South American duck comics. #DuckTales #RewriteHistory” Twitter, 23 Nov. 2019. https://twitter​.com​/FrankAngones​/status​ /1198402331991101440. @FrankAngones. “They shockingly approved it. To this day I’m not sure that they knew what a gift they were giving us. Long story short, I will never complain about our legal clearances team. #DuckTales #RewriteHistory” Twitter, 23 Nov. 2019, https://twitter​.com​/FrankAngones​/status​/1198402336420290560. @FrankAngones. “The other idea I had was connected to that: perhaps ‘Don Karnage’ was a title, like ‘The Dread Pirate Roberts’ in Princess Bride. Whenever an understudy mutinies against the current Karnage, they would become the new Captain Karnage.” Twitter, 26 Nov. 2019, https://twitter​.com​/FrankAngones​/status​ /1199232481339117568. @FrankAngones. “The logic being that the events of TaleSpin had occurred in our show’s past, so each generation got a different Don Karnage. It was a cool conceit, but ultimately nothing came of it. Would still love to try it some day.” Twitter, 26 Nov. 2019, https://twitter​.com​/FrankAngones​/status​/1199232484371681280. @FrankAngones. “The idea that Launchpad would be a fan of Darkwing from his childhood was influenced by his first appearance in the og Darkwing pilot, where he introduces himself as Darkwing’s biggest fan. And, let’s face it, also based on me. #DuckTales #RewriteHistory” Twitter, 21 Nov. 2019, https://twitter​.com​/ FrankAngones​/status​/1197645262115627008. @FrankAngones. “I’m pretty proud to say that by the end of Season 3, I’m pretty sure we hit everything that I consider to be ‘Peak Disney Afternoon’. #DuckTales #RewriteHistory” Twitter, 23 Nov. 2019, https://twitter​.com​/FrankAngones​/status​ /1198402338701987841.

“What Ever Happened to the Disney Afternoon?”

107

@FrankAngones. “Speaking of, it was a BIG priority for us to not only incorporate the Moon Theme, but to do it in a meaningful way. It’s the second most recognizable song connected to DuckTales, and it felt important for us to pay homage to it. #DuckTales #RewriteHistory.” Twitter, 17 Mar. 2020, https://twitter​.com​/FrankAngones​/status​/1239780198184173569. @FrankAngones. “It’s pretty well known at this point that at the start of the show, we were told Mickey was pretty much off limits. He’s a big icon and mascot that requires all kinds of approvals. Lesser known is the OTHER property we were told was off limits: the Rescue Rangers. #DuckTales” Twitter, 11 Apr. 2020, https:// twitter​.com​/FrankAngones​/status​/1249006377436983296. @theironwrist. “All we have ever wanted to do was bring the love we had for Ducktales to everyone else who had ever loved it, and to bring new adventurers along for the ride . . . Ducktales belongs to all of us. This was the philosophy I brought to the show. Frank and I have made our marks on it, but so did every single member of the crew. Some were old school fans of the show. Others were new. . . . It was driven by a passion for storytelling and a love for the world that drew us in initially, some through the original Ducktales, some through the comics, some through the video games, some through other Disney properties” Twitter, 15 Mar. 2021, https:// twitter​.com​/theironwrist​/status​/1371655185177604101. Burrell, Erin. “Race, class, and Rosey the Robot: Critical study of The Jetsons.” Popular Culture Studies Journal, vol. 9, no. 1, 2021: 25–43. Ford, Sam, Abigail De Kosnik, and C. Lee Harrington. “The crisis of daytime television and what it means for the future of television,” The Survival of Soap Opera: Transformations for a New Media Era. Edited by Sam Ford, Abigail De Kosnik, and C. Lee Harrington. UP Mississippi, 2011: 3–21. Hassler-Forest, Dan. “Roads not taken in Hollywood’s comic book industry: Popeye, Dick Tracy, and Hulk.” The Oxford Handbook of Adaptation Studies. Edited by Thomas M. Letich. Oxford UP, 2017: 407–23. Hill, Jim. “Matthew Youngberg and Francisco Angones raise the stakes for Scrooge McDuck’s family with their Ducktales reboot for Disney XD.” Jim Hill Media, 19 Sept. 2019, https://jimhillmedia​.com​/matthew​-youngberg​-francisco​-angones​-raise​ -the​-stakes​-for​-scrooge​-mcducks​-family​-with​-their​-ducktales​-reboot​-for​-disney​-xd. Holub, Christian. “Ducktales showrunners break down that Darkwing Duck twoparter, tease the rest of Season 3.” Entertainment Weekly, 20 Oct. 2020, https://ew​ .com​/tv​/ducktales​-showrunners​-darkwing​-duck​-two​-parter​-season​-3. Jenkins, Henry. Textual Poachers. Routledge, 2012. Jenkins, Henry, Sam Ford, and Joshua Green. Spreadable Media. NYU Press, 2013. “Life is like a hurricane: A brief history of the Disney Afternoon.” Oh My Disney, 24 April 2016, https://ohmy​.disney​.com​/insider​/2016​/04​/24​/life​-is​-like​-a​-hurricane​-a​ -brief​-history​-of​-the​-disney​-afternoon. Marazi, Katherine. “Brand identity, adaptation, and media franchise culture,” Acta Univ. Sapientiae, Film and Media Studies, vol. 9, 2014: 229–42. Mittermayer, Thiago and Capanema, Leticia X.L. “Transfictionality and transmedia storytelling: A conceptual distinction.” Human-Computer Interaction Perspectives on Design. Edited by Masaaki Kurosu. Springer Nature, 2019: 550–58.

108

Peter Cullen Bryan

Samutina, Natalia. “Fan fiction as world-building transformative reception in crossover writing.” Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies, vol. 30 no. 4, 2016: 433–50. Stewart, James. Disney War. Simon and Shuster, 2005. Stein, Louisa Ellen. Millennial Fandom: Television audiences in the transmedia age. Iowa UP, 2015. Verevis, Constantine. “Remakes, sequels, prequels.” The Oxford Handbook of Adaptation Studies. Edited by Thomas M. Letich. Oxford UP, 2017: 267–84. Zakarin, Jordan. “Life is like a hurricane: An oral history of the Disney Afternoon.” SyFy Wire, 5 Nov. 2018, https://www​.syfy​.com​/syfywire​/disney​-afternoon​-oral​ -history​-ducktales​-darkwing​-rescue​-rangers.

Chapter 7

Women in the Sam Raimi and Robert Tapert Universe Reflections on/of Feminism in History and Mythology Princess O’Nika Auguste

Science fiction, fantasy, and the superhero genres are known for their worldbuilding, monsters, handsome men, beautiful women, and iconic villains. However, in the early days, the portrayal of women was limited to their characterization as villains, damsels in distress, or eye candy until the 1960s when a shift took place (see Davin; Helford). This shift occurred when a lot of political upheavals were happening, such as the Civil Rights, women’s rights, and the gay rights movements. Women, Black, and other people of color (POC), and the LGBTQ+ community gained more representation on television and film as well in the 1960s and 1970s, such as with Nichelle Nichols’ Lt. Niota Uhura on the original Star Trek and Lynda Carter’s Wonder Woman. Sam Raimi and Robert Tapert (along with Liz Friedman) helped these genres to further change those stereotypes with their Herc-Xenaverse depicted in Young Hercules (YH), Hercules: The Legendary Journeys (HTLJ), and Xena: Warrior Princess (XWP). Along with other creators in fantasy genres, such as Joss Whedon with his Slayerverse and Chris Carter and The X-Files, they created archetypes of strong and independent women in the 1990s (see Collier, Lumadue, and Wooten; Nelson). While much has been written about queer readings of XWP (see Collier et al.), Raimi and Tapert’s Herc-Xenaverse also addresses the stereotypes of women in Greco-Roman and other antiquity cultures. The more assertive portrayal of women in these ancient cultures mirrored the advancement of third-wave feminism, which had become more influential in the 1990s and was focused more on reproductive rights, sexuality, and race (SokenHuberty). Third-wave feminism also focused on aligning empowerment with 109

110

Princess O’Nika Auguste

embracing femininity, which the first and second waves mostly rejected. Thus, the third wave focused on a woman choosing any way she wanted to live (Soken-Huberty). The Herc-Xenaverse exemplified this duality in many episodes and epitomized this philosophy by representing interracial relationships, queer relationships, and a positive portrayal of transgender people. This televisual shared universe that starred Kevin Sorbo as Hercules, Lucy Lawless as Xena, and Renee O’Connor as Gabrielle also depicted various strong and independent women, such as Kora, Alcmene, Nemesis, Aphrodite, and, of course, Xena. They were neither villains nor loose women, and were barely ever damsels in distress. Many of these women were self-reliant and independently defensive, whether they were warriors or not. Their freespirited personalities were multi-faceted, whether wielding a sword and bow or demonstrating their intelligence and agility of thought. Most of the women in the Herc-Xenaverse were highly versatile, taking on typically male-aggressive roles without losing traditional nurturing ones. This chapter presents a critical investigation of the characterization of women in Raimi’s and Tapert’s universe by comparing the storyworld of this fictional universe with the ancient world from which its motifs and characters are derived. In this chapter, I use feminist theory and the historical critical method to compare Raimi’s and Tapert’s world with the historical record. Gabriele Griffin states that “feminist theory is a system of ideas that takes gender as its central focus and attempts to explain differences and inequalities.” The Herc-Xenaverse tries to address these inequalities through its various interpretations of female embodiment. This chapter will also use a feminist lens to reveal how progressive this universe is. Specifically, this chapter will use a feminist lens to understand the different interpretations of gender, sexuality, and empowerment as they relate to ancient customs. Judith Butler says that: Feminist theory has often been critical of naturalistic explanations of sex and sexuality that assume that the meaning of women’s social existence can be derived from some fact of their physiology. In distinguishing sex from gender, feminist theorists have disputed causal explanations that assume that sex dictates or necessitates certain social meanings for women’s experience. (Butler)

Raimi and Tapert illustrate that sex does not dictate certain social meanings of women’s experiences in their shared universe. Their presentation of gender, sexuality, and empowerment occur in relation to specific historical and mythological contexts that may or may not align with third-wave feminism. The historical criticism method is a procedure that is used to analyze a text’s historic origins and background, such as author, sources, time, location, events, customs, and the likes that are indicated in the text (Britannica). Thus, I incorporate a historical critical lens to argue that the Herc-Xenaverse

Women in the Sam Raimi and Robert Tapert Universe

111

televisual shared universe was a multireligious society where the different religions influence many women in the shared universe.

COMPARING THE HERC-XENAVERSE TO GRECO-ROMAN WOMEN The Greco-Roman world was the main embodiment of the ancient world in the Herc-Xenaverse, although other ancient worlds made appearances in the universe. Historically, women from various periods in ancient Greece did not have rights (Nardo 28), although a time in Grecian history did exist when women were liberated. This historical period was before the Archaic Age (800–500 BCE), where, in cities like Sparta, Gortyn, and Thessaly, women were landowners (Nardo 28). Owning land in ancient Greece was the most prestigious form of private property (Gerhard 33). In the Herc-Xenaverse, women held land and owned property, such as Cyrene, Alcmene, and Nemesis. Cyrene was Xena’s mother and a tavern owner, and the villagers held her in high esteem. A woman in possession of such property was one way in which Raimi and Tapert displayed the authority of women. A tavern was not considered a respectable property for a woman to own, yet still Raimi and Tapert highlighted that what a woman owned was critical to the universe. Nemesis, a former goddess and Hercules’s first love, obtained her home after becoming a mortal mother. Alcmene is Hercules’s mother; although she has two sons, she is a homeowner. In this way, the Herc-Xenaverse does align with some known historical facts. However, never did the Herc-Xenaverse represent women losing their rights. When the Archaic Age was over, laws were implemented that worsened women’s rights in Greece, and women became property. Classical Athens became an illustration of this (Nardo 28). Women had no legal personhood and were part of the household headed by men (Keuls). Women were married at fourteen years of age, while most men married at thirty (Boehringer and Caciaglia 27). In contrast, women in the Herc-Xenaverse never married so young nor were they ever placed in forced or arranged marriages. Male guardianship in ancient Greece was an important aspect of a woman’s life (Allison). In the Herc-Xenaverse, no such thing occurred. This divergence is specifically highlighted in Gabrielle. When Gabrielle is introduced in XWP’s “Sins of the Past” (S1E1), Gabrielle is a young woman between nineteen and twenty-one. She is to be married to a young farmer, Perdicas, but she does not love him and leaves her village to seek adventures with Xena. Rather than choosing a life led by an unwanted man, Gabrielle seeks empowerment with a strong woman. Getting married in the Herc-Xenaverse was not crucial or the focal point of the main characters’ stories. If weddings took place in the universe, it

112

Princess O’Nika Auguste

was often a joyous occasion and usually based on love and equality. Women in the Raimi and Tapert universe did not marry in their early teens. Often the weddings that took place in the universe were weddings of women who were in their twenties and older. Again, Gabrielle is an example of this. About two years later after leaving with Xena, Gabrielle marries Perdicas in “Return of Calisto” (S2E2). Gabrielle’s age when she marries coincides with the general age that Spartan women got married; while many women in ancient Greece got married young, Spartan women did not get married until the age of twenty (Pomeroy 134). A divergence in some ways, an alignment in others. In historical Athens, women did not have the right to own property; however, their male guardians had the right to distribute gifts and doweries (Blundell and Blundell, 115). Alternatively, Spartan women owned property and held considerable power to such an extent that they controlled the property of their male relatives during wartime. Significantly, during the fourth century BCE, Spartan women owned between 60–70 percent of land and property when the men were at war (Pomeroy 60). In the HTLJ “Ares” (S1E5), most men are at war or dead except for the male children, and the women control and own everything. In this episode, Hercules and the audience meet the blacksmith, Atalanta, who in later episodes is revealed to be a Spartan woman. Nevertheless, although women in Sparta were privileged, they could not take part in military and political life (Pomeroy 62). Tapert and Raimi, mostly, seem to have kept this in their universe, although characters like Xena, Calisto, or Flora lead armies. For example, in “The Price” (S2E20), Xena easily takes command of an Athenian army against a common enemy, and in “The Black Wolf” (S1E11), Flora is the leader of the rebel forces against King Xerxes. In this regard, HTLJ differs from XWP in the universe, as in the former women do not lead armies but do support them: Atalanta, Lilith, and Morrigan were not officially in the army, but they still helped the army fight. Though the Herc-Xenaverse did not have many women in armies, the few women who led them were feared and honored. Another instance of alignment involves education. All children in Sparta were educated (Pomeroy 61). Both girls and boys were educated in the HercXenaverse, although sometimes having girls in schools was a shock to the boy students. In Young Hercules, when Lilith enrolls in the academy, the boys think she is the cook and believe that girls should not be enrolled. Despite their reservations, Hercules and the others accept Lilith. Gabrielle was the only female student at the Academy of Bards in Athens. Like many of the schools in historic Athens, the academy did not allow women as students. Tapert and Raimi brought this to the front center in “Athens City Academy of the Performing Bards” (S1E13). Gabrielle was accepted but did not attend. Despite these rare instances, the universe allowed girls to be educated.

Women in the Sam Raimi and Robert Tapert Universe

113

Sparta was not the only city where women had liberties in historical Greece. The city of Gortyn on the island of Crete also gave women rights that put them in a better position than their counterparts in mainland Greece. Gortyn protected all women, enslaved and free. Sparta and Gortyn allowed women to appear in court (Gagarin 25). Women testify and appear in court in several episodes in the Herc-Xenaverse. Additionally, inheritance for women was not limited. In Sparta and Gortyn, they could inherit half of the movables that their brothers would get (Pomeroy 62). Women’s rights were different in ancient Rome. Freeborn women were citizens, but like women in Sparta, they could not hold political office or vote (Frier and McGinn 31–32). Roman women invested in funds, owned businesses, ran estates, lent, and borrowed money, owned property, and were professionals (Boissier). Some p‌ rofessions Roman women held were actors, wet nurses, midwives, brick factory owners, prostitution, scribes, secretaries, and calligraphers (Edwards 66; Frier and McGinn 48; Rawson 80). While some ‌careers were unsavory or traditional female careers, Roman women could hold some jobs in male-oriented fields. The women of the Herc-Xenaverse also held careers. Most of the women had jobs, whether in male-oriented fields or in unsavory or traditional jobs. Women in the universe like Kora owned an inn, Cyrene owned a tavern, Gabrielle was a bard, and Atalanta was a blacksmith. Some women were healers like Xena and poets like Sappho. Others became fashion designers like Althea and owned farms like Hercules’s mother. Like the women in ancient Sparta, Rome, and Gortyn, women in the universe were free to go into the markets and public spaces. Historically, it is unclear whether the women of Rome, Sparta, and Gortyn were able to travel long distances unchaperoned, but in the Herc-Xenaverse it was common for women to travel around unchaperoned. Comparing the Herc-Xenaverse to Women Beyond Greece and Rome In the ancient Near East. The Herc-Xenaverse was predominately set in the ancient Greco-Roman society, but the characters visited other places in the ancient world, including places in the ancient Near East such as Mesopotamia, Israel, and Egypt. Both Hercules and Xena not only visited Egypt but dealt with ancient Egyptian royalty such as Queen Cleopatra, Queen Nefertiti, and Princess Anuket. In these Egyptian episodes, the women of the Herc-Xenaverse are highly independent, although the portrayal of Cleopatra aligned with stereotypical depictions of Cleopatra. Raimi and Tapert demonstrated the 1990s contemporary working mother concept with Nefertiti and her two children, Amensu and Rameses (Motro and Vanneman). Nefertiti struggles with balancing her career—that is,

114

Princess O’Nika Auguste

ruling Egypt—with raising children, who resent her. The children complain throughout the episode “City of the Dead” (S6E6) how she was not a present mother, and Nefertiti confides in Hercules about how she was not a good mother, because even though Egypt prospered, her family life suffered. The illustrations of the distressed working mother perhaps stalled the gender revolution in the 1990s (Motro and Vanneman 3), and the Herc-Xenaverse tapped into this debate of whether women could have it all. Could Nefertiti be a good queen and a good mother at the same time? It seems that Tapert and Raimi went with the answer that is complicated. Princess Anuket, although not a queen, did have an independent streak; however, to entice Hercules to help her, she tries to seduce him by adhering to the stereotypical depictions of women as seductresses. At the same time, Anuket is not the usual damsel in distress: in “Mummy Dearest” (S3E4), she needs Hercules to rescue her, and Hercules tries to prevent her from following him to find the mummy. Yet, she stubbornly follows him, as she believes she should be involved in the capture and containment of the mummy. It is assumed that Anuket is her father’s heir by the end of the episode, when Anuket says she will work to end slavery in Egypt. Anuket refuses to be left behind and presents a leadership of bravery and humility. In the Egypt of the Herc-Xenaverse, women can be rulers and have many rights. While historical Egypt did have such Pharoahs, not many women were rulers. As with many ancient societies, the focus of women in ancient Egypt was that of a mother and wife; however, women did have considerable rights. They had equal rights in owning property and in testifying in court cases (see Graves-Brown; Robbins). Women also could work in professions outside the home, including farmer, merchant, and trader . Women were even given considerable rights in cases of divorce, marriage, and remarriage: a woman was equal to a man in these areas. Now, the Herc-Xenaverse does not present what life was like for women who are not royalty; still, Raimi and Tapert depicting women as rulers is historically accurate. Additionally, Raimi and Tapert used the Ancient Near East to highlight and address sexism and patriarchy in the Herc-Xenaverse. An example of this was in the early episodes of HTLJ’s fifth season where they visit Sumeria. Sumeria was a region in Ancient Mesopotamia and home to their friend, Nebula. Nebula was a pirate, a princess, and later queen of Sumeria, and she returned home with Hercules and Iolaus in “Faith” (S5E1). On her return, the city was facing challenges, and when she tried to help, the priests told her a princess was not supposed to act this way. As with Anuket, Nebula ignored their advice. This depiction of women in Sumeria was not exactly historically accurate of women in Sumeria. In Sumeria and the early dynastic periods in Mesopotamia, women had equality in some matters (such as signing contracts and entering business agreements) and could work in occupations that were

Women in the Sam Raimi and Robert Tapert Universe

115

both masculine and feminine, (such as artisans, bakers, brewers, weavers, tavernkeepers, scribes, doctors, farmers, goldsmiths, dancers, merchants, and perfume makers) (see Mark; Rose). Although it was rare, women from the upper class in Sumeria could become rulers. It is not clear why Tapert and Raimi inaccurately portrayed ancient Sumeria as patriarchal: perhaps because much is still not known about this society, and perhaps later Sumeria and other places became more patriarchal. The model of women having equal rights in ancient Sumeria, and the rest of the Mesopotamian region, started to decline during the reign of Sargon the Great in the 2400–2300s BCE, and women’s rights truly declined in ancient Mesopotamia after the fall of the Sasanian Empire in the 700s–800s CE . Thus, perhaps Tapert and Raimi used Nebula to convey this history in an abridged form. Norse and Germanic women. Hercules and Xena went far north to the Scandinavian and Germanic lands and interacted with the Norse and Germanic societies. HTLJ’s portrayal of Nordic women only presents the Viking woman Hilda and the goddess Frigg. Hercules saves Hilda from having her pigtails cut by trial by axe because she was accused of seducing a man from another woman (“Norse by Norsevest” S5E6). Frigg is portrayed as a devoted wife and mother, and Frigg and Odin are shown to be happily married in contrast to Zeus and Hera of the Olympian pantheon (Magerstädt 137). In XWP, the Norse mythological women are shown differently, as is the portrayal of Odin. However, it must be noted that, as with all mythology, the Norse mythology has different versions depending on the location; thus, in my opinion, the HTLJ version of Norse mythology is loosely based on the Scandinavian myths and the XWP version is loosely based on the Germanic version, with the appearances of Beowulf strongly pointing to that opinion (“The Rheingold” S6E7). The XWP version also presents Brunhilda, the Valkyries, and Grinhilda, chief of the Valkyries (“The Ring” S6E8). All were warriors who could defend themselves; however, this independence is also tied to men and to romantic relationships. Grinhilda oversaw the Valkyries, who brought the dead to Odin, and was Odin’s lover. Sometimes these relationships blinded these women to their detriment. Grinhilda became jealous of Xena after the latter joined the Valkyries, and her using the Rheingold ring led to her becoming a monster. In “The Ring,” Brunhilda was in love with Gabrielle, and turned herself into an eternal flame to save Gabrielle and stop a berserker Xena. Yet, Brunhilda does this by kidnapping Gabrielle to confess her love for her. Perhaps in Brunhilda’s defense, her love for Gabrielle did help break the curse and turn Grinhilda back into a Valkyrie. Much was left to be desired regarding the women represented in these Norse sagas. Throughout the early seasons of both television shows, women were portrayed to be complex, yet the Norse sagas contained depictions that were

116

Princess O’Nika Auguste

more stereotypical than empowered. Raimi and Tapert seemed to have gone back to stereotypes of monstrous women, good and devoted wives, or lovesick women. The more complex depictions were missing, perhaps because these Norse sagas drew more on myth than history. According to Sarah Pruitt, the lives of Norse women were centered around caring for children, caring for the home, and cooking. Women of the Viking age lived in a society dominated by males and that even in the burial sites the gender roles could be seen: women were buried with household items, perfume, and jewelry and men were buried with their weapons and tools (Pruitt; see also Jesch). However, as in many other ancient societies, women could own property, request a divorce, and reclaim their doweries if their marriages ended. Women had charge of the domestic sphere especially if the man was absent. Although men ruled their homes, women co-managed with their husbands (Pruitt). A brief mention to this arrangement occurred when Odin told Loki in “Norse by Norsevest” (S5E6) that “Frigg rules Odin.” This exchange suggests that although Frigg was depicted as a loving mother and wife, she and other Norse women ruled the home and the rest of the domestic sphere as the historical evidence suggests. Celtic societies. Both Xena and Hercules visited Celtic societies in the British Isles and Ireland. The Herc-Xenaverse depicts women of Celtic origin such as Morrigan, Mab, Bridget, the Banshees, Boadicea, and the female Druids. All these women are independent except for Bridget, who was just a child in “Render Unto Caesar” (S5E5). Otherwise, Morrigan is a demi-goddess who is a warrior; Mab is a skilled sorceress; the Banshees are female spirits; and Boadicea is a warrior queen. Not all are ethically good: the Banshees work for the evil god Dahok and Morrigan was the enforcer for the god Kernunnos; while Mab, who appears in just one episode (“Once Upon a Future King” S5E19), is not given a backstory of why she is evil. Tapert and Raimi appear to use Morrigan and the Banshees to convey a point that usually if women are evil, then it may be because of traumatic life experiences or because they are under the control of men. As with the Norse sagas, the normal lives of Celtic women are not depicted: the Herc-Xenaverse does not present the normal lives of women thoroughly unless they are of the Greco-Roman origin. However, as with the Egyptian women, Tapert and Raimi’s universe demonstrates that women can be warriors, queens, and priestesses. In fact, Tapert and Raimi’s depiction of Boadicea’s story in “The Deliverer” (S3E4) was very positive, if inaccurate: historically, the Boudica lost and died, but the portrayal of her winning against the Romans is uplifting. The Herc-Xenaverse depicts two strong, powerful, and independent women in Boadicea and Xena teaming up together despite their differences to defeat the Romans. The Romans, with Julius Caesar as their leader, were the embodiment of patriarchal control, and in the Herc-Xenaverse, that patriarchy failed.

Women in the Sam Raimi and Robert Tapert Universe

117

Overall, the portrayal of Celtic women in the shared universe seems to have been historically accurate. Celtic women could become druids and hold important positions in their societies (Ross). Celtic women were also allowed to be educated and were sexually liberated, meaning that they could choose their husbands and have many spouses. Celtic women were allowed to divorce and remarry. While perhaps rewriting history for the sake of aligning with third-wave feminist values, the shared universe illustrated that women were leaders and druids and were free to choose their partners.

RELIGIOUS INFLUENCES ON RAMI’S AND TAPERT’S WOMEN The ancient world where Xena and Hercules lived was a place that was religiously and spiritually pluralistic. Xena and Hercules interacted with Norse, Sumerian, Celtic, and Hindu pantheons as well as the God of Abrahamic religions. In this universe, the gods were very much real and involved in human affairs. Xena and Hercules lived their lives distrusting the Greco-Roman gods and telling their fellow men and women that they do not need gods or any sort of deity or spirit to make their lives better. However, they encountered deities of other pantheons that do help and care for their people. Xena and Hercules also learned that while they may not need gods and could live without them, others could not. All of this was especially true for the goddesses. Greco-Roman mythology. While both Hercules and Xena begin with distrust toward the Olympian pantheon, they both recognize some gods who do care about humanity. Perhaps it is their relationship with the goddess Aphrodite that challenges their beliefs that humanity does not need the gods. Aphrodite is Hercules’s half-sister who, despite her self-centeredness, shares a close relationship with her brother. Aphrodite, the goddess of love, cares about the humans that worship her. Aphrodite is fun, carefree, sexually liberated, and can hold her own. Although Hercules, Gabrielle, Xena, and Iolaus are uncomfortable with her sexually liberal ways, she becomes a trusted friend and ally to them. In Greek mythology, Aphrodite was married to Hephaestus but took on a slew of lover’s gods and mortals alike and had many children. In Xenaverse, she is sexually free, does take on lovers, and has children from these liaisons. Less clear is if this continued after she married Hephaestus, as she seemed in love with him, unlike the myths. Knowing she is more than her perceived selfishness perhaps explains why her shenanigans are tolerated and why Xena and Gabrielle are quick to help her restore her immorality in “The God You Know” (S6E12). Aphrodite acts as a device that Raimi and Tapert use to demonstrate that there is good in gods and gods can be helpful. Aphrodite in myths can be vindictive and petty:

118

Princess O’Nika Auguste

while she rewards people who are loyal to her, she exacts brutal punishments to those who disrespect her (Cyrino 98–9). While the depiction of Aphrodite in the Xenaverse started out like Aphrodite in the myths, Tapert and Raimi did not use the same tropes that they could have when introducing Aphrodite. Instead of being petty, vindictive, vain, and jealous, they made Aphrodite a complex character that is silly, carefree, fun, and promiscuous while also kind, loving, and compassionate. Although Aphrodite was meant to be a comic relief, the Herc-Xenaverse demonstrated her growth and sincerity by giving her close bonds with family and friends. Diverging from mythology resulted in one of the more interesting and complex characters of the shared universe and perhaps created an avenue where sex-positive feminism meets girl-positive feminism—where a woman can be kind, compassionate, and caring but still love her good looks and body, and be sexually free. Conversely, the goddess Hera spends the majority of HTLJ as the archnemesis of Hercules. As in the myths of Hercules’ labors, the HercXenaverse portrays Hera as the jealous wife of Zeus who is upset about her husband’s philandering and seeks to take her vengeance out on Hercules. Hera routinely directly or indirectly seeks to kill Hercules and is regularly the cause of the problems and trials that he must solve. In the telemovie Hercules and the Amazon Women (Bill L. Norton, 1994), Hercules falls in love with the Queen of the Amazons, Hippolyta, whose strong-willed nature is presented as the cause for his affection. When Hippolyta reciprocates his feelings, she and the Amazons turn on Hera, who possesses Hippolyta and seeks to kill Hercules. When the fight goes poorly, Hera forces Hippolyta to commit suicide. Through the magic of time travel, Hercules goes back in time to prevent the events from happening, imparting wisdom to the men who had fought the Amazons to instead listen to and respect them. Hera continues to torment Hercules until he eventually imprisons her in the abyss of Tartarus (“Reunions” S4E22), only to later help redeem her in “Full Circle” (S6E8), the last episode of the series. In both storylines, Hercules is instrumental in helping improve the lives of strong women. Norse and Celtic mythology. Hercules’ travels to the land of Norse make him question the notion that humanity does not need gods. After the deaths of Thor, Odin, Frigg, Balder, and presumably the other Norse gods, Hilda is devastated, and Hercules tries to comfort her. Hilda challenges Hercules on his view that humanity does not need the gods. Hercules has already been challenged when he sees that Thor, Balder, and to a lesser extent Odin and Frigg care for humanity. Hercules’s telling Hilda she does not need the gods is met with resistance from Hilda, who replies: Perhaps you do not, but we do. [. . .] You know what it’s like when the sun does not come up for months? [. . .] Every day is a fight to stay alive. Maybe we need

Women in the Sam Raimi and Robert Tapert Universe

119

something to believe in that’s bigger than we are. Like the gods. Otherwise, what have we got but the cold and the night? (“Somewhere Over the Rainbow Bridge” S5E7 33:02–33:32)

This statement leaves Hercules briefly speechless and gives a more refined consideration on the purpose of religion than the son of Zeus has acknowledged (Magerstädt 137). This enlightens Hercules and the audience of the bigger picture that, although Hercules and others may not need the gods, there are people who do need the gods in their lives. That while it is true, as Hercules says, we make our destiny; the gods can be there as guiding figures. Hilda is different from many of the women Hercules has interacted with: she sees value in what he says about making her own choices in “Norse by Norsevest,” yet she rejects the notion that she does not need the gods to live in “Somewhere Over the Rainbow Bridge.” Hilda is a regular woman trying to survive in a cold and cruel world. She is not a warrior like Xena or Morrigan, nor a bard like Gabrielle or a farmer like Hercules’ mother. Although the Norse episodes do not have many women, Hilda was used to illustrate a point about gods and religion that must be considered, resulting in an empowered woman willing to embrace such contradictions. Likewise, Xena believes that humans do not need the gods, especially the Olympian deities. Xena has antipathy toward them and believes humans are better off without them (Fillingim). However, she, like Hercules encounters challenges to this belief with her interactions with different religious and spiritual aspects. Another religion introduced is the ancient Celtic mythology when Hercules meets the demi-goddess Morrigan (“Render Unto Caesar”). Hercules also meets the Druids, a powerful religious sect in Eire. The Druids were religious leaders who provided equity because both men and women were Druids. Morrigan is the daughter of the Celtic Goddess of war, illustrating a historically accurate depiction of equality in the pantheon of Celtic gods. The Greeks also had a goddess of war, Athena, but Morrigan’s mother was not a virgin, unlike Athena. Raimi and Tapert used the Celtic pantheon and the Druids to illustrate that women all over their ancient world could be independent, strong, and did not have to choose between being a virgin or not being a virgin. Judeo-Christian mythology. Jewish and Christian themes are more prominent in XWP than HTLJ, although the initial Christian themes started with HTLJ and the Jewish themes started on XWP (Fillingim). The beginning of Christian concepts began with Dahak and the One Evil God that plagued Xena and later Hercules. In “The Deliverer,” hearing Khrafstar speak of Dahak, Xena, and Gabrielle thought it might be the Abrahamic God. Instead, Dahak is more akin to Christian conceptualizations of Satan, including the trope of impregnating Gabrielle with his only child on Earth. Such

