By Amy Nicholson
By Alan Scherstuhl
By Michael Atkinson
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Stephanie Zacharek
By Abby Garnett
By Amy Nicholson
By Alan Scherstuhl
All manner of spoilers below.
Nearly anyone with a grievance against America's dysfunctional prison system can find a scene to illustrate their protest in the first season of Orange Is the New Black, Netflix's women-behind-bars dramedy. Admittedly, the wonkiest or most disheartening issues, like prison privatization or endemic sexual assault, appear to be beyond the show's purview. But anyone morally uncomfortable with the lockup of nonviolent drug offenders, or the inadequacy of rehab programs for inmates, or the prioritization of cost-cutting over adequate health care, can find support in Piper and Tricia and Sophia's stories.
In case you've been behind bars since Orange's premiere last month, the series is a loose adaptation of Piper Kerman's memoir, detailing her year-long stint in a prison for her tangential role in a drug-trafficking ring nearly a decade before her arrest.
Following the book's structure, show creator Jenji Kohan uses Piper's plight as a launching pad for delving into the stories of the much less privileged prisoners around her, creating a richly textured mosaic of women from diverse races, classes and sexualities, whose sole commonality is the bad luck to get caught. But the series veers from its source material in its central love triangle, with the fictional Piper torn between her nebbish fiancé, Larry, and her mordant ex, Alex, who named Piper in court in exchange for a reduced sentence and dons an orange jumpsuit herself.
In an interview with NPR's Fresh Air, Kohan explained why she structured her show around Piper, who certainly doesn't bear the brunt of the prison system's cruelties: "In a lot of ways, Piper was my Trojan horse. You're not going to go into a network and sell a show on really fascinating tales of black women, and Latina women, and old women, and criminals. But if you take this white girl, this sort of fish out of water, and you follow her in, you can then expand your world and tell all of those other stories."
In the same way that Kohan smuggled Taystee and Daya and Miss Claudette under Piper's Etsy-bought petticoats, she's snuck in plenty of sociopolitical critiques about our abject prison system, as when Watson snorts that her prison job pays a pitiful 11 cents an hour, or Red explains that "a whole meal has to come in at $1.05 a prisoner." As the show deepens its interest beyond Piper to take a wider view at the cast around her, its critique of the prison deepens as well, evolving from a WASP-centric "Scared Straight" story to a radical denunciation of the concept of incarceration itself.
When it first heads behind bars with Piper, Orange focuses on the "white-people problems" of the convict life. Her cancer-patient roommate has a loud respirator. She gets complimented on her breasts by a nosy but friendly voyeur. The food is godawful. In the most demeaning moment in the pilot, a female guard asks her to squat and cough -- but the humiliation isn't sadistic or gratuitous, it's purposeful: to intercept contraband. In a later episode, Piper's nitwit bestie, Polly, spouts, "Adventure is just hardship with an inflated sense of self." The first two episodes suggest how a younger, less uptight version of Piper might delude herself into treating her fifteen-month sentence as an adventure, a cocktail-party story to impress with, a forced vacation from her normal life with the occasional compulsory juice cleanse, like a downscale fat camp for adults. Piper's first few days have her living in the "nice blonde lady" version of prison.
But once the show turns away from its protagonist to focus on the less privileged inmates who don't have top-notch legal counsel, an addiction-free medical history or a journalist boyfriend who's more than happy to broadcast her complaints, Orange's critique of the prison system becomes more politicized and substantive. Beginning with the Jodie Foster-directed "Lesbian Request Denied," wherein budget cuts force Litchfield's pharmacy to go generic and push transgender Sophia into a panic over the decrease in her estrogen medication, the show uses one of its most vulnerable characters to dramatize the frightening unpredictability of prison medical care -- a grim truth the series exposes even more forcefully later in the season with Pennsatucky's Kafkaesque psych stay.
But the most nightmarish aspects of life in Litchfield are the guards and the extraordinary power they hold over the inmates. (Interestingly, Kohan notes that one of Kerman's chief complaints about the series is that "[the guards] are not big enough assholes.") The correctional officers' cruel caprices, especially Pornstache's, are evident from the pilot, but it's Piper's steadily deteriorating relationship with the homophobic Healy that highlights the inherent injustice of not just the prison system, but any system of incarceration. Though the inmates aren't without agency, Orange illustrates how abuses of power, great and small, are the natural response to the kind of authoritative hierarchy incarceration necessitates.
Piper's first major clash with Healy occurs in "Fucksgiving," when her sexy grinding with Alex at Taystee's freedom party gets written up by the prison counselor as "attempted rape." Piper is dragged away to solitary, where she might have languished into insanity if not for Caputo, who, fearing a lawsuit from Piper's attorney, intervenes and authorizes her return to gen pop. His rage still unallayed, Healy then refuses to grant Piper permission to get married and later coordinates an attack with Pennsatucky in the season finale, enabling Piper's shivving by her self-appointed Angel of Death.
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