The Queen’s Gambit’s Representation of Substance Use is Refreshingly Accurate
Claiming that Beth’s ending was too “easy” reflects tired misconceptions about addiction
Warning: This article contains spoilers
When I first read about The Queen’s Gambit, I expected it to be terrible. The Netflix miniseries dropped in October, and its protagonist, chess prodigy Beth Harmon, was immediately lauded for her beauty, wit, and nuance. She is a brilliant mess, and as is common in prestige television, her instability is emblemized by her substance use.
This is what I knew going in. I had seen the reviews calling Beth an alcoholic/addict, and as one myself, I was wary. More often than not, substance use becomes a character’s defining feature. Depth is replaced by a singular, insatiable need for more (booze, pills, powder, crack, smack, whatever), and it is always disappointing to see subtle personalities be reduced to vapid stereotypes.
This is why I was reluctant to start the series. I didn’t want to see yet another shallow take on a complex behaviour whose misrepresentation in media contributes to deadly consequences. But friends had raved about Beth, the series’ other themes were appealing, and I happen to be home a lot right now. I gave The Queen’s Gambit a chance, and having now completed it, I’ve breathed a sigh of relief.
Beth Harmon uses substances, yes, but they play a supporting role. And in a television landscape where characters are too often balls — to — the — wall — bat — shit drug fiends or they go through an arduous rehabilitation process, it was refreshing to see alcohol and drug use shown without extensive moralizing.
The series opens with adult Beth coming — to in a bathtub after what is implied to have been a wild night. The year is 1967, and Beth swigs alcohol before hastily exiting her hotel room to play a major chess match. The viewer is given little context, and shortly thereafter we are transported to Beth’s childhood. We see Beth lose her Mother in a car crash, and the rest of the episode takes place in a cold, sterile orphanage that induces excruciating loneliness.
Also in this episode the viewer is introduced to the “tranquility” pills that Beth becomes dependent on. They are called Xanzolam, a fabricated drug that is similar to the benzodiazepine chlordiazepoxide (trade name Librium), which was approved for medical use in the early 1960s. Librium prompts muscle relaxation, mitigates fear and anxiety, and, as with all benzos, it can be physiologically addicting.
Beth is given the pills by the orphanage, and immediately she likes them. They offer respite from the monotony of daily life, and as we gain insight into the traumas that brought her there, it’s evident that her desire for reprieve is warranted. To put it bluntly, Beth has been dealt a shit hand. And as with so many who alter their realities through substances, she begins to rely on the temporary solace the small green pills provide.
This is where things typically go awry. Usually, near the time a substance is introduced, character development stops or the character regresses. The first episode of The Queen’s Gambit, on the other hand, ends with Beth finding her true outlet, chess, and as the rest of the series focuses on that relationship, substances are along for the ride but are rarely at the wheel.
Young Beth is transfixed by chess. She is neurotic, obsessed, passionate. Devon Price rightly points out that Beth could have been autistic, but I’m reticent to attach labels to others, particularly fictional characters. Irrespective of her possible diagnoses, Beth has found something she cares for deeply, and she also happens to realize that benzos enhance her play.
Beth consumes the drug strategically. She hoards it until she can take it in solitude, and when she does, she envisions a chess board on her ceiling, carefully plotting her next games. The Xanzolam is a crucial part of her inner world, and rather than pathologize her, the show permits the viewer to imagine how exhilarating it must have been for Beth to discover not only something she excels at, but that a carefully dosed substance makes her even better.
Other commentators have criticized the show’s “dangerous” portrayal of drug use. Lucy Dancyger at Harper’s Bazaar claims the show’s “sunny” outlook is irresponsible, citing her tumultuous childhood as the daughter of a heroin— addicted artist as proof that drugs destroy careers before eventually taking lives. Chris Korman calls it a “flippant” “missed opportunity” to explore “how the disease can settle in like a rot.” Here’s the thing, though; Beth doesn’t identify as “diseased,” and most drug users don’t “rot.” Instead, the majority of drug use is recreational, and in addition to deriving pleasure from substances, some people take drugs to improve their performances at work. This is true whether we’re discussing the arts, academia, finance, or as parents, and it’s not just the case for “geniuses.”
“Looking at the data and at my drug use and evaluating it carefully just let me see that I wasn’t special, but my drug use challenged what I thought about cocaine. Because I would accept when I would say, “What happened to that person?” and someone would say, “They started using cocaine…they went downhill…” I would just accept that, even though I had a different experience and all these other people had a different experience. But I would throw that out because I thought my experience was an aberration.” — Columbia University professor of neuroscience and drug user Dr. Carl Hart
This is why Beth is so refreshing. Her drug use unfolds exactly as the research says it should. As a child she is alone, bored, and hurt, so it’s not surprising that drugs take on special significance. They likely would have stayed important even if she hadn’t discovered chess, because social isolation begets escapism, and Beth is plenty isolated.
As an older adolescent, Beth continues to enjoy tranquilizers alongside a fondness for alcohol, the details of which are also refreshingly evidence — based: Beth’s adoptive Mother drinks (heavily, at times), and after being abandoned by her husband, she uses Beth as an emotional and economic crutch. We know that “parentified children” are more likely to abuse substances than those whose attachments bonds are secure, and Beth’s frequent beer — drinking is a reasonable adaptive response. This doesn’t make her an “addict,” it makes her a character whose personality reflects proven, real — world trends.
