Jessica Jones, or, Better Late Than Never Right? RIGHT!?

While collecting my thoughts on the first season of Marvel’s latest Netflix offering, Luke Cage, I realized much to my dismay (and after an embarrassing amount of perusing my own blog) that I’ve yet to post anything on the first season on Jessica Jones. This is particularly inexcusable given I watched the entire first season the weekend it came out. What am I doing with my life, am I right? Egg on my face! Given how thought-provoking that show is and how much I enjoyed it I’d be remiss if I didn’t discuss it before I post about Luke Cage later this week.

jessicajoness1

Telephone!

Jessica Jones is the follow up to Netflix’s premiere foray into the Marvel Universe, Daredevil. Like its gritty, TV-MA predecessor, Jessica Jones amps up the sexuality, language and general bleakness and is probably two or three episodes longer than it needs to be. But Jessica Jones is no Daredevil retread. In fact, Jessica Jones is the furthest thing from the tropes and expectations of the Marvel Cinematic Universe to ever come out of the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

That starts with Jessica Jones herself, brought to life by Krysten Ritter, who absolutely inhabits the role. Ritter’s performance feels like it’s being circled by the same historic prestige that’s latched on to Linda Carter’s Wonder Woman. Jones isn’t what we as an audience have been groomed to think a superhero is. She never goes on self-righteous, brooding rants about “my city” this and “my city” that. She doesn’t have a crusade. She doesn’t partake in hallway fights. Jessica Jones is not a costume with delusions of grandeur trying to overcome overwhelming odds on behalf of a populous that is unaware she’s taken ownership of. She’s a woman with her sights set no higher than survival.

Queue arguably the most fascinating antagonist the Marvel Cinematic Universe has birthed thus far, the subtlety named Kilgrave, a man with mind control and zero moral or ethical shackles.

Kilgrave is as deplorable and terrifying as he is intellectually stimulating, due in no small part to the performance of David Tennant, who I guess has done some genre work in the past. He is a force of unchecked power and prosperity that Jessica Jones and her friends and acquaintances can do little more than hope to survive. He is the living, breathing personification of the patriarchy, a white man to whom the rules simply do not apply. His true power is privilege, a privilege he may not have specifically asked for, but one he deftly wields and refuses to apologize for nonetheless. When Kilgrave walks into a room, everyone else in the room begins living a life stacked in someone else’s favor.

Ritter’s Jessica Jones squaring off against Tennant’s Kilgrave is truly binge-worthy, but more than that, and more so than anything else Stan Lee has made a cameo in, the first season of Jessica Jones is a story that deserves thoughtful consideration.

The first season of Jessica Jones is the paragon of what Netflix’s brand of more mature superhero storytelling can be. It isn’t content to simply trade in bright colors and quips for violence and nudity, it trades in villains wearing Halloween costumes in the making for villains that embody systemic sexism, racism and oppression in the modern age.

Good luck finding your kid that LEGO set.

 

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