120

Princess O’Nika Auguste

impregnation occurs after Gabrielle kills another woman, a sin that allows Dahak to arrive and produce his “Child of Darkness.” When the baby is born, it is a girl, suggesting a genderbent take on the antichrist story. To continue the Biblical allusions, Xena attempts to kill the girl, named Hope, so Gabrielle sends the baby in a basket down the river, akin to the origin of Moses (“Gabrielle’s Hope” S3E5). Throughout the Herc-Xenaverse, the showrunners implied the one God concept, which culminated in the Twilight of the Gods arc in both HTLJ and XWP. This story arc depicts the downfall of the Olympic gods after the birth of Xena’s daughter, Livia, who the series depicts as a Christ figure and the prophesized end for the gods. Eve’s emerges through immaculate conception, a result of a masculine angel and a feminine angel working together (“Seeds of Faith” S5E9). In the XWP episode “Motherhood” (S5E22), Livia wanders a desert, seeking redemption and willing to accept death as her fate, only for them to be discovered by a shepherd who recognizes Xena as the Defender of the Faith, a term given to her by the “followers of Eli” who represent Judeo-Christian believers. Livia had previously been killing such followers, known as Elijans (“Eve” S5E21), but is saved by conversion to the faith and embraces her original name, Eve, “suggestive of the conversion of Saint Paul” (Xenaville). Thus, this story arc begins earlier in XWP with the introduction of Eli, a devi or healing deity; first introduced as a magician, Eli relays his experience performing an exorcism (“Devi” S4E14), aligning him with the story of Jesus and Legion. The term “devi” arises from Sanskrit meaning “goddess,” indicating an embracing of feminine strengths at the core of both Eli and, by metaphorical extension, Jesus Christ. Eli preached the “Way of Love” and amassed followers who saw him as “The Avatar of the God of the Ultimate Way,” a nod to the Hindi influence with the role avatars play as conduits between humans and gods. Eli, however, learns his role in the downfall of pantheons that requires him to be martyred, which occurs when Ares, the Greek god of War and Xena’s main antagonist, kills Eli to prevent such a downfall (“Seeds of Faith”). Xena even prays to Eli in “Eve” and “Motherhood” as she struggles with how to handle her daughter. Before this, both Xena and Gabrielle travel to Heaven and Hell in “Fallen Angel” (S5E1). Hell is also witnessed in “Heart of Darkness” (S6E3) that also features archangels Michael, Raphael, and Lucifer, the latter being sent to Hell as its new ruler by Xena. Thus, in the Herc-Xenaverse, Xena serves as prophet and Virgin Mary, as redeemer and condemner. The warrior princess played an integral role in the formation of Christianity. Hindi mythology. Hinduism is another religion that has seeped into the universe, specifically in XWP as suggested above. Several of XWP’s fourth season occurs in India and/or focuses on Hinduism. “The Way” (S4E16), for

Women in the Sam Raimi and Robert Tapert Universe

121

example, features representations of Hanuman and Krishna, “the Supreme Personality of the Godhood,” alongside Eli. This episode received backlash from the Hindu community in India and the United States as it takes various liberties with the Hindu texts Ramayana and Mahabharata (Zeiler). Mythical characters such as gods and demons take center stage in this episode: “Indrajit (from the Ramayana), Hanuman (from the Ramayana), Krishna (from the Mahabharata), and Kali (who does not figure in the epics but is very popular in recent Hinduism and, presumably, also known to a large part of the Western audience)” (Zeiler 232). “The Way” and the other episodes that are focused on Hinduism had a profound effect on the characters, specifically Gabrielle, who chooses the path of peace and throws away her Amazon staff into a river. Gabrielle choosing the path of peace is in line with Eli, converting Gabrielle into, essentially, an early Christian. These episodes also influenced Xena by confirming that the way of the warrior is her path. The goddess Kali heavily influenced the India episodes, particularly “The Way” in which Xena must rescue Gabrielle from the demon Indrajit. She battles Indrajit who at first defeats her by cutting off her arms, but she prays to Krishna who helps her by having the goddess Kali possess her. Xena becomes an avatar of Kali and defeats Indrajit. To have this warrior woman become an avatar by one of the most powerful goddesses in the Hindu pantheon weaves into the thread that Raimi and Tapert wanted to make a feminist statement. Although Xena prays to a male god, it was one of the most powerful goddesses that gave Xena the strength to fight and defeat this demon. The India episodes were filled with female energy. In “Devi,” Gabrielle gets possessed by Tāṭakā, a female demon who possesses and heals people to deceive them; later, it is revealed that Eli is the true devi. In the episode “Between the Lines” (S4E15), Xena and Gabrielle save a young Indian widow Nayima from being burnt alive alongside her dead husband on a funeral pyre. After saving her, Nayima repays them by sending them on a journey to the future where they are reincarnated and to fight the evil witch Alti. Thus, across the Herc-Xenaverse, Tapert and Raimi used other religions to depict and represent different feminine energies and to represent the feminine divine.

CONCLUSION In a 2008 interview with Brian Gallagher, the interviewer asks Raimi and Tapert to describe Xena. In response, Tapert conveyed he believed they were extremely fortunate with Xena because Universe Studies took a real chance on the first female hero to be on television since the seventies with the likes of Wonder Woman, Cagney & Lacey, and The Bionic Woman.

122

Princess O’Nika Auguste

Tapert believed that Xena opened the door at the time for women to be seen as protagonists and heroes, naming shows like Buffy: The Vampire Slayer and Alias as among those with strong female characters. Indeed, the HercXenaverse opened a door seemingly locked since the 1970s for strong and independent women because it reintroduced women superheroes back to the screens. Since the Herc-Xenaverse, numerous television shows in the science fiction and fantasy genre with women as their leads or co-leads have been produced. Additionally, Raimi and Tapert also challenged the tropes of how women of ancient history are depicted in popular culture by questioning the notion that women did not have any rights or power in these ancient societies. By depicting these women as having equality and empowerment, they helped open the history books for the audience to search and research for the lives of these women. While taking creative liberties with the history—especially as much of the stories drew on concurrent mythologies—Raimi and Tapert were also among the first to challenge the narrative that women were oppressed in the ancient world. Through their depiction, and with the historical record supporting them, their shared universe illustrated that just like in modern times, the concept of women’s equality was complicated in ancient times. The shared universe of Hercules and Xena demonstrated this messiness through depictions containing nuance and stereotypes all while foregrounding women’s power to shape the world around them.

REFERENCES Allison, Craig Y. “Women and Law in Classical Greece.” Michigan Law Review, vol. 89 no. 6, 1991: 1610–7. Anthony, David W. The Horse, the Wheel, and Language: How Bronze-Age riders from the Eurasian steppes shaped the modern world. Princeton UP, 2008. Blondell, Ruby. “How to Kill an Amazon.” Helios, vol. 32 no. 2, 2005: 183–213. Blundell, Sue, and Susan Blundell. Women in Ancient Greece. Harvard UP, 1995. Boehringer, Sandra, and Stefano Caciaglia. ”The Age of Love: Gender and erotic reciprocity in archaic Greece.” Clio: Women, Gender, History, 42, 2015: 25-52. Boissier, Gaston. Cicero and His Friends: A study of Roman society in the time of Caesar. J.P. Putnam’s, 1922. Britannica, The Editors of Encyclopedia. “Historical Criticism.” Encyclopedia Britannica, 13 Feb. 2014, https://www​.britannica​.com​/art​/historical​-criticism​-literary​ -criticism. Butler, Judith. “Performative Acts and Gender Constitution: An essay in phenomenology and feminist theory.” Feminist Theory Reader: Local and global perspectives. Edited by Carole McCann, Seung-kyung Kim, and Emek Ergun. Routledge, 2020: 353–61.

Women in the Sam Raimi and Robert Tapert Universe

123

Collier, Noelle R., Christine A. Lumadue, and H. Ray Wooten. “Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Xena: Warrior Princess: Reception of the texts by a sample of lesbian fans and web site users.” Journal of Homosexuality, vol. 56 no. 5, 2009: 575–609. Cyrino, Monica S. Aphrodite. Routledge, 2010. Davin, Eric Leif. Partners in Wonder: Women and the birth of science fiction, 1926–1965. Lexington, 2005. Edwards, Catharine. “Three Unspeakable Professions: Public performance and prostitution in Ancient Rome.” Roman Sexualities. Edited by Judith P. Hallett and Marilyn B. Skinner. Princeton UP, 2021: 66–96. Fillingim, David. “By the gods—or not: Religious plurality in Xena: Warrior Princess.” The Journal of Religion and Popular Culture vol. 21, no. 3 2009: 2. Frier, Bruce W., and Thomas A.J. McGinn. A Casebook on Roman Family Law. Oxford UP, 2003. Gagarin, Michael. “Women’s Property at Gortyn.” Dike-Rivista di Storia del Diritto Greco ed Ellenistico, vol. 15, 2012: 73–92. Gerhard, Ute. Debating Women’s Equality: Toward a feminist theory of law from a European perspective. Rutgers UP, 2001. Graves-Brown, Carolyn. Dancing for Hathor: Women in Ancient Egypt. Continuum, 2010. Griffin, Gabriele. A Dictionary of Gender Studies. Oxford University Press, 2017. Helford, Rae Elyce. Fantasy Girls: Gender in the New Universe of Science Ficton and Fantasy Television. Rowman and Littlefield, 2009. Hercules: The Legendary Journeys. Created by Robert Tapert, Christian Williams, and Sam Raimi, Renaissance Pictures, 1994–1999. Jesch, Judith. Women in the Viking Age. Boydell Press, 1991. Keuls, Eva C. The Reign of the Phallus: Sexual politics in ancient Athens. U California P, 1993. Magerstädt, Sylvie. TV Antiquity: Swords, sandals, blood and sand. Manchester UP, 2018. Mark, Joshua J. ”Women in Ancient Persia.” World History, 30 Jan. 2020, https:// www​.worldhistory​.org​/article​/1492​/women​-in​-ancient​-persia. Motro, Joanna, and Reeve Vanneman. “The 1990s Shift in the Media Portrayal of Working Mothers.” Sociological Forum, vol. 30 no. 4, 2015: 1–21. Nardo, Don. Women of Ancient Greece. Lucent Books, 2000. Nelson, Rhonda. “The Female Hero, Duality of Gender, and Postmodern Feminism in Xena: Warrior Princess.” Mujeres en Red: El Periódico Feminista, 1997: https:// www​.mujeresenred​.net​/spip​.php​?article1540. Pomeroy, Sarah. Goddess, Whores, Wives and Slaves: Women in classical antiquity. Shocken, 1995. Pruitt, Sarah. ”What was life like for women in the Viking Age?” History, 4 Aug. 2023, https://www​.history​.com​/news​/what​-was​-life​-like​-for​-women​-in​-the​-viking​ -age. Rawson, Beryl. Children and Childhood in Roman Italy. Oxford UP, 2003. Robbins, Gay. Women in Ancient Egypt. Harvard UP, 1993.

124

Princess O’Nika Auguste

Rose, Jenny. ”Three Queens, Two Wives, and a Goddess: Roles and images of women in Sasanian Iran.” Women in the Medieval Islamic World. Edited by Gavin R. G. Hambly. St. Martin’s Press, 1998: 29–54. Ross, Anne. Druids: Preachers of immortality. Tempus Publishing, 2004. Safran, Meredith E. “Re-conceiving Hercules: Divine paternity and Christian anxiety in Hercules (2005).” Classical Myth on Screen. Edited by Monica Cyrino and Meredith Safran. Springer, 2015: 133–45. Soken-Huberty, Emmaline “Types of Feminism: The Four Waves of Feminism,” Human Rights Careers, n.d., https://www​.humanrightscareers​.com​/issues​/types​-of​ -feminism​-the​-four​-waves. Last Accessed 27 Apr. 2023. Tapert Robert and Raimi Sam, “Sam Raimi and Rob Tapert Delve Back into Fantasy with Legend of the Seeker,” Interview by Galllanger Brian. Movie Web, October 2008. https://movieweb​.com​/sam​-raimi​-and​-rob​-tapert​-delve​-back​-into​-fantasy​ -with​-legend​-of​-the​-seeker/ Walcot, Peter. “Greek Attitudes Towards Women: The mythological evidence.” Greece & Rome, vol. 31 no. 1, 1984: 37–47. Xena: Warrior Princess, created by Robert Tapert, Sami Raimi, John Schulian and R.J. Stewart. Renaissance Pictures, 1995–2001. Xenaville. “Eve Reviewed.” Xenaville​.co​m, n.d., http://www​.xenaville​.com​/eps​/s5​/ rev​_eve​.html. Last Accessed 27 Apr. 2023. Zeiler, Xenia. “‘Universal’s Religious Bigotry Against Hinduism’: Gender norms and Hindu authority in the global media debate on representing the Hindu god Krishna in Xena: Warrior Princess.” Ancient Worlds in Film and Television: Gender and politics. Edited by Almut-Barbara Renger and Jon Solomon. Brill, 2013: 229–45.

Chapter 8

Mighty Morphin’ Continuity Shaping a Universe through Authorship and Nostalgia Vincent Tran

In the final episode of Power Rangers Super Megaforce (Nickelodeon, 2014) the titular Megaforce Power Rangers, down and defeated, are about to face their end at the hands of Emperor Marvo. However, before it is all over for our spandex clad superheroes, a vision greets their eyes: all along the mountainside, the past teams of the previous Power Rangers shows—from the original Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers (1993–1995) to Power Rangers Samurai (2011)—greet them. What is a great vision of nostalgia, legacy, and hope for our heroes also brings a little confusion for some audience members. Shown are both the teams of Power Rangers Turbo (1997) and Power Rangers in Space (1998). A slight continuity issue exists in this case where four of the In Space Rangers were also the Turbo Rangers, raising the question of what cloning technology has developed for them to be in two places at once. Also present in the final battle are Mighty Morphin’ White, Zeo Red, and Mighty Morphin’ Green, who are all the same character, presumably having tapped into the same cloning technology the others have. These continuity issues, while amusing, touch just on the surface of the complexity of continuity in the Power Rangers shared universe. Spanning over twenty-nine seasons and twenty-four TV series, comic books, movies, and video games, the Power Rangers shared universe is a vast confluence of continuity, storylines, crossovers, and constantly shifting contexts. This storyworld has received little academic scrutiny in both close analysis as well as a shared universe. This chapter explores the navigation of continuity from different studios’ acquisitions of the Power Rangers franchise. The analysis demonstrates that the difficulties of continuity can rarely be ignored, even with attempts at reboots and distancing between texts. First, this chapter provides a brief history of the Power Rangers franchise to give context to 125

126

Vincent Tran

the constant ebb and flow between Power Rangers and Super Sentai. From there, this chapter unpacks how shared universes organized textually by fan groups, or what this chapter calls “phase delineation,” can be used to examine the motivations and implications of continuity on a shared universe. Finally, this chapter will examine how continuity operates within the Power Rangers universe: first, by examining the impact of its episodic structure—due to its genre as a Saturday morning cartoon and superhero show—has resulted in a serial aesthetic working in cycles. This context allows the exploration of legacy and how the reliance on nostalgia—particularly that of the Mighty Morphin’ series—binds and ruptures continuity within the Power Rangers shared universe.

A HISTORY OF POWER RANGERS The production and creation of Power Rangers is a lengthy and complicated process. As an amalgam of original footage and stock footage from Japan, Power Rangers came originally from the mind of Haim Saban. An already established series, by that point in 1992, Super Sentai was on its 12th series, Kyōryū Sentai Zyuranger (1992–1993). Each of the series centered on a group, ranging from teenagers to adults, who, through some way bestowed upon them, could transform into themed spandex superheroes, granting them powers, weapons, and control over giant robots, or mecha. Kyōryū Sentai Zyuranger, produced by Toei, which ran for fifty episodes on TV Asahi, would eventually become the basis for Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers (MMPR). The show was comprised of a mixture of footage from Zyuranger, primarily that involving the heroes transformed, or “morphed” into their superhero counterparts and scenes in which the Power Ranger’s giant mecha-robot fighting kaiju-sized creatures. This content was interspliced with original footage that depicted the teens’ daily lives outside of being Power Rangers and fight scenes where they were not transformed. MMPR centered on five “teenagers with attitude,” who had been chosen by Zordon, a mystical wizard, to become the Power Rangers and fight against his arch-nemesis, Rita Repulsa. MMPR would go on to run on for three seasons. During this time, the team of teenagers would find themselves a sixth member in Tommy Oliver, get granted new weapons, new Zords, new powers, new suits, and face increasingly stronger adversaries. By Season 2, Saban had run out of Zyuranger footage. This necessitated Saban asking Toei to film exclusive footage in Japan for MMPR. Even then, this was not enough, and so Saban began to draw on Gosei Sentai Dairanger (1993–1994) and Ninja Sentai Kakuranger (1994–1995) for additional footage, creating a Frankenstein’s monster of

Mighty Morphin’ Continuity

127

sorts with footage from three separate Sentai shows, original Japanese footage shot only for Power Rangers as well as the original American footage. Eventually, the choice was made to adapt a new series, Chouriki Sentai Ohranger (1995–1996), into the sequel series Power Rangers Zeo (1996). Zeo would begin the tradition of adapting within the length and constraints of a singular sentai show, where at its conclusion, a new Power Rangers series would debut, drawing on a different Super Sentai series. This overview intends to contextualize Power Rangers’ mode of production. Undoubtedly, the adaptation of the Super Sentai series impacted the continuity of Power Rangers; however, exploring this impact is simply too large of a task for this chapter. This chapter intends to aid future studies that investigate the impact of the Sentai on Power Rangers; however, this chapter focuses purely on the Power Rangers intellectual property and how continuity is driven by serial cyclicity and legacy.

DELINEATION, PHASES, AND CONTINUITY Perhaps unsurprisingly, the success of MMPR beyond multiple seasons led to numerous follow-up series, some stand-alone, some in direct continuation. As of 2022, there are twenty-four Power Rangers series, across twenty-nine seasons, making the Power Rangers TV universe one of the largest TV universes as far as discrete series is concerned. To begin this delve into the land of spandex and rubber-costumed monsters, what perhaps is prudent to do first is to examine what this chapter calls “phase delineation.” This refers to the process by which large shared universes may be organized into phases, eras, cycles, or any other numerous nomenclatures by authors or audiences. Perhaps most visible of this is the famed Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU), split into multiple Phases, which is a collection of phases further called a saga. Each phase represents a collection of texts that are bound by some manner. Useful here is Jason Mittell’s insight on the need of “orienting paratexts” (261). Mittell argues that “viewers make sense of complex serial forms through practices of orientation and mapping” (261). Mittell continues that this process is often through orienting paratexts, the litany of texts that surround a text that point to and in turn point back towards the paratext. Theyargue that this orienting serves for the audience to not only “provid[e] a perspective for viewers to help make sense of a narrative world by looking at it from a distance” as well as “propose alternative ways of seeing the story” outside the confines of the text themselves (261–62). For shared universes, often the dividing of phases helps give clarity to some sort of “grand narrative” at play, as a means of tying together multiple narrative threads, often changing or distorting meanings or, as Mittell puts, that linking texts within

128

Vincent Tran

a paratextual network, “whether officially sanctioned or viewer created, changes how we see the original” (262). Phase delineation thus provides clarity and reinterpretation by audiences or authors. This proclivity towards phase delineation can be attributed to the fact that many shared universes consist of texts produced across years, if not decades, of texts of which an internal or external orienting process helps make sense of the universe. This chapter proposes that phase delineation mostly occurs along two main through lines: author and time. Briefly, authorial phase delineation is arguably the simpler of the two and either comes from an authorial figure dictating the phases, such as Kevin Feige charting out the MCU in very specific terms which text is part of which phase; or, it can be attributed by audiences defining phases of a shared universe to specific authors, often elevating them to the status of a supra-auteur. One can see this with the separation of the rebooted Doctor Who (2005–present) television series into “eras” based on the showrunners: the Russel T. “Davies era,” the Steven “Moffat era” and the Chris “Chibnall era” (see chapter 4 in this collection). These separations usually attribute some stylistic feature supposedly read to be specific to a showrunner, such as Davies’s tendency for more episodic storytelling versus Moffat’s approach of season-spanning narratives and plot points. Time can often be the primary factor in phase delineation when it is difficult to place complete perceived authorial responsibility on one author. This approach is most evident in both the Marvel and DC Comic Universes marked by “Ages.” As expected, delineation through time can often be inexact as often as it is in separating eras throughout history are. Comic book historian Shirrel Rhoades offers three possible perspectives in delineating the DC and Marvel comics into largely the Golden Age, Silver Age, and Modern Age of comics (4–5). Rhoades’ approach is only one method for dividing the Marvel and DC Universes, with other perspectives such as Mark Voger’s renaming of the Modern Age as the “Dark Age” of comics. Regardless of the varying viewpoints, they are rooted in recognizing trends in the construction of the texts during the period, in the same manner as art history or music history. Art historian W. Eugene Kleinbauer expertly outlines: “Art history is molded by the philosophy of history—by an understanding of the general divisions of history, the nature of historical periods, and the causes of historical change. These matters help determine how the art historian arranges, classifies and interprets works of art” (Kleinbauer and Medieval Academy 13). Finally, phase delineation in most cases does not happen. This process is primarily for the audience to orientate and help make sense of the universe. For smaller shared universes, this often is not needed as they are relatively easily digestible. Indeed, many of the examples used above span decades and hundreds of texts, which perhaps necessitates the process. If this shows anything, it is that phase delineation is imprecise, relative, and often based on

129

Mighty Morphin’ Continuity

vague criteria set by authors or audiences. Yet it still happens and serves as a useful tool for organizing large shared universes as well as helping contextualize the universe from a macro perspective, tracking changes over history and mapping changes and trends within the universe. The Power Rangers universe, then, is delineated into “eras” by both time and authorship (Table 8.1). Unofficially done by the fandom through fan wikis, these eras can be delineated into five phases as of Power Rangers Beast Morphers (2019–2020): the Zordon Era, Post-Zordon Era, Disney Era, NewSaban Era, and the Hasbro Era. Table 8.1  Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers series by producer eras Post-Zordon Era

Disney Era

MMPR Power Rangers Zeo (1996)

Power Rangers Lost Galaxy (1999)

Power Rangers Ninja Storm (2003)

Power Rangers Samurai (2011)

Power Rangers Turbo (1997)

Power Rangers Lightspeed Rescue (2002)

Power Rangers Dino Thunder (2004)

Power Rangers Super Samurai (2012)

Power Rangers in Space (1998)

Power Rangers Time Force (2001)

Power Rangers S.P.D. (2005)

Power Rangers Megaforce (2013)

Power Rangers Wild Force (2002)

Power Rangers Mystic Force (2006)

Power Rangers Super Megaforce (2014) Power Rangers Dino Charge (2015)

Zordon Era

Power Rangers Operation Overdrive (2007) Power Rangers Jungle Fury (2008) Power Rangers RPM (2009)

New-Saban Era

Power Rangers Dino Super Charge (2016) Power Rangers Ninja Steel (2017) Power Rangers Super Ninja Steel (2018)

Hasbro Era Power Rangers Beast Morphers (Seasons 1 and 2; 2019– 2020) Power Rangers Dino Fury (Seasons 1 and 2; 2021– 2022)

130

Vincent Tran

The Zordon era, from MMPR to Power Rangers in Space, is delineated by the overall narrative arc spanning a time period somewhat centered on Zordon’s war against the forces of evil and his insistence to enlist varying teenagers to help fight the cause. The final series of this era, In Space, sees Zordon sacrificing himself, which cleanses a portion of the galaxy’s villains. Up until this point, Mighty Morphin’, Zeo, and In Space largely was one long continuous story. While the original five Rangers had retired or passed on their mantles, they would appear as cameos in future series or sometimes as recurring characters. After a near cancellation, Power Rangers Galaxy would then set the new format seen largely until today: every new series would feature a new cast of heroes and villains, with a standalone story not connected to any previous ranger series, each adapting a new sentai series. Galaxy marked the very short and interim phase of the Post-Zordon era, which began this transition and occurred as delineated as a time after the Zordon era. Finally, the subsequent three eras are each authorial based, referring to the acquisition of Power Rangers by different corporations and the different production and thematic methodologies each brought to the universe, such as Disney moving production from the United States to New Zealand or Saban producing two seasons per series. These observations on phase delineation attempt to provide context in examining shared universes and allowing for comparisons and contrasts across large shared universes. As explored in the next section, how delineation works in the Power Rangers shared universe suggests shifts from a narrative-based delineation to an author-based delineation. With all this in mind, the next section presents the context for examining continuity within the Power Rangers through genre and legacy.

GENRE OF THE WEEK To begin examining the implications of the different phases of the Power Rangers shared universe, it is prudent to first examine how continuity operates within this franchise. First, this chapter subscribes to Richard Reynolds’ notion that continuity is the totality of narrative presented by the text in a series, which comprises the entire “back-story” or narrative history of the text. Continuity in the Power Rangers universe has always been and continues to be one of vague boundaries and commitment. To aid in this analysis, it is useful to characterize narrative across serial storytelling through Angela Ndalianis’ use of “prototypes” in conceptualizing macro-organization of narrative structures. Drawing on Omar Calabrese, Ndalianis outlines five prototypes which describe the ever-evolving mode of narrative in television from the 1950s–1980s. Ndalianis, then, extends Calbrese’s observations about how

Mighty Morphin’ Continuity

131

these narrative prototypes extend beyond those periods in contemporary television. What should first be noted is that “as is typical of television shows of the last two decades, there is a general tendency towards slippage between a number of prototypes” (Ndalianis 92). The first prototype consists of distinct episodes with common characters but no overall series narrative (88). The second prototype involves self-contained episodes, while the entire series has a single narrative goal (91). The third prototype also has self-contained episodes, but they exist within an expanding series time while characters progress throughout the series (92). MMPR, for instance, presents a slow shifting from the first prototype to the second, the third. Similar to early comic books, episodes would be selfcontained, usually with a villain of the week, with the next episode repeating the same formula. Eventually, a larger goal was introduced to a season, such as defeating the eventual big bad, shifting over to the second prototype, and finally, as characters grew up, gained more powers, and villains and sidevillains began to reoccur with developing subplots, the Power Rangers seasons would oscillate between the second and third Prototype. Continuity, in general, becomes more of a secondary concern and focus. In many ways, this could be seen as a direct correlation to adapting sentai footage: either story aspects must be tied towards sentai footage, which only allows for a finite amount of development, or development must be accelerated when sentai footage demands story advancement. These prototypes chart how one may view narrative across a series. In understanding that, one can approach why these prototypes may be favored. Largely, the narrative structure of Power Rangers can be attributed to its genres as a “Saturday Morning” superhero show, as argued by Gina O’Melia: MMPR is also generally episodic, as was the norm at the time on Saturday Morning, with only a loose continuity. There were certain “milestone” episodes that changed the series, such as the introduction of the Green Ranger, but episodes between milestone episodes could easily be shuffled without causing narrative incoherence. (83)

Indeed, O’Melia notes that loose continuity was one of the characteristics that codified Saturday morning cartoons of the late 80s and early 90s, where “[p]rograms were also episodic in nature for the most part. One episode had little to do with the episode preceding it and no harm would be done to the program’s coherence if the episodes were shuffled and played out of order for reruns” (34). MMPR as a children’s action series, easily utilized monsterof-the-week tropes as Rita Repulsa sent an endless horde of equally brightly colored monsters to fight the Rangers every episode. Within the first few seasons of MMPR, the Rangers would have to figure out a way to defeat the monster of the week, usually through figuring out the monster’s weakness,

132

Vincent Tran

which inevitably led to a fight at the end of the episode in the Ranger’s combined giant Megazord Robot against the equally large monster grown by Rita. Running parallel to this, the Rangers would often have some issue or conflict in their regular teen lives, such as organizing a party, rallying for environmental conservation, or dealing with the resident Angel Grove bullies, Bulk and Skull. By the end of the episode, the monster was defeated and whatever high school teen-related issue was quashed, with the status quo reset for the next episode. In many ways, the narrative progression of Saturday Morning cartoons shares many similarities with comic book shared universes. Similarly, in describing superhero comics, Henry Jenkins argues that comic books of the Golden and Silver Age are “dominated by relatively self-contained issues [.  . .] franchises are organized around recurring characters, whose stories, as Umberto Eco has noted in regard to Superman, get defined in terms of an iterative logic in which each issue must end more or less where it began” (Jenkins 20). Liam Burke argues of the superhero comic that “[superhero] comic narratives, in only presenting the semblance of change, seem to be perpetually in a narrative structure comparable to the second act of a film” (57). Burke evaluates that these superheroes can “never move into the third act,” as there will always be a new or old threat present (57). This “serial aesthetic” that superhero stories display, which Burke draws from Duncan and Smith, is one that is desirable “for conglomerates hoping to develop franchises.” This is perhaps why, in most of these stories fitting into the first prototype of episodicity, that, as is typical of Prototype 1, “little or no information about the main characters is provided to the viewer beyond its significance to the unravelling episode storyline” (Ndalianis 89). From there, stories from the 1970s began to move toward more serialized storytelling, with a more mature audience placing “a high value on consistency and continuity” (Jenkins 20). As will be explored, the Power Rangers universe follows this progression both as a microcosm and as a reflection of this narrative progression, as stories begin to mature, and continuity becomes more ingrained into the series. In describing the first prototype, Ndalianis uses Law and Order to characterize the prototype, and many comparisons apply to the general structure of Power Rangers. Firstly, “it is the accumulation of stories contained within distinct episodes that are important, which possibly explains the continued success of the show despite the frequent replacement of main characters” (Ndalianis 89). One can see this throughout the entirety of Power Rangers. As mentioned, throughout the Zordon Era, the team of Rangers was systematically replaced after every few seasons, as characters and actors grew out of the franchise; very little concern appeared applied to the devotion to continuity. Many of the characters replaced were also simply analogs of their predecessors: Katherine Hillard replaced Kimberly Hart as

Mighty Morphin’ Continuity

133

the Pink ranger in Season 3 of MMPR. Alongside the same initials, Kat was a gymnast like Kim, and would go on to become best friends with Aisha, who replaced Trini as the Yellow ranger. Small story arcs would introduce new characters, powers, or plot details that would soon become the status quo. Most notable was that of Tommy Oliver. Originally introduced as a villain mind controlled by Rita Repulsa, Tommy Oliver eventually breaks free of the curse and becomes the sixth and Green ranger, expanding the cast and subsequently, giving the Megazord a giant dinosaur robot to combine with. Tommy would go on to become a key fixture within the Power Rangers shared universe in his role as Legacy character. This representation exists as the serial aesthetic at work, with a cyclical dedication of bringing in change as an oxymoronic way to enforce the status quo. This presentation of a “semblance of change” aligns with Ndalianis’ further specifications about the different narrative prototypes. As Ndalianis explains, “the current variation of the first prototype abandons the stricter insistence on classical framing—a fact revealed in the serial-like rotation and replacement of characters/actors across the series, or in the way episodic closure is occasionally ruptured by also bleeding into other prototypes” (90). The notion of rupturing yet returning appears as endemic to stories in general, but particularly that of superheroes. Marc Singer in particular observes that an academic tendency to talk about comic book continuity by overstating the importance of how modern comics have gone beyond this constant recurring status quo. Drawing on Jenkins themselves, Singer notes the way “sooner or later the most popular superheroes will inevitably find themselves reset to their most familiar forms” (360). This view suggests one interpretation of the rupture of continuity within the Power Rangers universe as it shifts between different narrative prototypes. In some ways, one can view this as an oscillating continuity as story arcs will diverge and shift away from the status quo, that being a group of teenagers fighting against villains of varying origins, for it to be reset back with the start of a new series. Together, this serial aesthetic Burke describes along with the compulsion to consistently reset the status quo gives the Power Rangers universe its main driving force in shaping its continuity. The most continuity-driven phase of this narrative universe, the Zordon era, even with its five series and eight-season story, subscribes to serial aesthetic and oscillating continuity as has been described. With the transition to the Post-Zordon era and beyond, this logic is solidified. While there are passing references to the Zordon-Era, Lost Galaxy, and every season moving forward would be a microcosm of the Zordon-era compressed into one season: with the following series introducing a new cast of characters, a new villain, a new mentor, and inevitably a new goal to achieve. Even the New-Saban and Hasbro-Eras, which brought back multiple seasons within a series, follows this narrative

134

Vincent Tran

cycle: at the start of Power Rangers Beast Morphers, the titular characters fight Evox, a maniacal computer virus whose ultimate goal is to create themselves a body and take over the world. Throughout the season, the Rangers consistently thwart Evox’s attempts of remaking a body until he achieves this goal, garnering a few upgrades along the way. At the end of the first season, the Rangers seemingly defeat Evox, only for the story to reveal that he has lived on in the Red Ranger’s father. The second season once again sees Evox trying to build himself a new body and is ultimately defeated at the end of the series, completing the cycle for another Rangers series to begin.

