Ten years after Loki made their MCU debut – the same Nordic god who canonically became a horse, got fucked by a horse, and gave birth to a horse – they finally got a passing reference to their bisexuality alongside a blink-and-you-miss-it nod to their gender fluidity. Kudos to those who can find something worth celebrating there. I’m tired of the will-they won’t-they dance with Marvel. After 3,000 minutes of content (a number that will nearly double by the time 2022 rolls around), the franchise has barely ramped up in its gay tempo. Marvel’s not the place for queer fans that it says it is and it’s made that abundantly clear once more with Loki.
No doubt, some of the creative talent behind the MCU wants the world of caped crusaders, magic-wielding hotties, and daddy issue-addled heroes to be an LGBTQ+ haven.
That’s why the likes of Valkyrie, Okoye, and Ayo were originally written as queer. I have no doubts that the showrunner of Loki wanted genuine bisexual representation. However, we now know this representation will be nothing more than a glance, a cheeky confirmation of what we already knew. That’s not good enough. The answer was right there with Mobius, a potential love story that became another blood-boiling bromance while we watched as Loki got with… themself. Ugh. I might sound bitter, but I won’t apologize. I’m incredibly bitter. Marvel has the center stage, it’s one of the biggest franchises in pop culture – Loki boasts the most-watched premiere on Disney+. Yet with all that clout, there’s only a slither of queer representation.
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Marvel has proven again and again that it is not for the LGBTQ+ community even if queer creators are in the writing room. Maybe it’s the demand in foreign markets that they don’t want to lose, maybe it’s a fear that it won’t sell even domestically, that same fear that pushed Marvel Entertainment CEO Ike Perlmutter to axe the MCU’s executive producer, Kevin Feige’s, desires for Captain Marvel and Black Panther way earlier in the MCU’s history. Maybe it isn’t even intentional, but I doubt that.
The why doesn’t really matter. What matters is what we see which, in this case, is a constant stand in solidarity with the queer community with nothing to show for it. Walking the walk is far more important than talking the talk, but lately, all Disney does is yap on. I feel horrible for the creators actively pushing for queer representation because the corporation they work for seems to have its hand on the wheel, never letting them drive freely. I was giddy to hear Loki mention that they had a thing for guys, even if the term bisexual wasn’t outright used, but then news surfaced that it was all we’d get. Suddenly, it went from the expectation of biting into a caramel-coated apple at the funfair only to discover that beneath the delightful sugary exterior, there was an onion within. Great.
Marvel isn’t here for LGBTQ+ people or, rather, Disney – Marvel’s owners – isn’t. Gravity Falls is a prime example.
The creatives pushed to have Mabel be a lesbian icon only for the House of Mouse to shut down the prospect, leading to the passive-aggressive rainbow jumper that she dons in every episode. When I condemn Disney, it’s not a condemnation of the writers, showrunners, or even, at times, the producers. No, it’s a condemnation of the capitalist overlords that deem what will and won’t pass, a boardroom of mostly straight white dudes that get the final say. It took a decade to get a Black hero, a decade to get a female-led superhero film, and over a decade to get an Asian star at the helm of his own epic. We’re finally getting somewhere with the MCU, but LGBTQ+ representation is still sorely lacking and it’s tiring. You read about it in the headlines constantly only for the actual film or show to roll around and kaput, it’s barely there if at all. You likely wouldn’t know if it wasn’t pointed out by the media en masse. How many first queer characters have Disney had now? 14?
It’s time to give credit where credit’s due, to prop up the queer comics and give them a platform. The Boys, The Walking Dead, and Invincible have all proven that there’s a space in the market for adaptations beyond Marvel and DC. I’d love to see video game adaptations of queer stories like Lumberjanes and The Backstagers, the former of which is a wonderfully quaint romp akin to the aforementioned Gravity Falls. It’s a story about an all-girls camp with lesbian and trans characters in the starring roles. They go on adventures into the woods, beating talking statues in arm wrestling matches, bribing yeti with cookies. If that doesn’t sound like a fun jaunt that would be a treat to dive into like being a detective who beats up scarecrows in his spare time, then I’m not sure what qualifies.
Alternatively, it could make for a killer animated show like Owl House while the likes of Youth could serve as a heartfelt film about dealing with bigotry when coming out in your teen years, a time already riddled with angst and self-doubt. There’s so much potential to bring these powerful, emotive stories to life, as valid stories and as passion-rich, if not more so, than the typical comic-book shlock that we love to consume. I’m a sucker for Spider-Man and I’m looking forward to seeing Robert Pattinson as Bruce Wayne in The Batman, but there’s space for LGBTQ+ stories too, a space that is currently being left empty. I’d call for it regardless because it’s important to normalize queer identities, to show young people that being LGBTQ+ is okay, to show others that it isn’t something to demonize or hate, but right now, I’m championing it while feeling so bitter because Marvel and others like it have little to show for their supposed solidarity. There comes a point where you’ve talked to the brick wall for too long, and I think we’ve reached it.
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