Ted Lasso, "Pilot" Rewatch
My key takeaway: Ted Lasso is not some country bumpkin too pure to understand (or participate in) social hierarchies.
There's an old feel-good comedy staple where a simple, salt-of-the-earth Hick goes to The City and meets Fancy Cityfolk. Not familiar with their fancy city ways, the Hick doesn't treat people according to this foreign hierarchy. He does things for himself rather than ordering around the butler. (He may even assume the butler is the Master of the House!) He innocently insults the Fancy Cityfolk by violating their social rules. He shakes the men's hands too hard. He invites the stuffiest matron around to go possum huntin'.
The Hick acts without respect to the Cityfolk's social hierarchies, because he doesn't understand them.
In the Pilot, it's clear that Ted is Not That Hick.*
Ted is a keen observer of power dynamics. Unlike the Hick who runs roughshod over social hierarchy out of ignorance, Ted is constantly negotiating social hierarchies. The Hick upends hierarchy. Ted is an active participant and often a beneficiary of hierarchy.
Ted has a brain that won't turn off and a fuckton of social privilege. And, by god, if he doesn't use both in the Pilot.
Example 1: Ollie, the Erstwhile Tour Guide
Ted's first interaction on British soil with a British person is a bit of a fake-out. When Ollie (the cab driver presumably sent by Richmond) goes to take Ted and Beard's luggage, they refuse. Ted says no several times in a row, followed by, "We packed 'em, we'll carry 'em." Perhaps, for the briefest moment, we think Ted is That Hick. He doesn't want to be waited on; he doesn't want to watch someone labor on his behalf. He's opting out.
But then Ted immediately says, "Love to make a little pit stop though." After Ollie agrees, it's cut to: Ollie showing Ted and Beard the Tower Bridge. A thing that is very much not Ollie's job. A thing that Richmond is not paying him for. A thing that neither Ted nor Beard tip him for on-screen.
Ted seems uncomfortable with Ollie, a dark-skinned Black man, carrying his bags. He's wary of such a visible marker of class and racial hierarchy. The historical weight cannot be ignored.
However, Ted's fine with asking Ollie to play tour guide--something that literally is not Ollie's job and that he isn't dressed for (Ollie's removed his suit jacket in the sunshine of the water front). Moreover, Ted feels comfortable requesting a delay in their itinerary that could potentially lose Ollie further business with Richmond.
There's a connection between the refusal to let Ollie carry their bags and the request for a tour. It feels like a negotiation. We'll carry our bags; you give us a tour. The fact that Ollie is expected to carry his fares' bags becomes a bargaining chip. It buys Ted the good will necessary to get something he wants. (Which is so fucking Midwestern.)
In this interaction, Ted doesn't opt out of the racial and class hierarchy. He just alters the terms.
Example 2: Nathan and Nate
Like Ted, I am also a Midwestern transplant. I understand the impulse for nicknames. Where I grew up, if you didn't have a nickname (preferably something ending with an -y sound), it meant people hated you. Or you were rich. Or both.
It was quite shocking to move to California and meet some Okie who introduced himself as "James."
Among family and friends, coining a nickname can signal affection, warmth, familiarity.
Among people who've just met, a white person inventing a nickname for a person of color is... bad, it's bad. Don't do it. It's wrong. No. I don't get to decide what their name is. Stop.
Nathan introduces himself as Nathan. Ted calls him Nathan a few times. But in their third scene together, Ted has started calling him by the diminutive, "Nate." By the time Nathan is driving out of the Richmond car park, Ted is calling him, "my man, Nate."
If I were in Ted's place, the moment Nathan dropped me off, I would call a cab, board a flight home, and change my own fucking name. I'd enter the Whiteness Protection Program so goddamn fast.
My point is: Ted is overly-familiar with Nathan. He takes liberties with Nathan. He redefines Nathan, shrinking him down into Nate. He exercises authority over Nathan's very identity.
Compare this with how George Cartrick calls Higgins, "Higgy Boy."
Contrast it with how Ted addresses Rebecca. He calls her Ms. Welton. When she corrects him, he believes her.
He doesn't call her Becca or Becky or Bex. He calls her Rebecca.
Because she's his boss.
Which is to say: he knows how power works at work.
Example 3: Tea Time?
As a new employee, Ted is deferential to Rebecca. He is careful about staying in her good graces.
Ted initially calls Rupert a "good time" for being surrounded by champagne and groupies (a moment of casual sexism that Nathan would have criticized himself over). When Ted learns that's Rebecca's ex-husband, he immediately backpedals. He tries to save face and avoid offending his new boss.
Famously, Ted hates tea. He's never tried tea, but he hates it. When he receives tea by mistake at a restaurant, he returns it. When Rebecca gives him tea, he at least tries it. He views his rich boss Rebecca differently than the barista at Starbucks.
That last sentence may seem obvious, but it's a concrete example of Ted understanding and negotiating power.
The Hick would reject the tea from Rebecca, the same as at Starbucks. Ted doesn't.
Conclusion
Ted is neither above nor oblivious to the flow of power. Ted is not pure in a world of filth. He's in the muck with the rest of us. He's not an innocent; he just has an accent.
In the episodes to come, Ted will use his understanding of power dynamics to create a more cohesive team. In doing so, he becomes complicit in those power dynamics and the harm they cause.
You can't win the game without playing the game.
*A deeper engagement with the Hick Goes to the City trope in other media may reveal that some (many or even most) Hicks are far more agile navigators of hierarchy than we are initially led to believe.
29 notes
·
View notes
I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt
“Woah. You look like shit."
Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.
The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.
"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."
And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.
The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.
If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.
"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.
"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.
"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.
The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.
He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."
There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.
"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."
Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"
"Daniel? Is that you?"
His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.
3K notes
·
View notes