LEGACY Given the relatively episodic nature of the series, continuity within a season is relatively simple. Plot points within a season only receive revisiting when the plot demands it with relatively little contradictions. Like other shows that subscribe to these prototypes, such as CSI and NYPD Blue, it is simple. However, as contracts for actors began to end and characters were replaced with new ones, this opened the door for the primary way in which continuity would be addressed throughout the rest of the franchise, that being of legacy. Primarily, this chapter draws on Dan Golding’s conception of the “legacy film” and how that theory has applications to television. Put simply, Golding describes an ideal scenario for the legacy film: that being a studio has acquired the rights to a popular franchise that has become dormant: however, financial volatility in today’s age of increasing competition for entertainment other than cinema-going (the internet, streaming, video games, quality television) has made studios increasingly interested in reliable products. Nostalgia has long been a reliable tool for Hollywood, and targeting older generations for the cultural capital of their youth has time and again proved an irresistible proposition for risk-averse studios. (69)

Thus, the use of characters from the past becomes an easy tool to help bolster and give “legitimacy” to the new film. Indeed, the use of legacy and nostalgia is by no means new: Stephen Brown, Robert V. Kozinets, and John F. Sherry Jr. examine “retro branding” as the “revival or relaunch of a product or service brand from a prior historical period, which is usually but not always updated to contemporary standards of performance, functioning, or taste” (20). Katharina Niemeyer and Daniela Wentz look at “serial nostalgia,” which goes beyond simply a series’ legacy as invoking a nostalgic longing, but how “series, as they accumulate time, and thus a past and an imagined future, can be, and often are, nostalgic themselves” (135).

Mighty Morphin’ Continuity

135

How, then, can the idea of the legacy film apply to television and Power Rangers? Golding uses the example of Star Wars: The Force Awakens (J.J. Abrams, 2015), identifying legacy characters of Han Solo, Princess Leia, and Luke as passing on the baton to newcomers Poe, Finn, and Rey. Now, Golding’s conception is primarily film-centric. It is possible to conceptualize legacy elements of Legacy Film and its applications within television, producing a Legacy Television. Within the realm of shared universes, this can be a common occurrence. Examples such as the aptly named Legacies (2018–2022), a sequel to The Vampire Diaries (2009–2017) and The Originals (20132018), within the Vampire Diaries universe, brings a young generation of characters, as well as legacy characters that help pass the torch. InThe CW’s Arrowverse, Oliver Queen appears at the start of The Flash (2014–2023) to give Barry Allen his blessing and they in turn do the same for DC’s Legends of Tomorrow (2016–2022). Leon Vance, the future NCIS director, debuts in Season 5 and appears in NCIS Los Angeles as Director, to help lead and assign cases to the new spin-off characters. One potentially can see a subverted take on this in HBO Max’s Peacemaker (2022–present), part of the complicated and maligned DC Extended Universe (DCEU). In its final episode, the Justice League of the DCEU have a cameo near the finale, arriving too late as the titular Peacemaker and his team have just completed the mission, in some ways implying that the Peacemaker can do their job as well as they can. This is not to say that these legacy elements are as grand as how legacy flms operate or in exactly the same way, but a trend exists narratively in bringing older characters back, within the name of nostalgia, to help ratings and to solidify continuity between shows. When applied to television and Power Rangers, what works best is to evaluate the overall narrative beats that a legacy film will usually depict. This also allows for contrasts with the TV medium in how legacy elements may be utilized. Golding charts five primary elements, which are easily transferable to the Power Rangers universe and other legacy-imbued TV series: 1. An original actor or actors reprise a key role from an earlier film as an aged version of that character. 2. New characters are introduced who are, in some way primed, or who are primed over the course of the legacy film, to take up the mantle of older characters. 3. In the legacy film, new narrative concerns repeat and revise old narrative concerns, following the reboot model. 4. There will be a handover moment, or a series of handover moments, between legacy characters and their successor characters. 5. By the conclusion of the legacy film, the narrative impetus will have shifted from the legacy characters to the successor characters. (71–74)

136

Vincent Tran

Rather than examining each point individually, it is easier to see the legacy elements when viewed holistically. Golding sums up that generally the narrative beats of the legacy film is thus: “the new heroes have been given their own quests and storylines to fulfilll, and the older heroes have anointed them as their successors [. . .] the dormant franchise is revived for at least several sequels more” (69). When looking at Power Rangers, these elements transfer almost point-for-point; however, some key differences exist. The overall arc of a legacy character reprising a role who in turn helps the newcomers and eventually passes on the proverbial torch has been a staple within the Power Rangers universe since its inception. From the Zordon Era, legacy became a recurring aspect starting with Power Rangers Zeo, the first new series after MMPR. Much of this was set up with the aforementioned replacement of characters and actors throughout the first three seasons of MMPR. By Power Rangers Zeo, two characters take legacy roles: Billy, the first Blue Ranger, now has transitioned to the venerable guy-in-the-chair role, inventing new Zords and giving guidance to the Rangers in the field. Brought back is also Jason Lee Scott, the original Red ranger, now taking the sixth Ranger role, temporarily as an aide to the Rangers before he must depart. Indeed, in Jason’s return to the series, the end of the episode sees him telling Tommy, who he handed leadership over to, that: “Leaving was a really tough decision for me, but I’ll tell you what made it cool: I knew I was leaving the Rangers in good hands with you as their leader. . . But I don’t want you to think I’m trying to put things back to the way before I left” (“A Golden Homecoming,” S1E34, 19:38–19:53). Arguably, these legacy elements are most commonly found in the crossover episodes. The Post-Zordon era shows, in their singular disconnected narratives, still gesture or, to use Ndalianis’ nomenclature, rupture the serial aesthetic prototypes as they motion to a palimpsest of continuity. This occurs through team-up episodes, wherein usually the team of the previous season will reprise their roles, and together with the current Rangers team up against a unified threat. Since Power Rangers in Space, there have been sixteen discrete series and only four groups have not included team-ups: Mystic Force, RPM, Jungle Fury, and Dino Charge; however, the characters from these series all reoccur in team-ups outside of their shows. Most of these team-ups will usually comprise of usually the entirety of the previous series’ Rangers. Some examples, however, such as Power Rangers Samurai, saw just one character from RPM turn up. Anniversary seasons usually brought in a much more diverse cast: Operation Overdrive saw five Rangers from five different series reprising their roles, Super Megaforce as the twentieth anniversary utilized footage from its Sentai source, Kaizoku Sentai Ranger (2011–2012), and brought back Rangers from eight different series to reprise their roles, with the footage used depicting Rangers from every single season. Similarly,

Mighty Morphin’ Continuity

137

Super Ninja Steel, the twentieth represented ten different series with their legacy characters. The notion then of legacy characters in Power Rangers has occurred so much as to become a staple and trope of the series. From there, these team-ups follow the same pattern: usually a villain from the legacy team’s tenure has returned and teamed up with the current team’s villain. The two ranger teams must combine forces, thus dealing with old and new narrative beats, and the eventual defeat of the villains allows the previous Rangers to pass the torch to the current Rangers, thus completing the legacy cycle. The most notable of these examples is in the character of Tommy Oliver. Tommy, without a doubt, stands as the most involved character in the entire Power Rangers universe. Played by Jason David Frank, Tommy debuted in MMPR as the villain-turned-hero Green Ranger. As one of the most popular characters in the show, Tommy was eventually promoted to team leader with the departure of Austin St. John’s Jason Lee Scott, and then solidified as the pillar of the team when, in Zeo and Turbo, he was given the mantle of the Red ranger, usually given to the strongest of the group. Tommy would finally leave the series in the fittingly named “Passing the Torch.” Within this episode, Tommy, alongside Adam, Tanya, and Kat, retire as Rangers and transfer their powers over to their successors, T.J., Carlos, Ashley, and Cassie. This is a very literal example of Golding’s fifth element in which the successors literally take the place and powers from their now legacy characters. His departure cements Tommy’s status as a legacy character. In Power Rangers Wild Force, the team-up episode was a special collaboration titled “Forever Red.” In it, Tommy is the one who contacts nine other red Rangers to take on Serpentera, a MMPR era villain. This would start the trend of Tommy being the main focal point for large anniversary seasons. Forever Red is particularly important as a Legacy episode as it is still a Wild Force episode. Cole Evans, the Red ranger of Wild Force stands side by side and in the climactic fight, fights alongside the other Red Rangers, a signal that he is on par with these legendary captains. Cole also deals the finishing blow to Serpentera. Cole thus then is now part of the pantheon of Red Rangers. Cole also remarks of Tommy that he “really is the greatest Ranger,” (“Forever Red,” S1E34, 19:36–19:37) solidifying him as a legend even amongst these captains. The return of Tommy Oliver would be a constancy throughout the entirety of the Power Rangers universe. Tommy would return in Power Rangers Dino Thunder, cast in a main role. Here the legacy format plays out in full: Tommy is now a teacher, having completed a Ph.D. in Palaeontology at MIT. The three to-be Rangers discover his past identity and he then takes them under his tutelage, even regaining the ability to morph once again. Throughout the series, Tommy acts as a mentor, teaching the new generation from the mistakes and lessons he learns. This position is thematically two-fold. MMPR,

138

Vincent Tran

Tommy’s debut series, was centered on the MMPR team having dinosaur powers, which then comes full circle in Dino Thunder, with the powers also being dinosaur based. The series would then end with Tommy retiring “living a quiet life,” having helped this generations’ of Rangers. Where this deviates from the legacy film is that at the end of Dino Thunder, all of the Rangers, Tommy included, have lost their powers. Where Power Rangers differs is that the Legacy format occurs as an arc that leads to a conclusion in the series. For Golding, the Legacy film acts as a flint to spark or revive a franchise for it to inevitably resurge and proliferate. For the Power Rangers universe, the Legacy format instead deals with the narrative beats to give legitimacy within the moment to the characters. As each series post Zordon Era deals with new teams, new villains, the approval of legacy characters gives at least the sense that these characters stand on par with previous series. Rather than passing the torch to the new characters to continue past their series, it perhaps is in bolstering viewership and attachment to the series that further series will be made. Disney would specifically tap into this idea of legacy as a main focal point of their series. Power Rangers Super Megaforce, which served as the franchises’ 20th anniversary and Super Ninja Steel, which was its 25th, introduced the term “Legendary Rangers” to refer to all past legacy Rangers. The gimmick for Super Megaforce was the Rangers’ ability to morph into their predecessors’ forms, almost as a greatest hits montage. In the final episode of Super Megaforce “Legendary Battle,” Tommy leads the Legendary Rangers to help the Megaforce Rangers, standing at the tip of their triangle formation. At the end of the battle, it is of course Tommy thanking the Megaforce Rangers for their work and that Earth is safe again, telling the Megaforce team that “we’ll always be with you” (“A Legendary Battle,” S2E20, 21:10–21:11). Tommy once again gets the spotlight in “Dimensions in Danger,” the 25th anniversary for Power Rangers as he is the de facto leader in this crossover. To commemorate this fact, Tommy sports a “Master Morpher” allowing him to morph into each of his previous Ranger forms, spanning five different series, which is spotlighted in a lengthy fight sequence in the episode. The usage of legacy allows the Power Rangers universe to rupture from its serial aesthetic and connect to a larger storyworld. Here exists the cycle of episodicity and rupture, with the status quo disrupted and then brought back. As far as impact on continuity is concerned, these crossovers are usually negligible. Dino Thunder is the main exception to the rule, yet that is due to Tommy being part of the main cast: his legacy as a MMPR Ranger is integrated into the story. The majority of the crossover episodes, however, are only either mentioned in passing afterward or never referred to again, and the legacy Rangers often never show up again either.

Mighty Morphin’ Continuity

139

The notion of “balance” helps clarify this dichotomy in the Power Rangers universe between a serial aesthetic and attempts at connecting to a larger storyworld. Mittell separates transmedia storytelling into “balanced transmedia, where no one medium or text serves a primary role over others” and “unbalanced transmedia, with a clearly identifiable core text and a number of peripheral transmedia extensions that might be more or less integrated into the narrative whole” (294). Mittell notes that the more balanced transmedia franchises offer a deep level of “canonic integration” into the universe proper, describing the process where the totality of stories within a series or franchise that “must be consumed across media for full comprehension” (298). Although Mittell used this term in reference to transmedia storytelling in television, it is relatively easily transferrable to televisual shared universes as a whole. Within the same schema, shared universes operate as “balanced shared universes” or “unbalanced shared universes,” with the former placing no series of texts over another, requiring consumption of all texts in the shared universe for comprehension. The latter presupposes a main line of texts with other texts being subservient narratively towards it. The Power Rangers universe is an interesting lesson in balance. Balance necessitates canonic integration, and this is where the rupture from the serial logic complicates its episodicity. On the surface, the Power Rangers shared universe is relatively unbalanced: the television shows remain at the center of the universe. They make next to no references to peripheral media such as BOOM! Studio’s comic book series, the HyperForce web series, or games such as Battle for the Grid. Yet even in its main media of television, the level of canonic integration between each series is tenuous and erratic. Even the most continuity-driven series, such as Power Rangers in Space and Zeo, are designed around an ease of consumption, flagging recaps, simple storylines, and an overabundance of exposition. Similarly, for most of these crossovers, they have no impact on the overall series story. While certain narrative characters such as Tommy Oliver, Zordon, and Alpha may be constants, and MMPR is the cornerstone of the universe, the shared universe has no singular text that the entire universe revolves around, outside of the television series being the main thrust for the universe. Such lack of impact may be due to the adapting sentai footage: While MMPR may be the first Power Rangers series, Zyuuranger was Super Sentai’s 17th and neither held in any higher esteem or less than any of the other Super Sentai series. Although canonic integration may be scant, a deep thematic integration definitely exists that can only be appreciated through consuming the entire shared universe. The constancy of a team of three to five Rangers that throughout the series, eventually garner more members. The “6th” ranger role, who usually joins the team halfway through the series, perhaps starting as an antagonistic role. The color scheme of the Rangers, with certain colors

140

Vincent Tran

such as red relegated for the leader. A mentor figure of some sort is always present, who directs the Rangers in the field, villains who will fight the giant mecha robots with their own giant kaijus, and of course a comedic relief duo who often are oblivious to the Rangers’ secret identities. The Power Ranger universe, with its tenure, thus codifies an internal logic that is consistent across all of its series, some of it Super Sentai influenced, some of it original to Power Rangers. In doing so, the serial aesthetic gives long-time watchers expectations for events throughout new series, and when these tropes are subverted. As such, the shared universe is unbalanced around its TV series, yet the TV series themselves are not majorly canonically integrated to each other, instead relying on overlapping tropes. In doing so, a universe exists where continuity is secondary to a serial aesthetic, yet is still relied upon for its Legacy implications, whether to give older audiences a familiar face or used narratively to give legitimacy to the new Rangers, both narratively and from and audience perspective. However, this serial aesthetic still is ruptured whenever the franchise taps into the storyworld of the shared universe and its legacy. The legacy television elements necessitate a level of engagement with the deep history of Power Rangers, a process that is at odds with how deeply the episodic status quo is enforced. This chapter has described the continuity of Power Rangers as “oscillating” and, on a macro level, the oscillations can be viewed as when the series evokes the history of the universe through its crossovers, only for it to be quickly forgotten, ready to occur again at the next series.

MORPHIN’ TIME OR SERIAL TIME? The Power Rangers universe is one of untapped investigation. Among other things, not covered by this chapter is the messy, tangled web of adaptation between the Sentai and Power Rangers footage. Nor has this delved into the transmedial extensions of the Power Rangers, such as the HyperForce web series, in which actors from the mainline TV series have appeared in guest roles. Arguably even more relevant are the BOOM! Studios comics, which have undertaken the monumental task of creating a canonically integrated multiverse, bringing Rangers from all eras into one continuing storyline. This comes with the territory of an under-researched text that has continued for over twenty-nine different seasons. Instead, this chapter serves as a jumping point into examining how continuity operates from a macro perspective, for future studies to investigate the idiosyncrasies and minutia of the universe. This chapter has given a brief overview of the Power Rangers universe as well as analyzing two main lines: the serial aesthetic that is present

Mighty Morphin’ Continuity

141

throughout the entirety of the universe, drawing on its Saturday morning cartoon and superhero genres. In a universe of creatures made from putties, anthropomorphic talking wolves, giant robots merging with giant dinosaurs and color-coded teens, there seem to be a few constants. Despite this cyclical oscillation toward a status quo, the Power Rangers universe ruptures this with constant crossovers and legacy elements in all its series. At the same time, however, these elements are very rarely canonically integrated into the universe proper. What is given then is an ongoing universe sustained by episodic seriality and thematic conventions that every now and then ruptures and connects to a larger storyworld before it inevitably reverts back into an isolated seriality. Thus, to quote Alpha-5, the robotic sidekick to the Rangers in MMPR on the task to unravel this ball of continuity: Ay Yai Yai. REFERENCES Brown, Stephen, Robert V. Kozinets, and John F. Sherry Jr. “Teaching Old Brands New Tricks: Retro branding and the revival of brand meaning.” Journal of Marketing, vol. 67 no. 3, 2003: 19–33. Burke, Liam. The Comic Book Film Adaptation: Exploring Modern Hollywood’s Leading Genre. UP Mississippi, 2015. Golding, Dan. Star Wars after Lucas: A Critical Guide to the Future of the Galaxy. U Minnesota P, 2019. Jenkins, Henry. “‘Just Men in Tights’: Rewriting Silver Age comics in an era of multiplicity.” The Contemporary Comic Book Superhero, edited by Angela Ndalianis. Taylor and Francis, 2009. Kleinbauer, W. Eugene and Medieval Academy of America. Modern Perspectives in Western Art History: An Anthology of Twentieth-Century Writings on the Visual Arts. U of Toronto P, 1989. Mittell, Jason. Complex TV: The Poetics of Contemporary Television Storytelling. NYU Press, 2015. Ndalianis, Angela. “Television and the Neo-Baroque.” The Contemporary Television Series, edited by Lucy Mazdon. Edinburgh UP, 2005: 83–101. Niemeyer, Katharina and Daniela Wentz. “Nostalgia Is Not What It Used to Be: Serial nostalgia and nostalgic television series,” edited by Katharina Niemeyer. Springer, 2014: 129–38. O’Melia, Gina. Japanese Influence on American Children’s Television: Transforming Saturday Morning. Springer, 2019. Reynolds, Richard. Super Heroes: A Modern Mythology. UP Mississippi, 1994. Rhoades, Shirrel. A Complete History of American Comic Books. Peter Lang, 2008. Singer, Marc. “The Myth of Eco: Cultural populism and comics studies.” Studies in Comics, vol. 4 no. 2, 2013: 355–66. Voger, Mark. The Dark Age: Grim, Great & Gimmicky Post-Modern Comics. TwoMorrows, 2006.

Chapter 9

The CW’s Crisis on Infinite Earths and the Shared Multiverse as (Anti)Transmedia Storytelling Chris McGunnigle

The 1985–86 DC Comics comic book series Crisis on Infinite Earths (hereafter known as the DC’s Crisis), written by Marv Wolfman, begins with an eerily prescient introduction: “In the beginning, there was only one. [.  .  .] a multiverse that should have been one, became many.” It is almost as if Wolfman knew the impact that the Crisis would have on DC’s comic book narratives for decades to come, as they evolved and dissipated into numerous shared transmedia universes. Thirty years after the Crisis, The CW’s crossover television event “Crisis on Infinite Earths” (hereafter known as the CW’s Crisis) became a reparative culmination of the transmedia shared universe legacy that the Crisis comic book began so long ago. In both the DC’s Crisis and the CW’s Crisis, the evil Anti-Monitor destroys universe after universe with an all-consuming wave of antimatter, forcing superheroes from multiple universes to band together to stop him. In the CW television event, the Crisis occurs across the network’s five main superhero dramas, collectively known as the Arrowverse: Supergirl, Batwoman, The Flash, Arrow, and Legends of Tomorrow. The CW’s Crisis, however, goes beyond uniting the network’s superhero dramas into one event: it delves into over half a century of DC’s superhero media to reflect upon the larger DC transmedia family. A transmedia family describes a group of texts that have a transmedia relationship. The Matrix movies, animated film, and video games are a transmedia family. The Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) and its connected movies, television shows, comic books, and so forth are all part of the larger MCU transmedia family. In this way, a transmedia family is similar to the relationship between texts in a shared universe. Both DC’s comic book universe and the CW’s Arrowverse are shared universes given their “shared fictional plane wherein myriad characters exist” that, at least in the medium 143

144

Chris McGunnigle

of comic books, “allows for crossovers between titles and events that affect the characters and story lines within the universe” (Nader 7). Thus, the term shared universe has commonly been used to describe “a transfictional textual environment occurring between discrete texts, series and/or settings, that attempt to become realized and believable” (Tran 4). In a shared universe, crossovers occur when the characters from one title appear in another as an attempt to merge narrative settings in a way that makes the relationship between texts feel real and coherent rather than discontinuous and surreal. Typically, a shared universe implies interaction between texts from one medium, such as a cinematic or televisual shared universe. The CW’s Crisis, however, complicates the televisual shared universe (TSU) of its superhero TV shows by referencing, re-introducing, and recontextualizing content from over a dozen DC comics-based films, television shows, and other media spanning the past sixty years. The CW Crisis, thus, imitates a transmedia relationship between its assorted narratives as it “unfolds across multiple media platforms” (Jenkins 95). In contrast to a shared universe where multiple narratives converge into one, a transmedia story splits a singular narrative into multiple, often smaller, stories told in different media. The CW creators attempt an amalgam of TSU and transmedia storytelling, taking the disparate narratives of DC’s transmedia properties and converging them in the CW Crisis crossover. Through its continual references to previous DC-licensed texts in different media, the CW Crisis expands the Arrowverse’s TSU into an already-established shared multiverse of transmedia families. Whereas shared universes emphasize an interaction between multiple texts within one medium, and transmedia families emphasize an interaction between one narrative across different media, shared multiverses acknowledge the existence of variant narratives that exist within a shared narrative framework. This chapter explores how the CW Crisis uses intertextual references to produce a crossover event for the Arrowverse while simultaneously commenting on DC comic books, films, and television series. At the same time, in seeking coherence in its shared multiverse continuity, the CW Crisis reveals potential issues in transmedia storytelling. Transmedia storytelling is meant to be an intentionally driven force under a coordinated vision (see Jenkins). However, as multiple authorial forces seek to adapt originating narratives, divergent versions of the same source narrative will appear through different media without any correspondence or connection with each other. While such narratives do not align with the traditional definition of transmedia storytelling, their connection through a shared licensing with a common media company grants them a loose form of continuity that creators may eventually seek to solidify into a more formal transmedia family. Transmedia storytelling and shared universes may be intentionally developed in retrospect as a form of “clean up.”

The CW’s Crisis on Infinite Earths and the Shared Multiverse

145

The shared multiverse perspective provides both solution and crisis to issues of continuity. Rather than attempting to cohere incompatible versions of a narrative into a singular storyline, the shared multiverse allows for these divergent or discontinuous stories to exist separately within a larger shared mega-narrative: each divergent narrative or even shared universe exists separate from others, only intertextually and economically related due to the copyright holder’s interest in the material. A lack of intentionality with adaptations can create texts that have a weak, if not non-existent, continuity between narratives based on the same source text. While a transmedia shared multiverse has become one remedy to unite this multitude of media representations of comic book adaptations, such as the MCU, purist definitions of transmedia storytelling have since given way to other looser concepts like transfictionality, which allows for a relationship to form between texts without the need for a coordinating force. Traditionally, transfictionality is used to establish a relationship or continuity between narratives by examining how a text expands, modifies, or transposes key elements of another narrative. However, in examining transfictional relationships, difference and lack of continuity is required for a media relationship to be considered technically transfictional. Transfictionality actually requires difference and lack of continuity, paradoxically making discontinuity a prime factor in establishing continuity. Placing transfictionality within a transmedia framework for the Arrowverse TSU, and its preceding franchise relatives, allows for a critique of transmedia storytelling, as well addressing more recent amendments to transmedia theory that have developed as solutions in response to the increasing complexity of media franchising based upon the comic book medium. In complicating the CW Crisis crossover event as reflecting a transmedia shared multiverse, this chapter suggests the shared multiverse provides the most tenable solution to redeem retrospective multimedia endeavors.

DC SHARED UNIVERSES The DC comics shared universe (CSU) evolved from an anthology comic book All Star Comics which combined from two companies: All-American Comics and National Comics. Starting with issue #3 in 1940, All Star Comics brought All-American superheroes like the Flash and the Green Lantern together with National Comics characters like the Sandman and the Spectre. These superheroes had their solitary comics titles but also formed a supergroup, coming together in a comics shared universe. This supergroup became known as the Justice Society of America and would share adventures until 1951 when sales of superhero genre comic books began to diminish.

146

Chris McGunnigle

The superhero genre, however, was later revitalized in what would be called the Silver Age of Comics. Showcase #4 (1956), written by Robert Kanigher, is seen as a starting point for the Silver Age with the presentation of a new Flash. In the Golden Age of Comics (1930s–1950s), the Flash was a college student named Jay Garrick who gained super-speed after inhaling hard water vapor. The new Flash, forensic scientist Barry Allen gained super-speed after being splashed with chemicals and struck by lightning. The success of this new Flash led to new versions of other Golden Age DC superheroes. DC Comics writer Gardner Fox explained the relationship between the Golden and Silver Age heroes in The Flash #123 story titled “Flash of Two Worlds” (1961) when Allen is transported to another Earth where Garrick lives. The superheroes of the Golden Age existed on a parallel Earth that was later dubbed Earth-2 while their Silver Age successors lived on Earth-1.1 Thus, the shared universe of the Justice Society became a shared multiverse. The comic “Flash of Two Worlds” was also the start of DC’s continuity problems. Andrew Friedenthal defines comics continuity as “the meta-narrative created out of the sum total of meetings, relationships, battles, births, deaths, and other twists of plot and characterization that have taken place within that universe.” To maintain a coherent shared universe, DC needed to ensure each narrative composing the entirety of its shared universe coordinated with all other narratives. The designation of this shared universe as a shared multiverse served to handle this monumental task of continuity. If a problem occurred where narratives contradict each other, then a new parallel universe could be created to explain such discrepancies. While DC’s shared multiverse allowed it greater creative freedom in resolving continuity issues, the shared universe eventually became a detriment. According to Friedenthal, “the amount of Earths that creators, editors, and fans needed to keep track of became so large as to be intimidating to new readers and confusing even to longtime DC followers.” The increasing confusion caused by the ever-expanding growth of DC’s shared multiverse merited an adjustment, leading to the crossover event Crisis on Infinite Earths: “Crisis was thus pitched to readers [. . .] as a salve to the supposedly overwhelming complexity of DC’s multiverse” (Guynes 182). At the same time, the DC Crisis comic book mini-series served as a springboard for multimedia franchising. DC and Warner Brothers executives saw more “franchising potential [with] a simplified, streamlined, and easily accessible set of stories and characters set in one universe consistent across all DC titles” as a means to improve “crossover sales between the comics and newly franchised television shows or toys” while also becoming “a launching point for greater levels of intra-industrial franchising” (Guynes 183). DC’s initiative, thus, was not only a matter of storytelling but economics: Crisis

The CW’s Crisis on Infinite Earths and the Shared Multiverse

147

would clean up continuity, sell more comic books, and promote future television shows. Despite DC’s impetus in straightening out its narrative coherence in its CSU, that coherence did not apply to other aspects of the larger transmedia family as various movie franchises and television shows were launched without intentional relationships built into them. Michael Keaton’s Batman did not seem aware of Christopher Reeve’s Superman. Even more recently, the five core television shows that compose the Arrowverse were not built strategically as a TSU. Arrow began on The CW in 2012, followed by spin-off The Flash in 2014—and Supergirl premiered a year later on CBS, with no clear connection to The CW shows. Indeed, at the time, “[DC’s] plans for continuity appear not to extend to television presently; DC has several series lined up for the Fall 2014 television season, though only two will appear on the same network with definitive continuity between series, the others are expected to be fragmented between time periods and networks” (Nader 74–75). In 2016 Supergirl and The Flash crossed over despite being on different networks. Later that year, Supergirl moved to The CW, formally folding it into the slowly forming Arrowverse. However, DC firmly established Supergirl as being from a different universe as Arrow and The Flash, dubbed Earth-38 or Earth-CBS. Almost from the start, then, the Arrowverse TSU became a shared multiverse. The shared multiverse of the Arrowverse continued to grow but with further complications. For example, Black Lightning, which premiered on The CW in 2017, was firmly established as not being part of the Arrowverse. Problems in copyright licensing repeatedly limited the Black Lightning character from being used in multiple DC-based media (Morse). As a different example, in 2015, a year after NBC canceled Constantine, Matt Ryan, who played the titular character John Constantine, appeared in Arrow as Constantine. Although the show Constantine did not switch networks, Constantine became a regular in multiple Arrowverse shows, integrating the character, and implicitly the show, into the Arrowverse TSU. In addition, other DC-licensed shows were continually in production outside of the Arrowverse on other networks. Of DC’s sixteen television shows running contemporaneously with the Arrowverse, only five were in the TSU (see Table 9.1). As with the discontinuity of DC’s pre-Crisis multiverse, this scattering of DC-licensed media across multiple networks could provide the potential for creative and economic renewal. Acknowledging DC’s assorted transmedia family gave the creators behind the CW Crisis the opportunity to integrate errant narratives produced across multiple television networks and media and, thus, increase viewership through the nostalgia of alluding to older narratives.

