Is Devi Vishwakumar Still Angry?
Netflix’s “Never Have I Ever” once championed female rage. As the series ends, will its fresh message fade?
Hold onto your head gears people, the fourth and final season of Mindy Kaling’s teen rom-com Never Have I Ever will hit Netflix this Thursday, June 8th.
What will senior year bring our protagonist, the uber-nerdy, uber-horny Devi Vishwakumar? Will she continue her dalliance with earnest, barely-pubescent Benjamin Gross? Rekindle her relationship with recent-grad, smoke show Paxton Yoshida-Hall, or wait…who is this muscled new kid she is getting cozy with in the trailer?
As tantalizing as this all is, I have another, less ubiquitously debated, question on the brain, which is this: Exactly how angry will Devi be at the close of the show? After devouring the first three seasons, I am beginning to fear not very. But allow me to explain.
In the pilot of Never Have I Ever, something remarkable transpires. After she suffers a minor betrayal by a friend, Devi hurls a textbook out of a closed second-floor window.
The book, which Devi’s mother incidentally has had blessed at a Hindu temple, shatters the glass and thumps unceremoniously onto the front lawn. Devi stares through the broken pane dumbfounded at what she has done. And we as an audience sit up on our well-worn sofas and stare at Devi, realizing this romantic lead is not like the others; this one has legit anger management issues.
The rare angry romcom lead
If you are thinking, it’s not uncommon to have a truly hot-headed female lead in a romantic comedy, allow me to tell you why you are wrong. Yes, we have all seen the clichéd angsty teen in the vein of Kat from 10 Things I Hate About You. You know, the girl who rolls her eyes, stomps up the stairs, and shouts, “No one understands me!”
We have also seen the “cutely” angry lead, i.e., the overly idealistic or professionally ambitious young woman who has trust issues and endless barbs to volley at her potential suitors. Think: both Phoebe and Kate in Bridgerton or, to go back further in the canon, Meg Ryan’s brilliant turn in the opening road trip of When Harry Met Sally. I would hazard these leads are not angry, they are flirting.
On the other end of the spectrum, though inching outside rom-com territory, we have also seen truly dark female characters, a la Killing Eve or Wednesday. What’s much less common is a female romantic lead who falls somewhere in the middle, who isn’t endearingly angry, and yet who also isn’t a sociopath. Enter Devi, a generally relatable, often charming character, who also happens to have moments of true rage and a tendency toward unhinged, semi-dangerous behavior.
The show’s delightfully surprising narrator, tennis legend John McEnroe, constantly analyzes Devi’s anger issues, often translating for the audience how a “hothead” like Devi’s sense of logic might differ from a “normal” person’s. McEnroe should know, as he was notorious for his tantrums on the court, likely the reason he landed this seemingly incongruous role.
Anger and lack of self-control are also recurring themes in Devi’s therapy sessions as she attempts to cope with her father’s sudden death by heart attack. “When you feel a surge of anger coming, stop, take a deep breath, and listen to some soothing music,” her therapist counsels.
The theme of anger is so pervasive, we get the sense that there is a bigger project afoot in Never Have I Ever, one that goes well beyond the hijinks of a grieving, lovestruck teen. It’s as if the show is a meditation on female anger and, ultimately, an argument for it. Not only does Never Have I Ever acknowledge women’s capacity for rage, particularly the rage of Asian women who are often stereotyped as docile and passive, but it also suggests that lashing out in anger can be powerful and necessary.
When Devi’s PhD-student cousin Kamala finds out the head of her research group plans to take credit for her work, she initially follows her boyfriend’s advice to put her head down and suck up to her lab mates. But it is only when Kamala decides to emulate Devi’s fiery attitude, even going as far as smashing a beaker, that she succeeds in righting the injustice. The message is clear: not only is it normal for women to feel and express their anger, it’s essential.
Being Kelly Kapowski
I am very into the idea of destigmatizing and even exulting women with tempers for a simple reason: I am one.
I am no window-shatterer like Devi. But I know what it is like to feel Devi-level rage boil up inside me and take charge. Like when as a child I protested my parent’s replacement of a screen door by driving a screw through the new one, or the time in high school when I yelled “Fuck you, that’s my dad” to a bunch of dudes who laughed at my father when he tripped on an escalator. To say nothing of the many times I have stormed out of a fight with my husband Pete. Once in my early twenties, I huffed out of Pete’s apartment and then immediately called him to inquire why he wasn’t coming after me. At that point, he did come after me, and I sprinted away down Manhattan’s 9th Avenue, Pete in dutiful, half-hearted chase.
