Fun
Frisky
Nostalgic
Intense
Adventurous
Choked Up
Curious
Romantic
Weird
Solid female protagonists are often hard to come by and this is no new fact; television has been trying (and failing) in the development of realistic women for years. Recently, with more women telling their own stories, this has begun to change, but this wasn’t always the case. In the late 1990s and early 2000s, however, it seemed as though a little spark was ignited. A little show called Ally McBeal debuted in 1997, and with it came a flawed, flighty, funny eponymous leading lady played by Calista Flockhart. While the show certainly wasn’t perfect (and could have benefited from having some women on the creative team), it did exemplify just what kind of woman could lead a successful television series – and several others followed suit.
When Ally McBeal first premiered, it was like nothing else on television. Where else could you find a quirky female lead immediately the subject of fiery feminism debates, bizarre voiceovers, fantasy sequences, and musical numbers? Besides Buffy the Vampire Slayer, a series with a very different tone and central storyline, you couldn’t find anything remotely as weird as Ally. It was seemingly these two kinds of series that led to the female-centric show renaissance of the late 1990s and early aughts; Felicity and Sex and the City would debut in 1998, while Alias kicked its way onto TV screens in 2001. There had never quite been such a wealth of widely-viewed series about women on such different journeys, and Ally certainly deserves some of the credit for this.
This legal dramedy (two words that don’t necessarily seem like they’d go together) gave us a protagonist both messy and motivated, imperfect and interesting in ways that had rarely been explored on television. Like many series of the era, Ally McBeal certainly gives its age away with dated socially-driven themes, but in many ways, it was still groundbreaking. Who could forget the gender-neutral bathroom, lesbian overtones, and sex-positive storylines? The male gaze-y moments may have been problematic, but it’s hard to argue that there was any absence of good intentions in the storytelling. The show’s critical success and awards wins demonstrated repeatedly that this was the kind of show people wanted to see – that people would watch a female-driven series that put the wants, needs, and conversations of women front and center.
In Buffy, we had an ass-kicking teenager with unbreakable friendships. Ally gave us a sensitive, sexual lawyer with a knack for exploring social issues, while Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte showed us that friends could take on just about anything, no matter how seemingly taboo. JJ Abrams followed suit with college-bound Felicity (Keri Russell) and secret agent Syndey Bristow (Jennifer Garner), two wildly compelling, dynamic women with nuanced character developments and motivations that largely felt organic and honest. All of this isn’t quite entirely indicative of Ally McBeal‘s influence as a whole, but there can totally be some applause directed to this eccentric attorney and her crew. The proof that a series like this was both financially and critically viable showed studios and networks that women were worth investing in – something many are still struggling to understand two decades later.
As we continue the fight to give a platform to underrepresented voices – whether that be women, people of color, or the LGBTQ community – art of the past allows us to see just how impactful one thing can be. Feminism and female representation may have not been at their best during the late 1990s and early 2000s, but the increase in these kinds of stories in the mainstream marked a significant shift in the landscape and allowed others a shot they may never have had otherwise. We owe Ally McBeal some credit for its daring, unprecedented moves – who knows where we’d be otherwise?