Series

The CW The CW CBS / The CW The CW The CW

Network

Arrowverse 2012–2020 2014–2023 2015–2021 2016–2022 2019–2022

Air Date Gotham Constantine Lucifer Preacher Black Lightning Titans Krypton Swamp Thing Pennyworth Stargirl

Series

Network

Non-Arrowverse Fox NBC Fox AMC The CW DC Universe / HBO Max SyFy HBO Max Epix / HBO Max The CW

Live-action DC-based television shows airing concurrently with the Arrowverse

Arrow The Flash Supergirl DC’s Legends of Tomorrow Batwoman

Table 9.1 

2014–2019 2014–2015 2016–2021 2016–2019 2017–2021 2018–2023 2018–2019 2019 2019–2022 2020–2022

Air Date

The CW’s Crisis on Infinite Earths and the Shared Multiverse

149

RETROACTIVE INTENTIONALITY IN THE CW CRISIS As part of his definition of transmedia storytelling, Henry Jenkins adds an important qualifier that makes—transmedia storytelling’s definition unstable. In “Transmedia Storytelling 101,” Jenkins writes, transmedia storytelling “represents a process where integral elements of a fiction get dispersed systematically across multiple delivery channels for the purpose of creating a unified and coordinated entertainment experience.” If transmedia storytelling was defined simply as a transmedia relationship between texts, there would be little problem in its definition; the unified narrative that Jenkins promotes, however, rarely occurs, especially with comic book adaptations spread across decades of productions. Within the general concept of transmedia storytelling, intention is a major factor in how a transmedia narrative unfolds. True transmedia storytelling, according to Jenkins, needs to strategically plan for the dissemination of its messaging across various channels at the time that the transmedia campaign is created. However, transmedia families can form unintentionally as different creators adapt source narratives directly unconnected to previous adaptations of the original narrative. Such transmedia families are especially prominent in narratives that have unfolded over long periods of time. For example, the numerical designations for each parallel universe depicted in the CW Crisis connects the narrative to the year in which it was first produced: 1966, 1989, 1990, 1992, 1996, 1999, 2006, 2018, and so forth. Narratives range from a year apart to over half a century between transmedia relatives. Because these forms of transmedia adaptations are not coordinated, they do not fall into the strict definition of transmedia storytelling that Jenkins promotes. A loose continuity, however, can form in retrospect rather than with prospective intentionality. In interviews with the CW Crisis creator Marc Guggenheim, much of his testament shows a lack of original intention in the implementation of the Arrowverse and DC’s licensing history (Ferguson). As Arrow became successful, the intentions changed to a multiversal, transmedia perspective, resulting in the Arrowverse TSU. Given retrospective intentionality, a key issue in Jenkins’ definition of transmedia storytelling which needs to be reconciled involves the coordination of transmedia family members to create a unified effect; that is, if creators plan to make a transmedia story or not. With the variety of creative forces involved spread across long periods of time, transmedia coordination is rather difficult to achieve. Felix Brinker argues a transmedia narrative “unfolds in a dynamic interaction with the audience and its demands, and not as something that is centrally planned and executed” (216). To implement creative and economic goals, the creators behind the CW Crisis crossover presented nearly two dozen transmedia texts in different

150

Chris McGunnigle

degrees of sharing. The CW Crisis event brought together the characters of the official Arrowverse TSU while also referring to the longer history of DC adaptations, building upon a history of transmedia storytelling involving DC-licensed superheroes. The first episode of the crossover event , Supergirl (S5E9),, for example, begins with a montage of transmedia universes in segregated snippets, starting with a scene with Alexander Knox from the 1989 Tim Burton Batman movie (identified as Earth-892) followed by Robin and Hawk from the HBO Max Titans live action series (Earth-93), the Ray from the Arrowverse continuity who resides in an alternate universe (Earth-X), and Burt Ward who played Robin in the 1960s Batman television show (Earth664). None of these characters interact, each residing in their own media universe (i.e., film, online netshow, the Arrowverse television shared multiverse, and a discontinued television series). The lack of interactions between these narratives compared to other characters from different narratives who freely intermingle reveals the nature of these sample storyworlds as separate continuities in their original production despite being a part of the larger DC transmedia family. To understand the CW Crisis adaptation, I consider how three particular DC superheroes with a history of multiple adaptations were handled: Superman, Batman, and The Flash. Superman. This history began with the quintessential superhero, Superman, who’s transmedia narrative began with the shared universe between two comic books narratives (Freeman 217) and expanded to radio, film, and television (see Table 9.2).5 By the 1980s, however, the adaptations did not have the same sense of continuity as Superman’s earlier narratives; for example, Brandon Routh’s 2006 Superman Returns (Bryan Singer) disregards the events of Christopher Reeve’s Superman after 1980’s Superman II (Richard Lester). The arrival of Smallville in 2001 signaled an attempt to handle Superman’s discontinuity. Smallville developers Al Gough and Miles Millar had little familiarity with Superman comic books (Simpson). Gough expressed a balance between continuity and creativity but deliberately invoked and reinforced the same discontinuity that eventually led to a Superman shared multiverse: the emergence of so many Superman iterations, with Smallville another intentional divergence. As a specific point of discontinuity, Millar and Gough firmly established a “No Flights, No Tights” rule where Superman would neither wear the iconic costume nor fly (Simpson 12). In imposing this rule, Millar and Gough are deconstructing elements of the Superman character that have helped define him. Despite the fresh perspective of Smallville, its narrative frequently invoked scenes from the Reeve’s Superman movie, as well as having Reeve guest star in the series. For example, Jonathan Kent tells Clark Kent, “You were meant for much more important things than winning football games” (S1E3, 10:38– 10:43). In Superman, he tells Clark that his purpose “is not to score touchdowns.” In Smallville, Jonathan lapses into a coma (S1E15, 31:18–31:21),

The CW’s Crisis on Infinite Earths and the Shared Multiverse Table 9.2 

151

DC-licensed superhero adaptations

Superman 1939: Comics 1940: Radio, The Adventures of Superman 1941: Film, Superman 1952: Television 1966: Television, The New Adventures of Superman 1973: Television, Super Friends 1978: Film, Superman

Batman 1939: Comics 1943: Film, Batman 1949: Film, Batman and Robin 1966: Television, Batman 1966: Film, Batman 1973: Television, Super Friends 1989: Film, Batman

1978: Video game, Superman 1992: Film, Batman Returns 1980: Film, Superman II 1992: Television, Batman: The Animated Series 1983: Film, Superman III 1993: Film, Batman: Mask of the Phantasm 1987: Film, Superman IV: 1995: Film, Batman The Quest for Peace Forever 1988: Television, Superboy 1997: Film, Batman & Robin 1999: Television, Batman 1993: Television, Lois Beyond & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman 1996: Television, Superman: 2001: Television, Justice The Animated Series League 2001: Television, Justice 2004: Television, Justice League League Unlimited 2001: Television, Smallville 2005: Film, Batman Begins 2004: Television, Justice 2008: Film, The Dark League Unlimited Knight 2006: Film, Superman 2008: Television, Batman: Returns The Brave and the Bold 2013: Film, Man of Steel 2012: Film: The Dark Knight Rises 2016: Film, Batman v. 2014: Television, Gotham Superman: Dawn of Justice 2017: Film, Justice League 2016: Film, Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice 2021: Television, Superman 2017: Film, Justice League & Lois 2022: Film, The Batman

The Flash 1940: Comics 1973: Television, Super Friends 1990: Television, The Flash 2001: Television, Justice League 2004: Television, Justice League Unlimited 2014: Television, The Flash 2017: Film, Justice League 2023: Film, The Flash

152

Chris McGunnigle

during which Clark comments, “With all my abilities, there’s nothing I can do” (33:40–33:43). He paraphrases a line from Superman that Clark utters after his father dies from a heart attack: “All those things I can do. All those powers. And I couldn’t even save him” (33:06–33:16). In one of several times when Superman saves Lois Lane from a helicopter in Smallville (S8E5, 40:02–40:05), he comments, “Statistically speaking, this is the safer way to travel”—a line directly taken from the Superman movie (1:10:10–1:10:15). While the creators behind Smallville may not have started out with intentions to create a transmedia extension of the Superman narrative, they did intentionally interweave the Smallville narrative with that of the Superman films so that the two media form an intertextual relationship. Smallville did not exist in the Arrowverse, yet in the brainstorming stages of the CW Crisis, Arrowverse showrunner Marc Guggenheim specifically addresses the need for Smallville to occur in the Arrowverse to create a larger shared universe narrative and to provide closure to the Smallville narrative itself (Agard “Erica”). Thus, Guggenheim established a connection between Smallville and the Arrowverse that did not exist at the formation of either narration. This retroactive intentional continuity demonstrates a counterpoint to the need for prospective intentionality in the development of transmedia storytelling and shared universes. This retroactive intentionality helps define and explain the CW Crisis as a crossover event that transcends the Arrowverse TSU. Rather than trying to smooth over continuity issues between Smallville and the Arrowverse, the CW Crisis uses the shared multiverse as a remedy, placing Smallville in another universe. This shared multiverse allows for Smallville to have its own narrative outside of its transmedia subservience to the Superman mythos. Specifically, in Batwoman, Superman’s arch-nemesis, Lex Luthor, is traveling the multiverse to kill the Superman of each Earth (S1E9). When he arrives the Smallville universe (referred to as Earth-1676), he encounters that universe’s version of Clark Kent, played by Tom Welling. When Luthor holds up a piece of kryptonite to disable Welling-Clark, he takes it, considers it with a grimace, and throws it away. At some point after the end of the Smallville, Welling-Clark gave up his powers, married Lois, and had a family. Guggenheim affirms that Clark did become Superman, demonstrated in Daily Planet articles written by Lois on Superman’s adventures (Johnson). However, despite Clark’s eventual adventures as Superman, the implications of his foregoing his abilities profoundly disturbs the Superman continuity. For Welling-Clark to give up his powers effectively ends the Superman narrative. Guggenheim needed to include the affirmation of Lois Lane’s Superman articles to remove such continuity anxiety. Prior to the CW Crisis, any of these outcomes would disrupt Smallville’s place within Superman continuity; the shared multiverse gives the Smallville narrative the freedom to pursue its own ending rather than face limitations due to the larger transmedia family.

The CW’s Crisis on Infinite Earths and the Shared Multiverse

153

In the same episode where the Arrowverse crosses over with Smallville, the trio of Iris West-Allen, Lois Lane, and Clark Kent (played by Tyler Hoechlin from Supergirl) travel to Earth-967 where the Superman is played by Brandon Routh. The CW Crisis, however, questions whether Routh-Clark in the crossover event is the same one from Superman Returns and thus connected to the already discontinuous Reeve-Routh film franchise. On Earth-96, Routh-Clark serves as editor-in-chief of The Daily Planet newspaper in a plotline drawn directly from Mark Waid and Alex Ross’s 1996 limited series Kingdom Come. When Routh-Clark switches into his Superman costume, his altered chest icon—a non-curvy red S-shield on a black background—is the same icon used in Kingdom Come. The CW’s connection with the Reeve-Routh continuity highlights the issue of what narrative details create continuity links, especially between different media. For example, after Routh’s Superman fights Hoechlin’s Superman, Routh-Superman comments: “Actually, this is the second time I’ve gone nuts and fought myself” (29:50–29:54), referring to the events of Superman III (Richard Lester, 1983) where Reeve as Superman fights an evil doppelganger. Upon seeing the son of Hoechlin-Superman and Lois, RouthSuperman comments, “He looks just like my son Jason” (35:44–33:46), referencing Jason White, the son of Lois Lane and Superman in Superman Returns. Each comment stitches the Reeve-Routh continuities together, integrates them with Kingdom Come, and produces a complicated narrative universe. The presence of Routh as Superman is further complicated in the CW Crisis by Routh’s role on Legends of Tomorrow as Ray Palmer, aka The Atom, in an official series in the Arrowverse. Actor-character representation is key to identifying the shared narrative as it is transferred into the context of another narrative (Thon 297). Actor-character iconicity is addressed by characters in The CW Crisis. When Routh-Superman is first encountered in “Crisis on Infinite Earths: Part Two,” Iris comments, “He looks just like Ray Palmer” (23:53–23:56), Palmer himself inquires about the similarities between him and Routh-Superman: Routh-Atom: Do you have a food sensitivity, too? Routh-Superman: No, not that I know of. (33:17–35:23)

The quick conversation reveals that other than appearance, no similarities exist between Routh-Atom and Routh-Superman. The resemblance between the two makes no sense narratively and would not be apparent in other media that do not use actors to represent characters. The resemblance is the result of transmedia flaws in which an actor cast in the role of a DC Universe superhero is cast in the role of another DC Universe superhero, creating a minor continuity crisis when the two universes are shared.

154

Chris McGunnigle

Batman. American superhero comics require their readers to juggle “set[s] of mutually incompatible storyworlds” (Guynes 175). Such incompatibility in shared narratives is a common state created by its shared universe in combination with the indefinite progression of comic book serial narrative. The longer a narrative continues and the more parts it shares, the more unwieldy that narrative becomes. At the same time, this multiplicity of adaptations means “readers may consume multiple versions of the same franchise, each with different conceptions of the character” (Jenkins 20). While transmedia stories can have multiple narratives with iterations that never interact, multiplicity in a transmedia shared multiverse can result in a form of superposition where multiple versions of the same character share the same narrative. The multiverse framework in comics “relies more on what Russell Backman calls ‘essential shared traits’” (as qtd in Brundige 23–24), or what Alex Brundrige refers to as a “source text” that involves “the popular comic texts that have consistently shaped the readers’ understanding of the characters and stories in a time period that is specific to current fans” (5). Within the gradually accumulating continuity of the serial narrative, certain key components of the narrative become “the fundamental characteristics of the heroes, the semantic features that make them what they are and what they will ever be” (Serra 649). With Batman, such features include “Batman’s parents have to die, he has to wear a bat costume, he uses gadgets and innovative equipment due to his wealth, he has no superpowers, and he is driven to fight crime” (Nader 16). Regardless of how Batman appears, these criteria will be consistent in defining who or what Batman is. Erica Haugtvedt warns, “if [serial characters] diverge [in their representation] too much without any plausible explanation, we are justified in considering that individual as a separate being” (529). Because adaptations of the serial superhero comic book rely upon an amalgam of differing source texts—that is, the singular adapted text is composed of multiple but discrete narrative units—their resulting shared multiverse can lose narrative cohesion because of the convergence and discontinuity of the variant versions of the same characters that contribute to the amalgamated narrative. Looking specifically at Batman, with eighty years of continuity under Batman’s utility belt (see Table 9.2), even the most avid fan would struggle to see all dozen Batman movies as one unified narrative. One important discontinuity exists between Adam West’s Batman in the 1960s television show and Michael Keaton’s in the 1989 film Batman: “The cultural remnants of Batman’s campy 1966 television series and his previous animated Super Friends depiction hung heavy around the character. Burton’s film essentially had to reinvent the filmic concept of Batman” (Nader 14). The differences in tone, style, actors, and medium mark these adaptations as radically different texts with potentially different Batmen. Problems of representation continue in 1995’s Batman Forever (Joel Schumacher) with Val Kilmer’s Batman

The CW’s Crisis on Infinite Earths and the Shared Multiverse

155

portrayal under Joel Schumacher’s directing. Despite changes in actor and director, fans assume the Batman of Batman Forever is the same Batman as Batman. To establish its place in this Batman film continuity, Batman Forever begins by introducing core attributes of the Batman narrative: the Batmobile, Bruce Wayne’s butler Alfred (played by Michael Gough in both), the Batman costume, the Batcave, and so forth. However, the film maintains no remnants specific to the Keaton narrative, and Schumacher’s role as director exists in certain stylistic differences, such as the continual presence of LED lights on Batman’s equipment and a black light ambiance in setting and costume design. Although Batman Forever begins by establishing the source text components of the Batman mythos, by the end of the film, the Batcave, Batmobile, and Batman suit are all destroyed, giving rise to a different iteration of each item that distinguishes Schumacher’s Batman from Burton’s. These divergences become more pronounced with Joel Schumacher’s 1997 sequel Batman & Robin, which sees George Clooney replace Val Kilmer as another Batman. Having the same director unites the two films despite the actor change; however, the Bat-suit and Batmobile are remarkably different. To establish continuity, minor nods are made; for example, in both Batman Forever (18:17–18:19) and Batman & Robin (2:22–2:23), different characters comment “Chicks love the car,” referring to the Batmobile. To repair the increasing discontinuity of the Batman narrative, which is made more complicated by a string of cinematic reboots and animated series, the CW Crisis uses the shared multiverse to converge and reject incompatible narratives caused by transmedia issues. Part 2 of the CW Crisis, in Batwoman (S1E9), has its own Batman of Earth-998 played by the Kevin Conroy, who served as voice actor portraying Bruce Wayne/Batman in nearly thirty animated adaptations of Batman stories, including Batman: The Animated Series, Batman Beyond, and Batman: Mask of the Phantasm (Ed Radomski and Bruce Timm, 1993). Casting Conroy as Batman creates a different form of transmedia relationship and character representation, blurring animated and live action universes together. As mentioned, live action media have different manners of visual representation than graphic narrative and animation, relying upon the embodiment of characters by actors which subsequently limits character representation. Conroy’s embodiment never occurs until the CW Crisis; his voice alone unites dozens of Batman animated texts despite their divergent narratives. Although a shared universe typically involves characters from different narratives converging into one story, Conroy embodies variations of the same character that converge into a singular body. In addition, The CW Crisis references the theme of future Batman narratives that hold a special but tenuous place in Batman continuity. An older Batman has become a common theme among Batman narratives like Batman Beyond where an older Bruce Wayne passes the torch to a new younger

156

Chris McGunnigle

Batman. On Earth-99, Conroy-Batman is in his late 60s. Visually, in the crossover, Conroy-Batman uses a mechanical harness to walk that resembles the one worn by Batman in Kingdom Come. As the story progresses, Batman’s proactive approach in killing his rogue’s gallery and other threats invokes Frank Miller’s 1986 comic book The Dark Knight Returns—yet another narrative with an aged Batman. The shared continuity established by the Earth-99 Batman is set up to reject the continuity of these aged Batman variant narratives. Batwoman comments, “The Bruce I knew had a code” (21:26–21:27), insinuating that this Batman’s murderous vigilante spree is too divergent from the source text for the character to be “Batman.” Conroy-Batman’s death at the end of the segment symbolizes a refusal of the legitimacy of this character depiction. Each of the texts represented by an older Batman are not a part of mainstream continuity but rather future tense narratives in reverse of Smallville-style continuity. Whereas Smallville is bound by the continuity of Clark eventually becoming Superman, the position of Batman Beyond and Kingdom Come within the larger Batman transmedia family makes them dependent on the continuity of contemporary Batman narratives, similar to the symbiotic relationship of transmedia children to their parent text. Batman struggles against the pull of future narratives that become invalidated as contemporary continuity progresses. The CW Crisis narrative rejects this amalgamated “what if” continuity in the opposite of a shared universe—yet allows it to exist in a shared multiverse. The Flash. The Flash, in particularly, recognized the potential of a shared universe crisis. Even prior to the introduction of the multiverse at the beginning of Season 2, the show had already made a continuity nod to earlier iterations of the Flash by casting John Wesley Shipp as Barry Allen’s father. One of Shipp’s claims to fame was his role as Barry Allen in the 1990s CBS production of The Flash. The CW’s reboot stands in comparison, then with the narratives established in both the comic books but the live action television predecessor. Casting Shipp alludes to his role for the previous generation to Grant Gustin’s contemporary portrayal of the Flash; in other words, the old Flash is the metaphorical-filmic father to the new Flash. This informal continuity is reinforced when Shipp is also cast as Jay Garrick, the original Golden Age Flash. Even more so, in the CW Crisis, Shipp also once again assumes the role of the 1990s Flash hearkening from Earth-90.9 While the actor-character iconicity invoked by Shipp’s portrayals on The Flash are indirect allusion to Flash meta-continuity, Earth-90 allows for a direct connection between the Flashes of two worlds that addresses the dangling continuity between the CBS and the CW shows. As with Smallville, no intentional sharing of narratives with the Arrowverse could be conceived of in the 1990s production of The Flash, but nonetheless the show was retroactively integrated into the Arrowverse and their dangling plotlines given closure.

The CW’s Crisis on Infinite Earths and the Shared Multiverse

157

Although Smallville, The Flash 1990, and the Arrowverse are in the same television medium, the shared televisual universe formed in the CW Crisis greatly resembles the same piecemeal dynamics of retroactive transmedia storytelling. Narratives can originally exist outside of a transmedia family’s continuity but can later be converged into a shared universe (see Table 9.2). In addition to Smallville and 1990 The Flash, another example is DC’s Extended Universe (DCEU) that presents a cinematic variant of the Flash with Ezra Miller’s depiction of the character in the Batman v. Superman (Zack Snyder, 2016) and Justice League (Zack Snyder, 2017) movies. In Arrow, GustinFlash is traveling through time when he encounters Miller-Flash (S8E8). Here, actor-character representation is vital in recognizing the importance of this encounter as a meeting between Flashes from two different media. Outside of fan service, however, the conversation between the two Flashes serves a greater purpose of identifying and reconciling source text components across multiple media that define the Flash’s character. The first source text component establishing the identity of the Flash is his name. When the two Flashes meet in “Crisis on Infinite Earths: Part Four,” Gustin-Flash introduces himself: Gustin-Flash: I’m also the Flash. Miller-Flash: Wuzzah the what? Gustin-Flash: The Flash? Miller-Flash: The Flash? The Flash. (17.01–17.13)

Within the DCEU narrative, Miller-Flash never actually uses the Flash nom de guerre, undermining the authenticity of his identity. Technically, he is not the Flash. To address this confusion, they instead introduce themselves simultaneously as “I’m Barry Allen” (17:24–17:25). The Flash’s secret identity is just as important as the Flash identity. For example, in her encounter with Batman, Batwoman never refers to him as Batman but as Bruce Wayne. In some ways, this may be a licensing issue but narratively, secret identities like Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, and Barry Allen provide a stable identity across variants; even when the name Flash or Batman or Superman is not used, the secret identity remains to affirm the variant’s identity. Another source text component as a point of comparison is their costumes. After having introduced themselves, they admiringly feel each other’s costume: Miller-Flash: I like your outfit. It seems comfy. Gustin-Flash: Yours is pretty cool. Miller-Flash: Smooth.

158

Chris McGunnigle

Gustin-Flash: It seems safe. Miller-Flash: And breathable. (“Crisis on Infinite Earths: Part Four,” 17:14–17:20)

Although naming is important, visual markers provide more immediately recognizable identification of the character (see Coogan). Since Barry Allen has no distinct visual features, he is recognizable primarily through the actors who represent him; however, because there are now multiple actors playing the same role at the same time, the Flash costume becomes a reinforcement of the character’s (or characters’) identity. In comparing costumes, the two Flashes emphasize different characteristics of their outfit. Differences between iterations serve as important criteria in renegotiating standard definitions of transmedia relationships. Instead of seeing transmedia storytelling as an unfolding of a singular narrative across multiple media, other scholars redefine it as the continual extending of a narrative across different media based upon multiplicity and differences. The term transfictionality, for example, describes “a relation between two distinct texts” by different authors where “the worlds projected by the two texts must be distinct, but related to each other” (Ryan 388–9). Similarity and difference both define a transfictional relationship: a transfictional child must share similarities with its parent text but be different enough to distinguish the two. Transfictionality becomes a sharing device that produces shared multiverses because of required differences. While extension or expansion is one technique creators use in fashioning a transfictional relationship, transposition “preserves the design and the main story of the protoworld but locates it in a different temporal or spatial set” (Ryan 385), exactly in the way a shared multiverse creates a new setting for a character variant. Additionally, displacement “constructs essentially different versions of the protoworld, redesigning its structure and reinventing its story” (Ryan 385). The difference between transposition and displacement is a matter of degree with the three devices frequently working together: extension produces new transmedia/transfictional texts through the transposition and displacement of narratives into new multiverses. Comic book seriality re-defines transmedia storytelling as a serial occurrence where before it simply involved a coordinated narrative relationship between texts of different media (see Bourdaa; Jenkins). Transfictionality describes a different form of seriality, one between multiplicitous texts that share a core narrative. The casting of Miller as the DCEU Flash two years after Gustin began playing the part for the television show created an obvious split between the two media narratives. In the same way that the reboot from the Golden Age Garrick to the Silver Age Allen split the DC universe into two realities, the DCEU expansion divides the Flash narrative along transmedia lines. Whereas previously DC sought to keep separate the two media, demonstrating a corporate aversion to transmedia shared universes, the crossover between the two

The CW’s Crisis on Infinite Earths and the Shared Multiverse

159

shared universes demonstrated more openness from Warner Bros-DC to such multiversal crossovers because they do not require the formation of a single continuity (Agard; McMillan). While a crossover would initialize transmedia relationships and potential shared universes, Warner Bros appears to prefer a push toward creating separated continuities that defies transmedia storytelling’s need for continuity between its family narratives. A certain segregated status quo inevitably seems to occur. Transmedia storytelling, thus, has lost some flavor in favor of transfictional characteristics that emphasize difference and individuality between related or connected narratives. In this light, instead of creating a unified story, the transfictional connection between the two Flashes serves the purpose of keeping DC’s intellectual properties constantly in motion. The shared universe is thus forever extending continuity and discontinuity.

CONCLUSION The ending of The CW’s “Crisis on Infinite Earths” crossover event both upset the status quo and maintained it. The different universes in which the CW’s six superhero dramas took place were merged into one new earth, Earth-Prime. However, while the Arrowverse (and Black Lightning) were combined into one, the multiverse itself was not completely erased. The ending to the crossover event reveals that six more universes were still out there, occupied by other DC-based licensed media: the Stargirl television show (Earth-210); the Green Lantern 2011 movie (Earth-1211); the HBO Max series Swamp Thing (Earth-1912), Titans (Earth-9), and Doom Patrol (Earth-2113); and the earth of Brandon Routh’s Superman Returns (Earth-96). Economic concerns took precedence over narrative continuity due to corporate anxieties about the potential for licensed media involved being damaged in the original Crisis narrative (Russell). The same executive forces that lead to the discontinuity of the shared multiverse still maintained their power despite the spotlight on this issue. DC’s experimentation with shared universes in both their comic books and their transmedia adaptations constructs, deconstructs, and reconstructs what a shared universe can mean. A shared universe typically involves multiple narratives that exist independently of each other but which eventually converge to share elements of their setting, characters, and other story features. Typically, shared universes occur between narratives in the same medium, but the rise of transmedia enterprises that spread a narrative over multiple media have enabled stories to intertwine across multiple platforms. However, a crucial definitional component of shared universe is that they possess some form ontological continuity—the shared narrative makes logical sense—but this cohesion can be lost. Various temporal, economic, and cultural factors can affect the continuity of a shared universe. The longer a narrative continues,

160

Chris McGunnigle

the more complicated it gets; sharing multiple long-running narratives multiplies these complications. Furthermore, copyright issues can limit the sharing of a particular narrative, while economic drives will lead to more sharing that further over-complicates the shared narrative. And then there is still the issue of transmedia relationships. Transmedia storytelling means to present a singular narrative spread across multiple media, but transmedia narratives frequently lose cohesion from lack of intentional design, over-extension of a narrative across long periods of time, intellectual property rights, and other complications. The shared multiverse, where incongruent narratives are displaced into separate story universes that are part of a larger shared narrative, is an approach to remedy transmedia contradictions and incongruity. DC’s Crisis on Infinite Earths is a perfect precursor to the CW Crisis’s transmedia problems. The original Crisis proclaimed that what was originally one became many: a singular universe split into the multiverse. Near the end of the original Crisis, as the multiverse coheres back into one, what had been many became one. Transmedia storytelling takes a singular narrative and divides it into many, while the shared universe takes multiple narratives and converges them into one. In their approaches, transmedia storytelling and shared universes seem the opposite, but each entails a relationship between multiple narratives that can become convoluted. DC’s shared universe allowed the company’s superhero stories to flourish creatively and economically, as each narrative promoted each other and built the complexity of the shared universe. But this same world-building over-complicated the shared universe to the point where it became unapproachable to new readers. Transmedia stories likewise suffer from similar degrading. A transmedia storytelling family seeks to be a coherent and coordinated mega-narrative where individual storyworlds build into a larger narrative. This coordinating force, however, is rarely present. The Marvel Cinematic Universe is an example with The Avengers (Joss Whedon, 2012) movie establishing a shared universe from other Marvel films. However, what is ignored in these shared universe adaptations is the various obstacles and stumbling blocks that occur before a true transmedia shared universe can be created from a previous shared universe. The MCU was fraught with problems because of earlier successes and setbacks in adapting Marvel intellectual property. For example, Marvel was originally unable to use many of the company’s intellectual properties such as Spider-Man because these IPs were licensed to other production companies. In addition, Marvel’s transmedia endeavors did not gain their momentum until over 10 years after the Marvel Cinematic Universe started. Although the television shows Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Agent Carter were released in 2012, Marvel’s television series on Disney+ did not firmly begin until 2021, roughly the same time in which

The CW’s Crisis on Infinite Earths and the Shared Multiverse

161

its multiverse was introduced. Transmedia storytelling and mega-structure franchises do not always begin as transmedia storyworlds that simultaneously release narratives across different media. While traditional definitions of transmedia storytelling require intentionality at the establishment of the franchise, the realities of how transmedia storytelling unfolds demonstrates that retrospective intentionality is as much a part of transmedia storytelling as is prospective design. Not an original characteristic of the superhero comic book medium, the shared multiverse was introduced to repair issues of continuity. Continuity was deemed valuable at all levels of comic book composition and consumption, including writers, artists, fans, and corporate producers. The multiverse, as a disjointed collection of shared narratives, however, ended up creating more complications than it resolved, with The Crisis on Infinite Earths comic book seeking to repair DC’s over-shared universe. Three decades later, as DC’s licensed intellectual properties spread throughout multiple media, the CW Crisis served a similar purpose to unite DC’s disparate media adaptations without any sharing of universes. Had DC began its licensing with transmedia intentions, such repair would have been unnecessary, but such a revelation comes only in retrospect. The CW Crisis provides a specific example of how generalized transmedia storytelling and shared universes have evolved as more complex media convergences occur.

NOTES 1. Although the superheroes of Earth-2 preceded their Silver Age counterparts, the Earth where the superheroes of the Silver Age existed was called Earth-1 to reflect their position as the mainstream narrative in DC’s comic book publications. 2. Comic creator John Trumbull points out and reaffirms that Earth-89 is obviously named for the year in which the Tim Burton directed movie Batman was released. 3. In an Instagram post, Marc Guggenheim reveals that Earth-9 was originally referred to as “Earth-18” for the year Titans was released: 2018. 4. The Batman TV show with Adam West and Burt Ward first aired in 1966. 5. This table encapsulates the most mainstream adaptations, as many more exist in animation. The table also only includes adaptations where the superhero is a main character. 6. According to a Tweet by Marc Guggenheim, the number 167 is a nod to the Crisis’s producer Alfred Gough, who was born in 1967. 7. Comic artist John Trumbull establishes in a Tweet that 96 refers to 1996, the year Kingdom Come was published. 8. 1999 is the year Batman Beyond premiered. 9. The Flash TV show with John Wesley Shipp as the Flash premiered in 1990.

162

Chris McGunnigle

10. The setting of Stargirl is considered the television version of Earth-2 where the Justice Society of America reside. 11. It isn’t clear why this earth is Earth-12 since the Green Lantern movie was released in 2011. It may be because Earth-11 already exists in DC’s comic book continuity. 12. 2019 is the year in which the Swamp Thing series was released. 13. The Doom Patrol series premiered in 2019 so it is not clear why this earth was designated Earth-21.

REFERENCES Agard, Chancellor. “Crisis on Infinite Earths bosses unpack The Flash’s sacrifice and that emotional footage.” Entertainment Weekly, 11 Dec. 2019, https://ew​.com​/tv​ /2019​/12​/11​/crisis​-on​-infinite​-earths​-the​-flash​-earth​-90​-death. — — —. “Erica Durance on the ‘bizarre’ Smallville reunion in Crisis on Infinite Earths.” Entertainment Weekly, 21 Nov. 2019, https://ew​.com​/tv​/2019​/11​/21​/crisis​ -on​-infinite​-earths​-smallville​-erica​-durance​-preview. — — —. “Greg Berlanti says pandemic will have an impact on the next Arrowverse crossover.” Entertainment Weekly, 22 Aug. 2020, https://ew​.com​/tv​/greg​-berlanti​ -arrowverse​-crossover​-pandemic. “Apocalypse.” Smallville, directed by Tom Welling, season 7, episode 18, Warner Brothers Television, 2008. Batman & Robin. Directed by Joel Schumacher, performances by George Clooney, Chris O’Donnell, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Uma Thurman, and Alicia Silverstone, Warner Bros., 1997. Batman Forever. Directed by Joel Schumacher, performances by Val Kilmer, Tommy Lee Jones, Jim Carrey, Nicole Kidman, and Chris O’Donnell, Warner Bros., 1997. Bourdaa, Mélanie. “From one medium to the next: How comic books create richer storylines.” M/C Journal, vol. 21 no. 1, 2018, http://doi​.org​/10​.5204​/mcj​.1355. Brinker, Felix. “Transmedia storytelling in the ‘Marvel Cinematic Universe’ and the logics of convergence-era popular seriality.” Make Ours Marvel: Media convergence and a comics universe. Edited by Matt Yockey, U Chicago P, 2017: 207–33. Brundige, Alex. “The rise of Marvel and DC’s transmedia superheroes: Comic book adaptations, fanboy auteurs, and guiding fan reception.” MA Thesis, The University of Western Ontario, 2015. Coogan, Peter. Superhero: The secret origin of a genre. MonkeyBrain Books, 2006. “Committed.” Smallville, directed by Glen Winter, season 8, episode 5, Warner Brothers Television, 2010. “Crisis on Infinite Earths: Part One.” Supergirl, directed by Jesse Warn, season 5, episode 9, Warner Brothers Television, 2019. “Crisis on Infinite Earths: Part Two.” Batwoman, directed by Laura Belsey, season 1, episode 9, Warner Brothers Television, 2019. “Crisis on Infinite Earths: Part Three.” The Flash, directed by David McWhirter, season 6, episode 9, Warner Brothers Television, 2019.

