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7 Rape Culture Storylines in TV and Movies That Get the Issue Right
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And why we need to do something about it.
Raise your hand if you can name a TV show or movie that features a rape scene. Yeah, we thought so.
Though survivors of sexual assault are often discouraged from sharing their own stories for a multitude of reasons — whether it's due to fear of retaliation, stigma, or simply not being believed, we live in an age where sexual assault scenes are fairly prominent in both film and television. In an ideal world, these scenes could help get us talking about assault and understanding consent, and reminding survivors that what happened to them was not their fault.
Unfortunately, not every single TV show or movie knows how to handle sexual assault and rape culture in a manner that promotes understanding rather than victim-blaming. One only needs to look as far as Game of Thrones to see how often sexual assault is depicted in one show alone — as of last year, it was over 50 times — but only a fraction of those stories were told from the survivor's perspective, or in a way that helped serve a plot or move a conversation forward.
There are, however, some shows and movies that do a good job explaining the reality of and context around sexual assault on-screen. While some of those scenes can be extremely difficult to watch, they also serve as an important reminder that sexual assault is never the victim’s fault, and that consent is always essential. Here are seven examples of TV shows and films that depicted rape culture in a way that taught us an important lesson about sexual assault and rape culture, and show just how far we need to go in tearing down the idea that anyone else ever has a right to your body.
On Switched at Birth, 18-year-old Bay wakes up in bed next to her ex-boyfriend Tank with zero recollection of what happened the night before. Later, she can’t remember ever saying yes to having sex with him. Bay struggles with wondering whether or not she should report, worrying that Tank might get in trouble. It isn’t until her mother says the word “rape” that Bay even realizes that what happened was rape. She eventually is able to discuss the incident and explain that yes, she was assaulted, and no, she did not give consent.
This episode was crucial because it goes deep into the idea that "no means no" is not an acceptable answer of determining consent. Bay couldn’t give consent because she had been drinking. Not saying no – especially when you cannot say no – doesn’t mean yes. Switched at Birth showrunner Lizzy Weiss explained her thoughts by saying, “The reason I wanted to do this episode is because when I went to college, it was, ‘No means no.’ And today, it's, ‘Yes means yes,’ which is a totally different perspective.”
The OC was ahead of its time in a lot of ways. It was one of the earlier shows to promote a storyline that focused on sexually fluid characters (we’ll ship Marissa and Alex forever), and it also went deep into the lingering trauma that sexual assault survivors can face. It's important to note that Trey was not a stranger to Marissa – he was her boyfriend's brother, and someone with whom she had become comfortable. And according to RAINN, 3 out of 4 rapes are committed by someone known to the victim. In fact, only 21% of sexual assaults are committed by a total stranger, showing that Marissa's experience was actually very common.
When Marissa was assaulted by Trey, she also struggled with reporting. Like Bay on Switched at Birth, Marissa didn’t want to get Trey in trouble, and she was also worried that people wouldn’t believe her — but she knew deep down that what happened to her was wrong. When she eventually confides in her best friend Summer, she is reminded that what happened was not her fault – and that Trey did commit a crime. The fact that Marissa was afraid to report her assault is a reflection on the stigma that is very real in our society, where victims are afraid to come forward out of fear that they won’t be believed or might be retaliated against. This problem with under-reporting falls solely on the shoulders of our society as a whole.
Based on the novel Push by Sapphire, the film Precious follows teenager Claireece “Precious” Jones as she navigates a dark world of abuse and assault. Precious is abused throughout the film by her father, and shamed by her mother for unwanted attention that was not her fault. Claireece finally takes steps to break away from her reality, but struggles while she does so. The film doesn't shy away from its depiction of the repercussions of assault, and was a wake up call for a lot of people whose teenage years weren't so tumultuous, and may have been living in ignorance.
The rape scene on Outlander was extremely graphic, earning it comparisons to similar scenes on Game of Thrones, but with two major differences: One, the victim is a man, and two, the story is told from his perspective. On the last episode of season 1, Jamie is raped by Captain Jack Randall, and the entire scene is shot from Jamie’s point of view. One out of every 10 people who is raped is a man, and 3% of American men have been the targets of an attempted or completed rape in their lifetime. There is a stigma that is attached to male survivors of sexual assault, and Outlander served as a reminder that men and boys can also be affected by sexual violence — and that their stories need to be told.
Halfway through the fifth season of Pretty Little Liars, Zach (Ella’s fiancé) subjected Hanna to a number of unwanted sexual advances, making her feel extremely uncomfortable and unsafe. When Hanna tells Aria about what happened, her response is a cold reminder of society’s very real rape culture problem. Aria asks Hanna, “What did you do to lead him on?”
Aria comes around eventually and apologizes profusely for the way she initially acted. But as infuriating as it is to watch one of our favorite characters say something so insensitive, it’s an unfortunate reminder that many people do think this way. Of course, it was not Hanna’s fault that Zach came on to her, and Hanna didn’t do anything wrong. Victim blaming is a very real issue that many survivors of sexual assault and harassment deal with, and it’s important to remember that no one ever is “asking” for it — no matter what.
Early in the series, we learn that Claire was raped in college. And while Claire didn’t report her attacker at the time, she explains that she dealt with the assault in her own way. She describes the rape to her husband, Frank, and her re-imagining of the trauma is devastating. Claire refers to herself in the third person, reflecting the idea that she has separated herself from the assault and is not letting herself be defined by the violence she’s experienced. Claire says, “Every time I think of her pinned down like that, I strangle her, Francis. So she doesn't strangle me. I have to. We have to. The alternative is unlivable.”
