Over spring break, I binge-watched my guilty pleasure show: “Glee.” Yes, that jukebox musical series that was somehow one of the most groundbreaking TV shows of the 2000s but also a chaotic fever dream. Centered around the members of a high school glee club, its blend of lighthearted humor and emotional writing allowed it to address serious issues such as bullying, teen pregnancy and the struggles of queer adolescence. However, frequent offensive dialogue and sloppy handling of problematic plotlines hindered the show’s impact over time.
“Glee” is a satire of high school drama, so its characters are based on age-old stereotypes: spoiled theater kids, womanizing jocks, popular cheerleaders and awkward nerds. Throughout the series, these one-dimensional archetypes demonstrate a surprising level of depth, ultimately defying the roles that they have been cast in.
However, the portrayals of racial and ethnic minorities tow a fine line between self-aware parody and offensive stereotyping. Aspiring Broadway star Rachel Berry (Lea Michele) embodies the negative traits of the Jewish American Princess stereotype: selfishness, bossiness and materialism. Mercedes (Amber Riley), the show’s Black female lead, is characterized as angry and sassy – traits that have been weaponized against Black women for decades. Santana (Naya Rivera) is a feisty, sexualized Latina. Although they do eventually grow beyond these stereotypes, the underlying origins of their characters cannot be ignored.
I’m a strong believer in reclaiming stereotypes in ways that empower marginalized communities, but these decisions should come from within the community. For example, Evelyn Wang in “Everything Everywhere All at Once” fits the overbearing Asian immigrant mother stereotype, but the film handles her character with depth and compassion because its screenwriters had firsthand knowledge of the emotional complexity surrounding the Asian immigrant experience. “Glee,” on the other hand, was written mostly by three white men who created characters based on offensive racial and ethnic stereotypes about Black, Latina and Jewish women. It’s not their place to decide how these archetypes can be reclaimed.
Most of the problematic dialogue in “Glee” is thrown in casually for humor. In season two, Santana casually makes fun of a Jewish character’s nose, a disabled character’s inability to walk and an Asian character’s eye shape, all in less than a minute. Two Asian characters, Tina and Mike (Jenna Ushkowitz and Harry Shum, Jr.), both have the surname Chang despite not being related and barely get screen time unless they are the butt of a racist joke about weird food, slanted eyes, tiger parents or academic excellence. They even fall in love at “Asian camp” while singing “Getting to Know You” from the orientalist musical “The King and I,” surrounded by dozens of Asian children eagerly recording the spectacle on their phones.
These offensive depictions can’t be dismissed as satire because “Glee” is fully capable of taking itself seriously when it wants to. For example, when Finn (Cory Monteith) calls Kurt (Chris Colfer) a homophobic slur in season one, Kurt’s father has a serious conversation with Finn informing him that homophobia will not be tolerated. Although casually homophobic jokes do appear in the series, there are several serious episodes dedicated to the harmful effects of homophobia, whereas there are no episodes that explicitly address racism or antisemitism.
Although “Glee’s” LGBTQ+ representation was largely positive, it still perpetuated biphobia and transphobia. In season two, Blaine (Darren Criss) questions his sexuality after kissing Rachel during a drunk game of spin-the-bottle. When he tells Kurt that he thinks he may be bisexual, Kurt tells him that “bisexual is a lie gay guys tell in high school to hold hands with girls in the corridor so they can feel normal for a change” and accuses Blaine of trying to “tiptoe back into the closet” because he believes bisexuality is not a valid identity. Santana also makes casually biphobic comments about her bisexual girlfriend Brittany because she fears Brittany will leave her for a man. Brittany, the show’s only major bisexual character, hooks up with almost everyone in the school before settling down with Santana, reinforcing the misconception that bisexual people are promiscuous and unfaithful.
“Glee” also features two transgender characters: Unique Adams and Coach Beiste. Unique, a young Black trans woman, is constantly misgendered and harassed, sometimes for comic effect. For example, one episode creates a running joke surrounding gender-inclusive bathrooms without addressing how gendered bathrooms are a major talking point in transphobic rhetoric. Worse yet, Unique also catfishes a boy, perpetuating the stereotype that trans people are predatory. In a society where Black trans women face disproportionately high rates of violence and hate crimes, Unique’s character largely does more harm than good for the trans community.
While the decision to write a transition storyline for the beloved Coach Beiste was admirable and the show handled it with more sensitivity than Unique’s storyline, many trans viewers have argued that the story was rushed and did not align with Beiste’s character arc. TV needs more trans characters, but they deserve thoughtful storylines that honor the complexities of real trans people’s existence.
Often, “Glee” aimed to address important issues but inadvertently ended up offending or misrepresenting the group they were trying to advocate for. For example, one episode of season one shows Mercedes, who is plus-sized, going on an extreme diet so she can lose weight and join the cheerleading team. While the episode ends with Mercedes embracing her plus-size body, the positive impact is undermined by the fatphobic humor that runs throughout the entire series. Furthermore, “Glee” has a long history of misrepresenting eating disorders, treating them as a weird quirk of vain, conventionally attractive young women rather than a mental health issue that affects people of all ages, backgrounds and genders. Although season four attempts to depict Marley’s bulimia with some degree of seriousness, its unrealistically brief resolution is frustrating and unsatisfying.
“Glee”’s attitude towards sexual violence and consent is also problematic. In season one, Puck impregnates Quinn while she is drunk, and she later expresses that she would not have consented if she had been sober. However, the show frames it as a consensual hookup and never acknowledges that Puck took advantage of Quinn while she was incapacitated. In season four, Tina touches Blaine without consent while he is asleep, and the show treats it as little more than a joke. While this season does feature a more serious episode in which Ryder talks about being sexually assaulted by his babysitter, most of the other characters are dismissive of his experiences. Furthermore, Kitty’s sexual assault is treated as a plot device to forge a connection with Ryder and make her prickly character more sympathetic. Throughout the series, teenage Puck mentions that he has had sex with many older women, including his middle-aged teacher Shelby, and other characters make false accusations of sexual assault with no consequences.
I don’t want to discredit any of the positive impacts “Glee” did deliver—particularly for gay and lesbian visibility on television. However, while I still enjoy “Glee” for its incredible music, its heartfelt storylines and its witty supply of entertaining teen drama, I cannot turn a blind eye to the greater issues surrounding representation and the boundaries of dark humor. And that’s what they missed on “Glee.”