The CW’s Crisis on Infinite Earths and the Shared Multiverse

163

“Crisis on Infinite Earths: Part Four.” Arrow, directed by Glen Winter, season 8, episode 8, Warner Brothers Television, 2020. “Crisis on Infinite Earths: Part Five.” Legends of Tomorrow, directed by Gregory Smith, season 5, special episode. Warner Brothers Television, 2020. “Exposed.” Smallville, directed by Jeannot Szwarc, season 5, episode 6, Warner Brothers Television, 2005. Ferguson, LaToya. “Crisis on Infinite Earths: Showrunner Marc Guggenheim on plotting the CW’s six-show crossover event.” IndieWire, 6 Dec. 2019, https:// www​.indiewire​.com​/2019​/12​/marc​-guggenheim​-interview​-crisis​-on​-infinite​-earths​ -arrow​-cw​-1202194754. Fox, Gardner (w), and Everett E. Hibbard (a). All-Star Comics, vol. 1, no. 3, DC Comics, 1940. Fox, Gardner (w), and Carmine Infantino (a). “The Flash of Two Worlds.” The Flash, vol. 1, no. 123, DC Comics, 1961. Freeman, Matthew. “Up, up, and across: Superman, the Second World War and the historical development of transmedia storytelling.” Historical Journal of Film, Radio, and Television, vol. 35 no. 2, 2015: 215–39. Friedenthal, Andrew J. “Monitoring the past: DC Comics’ Crisis on Infinite Earths and the narrativization of comic book history.” ImageTexT: Interdisciplinary Comics Studies, vol. 6 no. 2, 2012: http://imagetextjournal​.com​/monitoring​-the​ -past​-dc​-comics​-crisis​-on​-infinite​-earths​-and​-the​-narrativization​-of​-comic​-book​ -history. Guggenheim, Marc (mguggenheim). “It’s a nod to Al Gough.” 9 Dec. 2019, 9:33 PM. Tweet. — — —. Picture of DC pitch board for the CW’s Crisis on Infinite Earths. Instagram, 19 Jan. 2020, https://www​.instagram​.com​/p​/B7g8iIYAfzl/. Guynes, Sean. “Worlds will live, worlds will die: Crisis on Infinite Earths and the anxieties and calamities of the comic-book event.” Inks: The Journal of the Comics Studies Society, vol. 3 no. 2, 2019: 171–90. Haugtvedt, Erica. “The Victorian serial novel and transfictional character.” Victorian Studies, vol. 59 no. 3, 2017: 409–19. “Homecoming.” Smallville, directed by Jeannot Szwarc, season 10, episode 4, Warner Brothers Television, 2010. “Hothead.” Smallville, directed by Greg Beeman, season 1, episode 3, Warner Brothers Television, 2001. Jenkins, Henry. Convergence Culture: Where old and new media collide. New York UP, 2006. — — —. “‘Just men in tights’: Rewriting Silver Age comics in an era of multiplicity.” The Contemporary Comic Book Superhero, edited by Angela Ndalianis, Routledge, 2009: 16–43. — — —. “Transmedia Storytelling 101.” Henry Jenkins, 22 Mar. 2007, http://henryjenkins​.org​/blog​/2007​/03​/transmedia​_storytelling​_101​.html. Johnson, Jim. “Crisis showrunner reveals why Smallville’s Clark Kent removed his powers.” Comic Book Resources, 27 Mar. 2020, https://www​.cbr​.com​/crisis​-infinite​-earths​-smallville​-tom​-welling​-superman​-powers.

164

Chris McGunnigle

Kanigher, Robert (w), and Carmine Infantino (a). “Mystery of the Human Thunderbolt!” Showcase, vol. 1, no. 4, DC Comics, 1956. Maloney, Michael. “Inside secrets of the Crisis on Infinite Earths Arrowverse crossover.” TV Insider, 10 Dec. 2019, https://www​.tvinsider​.com​/839298​/inside​-secrets​ -of​-the​-crisis​-on​-infinite​-earths​-arrowverse​-crossover. “The Man Who Saved Central City.” The Flash, directed by Ralph Hemecker, season 2, episode 1, Warner Brothers Television, 2015. McMillian, Graeme. “DC’s Flash meeting opens door to more TV, movie crossovers.” The Hollywood Reporter, 22 Aug. 2020, https://www​.hollywoodreporter​ .com​/movies​/movie​-features​/dcs​-flash​-meeting​-opens​-door​-to​-more​-tv​-movie​ -crossovers​-4049402. Morse, Ben. “Lightning rod: How Black Lightning hurdled racism, knockoffs and wars between creators to become the new powerhouse of Justice League of America,” Wizard Universe, 3 Mar. 2007, http://www​.wizarduniverse​.com​/magazine​/ wizard​/003717774​.cfm. Nader, Alex. “‘Infinite Earths’: Crossmedia adaptation and the development of continuity in the DC Animated Universe.” MA Thesis. Bowling Green University, 2015. “Nicodemus.” Smallville, directed by James Marshall, season 1, episode 15, Warner Brothers Television, 2002. “Rosetta.” Smallville, directed by James Marshall, season 2, episode 17, Warner Brothers Television, 2003. Russell, Steve. “Arrowverse’s post-Crisis multiverse was the result of a ‘good compromise.’” Comic Book Resources, 28 Mar. 2020, https://www​.cbr​.com​/arrowverse​ -post​-crisis​-multiverse​-result​-of​-compromise. Ryan, Marie-Laure. “Transfictionality across media.” In Theorizing Narrativity, edited by John Pier and José Angel García Landa, Walter de Gruyter, 2008: 385–418. Serra, Marcello. “Historical and mythical time in the Marvel and DC series.” The Journal of Popular Culture, vol. 49 no. 3, 2016: 646–59. Simpson, Paul. Smallville: The official companion Season 1. Titan Books, 2004. Superman. Directed by Richard Donner, performances by Christopher Reeve, Margot Kidder, Gene Hackman, and Marlon Brando, Dovemead, 1978. Thon, Jan-Noël. “Transmedial narratology revisited: On the intersubjective construction of storyworlds and the problem of representational correspondence in films, comics, and video games.” Narrative, vol. 25 no. 3, 2017: 286–320. Tran, Vincent. “The superhero fallacy: Expanding the horizon of shared universe research.” Forthcoming. Trumbull, John (TrumbullComic). “Earth-38 = 1938, Superman’s debut. Earth-89 = 1989, Batman movie. Earth-75 = Superman #75. Earth-96 = 1996, Kingdom Come. I get all of those, but WHY Earth-167? This is driving me nuts. #CrisisOnInifiteEarths.” 9 Dec. 2019, 9: 26 pm. Tweet. Wolfman, Marv (w), and George Pérez (a). “The Summoning.” Crisis on Infinite Earths, vol. 1, no. 1, DC Comics, 1985. — — —. “Aftershock.” Crisis on Infinite Earths, no. 1, no. 11, DC Comics, 1986.

Chapter 10

The Institutional Basis of the One Chicago Universe Melina Meimaridis

On February 27, 2020, NBC announced the renewal of Chicago Fire (NBC, 2012–present) and its spin-offs, Chicago P.D. (NBC, 2014–present) and Chicago Med (NBC, 2015–present), each for three more seasons. These shows are part of the One Chicago universe, which also includes Chicago Justice (NBC, 2017). Each series, executive produced by Dick Wolf, focuses on the work of public servants from the fire, police, and emergency services, as well as the Cook County State’s Attorney’s Office. Although each drama follows a separate institution, the One Chicago Universe is based on spin-offs set in the same location, the televisual city of Chicago. This allows characters from each series to cross paths and form professional or personal connections. Through their shared institutions and the continuity between the texts, borders are established between the four shows, thus forming an interwoven universe. This process highlights the interconnectedness of the shows and reinforces their distinct yet complementary identities within the overarching narrative framework. On October 10, 2012, NBC premiered Chicago Fire, a drama created by Michael Brandt and Derek Haas. They pitched the show as “ER in a firehouse” (Chozick), and it follows the firefighters and paramedics of Chicago’s Firehouse 51. The nature of their work frequently brings them into contact with police officers and doctors, creating opportunities for the show to expand beyond the firehouse setting. In fact, the first season of Chicago Fire introduced the work of Chicago’s police force, particularly in the episode “Let Her Go” (S1E23). This episode served as a backdoor pilot1 for Chicago P.D. On January 8, 2014, NBC premiered Chicago P.D., a police drama created by Dick Wolf and Matt Olmstead that follows officers from Chicago’s 21st District and investigators from its Intelligence Unit. During the first season, the show included several small crossovers with Chicago Fire, building on 165

166

Melina Meimaridis

pre-existing characters and connections from the fictional city. For example, characters from Chicago Fire would appear in guest roles, or events from one show would be referenced in the other. These crossovers helped to establish a shared universe that extended beyond the individual shows. While the police and fire departments worked together to make Chicago safer, they often needed a location to transport victims and survivors. This allowed the shared universe to expand once again. Chicago Med premiered on NBC on November 17, 2015. This medical drama, which was also created by Dick Wolf and Matt Olmstead, had its origins in a backdoor pilot episode of Chicago Fire (“I Am the Apocalypse,” S3E19). The show centers on the staff of Gaffney Chicago Medical Center’s emergency room. Chicago Justice, a legal drama also created by Wolf, became the newest addition to the shared universe on March 1, 2017. The show began as a backdoor pilot in an episode of Chicago P.D. (“Justice,” S3E21), but was canceled after only one season. Nevertheless, the One Chicago universe continues to hold a significant position within the network’s programming, with its presence spanning the primetime Wednesday evening lineup. Shared universes are sometimes established with a common televisual city at their core, such as New York in Law and Order (NBC, 1990–2010, 2022–present) and Law and Order: SVU (NBC, 1999–present). Other shared worlds, such as CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (CBS, 2000–2015), CSI: Miami (CBS, 2002–2012), and CSI: New York (CBS, 2004–2013), or 9-1-1 (FOX, 2018–present) and 9-1-1: Lone Star (FOX, 2020–present), have similar institutions in different cities. In contrast, the Chicago universe concentrates on various institutions in the same city, with individuals readily linking from one program to the next. Although not unique to the Chicago franchise (for example, the shared universe of Grey’s Anatomy [ABC, 2005–present] and Station 19 [ABC, 2018–present]), this universe is one of the longestenduring experiences of a shared universe in U.S. television history, spanning over a decade and four separate scripted series. This chapter delves into the institutional underpinnings that shape this shared world through the analysis of a three-part crossover that significantly deepens the franchise’s universe. The argument is that the universe’s consistency is driven by a shared institutional outlook. The One Chicago shows offer a distinct perspective on the city and its institutions, depicting them as fallible yet indispensable elements of society. Despite their flaws, the doctors, firefighters, police, and prosecutors are portrayed as tirelessly performing their duties. This shared institutional perspective reinforces a conservative view of law and justice and serves as a unifying thread across all four programs. Additionally, this perspective is rooted in a strong group identity—the characters see themselves as Chicago’s institutions, despite

The Institutional Basis of the One Chicago Universe

167

the stigma associated with their “dirty work” (Hughes, “Work and” 319). By emphasizing the importance of these institutions’ dirty work and their position in society, the shows underscore their vital role in the functioning of the city. The focus on strong institutions combating threats to Chicagoans, viewed through a conservative lens, is the cohesive theme that unites this shared universe. It reflects the importance of preserving traditional values and social stability through strong institutions, more so than any crossover event.

THE ONE CHICAGO UNIVERSE The One Chicago universe is comprised of four distinct institutional series, i.e., productions focused on the daily life of social institutions and the work of their members (Meimaridis 15). These series employ various small-scale and full-scale (events) crossovers to create a seamless shared narrative universe that separates into four distinct texts. A full-scale crossover is one in which characters from multiple series come together to deal with a single event, as seen in Chris McGunnigle’s chapter on The CW’s “The Crisis on Infinite Earths” crossover. Small-scale crossovers, on the other hand, include a guest appearance by a character from another series set in the same universe. For example, when a paramedic from Station 19 only drops off a patient at the emergency room in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. Due to the fact that the One Chicago dramas all take place in the same city and the members of their respective institutions often cross paths, both forms of crossovers are frequent in this shared universe. To make these crossovers flow more organically, the characters in the One Chicago universe share numerous experiences. Creator Dick Wolf aimed to establish a common world for his Chicago series similar to Charles Dickens’ imaginary London, where characters from different books interact with one another freely. This was made possible by the fact that the four dramas air on NBC and are produced by Wolf Films and Universal Television, following in the tradition of television crossovers. Consequently, Wolf and NBC oversee all aspects of the series’ production, including their storylines, characters, and shooting schedules. Wolf plays the role of an “I. P. Steward,” a term coined by Jeff Gomez to describe creatives who safeguard and preserve the coherence of a narrative universe and its associated intellectual property as it traverses diverse products, platforms, and media (Andersen). In essence, Wolf is responsible for ensuring that the underlying vision driving the narrative and characters is faithfully upheld while simultaneously safeguarding the canon and plausibility of the storyline, thereby preventing any potential fragmentation of the shared universe.

168

Melina Meimaridis

The production structure of the One Chicago universe enables characters from different shows to make frequent but brief appearances due to the overlap of their working lives. This overlap serves to bring their stories together, reinforcing the sense of interdependency between the institutions. It becomes routine to see Chicago P.D.’s officers and detectives in the hospital conducting some kind of investigation (Chicago Med, “Us,” S1E13; “Alternative Medicine,” S2E6; “What You Don’t Know,” S4E5) or Chicago Fire’s firefighters assisting in police work (Chicago P.D., “The Docks,” S1E14; “Good Men,” S6E15) or testifying against arsonists (Chicago Justice, “Fake,” S1E1). Additionally, the One Chicago Universe features many crossovers per season with firefighters and police officers collaborating on arson investigations (Chicago P.D., “A Little Devil Complex,” S2E13), while paramedics from Fire treat and transfer casualties to Med’s emergency room (Chicago Med, “Fallback,” S1E3; “An Inconvenient Truth,” S3E16). There are also familial relationships between these shows, such as the Halstead brothers from Chicago P.D. and Chicago Med and the Dawson brothers from Chicago Fire and Chicago P.D. Further, romantic relationships blossom amongst the characters within this shared universe, such as the one between St. Platt (Amy Morton) and firefighter McHolland (Christian Stolte) and the one between Detective Lindsey (Sophia Bush) and Severide (Taylor Kinney). All of these features provide a sense of completeness to the One Chicago universe, establishing it as one diegetic shared universe. One of the most significant locations within this universe is Molly’s, a small pub that was once owned by firefighters and paramedics. As of 2019 (“A Real Shot in the Arm,” S8E2), though, firefighters Herrmann (David Eigenberg) and McHolland and Sergeant Trudy own the pub. Molly’s is described by Herrmann as being “the best damn refuge in the city, a salt-of-the-earth kind of joint where we serve cold comfort to red-blooded Americans” (Chicago Fire, “A Taste of Panama City,” S4E2). Episodes belonging to series in the One Chicago universe, such as “Regarding This Wedding” (S4E5) from Chicago Fire and “Actual Physical Violence” (S3E3) from Chicago P.D., often end with the main characters at Molly’s, unwinding and celebrating the lives they saved or the criminals they caught. Therefore, Molly’s serves as a symbol of camaraderie and unity among the characters in this shared universe. Throughout the seasons, Molly’s has become a significant narrative space that facilitates frequent and casual encounters among the franchise’s characters. This is similar to other notable gathering places on TV shows such as the bar in Cheers (NBC, 1982–1993) or the Tom Nevers Field airport in Wings (NBC, 1990–1997). These encounters have been instrumental in allowing creator Dick Wolf to petition the Screen Actors Guild to enroll the casts as a single ensemble. The showrunner argues:

The Institutional Basis of the One Chicago Universe

169

I’d like the cast of all the Chicago shows to be entered as one ensemble because it is truly an ensemble, [. . .] everybody transits effortlessly between the shows, there are full-scale crossovers that involve everybody on all the casts, the entire cast, but basically the fun ones are people just showing up as part of their normal life; we’re are going to have the first wedding on the two shows, [Chicago Fire’s] Mouch marrying [Chicago PD’s] Platt. That is basically the way we look at it, that they can be used interchangeably so I think they should be celebrated as a group. (Andreeva)

Again, this sense of community is reminiscent of the comedy Cheers. In the sitcom, the bar is a metaphor for the universal yearning for community and a place where people can feel a sense of belonging despite their differences. Similarly, the One Chicago universe offers its characters a similar sense of community, rooted in the institutions belonging to Chicago’s televisual city, offering them a sense of familiarity in an otherwise constantly changing world. The One Chicago dramas reproduce Chicago’s televisual city via the use of local settings and language in which characters often make references to the city and its residents. In these dramas, characters partake in activities and traditions related to the city of Chicago. From savoring deep dish pizza, a beloved Chicago-style pizza, to attending Chicago Bears football games (Chicago Fire, “Infection: Part I,” S8E4), these characters immerse themselves in the city’s culture. Viewers can catch glimpses of these characters navigating diverse Chicago settings, including bustling bars, cozy diners, expansive parks, and towering commercial buildings. The fact that all of the One Chicago shows are filmed locally and that most of the cast and crew reside in the city contributes to the cohesiveness of this shared universe. Another significant feature of the One Chicago universe is the blurring of the boundaries between reality and fiction through the presence of Chicago’s real-world mayor, Rahm Emanuel (Democrat, between 2011 and 2019), in both the premiere episodes of Chicago Fire (“Pilot,” S1E1) and Chicago Med (“Derailed,” S1E1). In the former, Mayor Emanuel makes a cameo appearance to thank the firefighters and paramedics of Firehouse 51, while in the latter, he attends the reopening of the hospital’s emergency department after its closure due to an event shown in Chicago Fire (“I Am the Apocalypse,” S3E19). During the event, Emanuel expresses his gratitude towards the medical staff for their hard work and professionalism in saving the lives of Chicagoans. Interestingly, Emanuel continued to appear in the role of Mayor of the fictional Chicago even after his term ended in May 2019, as seen in another guest appearance in “I’m Not Leaving You” (Chicago Fire, S7E22). This presence highlights the city’s economic interest in these series, creating hundreds of local jobs. Moreover, it serves as a public relations tool for the city and portrays public servants positively. NBC leverages this platform by

170

Melina Meimaridis

delivering the shows to a nationwide audience on a weekly basis. Moreover, Emanuel’s presence strengthens this world as a real shared universe. However, the institutional basis of the One Chicago universe is its most structuring quality. The One Chicago Universe’s Institutional Basis When commenting on the success of the One Chicago shared universe, Jenifer Salke, then-NBC Entertainment President, stated in 2016 that “people are leaning into them because they want to believe there are folks out there doing heroic things to lift up society and help others.” In this context, I aim to understand what sustains this shared universe despite its vast ensemble cast, four distinct institutions, and the fact that it spans four separate shows. My main argument is that all of One Chicago’s institutions share a commitment to the city, one that relies on the strength of its institutions and the dedication of its public servants to keep its citizens safe. This universe’s cohesiveness stems from its shared institutional outlook, which is based on a conservative view of an institution’s role in society and an imagined Midwestern sensibility of a strong work ethic, practicality, and community focus. Furthermore, a shared sense of stigma as “dirty workers” supports a distinct group identity and their shared objective of serving Chicago. Simply put, I contend that One Chicago has become a great illustration of television’s potential for constructing completely integrated shared universes. To best present this, I’ll examine the Infection crossover event comprised of the following episodes: Infection: Part I (Chicago Fire, S8E4), Infection: Part II (Chicago Med, S5E4), and Infection: Part III (Chicago P.D., S7E4). These episodes were written by Wolf and Haas and promoted as an “epic, three-hour Chicago crossover event” broadcast on October 16, 2019.2 The decision to air the episodes consecutively was a deliberate one, to emphasize the interconnectedness of the One Chicago universe and the significance of collaboration and teamwork in keeping the city protected. Although I will concentrate on one particular crossover, I will also briefly touch upon other full-scale crossovers that have taken place over the years. The first scene of the Infection crossover takes place at a tailgate before a Chicago Bears game, when firefighters, paramedics, detectives, and doctors are gathered. When a man faints in the throng, the civil servants interrupt their day off to aid him, only to learn that he has necrotizing fasciitis, a rare bacterial condition. Doctors Halstead (Nick Gehlfuss) and Manning (Torrey DeVitto) take care of the man at the hospital. During the episode of Chicago Fire, more infected people are brought to the emergency room, raising concerns among medical staff about a potential outbreak. Meanwhile, the Central Chicago University (CCU) campus is engulfed in flames. Chief Boden

The Institutional Basis of the One Chicago Universe

171

(Eamonn Walker) is skeptical of the blaze and brings in sergeant Voight (Jason Beghe) to investigate any potential ties to the mysterious outbreak. While looking into the case, detective Upton (Tracy Spiridakos) finds another victim and may have come into contact with the bacterial infection. Part II begins with Upton and the residents of a neighboring apartment complex being quarantined at Med. While Dr. Halstead works with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) to develop a potential treatment, detectives investigate the university’s researchers and confined tenants. Several false reports about the outbreak spread online and spark riots and mob attacks on local businesses, which are exacerbated by the media’s coverage of the infection throughout the episode. Towards the conclusion of Part II, CCU microbiologist David Seldon (Aaron Serotsky) destroys the CDC’s study and assaults Dr. Halstead. Beginning with the third and final episode, the fire department is sent to prevent a mob from wrecking a restaurant, while Detective Halstead and Voight locate a wounded Dr. Halstead and learn that Seldon has fled. With a prime suspect in hand, the police examine his whole past to learn more about his motivations for starting the outbreak. Voight shoots and kills Seldon in the final moments of the episode. Throughout the years, the One Chicago universe has presented several full-scale crossovers, such as a vehicle bomb going off outside a hospital and requiring the combined efforts of firemen and police investigators to rescue lives and apprehend the bomber before he can detonate any more bombs (“A Dark Day,” Chicago Fire, S2E20 and “8:30 PM,” Chicago P.D., S1E12) or when firemen are attempting to rescue victims of a huge warehouse fire, detectives investigate and catch the arsonist, who is then prosecuted, while medical personnel attempt to save the burnt victims (“Deathtrap,” Chicago Fire, S5E15, “Emotional Proximity,” Chicago P.D. S4E16, and “Fake,” Chicago Justice, S1E1). The infection crossover is perhaps the most notable example of the shared universe in action, as it features characters and locations from all three ongoing Chicago dramas—the firehouse, the hospital, and the police station—and the episodes blend seamlessly into each other without any indication of which drama the audience is watching. Derek Haas confirmed that this was intentional, stating: “it’s less about each show having its own shape to it and more like all three shows really intertwined throughout. You could be watching any hour and be like, ‘Oh, wait, is this P.D.? Or is this Med? Or is this Fire?’ We’re even doing scenes that you would think would be a Med scene, but it’s in the Fire hour” (Gelman). To achieve this level of integration, most of the main cast members appear in all three episodes of the crossover (as can be observed in Table 10.1), which results in a cohesive and immersive viewing experience. To comprehensively depict the institutional basis of the One Chicago Universe, this discussion has been organized into three subtopics:

172 Table 10.1  Series

Melina Meimaridis Chicago Infection crossover Crossover Episode

Chicago Fire

“Infection: Part I” (8x4)

Chicago Med

“Infection: Part II” (5x4)

Chicago P.D.

“Infection: Part III” (7x4)

Characters appearing in another series belonging to the franchise (in order of appearance) Jay Halstead, Natalie Manning, Kevin Atwater, Kim Burgess, Hailey Upton, Lockwood, Will Halstead, Hank Voight, Adam Ruzek, April Sexton, Crockett Marcel, Vanessa Rojas, and Sharon Goodwin Hailey Upton, Emily Foster, Sylvie Brett, Wallace Boden, Vanessa Rojas, Jay Halstead, Trudy Platt, Adam Ruzek, Hank Voight, Kim Burgess, Kevin Atwater, Kelly Severide, Christopher Herrmann, and Matthew Casey Wallace Boden, Stella Kidd, Matthew Casey, Will Halstead, Christopher Herrmann, Darren Ritter, Natalie Manning, Emily Foster, Sylvie Brett, Crockett Marcel, April Sexton, Kelly Severide, Joe Cruz, Sharon Goodwin, Randy McHolland, and Blake Gallo.

1. The intricate interplay between institutions; 2. The cultivation of a shared identity; and 3. The reinforcement of a conservative worldview. The intricate interplay between institutions. Despite the widespread fear in Chicago, relatively little institutional friction occurred during the Infection crossover. Each expert performed a specific task, and collectively the institutions endeavored to thwart Seldon. Previous crossovers have shown that professionals have a hard time acknowledging that different institutions play distinct roles and have varying levels of power and authority over certain matters and procedures. For example, Voight and his detectives—representing the police institution—and the prosecutor—representing the legal institution—disagreed about strategies several times during the crossover between the episodes “The Beating Heart” (Chicago Fire, S4E10), “Malignant” (Chicago Med, S1E5), and “Now I’m God” (Chicago P.D., S3E10). This happened because these professionals had different objectives. While Voight and his detectives wanted to charge Dr. Dean Reybold (Jeremy Shamos) with murder for poisoning his patients with chemotherapy, the prosecutor was more concerned about proving arguments in court and ensuring due process, particularly in evidence collection. Another instance of institutional friction occurred during the crossover between “Going to War” (Chicago Fire, S7E2), “When to Let Go” (Chicago Med, S4E2), and “Endings” (Chicago P.D., S6E2). The crossover opened with firefighters responding to a fire in a residential building. Paramedics

The Institutional Basis of the One Chicago Universe

173

transported the wounded to Med’s emergency room while firemen searched for Detective Jay Halstead’s (Jesse Lee Soffer) father, Pat Halstead (Louis Herthum). In the conclusion of the episode, Pat and firefighter Stella Kidd (Miranda Rae Mayo) were taken to the hospital. In the second half of the crossover, medical personnel attempted to save the injured, but Pat died while Stella was saved. The third part focused on the investigation of the fire and concluded with the arsonist being shot dead by detective Halstead. This crossover featured disputes between different professionals and their authority to execute their jobs. Boden had to stop Detective Halstead from running into the flames to locate his father. Severide opposed Rhodes’ (Colin Donnell) planned medical therapy to preserve Stella’s life, fearing it would terminate her career with the Chicago Fire Department. Firefighter Otis (Yuriy Sardarov) and psychiatrist Dr. Charles (Oliver Platt) argued about the manner in which firefights deal with trauma. The Halstead brothers, a detective and a doctor, fought over the decision to withdraw their father’s life support. These conflicts illustrate how professionals with different expertise and authority can clash with each other. Although the One Chicago universe primarily focuses on four institutions, other institutions that regulate Chicagoans’ daily lives are also presented, such as the media. (Chicago Fire, “One Minute,” S1E4; Chicago Med, “Mistaken,” S1E4), the church (Chicago Justice, “Uncertainty Principle,” S1E2; Chicago P.D., “Sanctuary,” S4E12), the city council (Chicago Fire, “My Miracle,” S5E22; Chicago P.D., “Reform,” S5E1; Chicago Justice, “AQD,” S1E11), as well as organized crime (Chicago P.D., “Never Forget I Love You,” S3E9) and gangs (Chicago Fire, “I Will Be Walking,” S4E19; Chicago P.D., “Big Friends, Big Enemies,” S4E4; Justice, “Drill,” S1E10). Moreover, federal institutions such as the FBI frequently appear, such as in Chicago P.D.’s “8:30 PM,” (S1E12). It is worth noting that during the Infection crossover, there was minimal conflict between the primary characters and those from the CDC. Overall, the day-to-day interactions and interdependency between institutions are crucial factors that not only sustain but also reinforce the institutional basis of this universe. The cultivation of a shared identity. However, the cohesive performance of these institutions in the One Chicago Universe suggests a robust sense of shared identity. This identity is rooted in two key concepts: (1) dirty work, and (2) work ethic. The concept of dirty work, as proposed by Hughes (“Work and” 319), refers to professions that involve some form of moral, physical, or social taint (“Men and” 122). Blake Ashforth and Glen Kreiner’s analysis of dirty work is particularly relevant here. According to the authors, physical taint pertains to occupations associated with death or filth, such as firefighters or those with dangerous working conditions like police officers. Social taint refers to professions that involve stigmatized people, like police

174

Melina Meimaridis

officers, detectives, and firefighters, or those based on a servile relationship, such as paramedics and nurses. Finally, moral taint encompasses occupations of dubious virtue, like undercover police officers (Ashforth and Kreiner 415). Firefighters and paramedics operate in dangerous conditions and frequently interact with marginalized individuals such as homeless people, drug addicts, and criminals, which exposes them to physical and social taint. Despite the dirty nature of their work, firefighters have high occupational prestige due to positive media attention and the embodiment of masculine heterosexuality (Tracy and Scott 18–20). Conversely, paramedics, who are predominantly female, face higher levels of violence and abuse on the job (Taylor 151), and are more aligned with feminine ideals of providing compassionate care and empathy towards the health and well-being of others (Makkawy and Scott 5). Firefighters, on the other hand, are often associated with a hegemonic masculinity that emphasizes their bravery in entering burning buildings. Despite these differences, the shared threats and dangers faced by both professions create a unifying sense of identity and purpose, based on the idea that performing dirty work is a testament to their toughness and resilience (i.e., “we perform a dirty work because we are tough” [Ashforth and Kreiner 421]). Similarly, police officers also perform dirty work as they often interact with individuals who are deemed “contaminated,” risk their lives daily, and sometimes engage in questionable professional practices (Waddington 299). Although police officers have high occupational prestige, it is less straightforward than that of firefighters, given the vast differences in the tasks carried out by each profession. Dirty work is different for doctors and nurses. While physicians are socially and culturally esteemed, nurses perform dirty work and have to deal with the profession’s social stigma (Bolton 175–76). Given that most of the main characters in the One Chicago shared universe perform dirty work, risking their lives regularly, and facing social stigma, it can be argued that these workers endure hardships together out of a shared conviction that they are essential to the city’s proper functioning as a whole. The belief that “we are Chicago’s institutions” is central to this occupational identity. Over the past decade, television programs depicting the professional lives of police officers, physicians, prosecutors, and firefighters in Chicago have contributed substantially to our understanding of the city. This preoccupation with institutional series is indicative of the city’s own appreciation for the importance of labor. As Michael Douglas aptly puts it, “Hollywood is hype, New York is talk, Chicago is work” (Chavez). Given the economic significance of regional industries in the country, numerous media and cultural products have reinforced this association with labor. For instance, Carl Sandburg’s poetry often refers to Chicago as the “City of Big Shoulders” (3).