Eventually, Beth’s status as a (female) chess champion renders her a media darling whose every move is scrutinized. She is stifled and enthralled by her celebrity, but she doesn’t have great coping skills. Finally, after a frustrating defeat in Mexico, she returns to her hotel room to find her adoptive Mother dead. Given the emotionally repressed pressure cooker that is her life, it would have been understandable to see her respond with heavy substance use. Instead, she doesn’t crumble (yet) because she can’t (yet), and the following episode shows her staying focused on her vocation. It works, until it doesn’t.
The one serious bender Beth goes on occurs in the penultimate episode. She has taken an off — camera vow of abstinence, but the viewer sees that she hasn’t done so totally based on will. The rival — cum — friend— cum — lover she is staying with doesn’t approve of intoxication, and the scenes during which she declines offers of alcohol followed by a night of excess the moment she is alone highlight that for most, guilting doesn’t work. Throughout her life Beth has rationally chosen to use, and I interpret Beth’s first night of drinking and the booze — and — pill — fuelled chaos after to be two — fold: She is reacting to decades of psychic restraint and to the more recent, extraneously — imposed teetotaling that may have done more harm than good. Also, did I mention that she just found her Mother dead?
In short, she needs a break (several year’s worth of a break, actually), and the weeks or month during which she checks out are, at least through my admittedly de — sensitized lens, perfectly comprehensible.
That said, “checking out” for Beth still looks really good. I don’t just mean that she stays beautiful throughout, but that even as she fights with her ex — adoptive Father over her adoptive Mother’s estate, she is stably housed and never seriously worries about income. She drinks, dances, trips a bit, drinks and dances some more, and while the viewer is led to believe this goes on for a while, Beth’s binge doesn’t have lasting consequences. Her childhood friend arrives, and together they reconcile elements of their past while looking toward the future. This includes winning an international title and, more importantly, concluding the series with an overall sense that Beth will be OK.
This last bit really seems to bug people.
Korman calls Beth’s rapid ascent from inebriate to champion “trim and tidy and wholly unrealistic.” He writes,
“Addicts so rarely get those moments — and when they do they’re earned through diligent work, not because the reassuring words of an old pal helped them draw on previously untapped reserves of willpower. Addicts don’t simply lack friends to rely on, or have some inability to understand how to let themselves be propped up by those who love them. It’s never that clean…Addicts — and those who stand by them — would also never believe the fight could end or the contentment could last. It never does.”
As the academics say, there is a lot to unpack here.
First, “addict” is Korman’s word, not Beth’s. She uses alcohol and drugs when she needs to, and when she doesn’t need to, she stops. Not once does she request “help” with her substance use, and this isn’t because she’s in “denial,” it’s because she sincerely doesn’t need it. Yet rather than contextualize Beth’s actions as one aspect of a much bigger whole, viewers have been trained to see substance use as a totalizing trait — one that necessitates urgent intervention and fundamentally changes who one is.
It doesn’t, and it doesn’t.
Next, Korman states that abstinence (and overall happiness) should require “diligent work.” But is his claim based on empirical evidence, or is it a knee — jerk response rooted in neoliberal, implicitly religious ideological vestiges of the drug war? Most users, even heavy users, stop or reduce their use without formal intervention. Studies suggesting otherwise are marred by selection bias because they draw from clinical samples or street — entrenched populations, both of whom are likely to have been told they’re sick. Korman’s assertion speaks to a broader social problem, and it’s one that isn’t just found in media: As a society, we expect drug users to suffer. If we haven’t “earned” our right to contentment through repentance and a gruelling “recovery arc,” we are viewed with hostility and suspicion. What does this say about us, though? Why are we so attached to the idea that drug users are doing something wrong, and that to gain credibility among others, we need to first feel really bad? (hint: racial capitalism and the aforementioned religion have a lot to do with this).
Finally, it is precisely Beth’s connections (including “the reassuring words of an old pal”) that are conducive to her stopping. The notion that every moderate — heavy drug user needs bankrupting addiction treatment, where we will be trained to see our “defects of character” and make amends for our flaws, is tied to socio — political themes of medical gatekeeping and adherence to medical authority. But if you talk to most drug users (or review the literature), you’ll see that hierarchical, shame — based treatment is less conducive to long — term positive health outcomes than is social solidarity.
Beth’s journey is realistic. Had her community shunned her, demanded that she be “well,” or done anything else that led to her being dislocated from the people and game she loves, her ending probably would have been bleak. Because they didn’t, The Queen’s Gambit remains a light (ish) story that is highly flawed but for once, didn’t irk me as a drug user.
Ultimately, I would have liked to have seen Beth continue to take Librium, simply because her abrupt decision to stop undermines so many functional users’ lifestyles. As far as representation goes, though, Beth is more relatable than the overwrought, self — loathing, crocodile — tearing tropes who spend season after season rehabbing and who perpetually come up short. I’ll continue to recommend The Queen’s Gambit because it stares at today’s cultural zeitgeist (drug users — sick! Make them see it now!) and subverts our expectations with a steely, Cold — war era shrug that, paradoxically, is significantly more progressive than anything Beth would be prescribed today.
