We’ve already discussed this year’s Golden Globes nominations but we need to take a closer look at the omission of I May Destroy You.
The proverb was wrong: it’s actually “Nothing is certain but death, taxes, and being frustrated at awards show nominees lists.”
Every year, we are let down by the Academy Awards and their ilk. Yet it felt like the Golden Globes had the chance this year – given the hugely disrupted movie and TV industry in 2020 due to COVID-19 – to pass by quietly and without incident. That would’ve been boring though, so we were treated to the usual plethora of shocking picks and snubs.
Egregious omissions abounded: one of Spike Lee’s best movies in years, Da 5 Bloods, was shunned; although Chadwick Boseman rightfully got a posthumous nomination for Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom, the movie as a whole was underrepresented.
Worse, somehow, were the inclusions. James bloody Corden being nominated for his stunningly backwards portrayal of a gay person (Corden is straight) in The Prom almost feels like a Sacha Baron Cohen bit (please reveal it to be a bit Borat).
Emily in Paris was banal Netflix light entertainment derided by basically everyone yet it scored two nominations.
The snub that attracted the most furore online though, was I May Destroy You, Michaela Coel’s singular artistic achievement. It’s such a glaring oversight that we wanted to take a closer look at the show and consider why exactly it was shunned.
https://twitter.com/muna_mire/status/1356972959454416899?s=21
I think it is an absolute travesty that Michaela Coel was snubbed in the #GoldenGlobes nominations for I May Destroy You – perhaps the most singular TV series of the past few years driven by a brave and fearless performance from a true auteur pic.twitter.com/epbuwd1sCm
— george griffiths (@georgegriffiths) February 3, 2021
https://twitter.com/viet_t_nguyen/status/1357063716131414016?s=21
The terms ‘groundbreaking’ and ‘once-in-a-generation’ are thrown about far too often but if anyone is deserving, it’s Coel. I May Destroy You is ostensibly about its main character Arabella’s (played by Coel) sexual assault. It was based on Coel’s own experience, autobiographical art that was unafraid and undiminished.
Over its 12 episodes though, it profoundly expanded to discuss difficult subjects like masculinity, trauma, race, queer identity, and consent; a lesser show wouldn’t have found time for all of this. By mediating on these and other things, it came as close to true intersectionality as any show before it.
Another incredible aspect: Coel achieves all this while balancing the heavy details with sharp comedy. To contend with such distressing matters while remaining comically challenging and kinetically energetic is astounding.
It’s a masterwork of acting too, particularly Coel’s lead performance. She changes and morphs from episode to episode, one minute broken, the next triumphant. As a depiction of the intricacies of dealing with trauma, it’s almost unrivalled.
I May Destroy You lives in the undetermined gray areas of life and this is where its true genius lies. It offers no easy answers, no neat endings. It’s why it never feels preachy to its audience.
The final episode, for instance, offers the viewer multiple versions of Arabella’s confrontation with her rapist, allowing us to consider which would have been the healthiest, the best for her future (they are too vital to spoil here). Each character is so fleshed out and layered and conflicted, often seeming right in their actions before doing something troubling, human choices as it would be in real life.
Why, then, was it snubbed? I May Destroy You came via HBO and BBC after all, normally reliable providers of awards season success. It arrived in the zeitgeist and became part of it too. Released just after George Floyd’s murder at the hands of the U.S. police, its study of black identity was timely; it also reflected the #metoo movement, which continues with revelations about famous cases even this week.
It’s too reductive to say that perhaps its indistinct mix of comedy and drama split the voters, for I May Destroy You is possessed of too much profound dramatic incident and searing black comedy to be denied for either category.
It’s helpful to see the snub in the context of two other contemporary shows. It might be an easy comparison but Fleabag and I May Destroy You have been indelibly linked since their arrival in culture. Both were singular works of autership by British woman. Both were clever personal stories with challenging lead characters. Yet for its second season Fleabag earned two Golden Globes and was nominated for one more, while Coel’s creation received nothing.
The argument can actually be made that the characters in I May Destroy You are far more complex than Fleabag’s too, certainly messier and less one-note. In this way, I May Destroy You found a depth that its predecessor never did.
At the time of its release, Fleabag attracted criticism for its perceived classism. Phoebe Waller-Bridge was indeed rich, as was her character and family on the show. (consider even Parasite, so lauded for its historical Oscar win last year about class inequality, was made by a multi-millionaire).
This is the thing: Fleabag and other critical darlings like The Crown and Downton abbey correspond to an outdated and romanticised idea of Britain: white, middle-upper class, posh. This is how the majority of the U.S. still sees us and it’s mawkishly nostalgic and invalidating.
London is one of the true global cities, with around 40% of its population non-white, whose stories Coel is attempting to push to the forefront. Foreign audiences though would rather recognise and watch films about the outdated British royal family than modern stories of the country’s true landscape.
Which brings us to – shudder – Emily in Paris. Much-maligned upon its release, a show of its kind has its place in culture, to be intermittently watched while you scroll on social media, but it’s devoid of any genuine substance.
It was created by Darren Star, the man behind Sex and the City and Beverly Hills, 90210, if anyone needed any other inclination as to its prestige.
The French were rightfully irate, calling it an insulting depiction of their country. Paris, like the London of I May Destroy You, has a rich ethnic diversity that goes unseen completely in Emily in Paris. It offers Americans a simplistic vision of the city of love as a city of privileged white people, all high fashion and extended brunches.
When one of Emily in Paris’s own writers spent the aftermath of the Golden Globes nominations talking instead about the omission of I May Destroy You, that simply says it all.
It’s all about who gets to tell their stories. It’s why depictions of diverse places like Paris and London are whitewashed. It’s why a nostalgic, imperialistic view of Britain is preferred. It’s why black stories win Golden Globes when they’re made by the white director of Dumb and Dumber. It’s why a rich white woman is lauded with awards for her personal story but a black woman from across the same city isn’t.
It’s why another 2020 movie about rape and revenge but this time through the prism of a white person (played by Carey Mulligan), Promising Young Woman, receives four Golden Globes nominations at the same time as I May Destroy You is snubbed completely.
All of this may seem dismaying and depressing but it’s important to keep hope and remember who art is really for. It’s not for the Hollywood Foreign Press Association and their insular insecurities. It’s for Coel to utilise to come to terms with her own sexual assault. It’s for viewers to feel comfort in seeing someone go through what they have gone through. It’s for art to reflect all the messy, ugly reality of life and inspire us to highlight our own stories.
I May Destroy You is a masterwork of the personal and the universal. The system may still be rigged but it’s Coel’s creation that will be remembered in 10 years’ time. Real art endures.