The Institutional Basis of the One Chicago Universe

175

The One Chicago universe often highlights the city’s work ethic and resilience in the face of adversity, whether it be a crime or violence (Chicago P.D., “A Shot Heard Around the World,” S4E8; Chicago Med, “Never Let You Go,” S4E19) or even the severity of winter in the city (Chicago Fire, “Tonight’s the Night,” S2E13; Chicago P.D., “In a Duffel Bag,” S3E20). For instance, the episode “A Shot Heard Around the World” portrays the police force as trying to apprehend a sniper who has killed two of their fellow officers. The episode concludes with the characters from the One Chicago Universe gathering together at a memorial service to honor the deceased officers. These characteristics not only help to differentiate Chicago’s televisual city from other cities portrayed in the media, such as the Los Angeles in Melrose Place (FOX, 1992–1999) or New York in Gossip Girl (The CW, 2007–2012), but they also contribute to the city’s longstanding reputation as a place where hard work and perseverance are highly valued. Building on the notion of Chicago as the “City of Big Shoulders,” where people are known for their resilience and ability to overcome obstacles, the One Chicago Universe’s emphasis on the city’s work ethic and resilience aligns with the broader cultural understanding of Chicago and its place in US society. The reinforcement of a conservative worldview. The protagonists of the One Chicago dramas consistently reinforce a conservative perspective of morality and justice throughout the seasons, serving as a unifying factor that also supports their shared identity. Firefighters, police officers, detectives, prosecutors, and even healthcare professionals all play a role in this conservative worldview. Despite being responsible for the care of their patients, healthcare professionals, for instance, turn a blind eye to police violence committed on hospital grounds, as seen in “8:30 PM” (Chicago P.D., S1E12). Meanwhile, other professionals frequently villainize suspects in crossovers, such as firefighters in “Emotional Proximity” (Chicago P.D., S4E16) or police officers in “Deathtrap” (Chicago Fire, S5E15). These institutions, therefore, reinforce the social binary of “us” civilized people versus “them” criminals. The shows oversimplify the societal issues contributing to criminal behavior, such as poverty, discrimination, and lack of resources, by framing criminals as just “the bad guys.” Simply put, this shared universe portrays crime and poverty as moral issues rather than acknowledging their underlying sociological and structural factors (Meimaridis and Quinan 122). Naturally, Chicago P.D. is the most violent production in the franchise, but it is not unusual that the lives of Chicago Fire’s firefighters and paramedics or Chicago Med’s healthcare professionals are threatened by gangs (Chicago Fire, “An Agent of the Machine,” S5E12; “Telling Her Goodbye,” S5E16; Chicago Med, “Win Loss,” S2E2; “Down by Law,” S3E10), organized crime (Chicago Fire, “A Power Move,” S2E5; “Category 5,” S3E22) or simply

176

Melina Meimaridis

by criminals (Chicago Fire, “Call It Paradise,” S3E14; “The Chance to Forgive,” S6E15; Chicago Med, “Who Should Be the Judge,” S5E16). The police drama depicts a city in which certain racial and ethnic groups are geographically segregated. Despite the increasing violence, viewers can navigate the Chicago’s televisual city through their familiarity with the franchise’s characters. According to Charlotte Brunsdon, “the television city of crime may be alarming, but—usually—its investigators will guide the viewer through the dark streets, returning the viewer safely home at the end of an episode” (15). However, the police drama’s investigators are motivated less by the pursuit of justice and more by the desire to restore order (a status quo imposed by the institution). The series presents a simplified view of Chicago that reduces the complex reality to binaries such as order versus chaos, law versus crime, and good versus evil. The police force is portrayed as a regulator of crime in a violent city, and despite instances of police brutality and an increasingly ineffective judicial system, the Intelligence Unit investigators in the One Chicago Universe are successful in keeping criminals at bay. This is often achieved through the characters’ own interpretations of justice. Since Chicago P.D. and Chicago Justice often frame the story around adversaries (the criminals and the cops or prosecutors), it is easier to identify their conservative bias. But Chicago Fire and Chicago Med also have a conservative inclination. While Chicago Med portrays healthcare personnel sometimes struggling to treat patients who are deemed unworthy of medical treatment, such as a criminal in “Mistaken” (S1E4), Chicago Fire centers on values such as tradition, hierarchy, and the protection of property. This conservative mindset aligns with the more “consensual” beliefs and values of US society, and as a result, it permeates throughout the One Chicago universe. In this way, although the dramas promote values such as community, teamwork, and work ethic, the ongoing violence in the metropolis indicates that the protagonists’ lawful efforts alone are insufficient to resolve the deeply ingrained issues afflicting the city. Since institutional police and legal series presuppose the criminals to be “evil,” rendering any police action against them legitimate (Meimaridis 205), in this shared universe, police violence is usually portrayed as a vital resource for restoring order. Here, “order” refers to a wider concept in which morality and law intersect. The police employ excessive force in an effort to stop or avert potential threats, justifying their actions by appealing to utilitarian principles. During the infection crossover, police brutality is once again justified under the premise of preventing a suspect from releasing a bacterial agent on the entire city. These methods are commonly employed by the police to apprehend criminals and are rarely challenged during crossovers. Yet there are some exceptions, for example, during the crossover between Chicago Fire (“Deathtrap,” S5E15), Chicago P.D. (“Emotional Proximity,” S4E16),

The Institutional Basis of the One Chicago Universe

177

and Chicago Justice (“Fake,” S1E1). Assistant District Attorney Peter Stone (Philip Winchester) cautions Voight to follow the rules and conduct a credible investigation free of any misconduct that might jeopardize the case at trial. However, in the same crossover, detective Olinsky (Elias Koteas) requests “alone time” with the arsonist (which is a clear euphemism for violating the suspect’s rights), prosecutors describe the suspect as a “monster,” and Voight and Olinsky provide the prosecution with a fabricated confession. The televisual city of Chicago is presented as a large and dangerous urban center,3where residents’ social, economic, physical, and moral well-being are under constant threat. Deviant behavior requires oversight and monitoring from social institutions, which step in to restore order. This chaotic depiction of Chicago, along with the characters’ shared conservative values, serves as the backdrop for the heroic portrayal of firefighters, paramedics, police officers, physicians, and prosecutors who collectively confront disorder. While this often functions as a way to combat the dirt associated with their professions, it also reinforces a conservative bias that is linked to a midwestern sensibility. The city of Chicago, founded in 1833, has over 2.7 million residents, making it the most populous city in Illinois and the third most populous in the US. The Chicago metropolitan region has a population of over nine million people. Because of its location in the core of an intricate railroad network, the city became an agro-industrial hub in the nineteenth century (Cronon 283). By the turn of the next century, the city had become an important bridge between “rural and urban, between local and regional, and between midwestern and national contexts” (Curtin 276). In its capacity as a mediator, Chicago’s televisual city allows viewers to imagine many aspects of the city, including its organization, residents, and institutions. According to showrunner Wolf (Chavette): Chicago is in the heart of the country and is the heart of the country. I don’t know if you could have some of the attitudes from this show on the New York shows because it would either be dismissed as “those people are too good.” In New York, people don’t think like this, but they kind of do in the middle of the country.

Therefore, Wolf gives us hints as to how he feels about the city, its residents, professions, and the popularity of shows based on the heroic deeds of Midwesterners in public service. This view of the Midwest is frequently reproduced by television scripted series in what Victoria Johnson theorized as “Heartland TV.” According to the author, several television series reproduce the heartland myth, which provides a short-hand cultural common sense framework for “all-American” identification, redeeming goodness, face-to-face community, sanctity, and

178

Melina Meimaridis

emplaced ideals. [. . .] Positively embraced as the locus of solid dependability, cultural populism, and producerist, “plain folks” independence, the Midwest as Heartland, in this iteration, symbolizes the ideal nation. (Johnson 5)

This construction closely relates to conservatism and further perpetuates the image of the One Chicago institutions as a tight-knit, family-like unit committed to the city’s well-being. This interconnected nature of several Chicago institutions is shown throughout this universes’ many crossovers. Chicago Med “When to Let Go” (S4E2) has doctors treating wounded firefighters; Chicago Justice “Fake” (S1E1) features prosecutors obtaining justice for police detectives; and Chicago Fire “Going to War” (S7E2) depicts firefighters rescuing a detective’s father from a fire. Still, it’s up to the police to protect the other members of the One Chicago universe’s institutions and bring them justice, even if it is just on a “moral” level (“Now I’m God,” Chicago P.D., S3E10; “Endings,” Chicago P.D., S6E2). So, while the crime may vary from episode to episode, “the investigators stay the same, returning week after week to deal with chaos and reassure the viewer” (Brunsdon 14–15). The One Chicago protagonists are depicted as a tightly knit unit committed to protecting the Midwest, reinforced by the persistent use of the heartland myth. This creates a powerful image of the institutions’ capability to safeguard the city from its deep-seated problems. The portrayal suggests that the One Chicago institutions are willing to resort to unlawful means to achieve their goals, emphasizing their commitment to the community’s well-being. Therefore, despite the persistent violence in the city, the efficacy of the One Chicago institutions is not negated. Rather, it highlights the depth of societal problems they face. The infection crossover comes to a close with scenes highlighting the few but priceless moments of happiness that follow the restoration of Chicago’s normality and order by police, firemen, and healthcare professionals. While Severide shares a passionate kiss with Kidd, Boden reads to his son a bedtime story, and the Halstead brothers drink and celebrate life, Sharon Goodwin’s (S. Epatha Merkerson) narration reinforces the aforementioned midwestern sensibility by framing these professionals as courageous heroes: Fear is a funny thing. Some of the time, it brings out the worst in people. But fear also brings out our very best. We certainly saw that today. Their love, loyalty, care, and kindness their support generosity, and appreciation. [. . .] And for a certain few among us, fear brings out something different: their choice to be heroic. [. . .] To stand steady. To hold on to each other. [. . .] To find a way to hold on to hope and to lean on each other like family. (Chicago P.D. “Infection, Part III,” S7E4)

The Institutional Basis of the One Chicago Universe

179

The trustworthy institutions that make up the One Chicago shared universe, which are endowed with the power and authority to restore the status quo, work hard and diligently to fulfill their social obligations. Therefore, institutions in this shared universe are not portrayed as idealized replicas of their real-world counterparts, but rather as organizations that continue to carry out their duties despite the challenges they face and the bureaucracy within which they are ensnared. CONCLUSION Throughout my investigation, I have observed how the One Chicago universe presents Chicago as a living community, where individuals are always looking to help or assist one another. This televisual city of Chicago has a character that is more indicative of “middle America” and the regional experience of those living in the Midwest. Despite being a major metropolitan area, Chicago is portrayed as having a dialogue with more “universal” and “conservative” values, which are not commonly shared by the televisual cities of New York and Los Angeles often presented in television fiction. Community values are often overlooked in favor of individualistic principles in the glamorized portrayals of these two cities. However, despite the construction of community, the One Chicago universe also highlights a number of threats to social order and anxieties in the city. In this environment of insecurity, the role of fictional institutions in producing order out of chaos and regulating day-to-day existence becomes more concrete. The dramas present topics such as police brutality, the crime that afflicts the city of Chicago, and the challenges that civil servants face, among other related themes. Yet, the emphasis of these dramas is on the efficiency of institutions in US society and, more crucially, on the role that these entities play in preventing disorder and restoring order. Individually or collectively, the productions reinforce a functioning imaginary of the televisual city of Chicago via the efforts of professionals endowed with power to reinstate the status quo. However, as a whole, the One Chicago shared universe helps us understand how fictional institutions interact with one another on a daily basis. The dramas provide a stable and consistent shared narrative world, portraying images of the heroic fireman, the tough detective, the trustworthy prosecutor, and the altruistic doctor. The One Chicago shared universe replicates a conservative worldview based on strong institutions on a weekly basis, and it only reaches its full potential when it is reproduced in full-scale crossovers. In this sense, conservatism is the glue that holds the four shows together, making the One Chicago shared universe stand apart from other shared universes in television in the US. The

180

Melina Meimaridis

characters in this world aren’t merely set in the same time and space; they all believe and act in accordance with a set of shared beliefs and ideals, with the ultimate purpose of protecting the people of Chicago. NOTES 1. Backdoor pilot are episodes of a show that already exist and are used to present a spin-off of the original production. Typically, the emphasis of this type of pilot is on one or more characters from the original series interacting with the characters of the new production. Other examples of backdoor pilots can be seen in “The Other Side of This Life” (Grey’s Anatomy, S3E22 and S3E23), which introduced Private Practice (ABC, 2007–2013), and “The Scientist” and “Three Ghosts” (Arrow, S2E8 and S2E9), which introduced The Flash. 2. See https://www​.youtube​.com​/watch​?v​=EFZf7GFe1Bo. 3. The city’s association with violence was initially a hindrance to its fictionalization. Richard M. Daley, the mayor of Chicago, was concerned about the city’s image being tarnished in the media (Goharipour 64) due to Chicago’s historical association with organized crime. For this reason, Daley did not encourage local audiovisual production. Mayor Jane Bryne’s tenure in office in the late 1970s and early 1980s marked a significant shift in the city’s approach to supporting and promoting audiovisual works through public initiatives. Unlike Daley, who did not see the cultural policy as a priority, Bryne recognized the potential for this approach to create new employment opportunities, boost tourism, and increase tax revenue for the city. This investment in audiovisual works has paid off for the city, with over 1,100 feature films produced in Chicago between 1980–2010, generating $2 billion in revenue, according to the Chicago Film Office. Additionally, over a hundred television shows have been recorded in the city, each adding new interpretive layers and reinforcing imaginaries about Chicago and the Midwest. In short, the city’s support and promotion of audiovisual works has had a major impact on Chicago’s cultural and economic landscape, making it a hub for film and television production in the US. For more information, see: www​ .chicago​.gov​/city​/en​/depts​/dca​/provdrs​/chicago​_film​_office​.html

REFERENCES Andersen, M. “Jeff Gomez reveals secrets to transmedia franchise development at CineKid.” Wired, 10 Nov. 2010, https://www​.wired​.com​/2010​/11​/jeff​-gomez​ -reveals​-secrets​-to​-transmedia​-franchise​-development​-at​-cinekid. Andreeva, Nellie. “Franchise ensemble SAG Award? ‘Chicago’ Boss Dick Wolf calls for rule change.” Deadline, 14 Jan. 2016, https://deadline​.com​/2016​/01​/chicago​ -franchise​-ensemble​-sag​-award​-dick​-wolf​-rule​-change​-1201682511. Ashforth, Blake E., and Glen E. Kreiner. “‘How can you do it?’: Dirty work and the challenge of constructing a positive identity.” Academy of Management Review, vol. 24 no. 3, 1999: 413–34.

The Institutional Basis of the One Chicago Universe

181

Bolton, Sharon C. “Women’s work, dirty work: The gynaecology nurse as ‘other’.” Gender, Work Organization, vol. 12 no. 2, 2005: 169–86. Brunsdon, Charlotte. Television Cities: Paris, London, Baltimore. Duke UP, 2018. Chavez, Danette. “Dick Wolf’s ‘One Chicago’ is taking over NBC, but it’s still just a fantasy.” AV Club, 27 Sept. 2018, www​.avclub​.com​/dick​-wolfs​-onechicago​-is​ -taking​-over​-nbc​-but​-its​-st​-1829312412. Chozick, Amy. “Dick Wolf’s drama: This is his story.” The New York Times, 5 Oct. 2012, www​.nytimes​.com​/2012​/10​/07​/arts​/television​/chicago​-fire​-and​-the​-changing​-dick​-wolf​.html. Cronon, William. Nature’s Metropolis. WW Norton, 1991. Curtin, Michael. “Media capitals: Cultural geographies of global TV.” Television After Television: Essays on a medium in transition. Edited by Lynn Spigel and Jan Olsson. Duke UP, 2004: 270–302. Gelman, V. “Chicago Fire boss previews this fall’s mega #OneChicago crossover.” TVline, 2 Sept. 2019, https://tvline​.com​/2019​/09​/02​/chicago​-fire​-season​-8​-episode​ -4​-med​-pd​-crossover​-spoilers. Goharipour, Hamed. Urban Cinesemiotics: A theory-based critical interpretation of Chicago in the cinema of the 1980s and 2010s. Kansas State University, 2020, PhD dissertation. Hughes, Everett C. “Work and the self.” Social Psychology at the Crossroads. Eds. John H. Rohrer and Muzafer Sherif. Harper & Brothers, 1951: 313–23. — — —. Men and Their Work. Free Press, 1958. Johnson, Victoria E. Heartland TV: Prime Time Television and the Struggle for U.S. Identity. New York UP, 2008. Makkawy, Amin and Cliff Scott. “Dirty work.” In The International Encyclopedia of Organizational Communication vol. 201 no. 5129, 2017: 1–8. Meimaridis, Melina. “‘One Chicago’: Instituições ficcionais e Comfort Series na televisão estadunidense.” Universidade Federal Fluminense, 2021, PhD dissertation. Meimaridis, Melina and Rodrigo Quinan. “‘Break the Rules, not the Law’: Normalizing brutality and reinforcing police authority in US series.” Comunicação E Sociedade, vol. 42, 2022: 113–32 Salke, Jenifer. “How Dick Wolf’s Chicago’ franchise is raising the bar (and the heat) on TV.” Interview by Ileane Rudolph. TV Insider, 8 Feb. 2016, www​.tvinsider​.com​ /71718​/whydick​-wolfs​-chicago​-franchise​-is​-raising​-the​-bar​-on​-tv. Sandburg, Carl. Chicago Poems. Henry Holt, 1916. Taylor, Jennifer A. et  al. “Expecting the unexpected: A mixed methods study of violence to EMS responders in an urban fire department.” American Journal of Industrial Medicine, vol. 59 no. 2, 2016: 150–63. Tracy, Sarah J., and Clifton Scott. “Sexuality, masculinity, and taint management among firefighters and correctional officers: Getting down and dirty with ‘America’s heroes’ and the ‘scum of law enforcement’.” Management Communication Quarterly, vol. 20 no. 1, 2006: 6–38. Waddington, Peter A.J. “Police (canteen) sub-culture: An appreciation.” The British Journal of Criminology, vol. 39 no. 2, 1999: 287–309.

Chapter 11

Wrestlers-as-Marks and Producers-as-Fans BTE, AEW, and the Televisual Shared Universe of the Forbidden Door CarrieLynn D. Reinhard, Christopher J. Olson, and Christopher Medjesky

In early 2021, Tony Khan introduced North American wrestling fans to the concept of the “forbidden door,” referring to the metaphorical barrier between All Elite Wrestling (AEW) and influential Japanese promotion New Japan Pro Wrestling (NJPW).1 Popular wisdom suggests that wrestling companies, especially industry leader World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE), tend to avoid interacting with one another, preferring instead to either ignore or mock other promotions. Yet wrestling promotions frequently collaborate with one another, as when WWE (then known as the World Wrestling Federation or WWF) engaged in cross-promotion with Extreme Championship Wrestling (ECW), which itself often teamed with Japanese promotion Frontier MartialArts Wrestling (FMW). Nevertheless, the idea persists that wrestling promotions function as selfcontained “universes” populated by performers that rarely, if ever, venture beyond the confines of their “home” company except when they are fired or grow disgruntled enough with their current situation to ask for their release. As such, the notion of the “forbidden door” endures and suggests both a sense of rebellion and the possibility of exciting inter-promotional crossovers. Indeed, the phrase “forbidden door” conjures notions of taboo cross-promotional cooperation, which in turn transforms the idea into an example of Chekhov’s gun; the “forbidden door” exists to be opened and thereby reveal what awaits on the other side.

183

184

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard et al.

Since the mid-1980s, the professional wrestling world has been dominated by WWE after its owner, Vince McMahon, purchased various wrestling promotions across the United States. However, the rise of social media platforms has helped various performers and promotions around the world develop larger, more devoted audiences, but none existed in direct competition with WWE and instead positioned themselves as alternatives to McMahon’s approach to “sports entertainment.”2 In 2016, the Young Bucks, a wrestling tag-team comprised of brothers Matthew and Nicholas Massie (known professionally as Matt and Nick Jackson), took to YouTube to broadcast a travel vlog and develop their fanbase (see Jackson and Jackson). Throughout the YouTube series, the Bucks engaged with their fans while also demonstrating their own personal fandoms, from video games to professional wrestling itself. This series, titled Being the Elite (BTE), expanded over the years to include additional wrestlers (appearing both as themselves and their in-ring personae) and scripted bits, helping them attain fame and financial success. Because of this success, long-time wrestling fan Tony Khan, who also happened to be co-owner of the NFL team the Jacksonville Jaguars, launched AEW in 2019. The newly launched company then became the first major promotion to directly challenge the WWE via a television broadcast deal with TNT (former home of WWE’s main competitor, World Championship Wrestling aka WCW). More importantly, perhaps, AEW set out to unite non-WWE promotions and help them compete with WWE. AEW opened the “forbidden door,” a term commonly associated with WWE’s unwillingness to work with other promotions. AEW recognized and booked stars from other major promotions; most notably, Impact Wrestling, the National Wrestling Alliance (NWA), and New Japan Pro Wrestling (NJPW). This chapter combines a political economic analysis with fan studies to interrogate the resulting Forbidden Door Universe (FDU). This FDU serves several purposes. Primarily, it provides pro-wrestling fans with often-impossible fantasy bookings, which in turn improves audience size and profit. More interestingly, this transmediated, televisual shared universe demonstrates fandom’s impact on capitalism. AEW is owned by pro-wrestling fans: Khan and the wrestlers who work with him. From a fandom perspective, their labor is not just for profit but for “lovebor” or the production of labor due to love as well as for profit (see Stanfill). Their love for professional wrestling and resultant affective labor informs their willingness to innovate on the professional wrestling business. As a case study, AEW’s actions demonstrate the “auteur as fanboy” concept (see Salter and Stanfill) and reveal how a media producer can be a fan of what they produce. Thus, we argue that a person’s fan identity precedes their producer identity when it comes to their creative, and ultimately capitalist, labor: a person must be a mark before they can make their mark.3

Wrestlers-as-Marks and Producers-as-Fans

185

WWE’S WALLED REALITY As noted, cross-promotion, taboo or otherwise, is a common occurrence throughout the history of professional wrestling. This section discusses professional wrestling during the territory period through the collapse of WCW to explore how cross-promotion was performed, avoided, embraced, and parodied before the forbidden door was unlocked. Professional wrestling’s roots extend back to the nineteenth century, a time when regional fairs and carnivals throughout the United States staged grappling exhibitions between men looking to test their physical toughness against one another (Beard and Heppen). However, crowds soon tired of the slow, grueling matches, prompting the combatants to incorporate flashier moves that often led to serious injury. At that point, wrestlers started choreographing their matches ahead of time, and by the 1930s professional wrestling shifted to an entirely scripted form of entertainment. In time, numerous wrestling promotions popped up in different parts of the country, known as territories (see Table 11.1), and in the 1940s several promoters banded together to form the NWA to raise awareness of the sport and increase their profits (Ball). Professional wrestling remained popular throughout the 1950s, but interest soon waned until the 1980s, when Vincent K. McMahon inherited the WWF (originally known as the World Wide Wrestling Federation or WWWF) from his father, Vincent J. McMahon, who withdrew the promotion from the NWA in 1983 (Beekman). The younger McMahon quickly established the WWF as a powerhouse and an innovator by purchasing several of his competitors (including Stampede Wrestling, Maple Leaf Wrestling, and Georgia Championship Wrestling) while driving others out of business, effectively ending the era of regional territories. This allowed WWF to emerge as the dominant wrestling promotion throughout the 1980s. In the 1990s, WWF faced competition from WCW, which was founded in 1988 when billionaire media mogul Ted Turner purchased Jim Crockett Promotions (one of the largest wrestling promotions in the United States and a cornerstone of the NWA) and launched a weekly wrestling show. By the late 1990s, WWF also found itself competing with the much smaller upstart promotion ECW, previously known as Eastern Championship Wrestling (another NWA affiliate), which built a rabid cult audience through a combination of extreme violence and explicit sexuality. At the same time, however, WWF often engaged in cross-promotional activities with ECW, as WWF stars appeared on ECW programming and vice versa. A combination of declining ratings and financial troubles allowed WWF to purchase WCW in 2001 and ECW in 2003. Over the next few years, the company, by this point rechristened World Wrestling Entertainment or WWE due to a legal challenge from the World Wildlife Fund, purchased the tape libraries of defunct

186

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard et al.

Table 11.1  Pre-WWF Territories of the National Wrestling Alliance as reported by kuschk of The Basement Geographer Promotion All-Star Wrestling Pacific Northwest Wrestling/Portland Wrestling Big Time Wrestling World Wrestling Association/NWA Hollywood Wrestling 50th State Big Time Wrestling/Polynesian Pacific Wrestling Stampede Wrestling American Wrestling Association NWA Heart of America/Central States Western States Wrestling Alliance Western States Sports Southwest Championship Wrestling World Class Championship Wrestling Houston Wrestling Tri-State Wrestling/Mid-South Wrestling Association St. Louis Wrestling Club World Wrestling Association NWA Mid-America/Continental Wrestling Association Southeast Championship Wrestling/Continental Championship Wrestling Gulf Coast Championship Wrestling/Continental Championship Wrestling Championship Wrestling from Florida Georgia Championship Wrestling Mid-Atlantic Championship Wrestling/Jim Crockett Promotions Big Time Wrestling National Wrestling Federation World Wide Wrestling Federation Maple Leaf Wrestling Northland Wrestling Enterprises Canadian Athletic Promotions/IWA/Luttle International/Grand Prix Wrestling Atlantic Grand Prix Wrestling World Wrestling Council

Geographic Region Vancouver, British Columbia Portland, Oregon San Francisco, California Los Angeles, California Honolulu, Hawai’i Calgary, Alberta Minneapolis, Minnesota – Chicago, Illinois Kansas City, Missouri Phoenix, Arizona Amarillo, Texas San Antonio, Texas Dallas, Texas Houston, Texas Tulsa, Oklahoma—New Orleans, Louisiana St. Louis, Missouri Indianapolis, Indiana Memphis, Tennessee Knoxville, Tennessee Dothan, Alabama Tampa Bay, Florida Atlanta, Georgia Charlotte, North Carolina Detroit, Michigan Buffalo, New York—Cleveland, Ohio New York City, New York Toronto, Ontario North Bay, Ontario Montreal, Quebec Moncton, New Brunswick— Hallifax, Nova Scotia San Juan, Puerto Rico

promotions such as the American Wrestling Association (AWA), Ohio Valley Wrestling (OVW), International Wrestling Association (IWA), Florida Championship Wrestling (FCW), Evolve Wrestling, and Dragon Gate USA, using them as content for the newly launched (and short-lived) streaming

Wrestlers-as-Marks and Producers-as-Fans

187

service WWE Network. At this point, WWE effectively became the only major wrestling promotion in the United States, one that closed itself off from working with other promotions by locking wrestlers (who the company deems “independent contractors”) into contracts stipulating that they work exclusively for WWE (Greene). Meanwhile, the rise of social media and the advent of streaming video helped empower smaller independent promotions around the world via increased visibility. These promotions include Ring of Honor (ROH), Pro Wrestling Guerrilla (PWG), Game Changer Wrestling (GCW), Major League Wrestling (MLW), and All American Wrestling (AAW), many of which shared talent or even collaborated on events. However, none of these socalled “indie” promotions could match the global reach or financial strength of the WWE and they instead presented themselves as alternatives for wrestling fans dissatisfied with McMahon’s approach to “sports entertainment.” Nevertheless, the emergence of social media platforms granted promotions around the world increased viewership and popularity, prompting WWE to revamp their developmental reality competition show NXT into a weekly showcase for wrestlers who had gained popularity on the independent or indie circuit. The show quickly earned a reputation as one of the most popular programs on the WWE Network, leading the multinational media conglomerate to develop working relationships with independent promotions like Evolve Wrestling and PROGRESS Wrestling while also emphasizing their ownership of tape libraries from other independent promotions. The WWF/ WWE walled reality, built to solidify its brand and approach to professional wrestling, was largely antithetical to the collaboration required to promote any forbidden door.

CRACKING OPEN THE FORBIDDEN DOOR A look into the rhetorical history of professional wrestling suggests that the “forbidden door” in its more primitive metaphorical forms was often a sight of contestation among promoters who wanted to exploit the forbidden door as transmedia wielding power across texts and discourse. Here we use rhetorical history as described by David Zarefsky: “from the perspective of how messages are created and used by people to influence and relate to one another” (30). This brief history reveals that early forms of the forbidden door offered multiple varying and at times competing opportunities to shape how wrestling itself was perceived, how audiences were influenced, and how competition among organizations was contested. As mentioned, for most of the twentieth century, professional wrestling was divided into territories around the continent. The NWA served as an

188

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard et al.

overarching governing body and crowned one world champion that toured the various regions, each of which had their own top star. The equivalent of the forbidden door in this period served to keep reputations clear as information rarely traveled across territories. When champions and major stars like Andre the Giant toured the various regions, losses in one territory did not pass over to other territories. This preserved the integrity of regional stars without damaging their characters. Here, the forbidden door served as a necessary component of the wrestling business that allowed for a freshness that kept audiences returning to arenas. When McMahon started buying out the territories in the 1980s, however, the need for this version of the forbidden door dwindled. Certainly, there were moments when the world champions from the NWA and the thenWWWF wrestled to draws in major cities. Yet, for the most part, McMahon’s newly rechristened WWF increasingly moved away from recognizing any promotion it had not bought out, essentially sealing the forbidden door shut. Through a combination of factors that included the rise of Hulk Hogan and the MTV co-sponsored Rock and Wrestling Connection, WWF gained massive national exposure to fans and governments. It was here in the late 1980s where the McMahons admitted to wrestling’s pre-scripted nature in order to avoid government scrutiny (Kerr). And, it was here that WWF began to move from “professional wrestling” to “sports entertainment,” and WWF began distancing itself from professional wrestling history. Such distancing made the forbidden door, for WWF, a metaphor of a metaphor, a reminder of the shameful roots of wrestling’s carnival past. In the late 1980s, the NWA evolved into WCW, and an influx of money from new owner Ted Turner allowed for greater marketing and expansion for the southern-based promotion. Changing fan sentiment, a failed bid for Hollywood stardom, and a high-profile steroid trial sent Hogan out of WWF and into WCW. The promised Hulk Hogan/Ric Flair dream match that WWF failed to deliver could now happen in WCW, helping the promotion gain tremendous traction. Soon after, more wrestlers such as “Macho Man” Randy Savage made their way to WCW. Then, in 1995, WCW decided to go head-to-head against WWF’s flagship program, Monday Night Raw, with the launch of WCW Monday Nitro. It was in this era that WCW aimed to use intertextuality to treat professional wrestling as a postmodern experience. Here, we use intertextuality to refer to “the infinitely open space of textual interaction,” specifically, the way a text will reference another text to create a link between them (Gray 3). The goal was simple for WCW: reference the history of the former WWF wrestlers they hired to establish a lineage of legitimacy for their product. In the past, when most wrestlers switched organizations, particularly national organizations, they were forced, often due to copyright ownership, to change

Wrestlers-as-Marks and Producers-as-Fans

189

gimmicks, names, and personalities because the forbidden door kept the wrestlers’ existences in organizations distinct. However, WCW’s use of intertextuality by linking the WWF history to the WCW runs of these wrestlers meant the wrestlers no longer needed to ignore their past. While many of the bigger names in wrestling managed to negotiate ownership of their own gimmicks and likenesses, thus making this transition seamless, it was the acknowledgment of history that aimed to reframe the discourse about WCW being a lesser product to one that positioned the promotion as the next step in the greatness of these wrestlers. WCW employed intertextual references to WWF and its past to establish itself as part of national wrestling history. Hogan, for example, debuted as a “recent five-time world champion” with WCW acknowledging Hogan’s WWF success. Other aspects of Hogan’s past, such as his friendship and partnership with wrestlers like Savage and Brutus “the Barber” Beefcake were directly incorporated into the WCW storyline. Similarly, at the Great American Bash in 1995, Flair made direct mention of a year-long angle between himself and Savage from WWF back in 1992, integrating the two companies’ histories. WCW launched Monday Nitro with a clear attack on WWF, having Lex Luger re-debut with WCW just days after appearing on WWF programming, which was referred to shortly thereafter at Fall Brawl 95 as Luger “returning from behind enemy lines.” Later, then-WWF Women’s Champion Alundra Blayze (known as Madusa in WCW) likewise returned to WCW and tossed the WWF Women’s belt into the trash on television making explicit reference to it being a WWF title. WWF similarly tried to use such intertextuality to legitimize a superstar. In late 1991, WWF signed Flair who was at that time the WCW world champion and, due to legal reasons, held the actual world title belt. WWF featured the belt temporarily on TV, billing Flair as the “real world’s champion” to create heat for him as a heel (wrestling jargon for a villain or bad guy). This was the only time McMahon employed similar tactics during this period, but it was not truly passing through the forbidden door as both the belt and Flair were no longer employed by WCW. Meanwhile, WCW used the forbidden door as an intertextual point of wrestling to create a convergent wrestling history that WWF had long aimed to avoid. Eventually, the ratings favored WCW’s efforts, and prevailing discourse aided WCW’s attempts to present professional wrestling as an entity larger than just one organization. While WWF began to acknowledge its own history not long before these efforts on the part of WCW, this shift was primarily intended to create a version of the company distinct from the muscle-bound superhero era that tied WWF to the looming 1994 steroids trial (for more, see O’Sullivan). Of greater importance here is how WWF responded to WCW. While WCW used intertextuality to shape discourse, WWF used satire in its own storytelling

190

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard et al.

for the sole purpose of critiquing WCW. For instance, the company introduced several characters intended to poke fun at top WCW executives and talent, including Billionaire Ted (a parody of Ted Turner), Scheme Gene (a parody of ring announcer “Mean” Gene Okerlund), the Huckster (a parody of Hulk Hogan), and the Nacho Man (a parody of Randy Savage). WWF’s satire aligns most closely to Linda Hutcheon’s description of satire in Irony’s Edge; according to Hutcheon, satire, through irony, functions as a “means of ridiculing—and implicitly correcting—the vices and follies of humankind” (52–53). Of course, WWF’s ridicule and correction via satire was not of humankind at large but, instead, a particular perception of professional wrestling for the purposes of capitalist gain. One of the clearest starting points of this satirical effort can be seen in how WWF treated Bob Backlund in 1994. At that time, Backlund was at the end of a career revival. He remained quite skilled in the ring, but utilized an older, almost amateur style of wrestling that clashed with the flashier style of the day. McMahon pushed on this difference to draw a distinction between “old” performers and what he called the “new generation.” Backlund began speaking with a bloated, condescending, out-of-touch vocabulary, referring to the fans as plebeians and treating them as such. Unsurprisingly, the fans turned on Backlund. He eventually regained the WWF championship through vast amounts of interference at Survivor Series ’94 only to lose it three days later at a house show to Diesel. This was, in today’s wrestling lingo, a burial not of Backlund but of the old generation pushed by McMahon from the early 80s to early 90s. Also unsurprisingly, this was done while Hogan and Flair, the superstars of the 80s and early 90s, were finally battling it out in WCW. McMahon may not have crossed the forbidden door, but he was certainly using Backlund as satire to acknowledge it. Despite all this, WCW continued gaining popularity, and on September 4, 1995, the company debuted Monday Nitro, which quickly overtook Monday Night Raw in the ratings. Losing in the ratings for the first time, McMahon continued to ridicule the aging stars now working for his chief rival. Switching tactics, WWF went from referring to Hogan and Savage as “the old generation” and, instead, used parody to simply call them old. While the connections and differences between satire and parody are vast, Hutcheon observes that “the function of parody [is] often to be the malicious, denigrating vehicle of satire” (10–11). It is “repetition with critical distance” imbued with reflexivity (6). Here then WWF used parody in the hopes of shaping the discourse of what it is via mockery of what it once was (and what WCW had become during that period). Through skits mocking Turner as “Billionaire Ted,” WWF parodied the hypothetical boardroom of WCW reusing stale wrestlers and gimmicks (Reynolds and Alvarez 68). The skits relied heavily on agism and mockery

Wrestlers-as-Marks and Producers-as-Fans

191

of disabilities to belittle WWF’s former product as obsolete and out of touch. Significantly, the skits did little to sway opinions of WCW, and only impacted WCW when they started alluding to the fact that WCW might themselves be employing some of the same tactics McMahon did in the 80s, the era of steroids. WCW began to pull away temporarily from referencing WWF and peering through the forbidden door as a result, but it was more in response to legal worries than parody swaying public opinion. Soon, however, the tide turned for WCW with the acquisition of two of WWF’s top stars: Razor Ramon (aka Scott Hall) and recent world champion Diesel (aka Kevin Nash), whose WWF contracts ended in mid-1996. Shortly afterward, Hall showed up on Nitro where he walked through the crowd, grabbed the microphone, and immediately challenged the WCW locker room. Utilizing many of the characteristics of his Razor Ramon gimmick, much like WWF did with Flair in 91, WCW made it seem like Hall represented the competition. Unlike Flair, who was acknowledged as part of WWF, Hall was presented as an invader from “up North.” The traits of the Ramon character, including his trademark toothpick and fake Cuban accent, as well as specific mentions from Hall demanding to talk to Billionaire Ted and Scheme Gene blurred reality and fiction. Nash showed up shortly thereafter looking like Diesel. Hall and Nash, known collectively as The Outsiders, continued using clear intertextual references from WWF to give the appearance of WWF taking over WCW. In this instance, an illusion of crossing the threshold of the forbidden door occurred, as Nash and Hall walked through it and brought some textual elements with them. Eventually, the two challenged WCW loyalists Savage, Sting, and Luger to a six-man tag team match. The match climaxed with Hogan revealing himself as the Outsiders’ mystery partner, fully implying he had been invading WCW the entire time. The trio called themselves the New World Order or simply the nWo and relied heavily on intertextual references to establish the legitimacy of the invasion angle. This included such actions as bringing in veteran wrestler Ted DiBiase (known in WWF as “The Million Dollar Man”) as the nWo’s initial benefactor. The group’s use of intertextual references propelled WCW into mainstream popularity and the company won the ratings war for the next eighty-three weeks. Between the formation of the nWo in 1996 and the collapse of WCW in 2001, both WWF and WCW continued to allude to the forbidden door, although WWF’s use of parody and satire essentially disappeared. The closest the two companies came to crossing the forbidden door occurred one Monday night when both WWF and WCW hosted their respective television programs in the same town. That night, WWF faction D-Generation X showed up to WCW’s arena in a makeshift “tank” (in reality, a jeep with a

192

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard et al.

cannon made from PVC pipe) to challenge WCW, though a door was quite literally closed on them. Key, then, is that this era utilized the forbidden door, even if it was not crossed by these two dominant companies, via intertextuality to establish professional wrestling as a transmedia text.4 Just as important, these efforts marked a discursive shift in how professional wrestling talked about itself. By recognizing within the individual shows produced by the organizations that the forbidden door even existed, the conversation of a larger world of professional wrestling beyond the bounds of an individual organization laid the foundation for the forbidden door to be opened decades later. The metaphor of the forbidden door serves as a useful marker to examine a rhetorical history of professional wrestling and the use of satire, parody, and intertextuality in the industry. This metaphor highlights how industry, organization, sport, narrative, and history itself can be referenced, ignored, and even manipulated to suit the aims and business needs of those in power.