At times, I have felt deep ambivalence about my, ahem, more passionate disposition. As a teen, I looked in awe at the girls I perceived to be perennially cool and composed. The gigglers, the eyelash batters. The ones who told their boyfriends, “Oh go ahead and hang out with your guy friends. I’ll just be here alternating between doing my homework and knocking out some crunches.”
Where did I get the notion that I should strive to be a chipper stoic? I think to some extent I can thank Hollywood.
Female romantic leads can express anger, but they are rarely permitted to lose control. The audience must understand that their actions are calculated, proportional, and justified, not too much.
I came up in the early nineties when Kelly Kapowski of Saved by The Bell fame reigned supreme. Cheerful, Tiffany-Amber-Thiessen-level-beautiful Kelly — with her loving “Oh, Zack” looks, and her cheer poms — was the epitome of feminine desirability. And her character was just one of the many upbeat, accommodating, yielding female characters of that era. Clueless’ Cher Horowitz, Step by Step’s Karen Foster, and Ferris Bueller’s Sloan are just a few that come to mind. Not to mention the ubiquitous sitcom moms who occasionally griped about dirty socks, but never raised their voices. It’s no wonder that I have often viewed equanimity as part and parcel to being a good woman.
In the intervening years since my tween and teenhood, female characters have become more complicated, kind of. Yet, it’s still rare for a romantic lead to truly lose it. Certainly, a lead can become indignant; she might offer a single slap if someone is being a cad, like Christina Applegate in Anchorman, Andy McDowell in Groundhog Day, or Katherine Heigl in New Year’s Eve. But these expressions of anger must fit conscripted parameters. If a lead slaps someone, it must be for a really good reason, and it must be a single slap, at very most two, never more. Female romantic leads can express anger, but they are rarely permitted to lose control. The audience must understand that their actions are calculated, proportional, and justified, not too much. Perhaps more than anything the big takeaway is that female protagonists shouldn’t be too much.
Male characters seem to have an entirely different set of expectations. How many times have you watched a heartthrob actor punch a wall, or a rival, in a moment of rage? It’s basically a trope. As is the girlfriend/wife/lover rushing to restrain her belligerent partner, both distraught from the violence and aroused. Think Anita in West Side Story while she waits lustily for Bernardo to return from a rumble. Or more recently, and considerably less artistically, Elle Evans’ entreaties to loose-cannon Noah Flynn in Netflix’s Kissing Booth. Anger seems to only magnify the brooding desirability of male leads, which is hardly the case for female characters. Let’s face it, a short-tempered male character is sexy. A short-tempered female character is, at best, high maintenance.
Where has all the anger gone?
Amid these narrowly plotted parameters, both historically and at present, textbook-throwing, garbage-can-kicking, profanity-slinging Devi stands out as a breath of fresh air. Imagine my disappointment, when, over the course of three seasons of Never Have I Ever, her anger begins to fade.
To be clear, Devi is still temperamental, especially as far as rom-com leads go. But her eruptions are fewer and farther between, and her anger shifts toward much more well-trodden territory. Yes, she sabotages her hard-won relationship with Paxton when in a jealous fit she demands that her (imagined) rival in love, Haley, kneel before her during what is supposed to be a friendly paintball game. And, yes, she tosses a drink at her Paxton-rebound, Des, when he tells her, “Look, you’re cool and all, but like dating you isn’t worth pissing off my mom. I mean, she pays for my phone.” But such outbursts are run-of-the-mill compared to Season One Devi. A drink-in-the-face is Romantic Comedy 101 in terms of the most palatable ways for a leading actress to express her indignance — especially in response to a heartless comment like Des’s.
