It may be absurd at times, but Pose is a show that reminds us over and over again of the things that bind us all together, says Zarina Ahmed
It’s 1987 and in one moment, the crowd are erupting into cheers at the voguing and the colour. In the next moment, someone has been handed the death sentence in a HIV clinic, the glitter falling away from them.
Like most of Ryan Murphy’s shows, such as Glee and Scream Queens, Pose takes on the role of being loud, unapologetically queer and full of drama. It tackles ballroom culture with an inclusive trans cast that perfectly befitting to their characters, shaping and moulding them to become real people that you can’t help but become fiercely loyal to.
Most of the characters are black or Latino and part of the LGBTQ+ community, competing against other houses in the ballroom scene and of those characters are some of the most remarkable protagonists and ‘antagonists’. Blanca, who tested positive for HIV, decides to form her own house and braves being a ‘house mother’ on her own, collecting stray individuals who she encourages to flourish in their own right. Contrastingly, the most iconic and famed ‘house mother’, Elektra, who is overbearing, provoking but at the root of it all, yearning for acceptance, too.
Pose does its sole purpose of being a show where it offers resonance and escape, where it transcends our background and thoughts but it also re-emphasises the bases of its identity. The ballroom culture, the outlandish vibrancy, the voguing are contributions to culture – black, queer culture. It is emphasised within ballroom, within the straight, white culture and in religious, shunning towns.
Yet, the show’s dramatised dimension can be faulted, too. It becomes a weakness during the three seasons, as seen through the gradually elaborate high fashion not fitting in with the time period, the drawn-out murder plot and the ghost of one the girls. At a certain point, Pose becomes slightly incredulous with those plot points, threatening whiplash as we shift from a shot in an eerily quiet hospital where someone has died and then to the next, where a crime scene is being covered up. They almost break the barrier the earlier episodes built for escapism purposes.
It’s obvious that the show tries to rein you back in with poignant heavy moments, like the ghost telling Lulu “time will heal us in a way it never could if I was alive.” Grief and resonance hits you hard enough for the absurdity to bypass you, leaving cold reality in its wake – that grounding effect is part of the show’s charm, essentially.
As the show continues over the seasons, it doesn’t shy away from hated tropes like main characters dying, addiction and, for some reason that’s part of the absurdity again, secret love children.
Pose is a show that, above all, reminds us over and over again of the stark truth of what binds us all together: suffering and resonance. Yes, it focuses on black and Latino gay and trans people within ballroom culture, but it has the capacity to include you into the rawness of it all.
At the heart of it all, it teaches us empathy weaved between moments of voguing and outlandish plot points. At the end of the show, we resonate, we reflect and we are glad we have watched it – and I don’t think there’s a better purpose from a show than that.