AEW’S TRANSMEDIA STORYTELLING On September 1, 2018, professional wrestlers the Young Bucks, Kenny Omega, and Cody Rhodes produced the largest ever independent wrestling show, All In. The show demonstrated the popularity of these wrestlers and the size of the fanbase they had built from their social media work. All In’s success helped them demonstrate that the market was ready for a new competitor to WWE’s dominance. With financing and management from Khan, they later launched AEW on January 1, 2019, with their first pay-per-view, Double or Nothing, taking place on May 25, 2019; the show could be purchased through traditional cable PPV routes, but since then, AEW PPVs have premiered on streaming apps Bleacher Report and FITE TV. More importantly, this first PPV came after the announcement of a new weekly series, AEW Dynamite, on TNT. More PPVs followed during that summer until the first episode of Dynamite aired on Wednesday, October 2, 2019. Eighteen years had passed since WCW left TNT, and AEW’s premiere aired against WWE’s NXT series on USA Network. This time, WWE relented, moving NXT to Tuesday nights; Dynamite continues to broadcast on Wednesdays, although it switched to TBS starting January 5, 2022. A combination of cable series and PPVs emerged with the WWF in the 1980s and became a standard approach to professional wrestling transmedia storytelling. AEW expanded on this model by utilizing YouTube from the beginning. A YouTube series, Dark, started on October 8, 2019, offering free pre-recorded content. AEW later added the YouTube series Dark Elevation on Mondays starting March 15, 2021, and then the TNT series Rampage

Wrestlers-as-Marks and Producers-as-Fans

193

Friday nights startingon January 5, 2022. AEW later premiered Collision on TNT Saturday nights, beginning June 17, 2023, and stopped producing their Dark shows. Additionally, as owner of Ring of Honor (ROH) wrestling, Khan began producing ROH PPVs in 2022, with a weekly series Ring of Honor Wrestling airing Thursday nights on the streaming app Honor Club starting March 2, 2023. Thus, in a regular week, AEW produces four shows with over six hours of content. PPVs then offer content every two to three months on Sundays, and specials called Battle of the Belts air on TNT on Saturdays every quarter. The YouTube series were pre-recorded, often taped before or after the live Dynamite episodes to capitalize on the venue and crowd, though AEW also utilized a Universal Studios Orlando soundstage to record first Dark and later ROH Wrestling episodes. Most Rampages are likewise pre-recorded, with live episodes reserved for special occasions, while Collision airs live. AEW coordinates the series to ensure consistency in characters and storylines—barring unexpected injuries—and thereby develop the audience’s emotional attachment. Such emotional attachment is then furthered by wrestlers’ vlogs, which often add more insight into characters and storylines and even respond to events on the official series. For instance, at the 2020 All Out pay-per-view event, veteran wrestler Matt Sydal made an inauspicious debut when he slipped off the top rope while trying to perform his signature maneuver, the Shooting Star Press (a backflip off the top rope onto a prone opponent). Later, an episode of BTE cheekily retconned the botched move by showing wrestler Michael Nakazawa slathering the ropes in baby oil prior to the show. AEW’s content thus demonstrates a transmedia storytelling approach through the distribution of an expanded single story and storyworld across various media. At the same time, this transmedia story produces a televisual shared universe. From the start, AEW’s coordinated combination of cable, online, PPV, and vlog content has indicated a recognition of the changed state of television. Since the onset of internet broadcasting, television has conceptually been split into television-as-technology and television-as-content (Reinhard and Amsterdam 69). Television-as-technology involves the specific devices produced to distribute and display content traditionally received as 30-minute or 60-minute episodes. Television-as-content, then, looks at the structures defining content as traditionally distributed and displayed via television sets. With internet broadcasting, more devices can operate as television-astechnology, as a television series can be broadcast via Twitch and watched on a smartphone. Television-as-content can thus appear through a multitude of channels and devices. If a televisual shared universe (TSU) involves a coordinated distribution of an expanded yet unified storyworld across various television programs, then this TSU can occur over various television-as-technology provided they contain television-as-content. AEW has produced such a TSU

194

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard et al.

internally, with its own series and affiliated vlogs, as well as across more television programs through the creation of the FDU.

THE FORBIDDEN DOOR UNIVERSE The FDU is a televisual shared universe that unites different professional wrestling promotions around the world (see Table 11.2). In some ways, the FDU replicates the nature of the NWA, as different promotions cooperate by sharing talent to further the promotion’s brand and grow its audience. In terms of professional wrestling, geographically constrained territories make little sense in a world connected via the Internet, but these large and small promotions still produce local shows that can gain larger audiences through social media exposure. Starting in 2019, AEW became the largest competitor to WWE, and it featured such inter-promotional collaboration from the beginning. This section presents an initial attempt at mapping the FDU across time and space to demonstrate its expansive nature and how integral it is to AEW. AEW began including wrestlers signed with other promotions in its first PPV. Initially, this collaboration was not referred to as having opened the “forbidden door.” Indeed, no direct attention was paid to this collaboration outside of acknowledging their history of working with other promotions— something WWE has traditionally underplayed. In a sense, this normalization of collaboration is likely due to the AEW’s wrestlers-turned-promotors having worked with these other promotions and wrestled the other performers. The collaborative nature, then, was inherent to AEW given the friendships the wrestlers formed during their time on the indies. The COVID-19 global pandemic likely halted some plans for more collaborations, but by the end of 2020, AEW began working with Impact—again through the friendships of wrestlers (i.e., the Young Bucks, Omega, and the team of Karl “Machine Gun” Anderson and Luke Gallows, known collectively as the Good Brothers)—to develop a storyline that would jumpstart the FDU.5 Omega (real name Tyson Smith) has been a key figure for both AEW and the FDU. AEW began partnering with Lucha Libre AAA Worldwide from the start, when in August 2019, Omega and the Young Bucks wrestled at Triplemanía XXVII against Laredo Kid and AEW’s Fénix and Penta el Zero Miedo (aka the Lucha Brothers). Omega then defeated Fenix at Héroes Inmortales XIII for the AAA Mega Championship. These matches became a larger storyline that saw Omega simultaneously holding three titles, thereby marking the start of the FDU. On December 2, 2020, with the help of Impact’s Don Callis, Omega defeated Jon Moxley for the AEW World Championship and then turned heel by absconding with the title. Before ending that Dynamite episode, Callis told AEW reporters to tune into Impact

195

Wrestlers-as-Marks and Producers-as-Fans Table 11.2 

Collaborating promotions in the Forbidden Door Universe

Title

Lead Promoter

Double or Nothing

AEW

Best of the Super Juniors 26 Dominion 6.9 Fyter Fest

NJPW

G1 Climax Triplemanía XXVII Héroes Inmortales XIII Triplemanía Regia World Tag League

NJPW AEW

Partner Promoter 2019 TJPW, OWE, GMPW6 AEW

Date

Medium

May 25

PPV

June 5

PPV

June 9 June 29

PPV PPV

NJPW AAA AAA

AEW TJPW, OWE, Impact AEW AEW AEW

July–August August 5 October 20

PPV PPV PPV

AAA NJPW

AEW AEW

December 1 December 9

PPV PPV

NJPW

AEW

January 4

PPV

NJPW

AEW

February 8

PPV

AEW AEW GCW

NWA NWA AEW

September 5 September 16 October 11

PPV TNT PPV

AEW Impact AAA

Impact AEW AEW

December 2 December 8 December 13

TNT AXS PPV

2020 Wrestle Kingdom 14 The New Beginning All Out Dynamite Barnett’s Bloodsport 3 Dynamite Impact! Triplemanía XXVII

2021 Dynamite Hard to Kill Strong Barnett’s Bloodsport 5 The New Beginning Barnett’s Bloodsport 6 Revolution Rebellion Dynamite Fyter Fest Slammiversary Mystery Vortex 7 Rampage Resurgence Triplemanía XXIX

AEW Impact NJPW GCW

Impact AEW AEW AEW

January 6 January 16 January 29 February 20

TNT PPV FITE PPV

NJPW

AEW

February 26

FITE

GCW

AEW

April 8

PPV

AEW Impact AEW AEW Impact PWG AEW NJPW AAA

TJPW AEW NJPW NJPW, Impact AEW AEW Impact AEW, Impact AEW

March 7 April 25 May 12 July 14–15 July 7 August 1 August 13 August 14 August 14

PPV PPV TBS PPV PPV PPV TNT PPV PPV (continued)

196

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard et al.

Table 11.2  Collaborating promotions in the Forbidden Door Universe (continued) Title EmPowerrr The Art of War All Out Threemendous VI Strong

Lead Promoter NWA GCW AEW PWG NJPW

Partner Promoter AEW AEW NJPW AEW AEW

GCW ROH

Date August 28 September 4 September 5 September 26 November 27

Medium PPV PPV PPV PPV FITE

AEW AEW, NJPW

January 23 April 1

PPV PPV

AEW NJPW AAA AEW NJPW AEW ROH NJPW

ROH, NJPW AEW, Impact AEW TJPW AEW TJPW AEW AEW, Impact

April 13 April 16 April 30 May 6 May 14 May 18 May 24 May 15–June 3

TBS PPV PPV TBS PPV TBS YouTube PPV

AEW

NJPW

June 26

PPV

2022 The Wrld on GCW Supercard of Honor XV Dynamite Windy City Riot Triplemanía XXX Dynamite Capital Collision Dynamite AEW Dark Best of the Super Juniors 29 Forbidden Door

that week. Omega and Callis then appeared on the December 8 episode of Impact! in pursuit of the Impact World Championship, which Omega later won by defeating the Impact champion Rich Swann in early 2021 at an Impact PPV. Having one of AEW’s biggest stars holding three promotion’s titles served to recognize the value of other promotions, suggesting that the world of professional wrestling was larger than just one company. This recognition underlines the collaboration between AEW and other promotions, and various AEW stars have worked for both large and small promotions while being signed by the company. Wrestling under the name Dean Ambrose for the WWE, Moxley (real name Jonathan David Good) had an exclusivity contract, preventing him from wrestling for other promotions. After signing with AEW, he challenged NJPW’s Juice Robinson for the International Wrestling Grand Prix (IWGP) United States Heavyweight Championship at the Best of the Super Juniors twenty-six tournament June 5, 2019. This collaboration occurred shortly after his premiere at AEW’s first PPV. While signed with AEW, Moxley would go on to wrestle for NJPW, GCW, and other indie promotions like Northeast Wrestling and Over the Top Wrestling. Moxley was also a surprise opponent for Matt Cardona at GCW’s The Art of War Games PPV on September 4, 2021, and Moxley ultimately won the GCW World Championship. In the lead up to the AEW and NJPW PPV Forbidden Door, which took place on June 26, 2022, Moxley called himself the Forbidden Door.

Wrestlers-as-Marks and Producers-as-Fans

197

Another wrestler had her contract bought out to appear in AEW. Thunder Rosa (Melissa Cervantes) wrestled in smaller promotions before joining Lucha Underground (LU) as Kobra Moon, queen of the Reptile Tribe. After LU, she adopted the ring name Thunder Rosa and wrestled for ROH, Women of Wrestling (WOW), Tokyo Joshi Pro Wrestling (TJPW), and the NWA where she became the NWA World Women’s Champion in January 2020. She had the title with her when first debuting in AEW on Dynamite on August 22, 2020. Rosa still held the title when she challenged AEW’s Hikaru Shida for the AEW Women’s World Championship at All Out; she even defended her NWA title on Dynamite on September 16, 2020. Thunder Rosa continued to wrestle for AEW while under contract with NWA until July 2021, when she was officially signed with AEW after Tony Khan and NWA’s Billy Corgan came to an arrangement, resulting in AEW buying out her contract that was set to go until the end of 2021 (Gibbons). Another “forbidden door” is found in Malakai Black (Tom Büdgen), although with a smaller promotion. Another former indie star and WWE wrestler, Black debuted in AEW on Dynamite on July 7, 2021. He then wrestled in PWG, a smaller yet influential promotion in Los Angeles, that August, teaming with Brody King to win the PWG World Tag Team Championship. King then joined Black on AEW to form a new stable, the House of Black. They would later be joined by recent WWE emigrant Buddy Matthews and rookie wrestler (and two-time national cheerleading champion) Julia Hart. Moxley, Black, and Matthews had all previously worked with WWE but had already established themselves on the indies before joining that promotion. Pre-WWE, these wrestlers overlapped on the indie circuit working for different territories and promotions along with the Young Bucks and Omega, suggesting that AEW’s approach with the FDU has been to replicate the territory system in the social media era. The perpetuation of the singular identities attached to these professional wrestlers across these different television and promotional spaces indicates that this televisual shared universe is not solely a top-down construction. Indeed, each of these examples suggests a wrestler who has more control over their character, storyline, and brand as well. These are not constructions created by a behind-the-scenes-only promoter in the form of Tony Khan. Instead, these professional wrestlers demonstrate more individual control over the progression of their characters and associated storylines. This control suggests a more collaborative approach to the development of this televisual shared universe. In a way, then, it is not just the promotions creating intertextual references to other promotions to produce the sense of a larger shared universe. Instead, it is the individual wrestler who can create a network of associations that coalesces into that wrestler’s character, storyline, and brand. The wrestler

198

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard et al.

becomes the focal point through which the shared universe can develop. This was particularly seen in the AEW PPV called Forbidden Door. At that point, various AEW and NJPW professional wrestlers came together in one shared space, physically and televisually. They embodied various rhetorical and intertextual signs that fans had come to understand as coalescing into that particular character within a specific storyline. The PPV’s storylines only manifested through the wrestlers. It was not simply that AEW and NJPW created a working relationship. It was that each wrestler brought their own brand together to create a pastiche that was the PPV. The characters do not simply exist within the televisual shared universe; the televisual shared universe exists only through the characters. Additionally, were it not for the fans of these professional wrestlers understanding who the characters and brands are, as well as having knowledge of the storylines associated with those wrestlers and characters, the televisual shared universe could not form as a cohesive whole. While the wrestlers themselves may operate as signs of intertextuality across various promotions and wrestling spaces, those signs would not be able to communicate the meaning of a shared universe without fans understanding those signs. Without an understanding of who Omega is across various wrestling spaces and discourses, it would not be possible to understand his role in this televisual shared universe. Without understanding his role and thus significance to the shared universe, the fabric of the shared universe could not hold. In a sense, then, the televisual shared universe is not just operating as a collaboration between wrestlers and promoters, but also as a co-construction with the fans. In this way, the televisual shared universe that is the Forbidden Door Universe operates similarly to the co-construction of kayfabe to produce the alternate reality in which such professional wrestling storylines and characters exist. Importance of the FDU AEW’s transmedia storytelling and televisual shared universe, the FDU, demonstrates the collaborative and co-constructive nature of profession wrestling. Whereas the construction of other fictional shared universes could be entirely dependent upon the producers operating behind the scenes without any fan input, it becomes harder for that type of fictional construction to work within professional wrestling itself. For the alternative reality that is kayfabe to hold, professional wrestling fans must be emotionally entangled with the professional wrestler, their character, and/or their storylines. Additionally, for the narrative logic of the televisual shared universe to hold, pro-wrestling fans must be able to identify and understand the characters and storylines regardless of where they occur. Since this is a televisual shared

Wrestlers-as-Marks and Producers-as-Fans

199

universe that is not produced outside of time, the involvement of fans is important. Professional wrestling characters and storylines are built as the narrative unfolds. With other fictional shared universes, those characters and storylines are created before they are seen by fans. However, the vast amount of professional wrestling happens in real time, requiring fans to actively engage with the rhetoric of professional wrestling to help co-construct the characters, storylines, and overall kayfabe. To do so, fans need to understand who the professional wrestler is and what their storyline is at that specific time in any given match. While matches are predetermined, often by the promoter, the performer is in control during the match to convey that storyline. Thus, while the promoter may be able to craft general arcs of the narrative, it requires the performer to be more active in the moment-by-moment construction and relaying of that narrative. Additionally, these live performances can be made by how much the audience is entangled with the storyline. A lackluster live audience response could derail or completely change the overall direction of a storyline. A promoter then needs to have faith that the performer will be able to perform their function to engage the fans. This trust placed on professional wrestlers could be an indication of why the AEW Forbidden Door Universe is markedly different compared to the WCW and WWE feud. Both of those promotions were notorious for being controlled by overbearing promoters. In the case of WCW, it was Eric Bischoff, and in the case of WWE, it was Vince McMahon. While not completely dismissive of the creative talent of their professional wrestlers, these promoters were not as willing to include them in creative decisions and to allow their talent to have such narrative control. In comparison, AEW, while overseen by Tony Khan, also has various professional wrestlers as executive producers. The company constantly promotes itself as being more collaborative in working with professional wrestlers to utilize their own creative talent and thus provide them that control over their characters and storylines. Perhaps, then, the production of the Forbidden Door Universe is ultimately owed to the fact that those behind the scenes are as collaborative as the nature of professional wrestling itself. Additionally, the executive producers and president all have a history of being professional wrestling fans themselves. Perhaps then, the production of the Forbidden Door Universe owes its existence as much to fan-based lovebor as it does traditional media labor.

NOTES 1. Though, as sports journalist Justin Barrasso notes, Japanese wrestler Hiroshi Tanahashi popularized the term “forbidden door” in 2019 during the build-up to his

200

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard et al.

match with former WWE Superstar and, at that time, reigning AEW champion Chris Jericho. 2. The term “sports entertainment” refers to the idea that professional wrestling represents a mixture of genuine sport and scripted entertainment. Whereas “legitimate” sporting events involve things like competition and sportsmanship, sports entertainment injects high levels of theatrical flourish and extravagant presentation alongside predetermined outcomes. While Vince McMahon is frequently credited with coining the term, its origins date back to the 1930s, when Canadian journalist Lou Marsh used the term “sportive entertainment” to refer to professional wrestling. For more see Gillespie and Smith. 3. In professional wrestling, a mark is an often-pejorative term used to describe someone who has little to no knowledge about the industry, though some within the business simply use the term to describe all wrestling fans. The term dates to professional wrestling’s carnival origins, when it was usually applied to anyone who was seen as easily duped. 4. Here we have tried to provide the clearest and most succinct summary of the history of the forbidden door and its impact during this era by focusing on the two largest promotions at the time. Even within these promotions, though, we must acknowledge that the forbidden door was addressed and even crossed at times during this period. WWF, for example, featured wrestlers and champions from both Smokey Mountain Wrestling and ECW while WCW had multiple cross-promotional events with New Japan Pro Wrestling. While important to a history of the forbidden door, we have focused on the history that has most directly impacted the events discussed in the remainder of this essay. 5. There is also Oriental Wrestling Entertainment (OWE) out of China, which worked with AEW during those early years. The collaboration came about largely due to the efforts of performers Cima and Christopher Daniels. 6. Gatoh Move Pro Wrestling.

REFERENCES Ball, Michael R. Professional Wrestling as Ritual Drama in American Popular Culture. Edwin Mellen Press, 1990. Barasso, Justin. “Hiroshi Tanahashi’s ‘Forbidden Door’ Has Finally Opened.” WKKY Country, 24 June 2022, https://wkky​.com​/2022​/06​/24​/hiroshi​-tanahashis​-forbidden​ -door​-has​-finally​-opened. Beard, David E. and John Heppen. “The Dynamics of identity in communities of local professional wrestling.” In Sports Fans, Identity, and Socialization: Exploring the Fandemonim. Edited by Adam C. Earnheardt, Paul M. Haridakis, and Barbara S. Hugenberg. Lexington Books, 2012: 25–48. Beekman, Scott. Ringside: A History of Professional Wrestling in America. Praeger, 2006.

Wrestlers-as-Marks and Producers-as-Fans

201

Greene, Dan. “Could a new California law finally break WWE’s labor structure?” Sports Illustrated, 19 Sept. 2019, https://www​.si​.com​/wrestling​/2019​/09​/19​/wwe​ -labor​-independent​-contractors​-california​-law. Gibbons, Aidan. “Report: AEW bought out Thunder Rosa’s NWA contract.” Cultaholic, 23 July 2021, https://cultaholic​.com​/posts​/report​-aew​-bought​-out​-thunder​ -rosa​-s​-nwa​-contract. Gillespie, Kerry, and Doug Smith. “Capturing a country through sport: The voices.” The Star, 29 June 2017, https://www​.thestar​.com​/sports​/2017​/06​/29​/capturing​-a​ -country​-through​-sport​-the​-voices​.html. Gray, Jonathan. Watching with the Simpsons: Television, parody, and intertextuality. Routledge, 2011. Hutcheon, Linda. Irony’s Edge: The theory and politics of irony. Taylor and Francis, 2013. — — —. A Theory of Parody: The teachings of Twentieth-Century art forms. U Illinois P, 2000. Jackson, Matt and Nick Jackson. Young Bucks: Killing the business from backyards to the big leagues. Dey Street Books, 2020. Kerr, Peter. “Now it can be told: Those pro wrestlers are just having fun.” The New York Times, 10 Feb. 1981, p. A1. kuschk. “Professional wrestling territories of North America.” The Basement Geographer, 14 Mar. 2011, https://web​.archive​.org​/web​/20151112170859​/http:/​/basementgeographer​.com​/professional​-wrestling​-territories​-of​-north​-america. O’Sullivan, Dan. “The forgotten steroid trial that almost brought down Vince McMahon,” Vice, 10 July 2015, https://www​.vice​.com​/en​/article​/pg5n3z​/the​-forgotten​ -steroid​-trial​-that​-almost​-brought​-down​-vince​-mcmahon. Reinhard, CarrieLynn D. “Transmedia fandom at the heart of All Elite Wrestling.” In Transmedia Cultures: A companion. Edited by Simon Bacon. Peter Lang, 2021: 107–116. — — —. (2019). “Kayfabe as Convergence: Content interactivity and prosumption in the squared circle.” Convergent Wrestling: Participatory culture, transmedia storytelling, and intertextuality in the squared circle. Edited by CarrieLynn D. Reinhard and Christopher J. Olson. Routledge, 2019: 31–44. Reinhard, CarrieLynn D. and Pooky Amsterdam. “A community of televised avatars: Interactivities in virtual world television promoting and acknowledging participatory communities.” Participations: Journal of Audience & Reception Studies, vol. 14 no. 1, 2017: https://www​.participations​.org​/Volume​%2014​/Issue​ %201​/5​.pdf. Reinhard, CarrieLynn D. and Christopher J. Olson. “Introduction: Defining convergent wrestling.” Convergent Wrestling: Participatory culture, transmedia storytelling, and intertextuality in the squared circle. Edited by CarrieLynn D. Reinhard and Christopher J. Olson. Routledge, 2019: 1–14. Reynolds, R. D., and Bryan Alvarez. The Death of WCW. ECW Press, 2004. Salter, Anastasia and Mel Sanfill. A Portrait of the Auteur as Fanboy: The construction of authorship in transmedia franchises. UP Mississippi, 2020.

202

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard et al.

Stanfill, Mel. Exploiting Fandom: How the media industry seeks to manipulate fans. U Iowa P, 2019. Zarefsky, David. “Four Senses of Rhetorical History.” Doing Rhetorical History: Concepts and Cases. Edited by Kathleen J. Turner, U Alabama P, 1998: 19–32.

Chapter 12

Conclusion Extending the Shared Universe Concept Christopher J. Olson and CarrieLynn D. Reinhard

Though the shared universe concept has garnered much critical and scholarly attention in recent years, thanks in part to the massive success of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, such interconnected storyworlds are not a new phenomenon. Shared universes have long existed in media, including comic books published by Marvel and DC, film series produced by Toho (the Godzilla series) and Universal (the classic monsters film cycle of the 1930s and 1940s), and television shows from the 1950s onward (e.g., Petticoat Junction, Green Acres, and The Beverly Hillbillies) all crossed over with one another at various points). As explored throughout the essays collected here, televisual shared universes (TSUs) offer producers ways to foster fan engagement, create a larger narrative that extends beyond the borders of a single show/ film/monthly title, and, perhaps most importantly for the producers/creators involved, generate ratings and/or profits. Indeed, fans often wonder what might happen if the Predator battled the Xenomorphs from Aliens or what it would look like if the Flintstones met the Jetsons. Shared universes can provide answers to such questions (sometimes satisfyingly and sometimes not), as well as inspire new possibilities for crossovers. All this may explain why audiences find such crossovers so tantalizing and comforting in equal measure; they offer potential responses to those “What if?” questions along with a satisfying sense of recognition and nostalgia (“Hey, Det. Munch from Homicide: Life on the Street just showed up on Law & Order: SVU!”). TSUs offer creators opportunities to explore complex ideologies, all while developing complex relationships with audiences. Such crossovers can be used to more deeply explore alternative norms or belief systems given that they can spread stories across numerous episodes of different TV shows. Such interconnected narratives or crossover events sometimes allow for more nuanced explorations of issues such as gender, sexuality, religion, politics, 203

204

Christopher J. Olson and CarrieLynn D. Reinhard

and more. For instance, as discussed by Mareike Spychala in this volume, the shared universe established in twenty-first century Star Trek series such as Star Trek: Picard and Star Trek: Lower Decks gives the shows’ creators with more leeway to explore LGBTQ+ issues. Spychala observes that these contemporary shows present queer characters as equal members of the Federation and Starfleet, as opposed to series produced during the 1980s, 1990s, and 2000s, which routinely failed to go boldly into the realm of queer representation. Also in this volume, Melina Meimaridis observes that the shared universe that encompasses shows like Chicago Fire, Chicago Med, and Chicago P.D. allows series creators to depict sociocultural relationships in a Midwestern Metropolis, thereby exploring issues of community values, social anxieties, and conservative ideology. Beyond these ideological issues, TSUs and crossover episodes also allow creators to play with production techniques and storytelling methods, thereby introducing new elements into an established formula and potentially dazzling longtime viewers. For example, in the X-Files episode “X-Cops” (S7E12) lead characters Fox Mulder (David Duchovny) and Dana Scully (Gillian Anderson) track a monster capable of sensing a person’s greatest fear and making it real all while being followed by the crew of the unscripted reality TV show Cops. The episode weds the chaotic, guerilla-style homevideo production of Cops to the brooding, sci-fi-tinged monster-of-the-week template established by The X-Files, and in doing so injects new life and a sense of excitement into both long-running shows. Similarly, when the titular family from The Simpsons encountered the Griffin clan in the Family Guy episode “The Simpsons Guy” (S3E1), fans of both series were treated to a charming clash between different animation styles and approaches to humor (see, for instance, Brian’s first meeting with Santa’s Little Helper). TSUs and crossover events provide opportunities to play with form, thus taking a single series into new territory and stretching the boundaries of the medium of weekly TV itself. Given the ideological and technological potential discussed above (and throughout this volume), we believe TSUs require more scholarly attention than they currently receive. The chapters collected here discuss only a fraction of the TSUs that currently exist, which also include the Supernatural/Scooby Doo crossover, the Batman/Green Hornet crossover, and the TGIF universe (encompassing Perfect Strangers, Full House, Family Matters, Step By Step, and Hangin’ with Mr. Cooper). These and other TSUs provide scholars with opportunities to further explore the issues broached by the authors gathered here and those discussed above, as well as to set off in new scholarly directions not considered here. For instance, more research must be done on audience reception of TSUs, especially fans, who often share intense relationships with one or more of the shows

Conclusion

205

included in interconnected storyworlds. Scholars need to consider how crossover episodes and shared universes alter or strengthen the relationship fans share with the object of their affection. Researchers should also explore the extent to which the producer-fan relationship helps co-construct these TSUs. Despite the excellent scholarship that appears in this anthology, many questions about TSUs remain, and we hope that other media scholars will feel inspired to heed the call and take up this line of research going forward. Additionally, the focus of this volume is primarily on fictional, scripted TSUs, as opposed to other types of shared or interconnected universes. Therefore, more research could be devoted to studying non-fictional shared universes such as that of the MTV reality series The Real World and Road Rules, or the TSU that encompasses the CBS reality game shows Survivor, Big Brother, and The Amazing Race. Scholars could endeavor to answer the question of whether a shared universe even needs to be fictional, or if reality shows also qualify for such a distinction. Indeed, researchers could consider if a romance between so-called Bravolebrities like The Real Housewives of Potomac star Ashley Darby and Summer House heartthrob Luke Gulbranson counts as a TSU. Scholars might also explore how peripheral but interconnected programs like Total Divas or AEW: All Access change fans’ relationships to core programming such as Monday Night Raw or Dynamite, especially since such reality shows often profess to reveal the real personalities that exist behind the somewhat fictionalized characters. Ultimately, media scholars could try to answer the question of whether the artifice of reality television, as somewhat seen in the Forbidden Door Universe (discussed in chapter 11), aligns with transfictionality. Furthermore, this volume focuses mainly on British and American TV shows, suggesting a need for further analysis of non-Western content, especially anime. Though traditionally rare in anime and manga, shared universes have begun to appear in recent years, most notably the so-called Triggerverse established by the short series Space Patrol Luluco. The show brings together various properties created by Studio Trigger, including Kill la Kill, Little Witch Academia, Kiznaiver, and SEX and VIOLENCE with MACHSPEED. Researchers could study this series to uncover whether it follows the same “rules” established by Western TSUs as explored in this volume, or if it approaches this form of storytelling from a culturally specific (i.e., Japanese) lens. Media scholars could also look at Mexican telenovelas, Korean soap operas, and Hindi TV serials to determine if these cultures also employ the TSU model and, if so, how they approach it. Doing so would help to determine how widespread the TSU phenomenon is on a global scale, and whether this model remains stable across cultures or if it is subject to modification via such transnational market forces as glocalization or de-westernization.

