What Showtime’s Homeland Reveals about the Post-9/11 Emotional Landscape & 21st Century Gender Portrayals

I have a dirty little secret:  I don’t have any premium cable pay stations.  I’m cheap, or, more accurately, perpetually broke – so that’s my excuse.  I’ve justified my practice of studying mostly network television because of its accessibility and it historical legacy (finding some interest in how the big three networks continue to evolve).  But as of late, this refusal to dish out the big bucks for Showtime and HBO seems like an extremely irresponsible decision for a television scholar.  As much as I hate to admit it, network television is declining and most of the stuff most worthy of analysis is to be found on those pay stations.

But I digress.  So, because of my frugal/income-deficient status, I am perpetually a season (at least) behind in most of the hip, cutting edge shows – watching them on delay via Netflix (on disc no less!).  This explains why I have just now completed the first two seasons of Homeland – a show I knew was extremely important that I follow as a post-9/11 television scholar. So, forever late to the party, I’m here finally to chime in on my thoughts on the show (or at least its first two seasons – so no spoilers please!)

I’ll start by saying I loved it.  I watched two seasons in the span of approximately two weeks.  I haven’t watched a show so quickly since I watched the first day of Jack Bauer’s televisual existence (when I watched all 24 hours of his life, season one of 24, practically in the “real time” the show offers).  It’s not unimportant that I obsessively consumed this show in the manner that I did 24, as I find them extremely similar.  They are both suspenseful, action-packed shows with similar content.   Both shows place viewers behind the scenes of governmental agencies tasked with stopping major terrorist attacks; they include storylines on marital strife and adultery; they place main characters in situations where they have to choose between the safety of loved ones and morally problematic acts; and they even sneak in annoying subplots involving the drama of teenage daughters. 

While I agree with other critics that Homeland is more psychologically centered and character driven – Carrie Matthison (Claire Danes), Nicholas Brody (Damian Lewis), and Saul Berenson (Mandy Patinkin) are among the best characters I’ve seen on television in the past few years – the overall similarities between Homeland and its predecessor make me feel that the show, however fabulous, is just a continuation of the slew of post-9/11 shows grounded in motifs of fear, salvation, and vengeance.  (For more on this wave, see my previous posts).

However, not all agree with me.  TV Guide’s Adam Bryant argued that Homeland is television’s first “post-post-9/11 show.”  In an interview with the show’s creators, Alex Gansa and Howard Gordon, the three compared the two programs.  Gansa said that 24 “was a response to the towers coming down” and “American taking action against enemies,” while Homeland is “a response to Osama bin Laden’s death” and “a psychological exploration of what this war on terror has meant to the United States” and the individuals involved in it.  Gordon added, "It's really about what we have to fear now that all the boogeymen of the last 10 years ... are no longer alive or in jail. We're left asking ourselves, 'What are we afraid of and what does that look like?' It doesn't mean there aren't things that are threatening us out there, but it does mean that those things are a little bit less obvious than we thought they were 10 years ago." 

And while I can see the slight difference that they make between the two shows, the result isn’t all too different.  And, if Homeland is a post-post-9/11 show running strong in 2014, what does it mean that 24 is returning this year after a four year hiatus (albeit in a supposed “limited run”)? Is this new 24 going to morph into a post-post-9/11 show as well? 

But if it is truly the psychological makeup of the characters that differentiates these shows, then I find myself agreeing with media reviewer, Jeff York’s suggestion that Carrie and Brody act as metaphorical embodiments of the emotional climate of America post-9/11:

If Carrie literally represents the bipolarity of America post 9-11, with our morality so often at odds with our need for safety, then the Brody character is a perfect mirror of that conflict too. For the first half of (season one) we were kept in the dark as to Brody’s true motivations. Was he an Al-Qaeda operative turned by torture, or was the real torturing being done at home, by a zealous CIA hounding him to hell? One of the brilliant things about the show is how it kept us guessing from scene to scene what Brody’s true motivations were, and empathizing with him the whole way…. Both Carrie and Brody are sides of post 9-11 America. We too have become overtly paranoid, partisan and reactionary. And yet, we are also trying to move on from those events, find peace and stave off the demons that have haunted us since.

As someone who reads contemporary television through two simultaneous lenses – as a post-9/11 and feminist media scholar – I also find myself wondering what these two characters reveal about 21^st century gender roles.

As I’ve noted before, television is offering some amazing female characters – complex, intelligent, successful, professional women in varied careers.  However, the programs that house these extraordinary characters still seem drawn to traditional melodramatic romance plots featuring star-crossed lovers like Carrie and Brody (or Scandal’s Olivia and Fitz, to give a similar example).  These storylines often undo the female protagonist, converting them into unstable, emotionally weak, women who come close to sacrificing their professional accomplishments and reputations because of the men they love.  Does this one element of the shows mean that we should discard everything else that is truly great about them?  Not necessarily.  However, it constantly makes me wonder:  have we really come that far in terms of gender portrayals?   When even the strongest women on television need to be saved (emotionally or physically by their male love interests), are these programs buying into the post-9/11 rhetoric that called for the revival of male cowboys and female damsels in distress?

Whether Carrie Mathison is a flawed feminist figure or not, I think she is a fascinating character, an intriguing portrayal of mental illness, and another one of Claire Danes’ fabulous performances.  I look forward to catching up to the rest of the viewing world soon and seeing what season three had in store for her.