I admit, there are many reasonable explanations for why Never Have I Ever writers might dial back Devi’s character. Reason one: Devi has aged several years since the pilot, and tempers can naturally mellow over time. (These days, when I fight with Pete, I am rarely worked up enough to flee to the hallway, let alone down 9th Avenue). Reason two: Devi’s rage is in part a manifestation of grief over her father. As time passes and her grief becomes less acute, it’s natural that her behavior would become more predictable and less erratic. And reason three: Devi’s change in temperament just makes for better television. Few people are going to sign up to watch Devi chuck textbooks or violently overreact episode after episode with little accompanying change or introspection. Audiences want to see their characters evolve and grow.
That said, while I technically understand why the decision was made to cool the fire in Devi’s spitfire, nevertheless, the choice gives me pause. For one thing, the change happens a little too quickly, and conveniently, and smacks of what I am calling She’s All That syndrome.
She’s All That syndrome, named for the 1999 cinematic masterpiece starring Rachael Leigh Cook, occurs when a romantic female lead begins a narrative arc as sullen, snippy, and dowdy, then is subsequently prettied up and made nice. Such storylines may include a makeover montage like the one in which Cook swaps her glasses for contacts and remedies her unibrow. Or the reinvention may take place more slowly, almost imperceptibly over time. She’s All That changes can be superficial or internal, or often both things at the same time. Think: a lady lead becomes progressively less acerbic and miraculously her wardrobe also now fits just right.
At first glance, the She’s All That subgenre may appear to celebrate quirkier, less stereotypical romantic protagonists. But the reality is quite the opposite. True these shows may start out with edgier, more provocative female leads than the norm. But by the end, these characters have been flattened to better fit mainstream expectations, at which point they are often awarded a Happily Ever After. Rather than pushing boundaries, as these storylines purport to do on the surface, they actually celebrate a return to the status quo.
At first glance, the “She’s All That” subgenre may appear to celebrate quirkier, less stereotypical romantic protagonists. But the reality is quite the opposite.
Or in Devi’s case, Never Have I Ever initially seemed to normalize female rage, but it’s now inching closer to a much more conventional message. To make matters more suspect, like Cook, Devi becomes more smoothly coiffed as the episodes progress — a development that is particularly disappointing given that Maitreyi Ramakrishan was selected to play Devi explicitly because she didn’t fit the typical Hollywood mold.
Given that character growth is such an important part of good television, it can be hard to differentiate between She’s All That syndrome and simple character development. Or as Pete put it in his ample spare time, now that he is no longer running after me down city streets, “What if the whole point of the show is that Devi learns to manage her anger? Then, wouldn’t a resolution of her anger feel less cheap?”
This is a good question. One that leads me to other questions. Like, given that Never Have I Ever was such an anthem for female anger at the show’s outset, what does it mean if it significantly tones down Devi’s rage? Is the takeaway that female anger is okay but best if harnessed and not too wild? Is it that women should mature beyond their outbursts? While I get the pragmatism of such a message, it feels like quite a loss.
What comes next?
We still have one remaining season to see how fully Devi’s anger issues will resolve. The Season 4 trailer does tease one moment of unbridled rage, but not from Devi. In it, we see an unidentifiable guy sock Ben in the face, and Devi’s subsequent “Oh shit,” reaction shot. My guess is that Ben is either vying for Devi here or defending her honor. Hardly transgressive stuff, but I’ll have to wait to confirm if my prediction is right.
What exactly am I rooting for as the series concludes? It’s a fair question. It might seem like I am hoping our girl will rage all season, knock people out, throw chairs, start fires, etc. That’s not it. I am not hoping the show will glamorize, glorify, or even normalize violence or property damage. Nor am I rooting for Devi to end the show truly unhinged or even the exact level of unhinged-ness she demonstrated at the beginning of the series. She’s evolved, and I don’t expect her to go backward.
What I am, however, on high alert for, and indeed what I have already sensed beginning to happen, is a resolution of her hotheadedness that feels too quick, too convenient, and too complete; Too She’s All that.
I will be on the lookout for the subtle message that Devi’s hotheadedness was a temporary character flaw to be fixed, rather than a character trait that Devi will wrestle with her whole life; one that presents its challenges, and yet one that makes her powerful and special.
In one of their sessions, Devi’s therapist insists that there is value in the intensity of her emotions, “You feel a lot which means sometimes you hurt a lot,” she explains. “Which also means you are going to live a life that is emotionally rich and really beautiful.”
I hope Season 4 continues to give us more of the complicated, the rich, and the beautiful. I hope Devi continues to be too much.