206

Christopher J. Olson and CarrieLynn D. Reinhard

Finally, we believe that the study of TSUs requires greater recognition of the contemporary twenty-first century mediascape to determine the current boundaries of “television.” This consideration would in turn allow media scholars to study TSUs through the lens of television-as-technology. Research could more easily identify shared or interconnected universes that can be watched on smart TVs but originate elsewhere, such as webseries created by vloggers and streamers. For instance, YouTube celebrities the Game Grumps (Arin Hanson and Dan Avidan) frequently crossover with other YouTubers such as Markiplier (Mark Edward Fischbach), Oney (Christopher “Chris” O’Neill), and Sneesnag (Brendan Thro). They also helped kickstart the careers of other YouTubers such as RubberRoss (Ross O’Donovan) and BarryWasStreaming (Barry Kramer). The Game Grumps, thus, exist at the center of what could be considered a YouTube shared universe (the YSU?). Likewise, popular Twitch streamers such as JackSepticEye (Seán William McLoughlin), Valkyrae (Rachell Hofstetter), and Sykkuno frequently work together to organize charity streams and raise money for various causes. Vloggers and streamers such as those discussed here often engender intense devotion among fans, and crossover episodes can encourage viewers to create transformative works such as fan art, fanfic, slashfic, and wiki entries. TSUs regularly inspire such fanworks thanks to how they bring together characters and stories from different shows, and therefore we believe that webseries should also be considered TSUs. Overall, we hope that media scholars will find the collection of essays and studies in this anthology useful for considering how to expand concepts long applied in other areas of this field. Indeed, part of the impetus for this collection was the observation that while the concepts may be newer, the phenomenon is quite old. Humans have a long history of loving complex universes, and television is just one medium they have harnessed to present and enjoy such stories. The mythologies of oral traditions perhaps represent the first such shared universes, and today’s transmedia, transfictional, convergence culture replete with medium-specific shared universes is just their latest form.

Index

AAA (Lucha Libre AAA Worldwide), 194–95, 196 ABC, 2, 3, 6, 38, 45, 93, 166, 180n1 adaptation, 90–91, 94, 99, 100, 105, 127, 140, 145, 149–50, 151, 154–55, 159–61, 161n5. See also transmedia Adventures of the Gummi Bears, 90, 92, 96 AEW (All Elite Wrestling), 16, 183–34, 192–99, 194–95, 200n5, 205; AEW Dark, 192, 195; AEW Dynamite, 192; AEW pay-per-view (PPV), 192, 193–96, 194–95; PPV Forbidden Door, 197–98 Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., 2, 160 American Dream, 70, 73, 80, 83–86 American Graffiti, 38, 39, 42, 43, 46 Angel. See Buffy the Vampire Slayer Angell, David, 69, 70–71 Angones, Frank, 91–2, 94–105 animation, 15, 30n3, 50n1, 89–91, 92, 98, 102, 105, 143, 154–55, 161n5, 204 Arrow, 6, 10, 143, 147, 148, 149, 157, 180 Arrowverse, 3, 6, 10, 15, 135, 143–45, 147, 148, 149–150, 152–53, 156–57, 159 Aspen, Doctor (Captain Angel), 27–28

audience, 3, 11, 12, 30, 40, 44, 53–54, 57, 63, 71, 74–75, 77, 86, 86n3, 92, 93, 105, 121–22, 125, 127–28, 132, 195; attachment, 75, 93, 138, 193; cult, 185; engagement, 2, 41, 93, 184, 195, 199, 206; expectations, 22, 36, 85, 99; interactions, 103, 149; polyvalent, 75; reception, 85, 104, 127–28, 140, 175, 177, 203–4; size, 71, 169, 184, 192; new viewers, 57, 71; viewership, 138, 147, 187 authorship, 128–30 backdoor pilot, 2, 6, 95, 165, 166, 180n1 Barks, Carl, 89, 92, 94, 96, 99–101, 105 Batman, 89, 91, 98, 147, 150, 151, 154– 57, 161n2, 161n4, 161n8, 204 Batman: The Animated Series, 91, 97, 151, 155 Batwoman, 143, 148, 152, 155–57 BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation), 15, 53–60, 62–63, 64n13 Big Finish, 54, 64n11 bisexual(ity), 25–26, 27, 31; “depraved bisexual” tropes, 30. See also LGBTQ+; queer(ness); tropes Black Lightning, 147, 148, 159 207

208

Index

Blansky’s Beauties, 36, 38, 47–48 brand(ing), 13, 58, 89–90, 92–93, 100– 102, 105, 187, 195, 197–98; crossbranding, 91; retro-branding, 134 Buffy the Vampire Slayer, 6, 60, 109, 122 cable television, 92, 93, 192, 193 canon, 11, 28, 64n1, 64n13, 89, 90, 91, 95, 100, 167; canonic integration, 10, 139–41; canonicity, 25, 31n7 Casey, Peter, 69, 70–71 CBS, 2–3, 7–8, 20, 93, 147, 148, 156, 166, 205 Cheers, 1, 2, 11, 69–86, 74, 78, 86n2, 168, 169 Cheers (bar), 75, 76–77, 81 Chibnall, Chris, 64n12, 128 Chicago. See televisual city Chicago Fire, 165–66, 168–76, 172, 178, 204 Chicago Justice, 165–66, 168, 171, 173, 176, 178 Chicago Med, 165–66, 168–70, 172, 172–76, 178, 204 Chicago P.D., 170–76, 172, 178, 204 Chip ‘n Dale: Rescue Rangers, 90, 93–95, 97 comedy, 46, 54, 75–76, 83, 169; humor, 74, 76, 78, 80–82, 84, 204. See also sitcom comic book, 2, 3–4, 54, 64n1, 65, 89, 92–96, 99–100, 102, 104–5, 125, 128, 132–33, 139, 143, 145–46, 149, 154, 156, 161, 161n1, 162n11, 203 comics. See comic book continuity, 55–56, 64n1, 91, 96, 101, 103, 125–27, 130–36, 138–41, 143–47, 149–150, 152–57, 159, 161, 162n11, 165 conservative, 16, 74, 82, 166–67, 170– 71, 175–77, 179, 204 Constantine, 147, 148 continuity, 9, 29, 55, 64n1, 64n7, 91, 96, 101, 103, 125–27, 130–36,

138–41, 144–47, 149–50, 152–57, 159, 161, 162n11, 165; narrative, 55–56, 159; problems, 146. See also discontinuity convergence, 154, 206; culture, 12, 16n1, 206 Crane, Frasier, 1, 11, 69, 71–72, 73–74, 74, 77, 78, 79–84, 87n4 Crisis on Infinite Earths, 143, 146, 160–61 crossover, 1–3, 6–12, 15–16, 19–20, 48, 82, 85–86, 89–91, 94–95, 97–98, 101–3, 125, 138–41, 143–46, 149, 159, 165–73, 175–76, 178–79, 183, 203–4, 206; character, 19, 20, 30n3, 94; episode, 69, 71–72, 76–77, 79, 83, 95, 104, 136, 138, 143, 172, 204–6; event, 144–46, 152, 167, 170, 203–4 cruel optimism, 70, 80, 84 CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, 6–7, 8, 134, 166 Cthulhu, 1, 63 Culber, Hugh (Doctor), 23–25 culture, 36–38, 40, 46, 48–49, 73–74, 83, 84, 93, 109, 154, 159, 169, 174–75, 177, 180n3, 205; clash, 73–75, 78; cultural significance, 36, 38, 43; cultural capital, 134. See also popular culture the CW, 6, 9–10, 15, 143–45, 147–50, 152–53, 156, 160, 175 Daleks, 53, 56–58, 64n8 Danson, Ted, 69, 70 Darkwing Duck, 90, 91, 94–98, 103–5. See also Duck, Darkwing Davies, Russell T., 54, 62, 128 DC Comics, 3, 10, 15, 143–44, 146–47, 148, 149, 159–161, 161n1, 162n11 DC Extended Universe (DCEU), 135, 157–58 DC’s Legends of Tomorrow, 6, 135, 143, 148, 153 dialectical tensions, 78–80

Index

dirty work, 166–67, 173–74 discontinuity, 145, 147, 150, 154–55, 159. See also continuity Disney, 89–96, 100–102, 104–5, 129, 130, 138; Disney+, 53, 97, 160; Disney Afternoon, 15, 89, 90, 92–97, 99–100, 103–5; Disney Channel, 92; Disney XD, 58 Disney, Walt, 92 Doctor Who, 15, 53–60, 62–64, 128; Classic Who, 54, 59–60; New Who, 54, 57, 59, 61, 63; Wilderness Years, 54, 58–59, 62–63, 64n2 drama, 25, 143, 159, 165–67, 169, 171, 175–76, 179; audio, 54 Duck, Darkwing, 89, 91, 94–98, 103, 105. See also Darkwing Duck Duck, Donald, 92, 94, 95, 100, 102 DuckTales (1987), 90, 91, 92–94, 96, 99, 100, 101–2 DuckTales (2017), 89–92, 94, 95–105 ECW (Extreme [Eastern] Championship Wrestling), 183, 185, 200n4 Eisner, Michael, 92, 105 fandom, 3, 9, 13, 20, 90, 98, 100, 101, 104, 129, 184. See also fans fans, 6, 12, 15–16, 21, 23, 25, 30n1, 31n6, 54–55, 57–59, 62–63, 64n2, 77, 80, 85–86, 92–93, 96–97, 99–106, 146, 154–155, 161, 183–84, 187–88, 190, 197–99, 200n3, 203–6; fan fiction, 91, 99–100, 102, 105; fan labor, 103; lovebor, 184. See also fandom fantasy, 1, 5, 7, 15, 48, 109, 122 femininity, 79–81, 84, 110, 115, 120– 21, 174 feminism, 37, 42, 74, 82, 121; feminist theory, 110; postfeminist, 81–82; third-wave, 109–110, 117, 118 the Flash (character), 145, 146, 150, 151, 156–58

209

The Flash (series), 6, 10, 135, 143, 147, 148, 151, 156–57, 180n1 FOX, 6, 9, 54, 93, 148, 166, 175 forbidden door, 183–85, 187–92, 195, 197, 199n1, 200n4 franchise, 1, 3, 5, 10–11, 13, 19, 20, 22, 23, 25, 28–29, 45, 85, 93, 95–96, 100, 125, 130, 132, 134, 136, 138–40, 145, 147, 154, 161, 166, 175 Frasier, 1, 2, 69, 70–74, 74, 76–77, 78, 79–80, 82, 84, 86 Gabrielle, 109, 111–12, 113, 115, 117, 119–21 Gargoyles, 90, 99 gay, 23, 25, 27, 31, 75, 109 GCW (Game Changer Wrestling), 187, 194–95 , 196 Goof Troop, 89, 90, 93–94, 95, 99 Gough, Al, 150 Grammer, Kelsey, 69, 71 graphic narrative, 155. See also comic book Haisman, Mervyn, 57. See also Haisman estate Haisman estate, 55, 57–62, 64n13–14 Happy Days, 6, 35–50, 55 Hasbro, 129, 129, 133 Hercules, 109, 111, 112, 113–15, 116, 117–19, 122 Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, 109–10, 112, 115, 118–20 heteronormative, 25–26, 36–38 heterosexual(ity), 27, 28, 36, 38–40, 44, 45, 47, 48–50, 73, 174. See also heteronormative Hilmes, Michelle, 83, 84 Holmes, Robert, 57–58 Homicide: Life on the Street, 3, 9, 203 homosexual(ity), 27, 75, 79, 82. See also gay Howard, Ron, 37, 42

210

Index

ideology, 36–37, 40–42, 44, 48, 73, 75–76, 83–84, 204 Impact Wrestling, 184, 194–195, 195–96 institutions, 84, 165, 166–75, 177– 79; institutional friction, 172; institutional outlook, 166, 170; institutional underpinnings, 16, 166 intellectual property, 54, 56–58, 61–62, 104, 127, 160, 167. See also brand(ing); franchise intertextual(ity), 15, 36, 38, 41, 43, 75, 85, 145, 152, 188–89, 192, 198; allusions, 38, 45; references, 38, 40, 43–44, 49, 144, 189, 191, 197 Jane, Sarah, 54, 56, 61. See also The Sarah Jane Adventures Jenkins, Henry, 12, 16n1, 57, 93, 102, 105, 132, 133, 149 Joanie Loves Chachi, 36, 38, 48–49 K9, 56, 58 K9 and Company, 56 Karnage, Don, 89, 96 kayfabe, 198–99 Khan, Tony, 183–84, 192, 197, 199 Laverne & Shirley, 35, 36, 38, 41–44, 46, 47, 49, 50n1 Lee, David, 69, 70 legacy, 30n3, 38, 91, 99, 125, 126, 127, 130, 133, 134–41, 143 lesbian, 23, 31 Lethbridge-Stewart, Alistair Gordan (Brigadier), 57–61 LGBTQ+, 20, 23–31, 109, 204. See also bisexual(ity); gay; homosexual(ity), lesbian; queer(ness); trans (sexual identity) Lincoln, Henry, 57. See also Haisman estate Love, American Style, 38, 41 Magrs, Paul, 58 Malone, Sam, 69, 70, 74, 81

Mariner, Beckett, 26–27 marketing, 22, 102, 104, 105, 188 Marshall, Gary, 38–39, 42–43, 45–47 Marshall, Penny, 42 Marvel Cinematic Universe, 1–3, 13, 95, 97, 102, 127–28, 143, 145, 160, 203 Marvel Comics, 1–3, 7, 54, 128, 160, 203 The Mary Tyler Moore Show, 42–43 masculinity, 38, 73, 78–81, 84, 115, 120, 174; hegemonic, 81, 83, 174; New Man, 79, 82–83; rugged individualism, 85 McDuck, Scrooge, 89, 92, 94, 96, 99, 100–102 McMahon, Vincent K., 184, 185, 188– 91, 199, 199n2 MCU. See Marvel Cinematic Universe middle class, 14, 36–38, 40, 43–45, 48–50, 74, 78 Midwest, 40, 170, 204; heartland myth, 36, 40, 43–48, 50, 177–78 Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers, 125– 27, 129, 130–32, 136–39, 141 Miles, Lawrence, 58 Millar, Miles, 150 Mittell, Jason, 10, 127, 139 Moffat, Steven, 61, 63, 128 Mork, 35–36, 45–48, 50, 55 Mork & Mindy, 35, 36, 38, 41, 44–48, 49, 50, 50n1 Moxley, Jon, 196–97 multiverse, 6, 140, 143, 146, 147, 152, 154, 159, 160; shared, 144–47, 150, 152, 154–56, 158, 159–61 mythology, 1, 16, 89, 110, 115, 117–20, 122, 206; Celtic, 119; Greco-Roman, 117–18; Hindi, 120–21; JudeoChristian, 48, 119–20; mythos, 14, 15, 98, 152, 155; Norse, 118–19 Nation, Terry, 57–58, 64n8 National Wrestling Alliance (NWA), 184, 185, 186, 187–88, 194–95, 195–97

Index

NBC, 1–3, 5, 9, 70–1, 86, 86n3, 147, 148, 165–70 New Japan Professional Wrestling (NJPW), 183, 184, 194–95, 196, 197–98 New Man. See masculinity nostalgia, 14–16, 36–39, 40–41, 43, 46– 47, 49–50, 57, 59, 70, 71, 85–86, 89, 90–91, 93, 100–102, 104, 125–26, 134–35, 147, 203 Olmstead, Matt, 165–66 Omega, Kenny, 192, 196, 197 One Chicago, 6–7, 165–71, 173–76, 178–79 Out of the Blue, 36, 38, 48 parody, 97, 190–92 patriarchy, 38–40, 43–44, 49, 114–16 phase delineation, 126–28, 130 Pike, Christopher (Captain), 20–22, 28 popular culture, 4, 36, 37–41, 43–45, 48–50, 85–86, 122 postmodern, 188 prequel, 11, 13 producer, 3, 5, 12, 23, 31n8, 38, 41–42, 45, 46, 60, 73–74, 101–4, 161, 184, 198–99, 203; eras, 129; producer-fan relationship, 205 production companies, 90, 160 professional wrestling, 184–85, 187–90, 192–93, 195–96, 198–99, 199n2, 200n3 Quack Pack, 90, 94, 95, 99 queer(ness), 23, 24, 25, 26, 28, 29, 30, 31n6, 31n8, 109, 110, 204. See also LGBTQ+ Raimi, Sam, 109–19, 121–22 reboot, 5, 89–92, 94–97, 101–2, 105–6, 135, 156, 158; quasi-reboot, 96, 99. See also remake Reeltime Pictures Ltd., 59, 61, 62, 64n12

211

references, 9, 10, 11, 19, 20, 22, 27, 31n5, 36, 41, 47, 50, 62, 64n12, 89, 91–92, 95–96, 99–102, 104–5, 133, 139, 155, 169, 188; Easter eggs, 9, 11, 98, 100; fan service, 157; in-jokes, 91; popular culture references, 43, 45, 48. See also intertextual(ity) remake, 86, 90, 101–2. See also reboot remix, 90, 100 Reno, Jett, 23, 24 representation. See LGBTQ+; queer(ness) retroactive continuity, 2; retcon, 193; retroactive intentionality, 152, 157; retrospective intentionality, 144, 149, 161. See also continuity revival, 54, 55, 63, 91, 95, 134; relaunch, 22, 134 rhetoric, 187, 192, 197, 198 Roddenberry, Gene, 23–24, 31n8 Rosa, Don, 89, 94, 96, 105 Ryan, Marie-Laure, 3–6, 13 Saban, Haim, 126, 129, 129, 130, 133 The Sarah Jane Adventures, 54, 56, 59, 62. See also Jane, Sarah satire, 189–92 Saturday morning cartoon, 50n1, 126, 131–32 science fiction, 1, 2, 5, 13, 46, 53, 55, 60, 109, 122 sequel, 4, 13, 21, 89, 127, 135, 136, 155. See also franchise shared identity, 171, 173, 175 shared universe, 1–13, 20, 22, 25, 27, 29, 30, 37–38, 41–42, 43–44, 46–50, 54–55, 56, 62, 63, 75, 86, 89–91, 93–95, 97–98, 100, 102–4, 110–11, 117, 118, 122, 125–29, 133, 135, 139–40, 143–45, 152, 155, 156–57, 159–60, 166–69, 170, 171, 174–76, 178–79, 197–98, 203, 205; cinematic, 1, 3, 13, 95, 144, 160, 203; comic book, 132, 143, 145–147,

212

Index

150, 154, 159–61; illusory, 90; literary, 1–2, 13; non-fictional, 205; quasi-televisual, 91; televisual, 2, 4, 5, 7, 8, 12, 25, 27, 29, 37, 53–55, 57, 58–59, 62–63, 69, 73–75, 85–86, 89–90, 94, 102, 144–45, 147–50, 184, 193, 197, 198, 203; YouTube, 206. See also multiverse; storyworld; transfictionality; transmedia showrunner, 25, 30, 54, 61, 70, 82, 98, 101–4, 120, 128, 152, 168, 177. See also producer sitcom, 69–70, 82–84, 86, 91, 94, 99, 169; family, 73, 77; workplace, 72, 75–77; workplace family, 73, 77, 84–85 society, 28, 111, 167, 175; Ancient Near East, 114–16; Celtic, 116–17; GrecoRoman, 111–14; institutions in, 84, 170, 178; Norse and Germanic, 115–16; United States, 36, 39–40, 49, 175–76, 179; utopian, 24. See also culture soundstage, 73, 76–77, 193; sets, 35, 38, 75–77 spin-off, 2–3, 5–13, 20, 22, 29–30, 30n3, 35–38, 40–42, 44–45, 47–50, 50n1, 54, 62, 70–71, 91, 94, 97, 105, 135, 147, 165, 180n1; sidequels, 13. See also franchise Spock, 20–22, 27–28 Stamets, Paul (Lieutenant), 23–25 Star Trek (franchise), 44–45; Star Trek: The Animated Series, 19–20; Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, 19–20, 22, 31n6; Star Trek: Discovery, 20–25, 27, 29–30; Star Trek: Lower Decks, 25, 27, 29–30, 30n3; Star Trek: The Next Generation, 19–25, 29; Star Trek: The Original Series, 19–21, 24, 28; Star Trek: Picard, 21–22, 25, 29–30; Star Trek: Strange New Worlds, 21–22, 27–29, 31n9; Star Trek: Voyager, 19 Star Wars (franchise), 44, 46, 135

stereotypes, 25–26, 75, 79, 109, 116, 122. See also tropes Stewart, Kate, 59–61, 63, 64n12 storyworld, 2–10, 41, 55, 75, 103, 110, 125, 138–41, 150, 154, 160–61, 193, 203, 205; diegetic, 6, 10, 56, 97, 168; expanded, 5, 7–9, 13, 20, 22, 25, 29, 41, 58, 63, 150, 158, 192–93 superhero, 12, 91, 97, 109, 122, 125, 126, 143, 145, 150, 153, 161n1; comics, 2–4, 132–33, 145–46, 153–54, 160–61; show, 10, 126, 131, 144, 159 Supergirl, 143, 147, 148, 150, 153 Superman, 132, 147, 150–153, 151, 156–57, 159 Tal, Adira, 23–24, 30n5 Tal, Grey, 23–24 TaleSpin, 89, 90, 91, 93, 95–96, 102 Tapert, Robert, 109–19, 121–22 Target Books, 54, 64n3 televisual city, 165–66, 169, 175–77, 179 text, 2, 5–7, 9–12, 14, 20, 43, 56, 93–95, 101–3, 105, 127–28, 130, 139, 143– 45, 149, 165, 187–88; discrete, 4–8, 12, 41, 55, 127, 136, 144, 154, 167; megatext, 55–56, 64n7; paratext, 13, 127; source, 91, 94, 145, 154–58 Thunder Rosa, 196–97 Torchwood, 54, 56 trans (sexual identity), 24, 27, 28. See also LGBTQ+; queer(ness) transfictionality, 4–5, 7–8, 11–13, 41, 55, 103, 144–45, 158–59, 205 transmedia, 3–4, 8, 10, 12–13, 16n1, 25, 31n7, 41, 54, 55, 60, 63, 89, 91, 100, 101, 103, 105, 140, 143–45, 152–55, 158, 184. 187, 192, 206; balanced, 10, 139; family, 143–44, 147, 149–50, 153, 156–57; relationships, 143–44, 149, 155, 158–60; shared universe, 2, 10, 12–13, 143, 159–61; storytelling, 97, 139, 144–45,

Index

149–50, 152, 157–60, 192–93, 198; unbalanced, 10–11, 139–40 transposition, 6, 145, 158 tropes, 25–28, 30, 31n9, 43, 45, 69, 97, 118, 119, 122, 131, 137, 140; aesthetic prototype, 136; character, 74; narrative, 15, 70–71, 73; narrative prototype, 130–34. See also stereotypes Tulloch, John, 56, 64n6 Turner, Ted, 185, 188, 190 Verevis, Constantine, 101–2 Virgin Publishing, 54, 60, 64n5 WCW (World Championship Wrestling), 184, 185, 188–91, 192, 199, 200n4 Williams, Cindy, 42–43 Williams, Robin, 46 Wings, 1–2, 11, 69, 70–72, 74, 74, 76–82, 78, 86, 168

213

Winkler, Henry, 37 Wolf, Dick, 165–68 WWE (World Wrestling Entertainment), 183–85, 187, 192, 195, 196, 197, 199, 199n1. See also WWF (World Wrestling Federation) WWF (World Wrestling Federation), 183, 185, 186, 187, 188–92, 200n4. See also WWE (World Wrestling Entertainment) Young Bucks, 184, 192, 196–97 Young Hercules, 109, 110, 112 Youngberg, Matt, 92, 94, 95, 98–105 YouTube, 184, 192–93, 195, 206 Xena, 110, 111–13, 115–17, 119–22 Xena: Warrior Princess, 109, 110, 111–12, 115, 119–20 The X-Files, 9, 60, 109, 204 Żaglewski, Tomasz, 3–4, 13, 41

About the Editors and Contributors

CarrieLynn D. Reinhard is a Professor of Communication Arts and Sciences at Dominican University in River Forest, Illinois. She is the author of the monograph Fractured Fandoms: Contentious Communication in Fan Communities (Lexington Books, 2018), and co-author or co-editor of Convergent Wrestling: Participatory Culture, Transmedia Storytelling, and Intertextuality in the Squared Circle (2019), Heroes, Heroines, and Everything in Between: Challenging Gender and Sexuality Stereotypes in Children’s Entertainment Media (Lexington Books, 2017), Possessed Women, Haunted States: Cultural Tensions in Exorcism Cinema (Lexington Books, 2016), and Making Sense of Cinema: Empirical Studies into Film Spectators and Spectatorship (2016). Vincent Tran is completing his Ph.D. candidature at Swinburne University of Technology in Melbourne, Australia. He completed his Honors thesis at the University of Melbourne, examining the translation of the Arrowverse shared universe from comic book to television. His doctoral research focuses on the history, rise, and proliferation of the shared universe from nineteenthcentury literature to the current day. His investigation looks into the strategies in which shared universes have been developed throughout modern history and texts, as well as building a framework to classify the shared universe and its many different trans-historical permutations. *** Princess O’Nika Auguste is a Ph.D. student at Dublin City University from Saint Lucia. She has a BA in English Literature from Grambling State University; a Masters of Divinity, with concentrations in New Testament and 215

216

About the Editors and Contributors

Church History, from the Interdenominational Theological Center; and, a Masters of Theological Studies in Biblical Studies from Claremont School of Theology. She has contributed articles to Christian Feminist Today, Pop Culture and Theology, Intersect Antigua, Equality Fund, and The Painted Leaf. She is an avid blogger and has contributed blog articles to Perspectives and Opinions. She has self-published her first collection of poetry called From A Dark Place. David Beard is Professor of Rhetoric at the University of Minnesota at Duluth. He has published in journals such as the International Journal of Listening, Philosophy and Rhetoric, the Southern Journal of Communication, Media Ethics, and The Popular Culture Studies Journal. With his friend and collaborator, Lisa Horton, he has essays in Clockwork Rhetoric: The Language and Style of Steampunk, the Journal of Contemporary Rhetoric, and The Routledge Handbook of Remix Studies and Digital Humanities. Peter Cullen Bryan received his Ph.D. in American Studies and Communication at the Pennsylvania State University in 2018. His areas of study include American Studies, Intercultural Communication, and 21st Century American culture, emphasizing comic art and fan communities. He authored Creation, Translation, and Adaptation in Donald Duck Comics: The Dream of Three Lifetimes (2021).. His research has appeared in the Journal of Fandom Studies, The Journal of American Culture, and Popular Culture Studies Journal, exploring the intersections of creative activism and fan identities in adaptational and transnational spaces. Erin K. Burrell is a Social Justice Researcher and Consultant in Whakatū, Aotearoa, New Zealand. She received her Ph.D. in Human Resources Management and Services from Massey University. She studies inequality and disruptive interventions for sustainable change. Her work is naturally interdisciplinary and explores how tools like pop culture storytelling can help to inform and teach social change. Erin’s research interests include intersectional feminism, norms of social power and exchange, pop culture storytelling, equity and social justice advocacy. Clare Ford is an aspiring urban-fiction writer working on her sixth novel. As an author, her interests include exploring the different storytelling structural needs and advantages between long-form writing, short fiction, comics, serial-format television, and radio plays. Ford is an alumna of the Barrowman Writing Workshop (led by Carole Barrowman with John Barrowman).

About the Editors and Contributors

217

Jason Ford is an Associate Professor of Philosophy at the University of Minnesota at Duluth. His main research areas are in philosophy of mind, attention, and its relationship to consciousness, and cognitive science. He has published in Philosophical Studies and the Journal of Consciousness Studies, among others. Lisa Horton is an Assistant Professor in the Department of English, Linguistics, and Writing Studies at the University of Minnesota at Duluth. Her Ph.D. is in English, with an emphasis in Medieval Literature, from Western Michigan University. Lisa’s research interests lie in contemporary and historical medievalisms, the works of the Pearl-poet, the history of science, fan cultures, and Remix Theory. Previous publications include book chapters on re-imaginings of Sherlock Holmes, and a project with co-author David Beard on remix and tabletop role-playing games. Chris McGunnigle received his Ph.D. in Rhetoric and Composition from the University of Louisiana at Lafayette with a concentration in Hybrid Media Rhetoric, especially graphic narrative. His dissertation focused on magical ritual as a transmedial/remedial performance. He has published on a variety of media genres, from cosplay to topography. He currently works in Disability Studies. Christopher A. Medjesky is an Associate Professor and Chair of the Department of Communication at the University of Findlay. He earned a Ph.D. in Communication Studies from Bowling Green State University. His work in rhetoric and media has focused on film, television, comedy, and professional wrestling. Melina Meimaridis is a postdoctoral researcher at the Postgraduate Program in Communication, affiliated with the Universidade Federal Fluminense in Brazil. She was awarded a fellowship from the Fundação de Amparo à Pesquisa do Estado do Rio de Janeiro (FAPERJ) to support her research. Melina holds a Master’s in Communication and a Bachelor’s in Media Studies. Her research investigates the impact of fictionalized social institutions on television. Melina’s research interests extend to media industries, comfort series, and internet-distributed TV in national and regional markets. Currently, she is conducting research on how serialized TV fiction contributes to the development of knowledge about social institutions and how these representations circulate through transnational television flows. Christopher J. Olson is a Ph.D. candidate in English at the University of Wisconsin at Milwaukee, with a Media, Cinema, and Digital Studies

218

About the Editors and Contributors

concentration. Olson is the author of 100 Greatest Cult Films (Rowman & Littlefield, 2018), and co-author or co-editor of other books, including Convergent Wrestling: Participatory Culture, Transmedia Storytelling, and Intertextuality in the Squared Circle (2019), Heroes, Heroines, and Everything in Between: Challenging Gender and Sexuality Stereotypes in Children’s Entertainment Media (Lexington Books, 2017), and Possessed Women, Haunted States: Cultural Tensions in Exorcism Cinema (Lexington Books, 2016). Aaron Propes graduated from Syracuse University with a BA in psychology and has spent most of his professional life in the Information Technology field. He performed educational interactive theater in Syracuse and Minneapolis/St. Paul. He served a term as co-chair of the Minnesota Coalition Against Sexual Assault. Behind the microphone and on the page, Propes has done soccer reporting and commentary; he also taught officiating for modern roller derby in the US, France, Argentina, and Brazil. Raymond I. Schuck is an Associate Professor of Communication in the Department of Humanities at Bowling Green State University at Firelands. His research focuses on rhetorical and critical examination of popular culture in various forms, including sports, music, television, film, and popular literature. He is the coeditor of the book Do You Believe in Rock and Roll? Essays on Don McLean’s “American Pie,” which contains chapters that interpret and examine the cultural meaning of McLean’s well-known song. Peter Soulen received a BA from St. Olaf College in physics and mathematics, and a Ph.D. from the University of Chicago in the geophysical sciences, specializing in satellite remote sensing of the Earth’s atmosphere. After several years of performing postdoctoral research at NASA Goddard Space Flight Center, he today works as an actuary. Mareike Spychala is a postdoctoral research assistant and Lecturer at the University of Bamberg’s American Studies section. Her award-winning dissertation focused on autobiographies by female veterans of the Iraq War and on the intersections of gender and imperialism in these narratives. Most recently, she has written an essay on “War and Conflict in Star Trek” for the The Routledge Handbook on Star Trek (2022) and has co-edited the collection Fighting for the Future: Essays on Star Trek Discovery (2020) and the conference proceedings War and Trauma in Past and Present: An Interdisciplinary Collection (2019).