Claire’s experience teaches us that everyone handles trauma differently. In her case, she chose to disassociate herself from the incident. Healing looks different for each and every survivor.
On Orange is the New Black, Pennsatucky is raped by one of the prison guards, Charlie Coates. The thing that’s so difficult to watch about this scene is the fact that Pennsatucky had started to think of him as something of a friend, and then he turned into someone she couldn’t trust, someone she had to fear. Later, when Big Boo tries to help Pennsatucky get revenge on him, she declines, explaining, “I’m not angry; I’m just sad.”
For Pennsatucky, there is no rage after her assault — there’s only sadness and confusion. Orange is the New Black does a good job of depicting what many survivors experience in the aftermath of an assault; in Pennsatucky's case, it affected her for days and weeks, she truly didn’t understand what was happening to her, and she not only mourned the friend she used to have, but the person she used to be.
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Updated Jan. 20, 2018 7:08PM ET / Published Jan. 20, 2018 7:00PM ET 
In many respects, The Tale has been in the making for the last 35 years. But its Sundance Film Festival premiere Saturday afternoon—the first of this year’s festival to receive a standing ovation that we witnessed—is so timely it could very well have been called: #MeToo, The Movie.
The Tale is a memoir film in which writer-director Jennifer Fox confronts the sexual abuse she suffered when she was a 13-year-old girl, having spent the next three-and-a-half decades of her life convincing herself that she was engaged in a “special” relationship with a 40-year-old man, facilitated by a woman she trusted.
Both were people in her life she loved: “Mrs. G” (names were changed from Fox’s own life) was her equestrian trainer, and “Bill” was her running coach. Thirteen-year-old Jennifer is intoxicated by the regal, beautiful Mrs. G, and trusts Bill because of it. When Bill starts to coax Jennifer into a sexual relationship, she convinces herself that they’re in love. But she was just a girl. It was child rape.
Immediately following the post-screening Q&A, in which stars Ellen Burstyn and Jason Ritter broke down in tears talking about the movie, it became clear that this is the film everyone at Sundance will be talking about.
Its resonance—a woman realizing that what she had thought was a consensual sexual relationship was actually child rape—is one thing. That it shows, with purposeful unflinching detail, Jennifer’s rape at age 13 is another. (We witnessed multiple people walk out after this.) But that it doesn’t direct you how to feel about it, or moralize, or redeem, or reassure is its greatest power.
The Tale is relentlessly uncomfortable, and sometimes even aggravating. It wades into the murky waters of a complicated debate currently consuming culture, but doesn’t seek to satisfy or conclude it—which can be infuriating but is also necessary. It lacerates right through that conversation, letting the full range of opinions spill out. Yet it doesn’t seek to stitch it back up again and heal. Because that’s not it’s job.
“Eventually she pieces together an explicit, clear-eyed recollection of the relationship with Bill, and we watch it play out on screen. It’s sickening.”
But The Tale isn’t a linear narrative about a child who was raped. It’s an adult woman’s journey to the horrifying realization that her innocence was preyed on; that she was abused in a way that impacted the rest of her life. It’s her struggle through frustrating notes of denial, rationalization, misremembrance, and anger as she tries to piece together what really happened to her—not what her memory of it was—and why. How she feels about it now is almost an afterthought, until, at a major climax, it isn’t.
Throughout the film, Fox plays with form, storytelling structure, and the truth in jarring ways here—at one point Laura Dern, who plays Jennifer as an adult, is actually in conversation with Isabelle Nelisse, who plays her at age 13—to illustrate the myriad ways in which a person needs to communicate, with others and themselves, past and present, to reckon fully with an event like this.
When we meet Dern’s Jennifer, her mother (Burstyn) is leaving her a litany of emotionally charged voicemails, having just discovered an essay Jennifer wrote when she was 13 titled “The Tale,” which discussed the loving relationship she had with two adults: Bill (Jason Ritter) and Mrs. G (Elizabeth Debicki.) Her mother is beside herself. Suspicions she had 35 years before were true: these adults had taken advantage of her daughter.
“This is why I didn’t tell you,” Jennifer says, dismissing her mother’s concerns. “Can’t I just sit with my own memories?” she pleads, preferring to remember the relationship fondly instead relitigate it as assault. Nearly every line of dialogue hits you like a cannonball, its relevance to the stories and confessions that have been chronicled in the #MeToo movement these last months uncanny. “No,” her mother says. “I want you to nail them.”
She starts to visit people she hadn’t seen in decades, attempting to get a more detailed picture of that time that the years have blurred—part of her desperate search for a reason this happened to her. Or even to answer if anything happened to her.
“You were raped,” she’s told multiple times. “It’s complicated,” she instinctively retorts. She rages at the word “victim,” an indictment of the inherent lack of sensitivity in imposing a victim narrative on anyone who comes forward with a traumatizing story.
Eventually she pieces together an explicit, clear-eyed recollection of the relationship with Bill, and we watch it play out on screen. It’s sickening.
Bill baits her with lines like, “You’re not afraid of life, right, Jenny? You’re not afraid of living?” He and Mrs. G flatter her by telling her that she’s special, that they think of her as an equal, that they think they can trust her with secrets. Then we start to see the rape happen.
Would the film be as powerful if the acts were implied, instead of shown to wincing eyes on screen? Perhaps. But arguably, too, the impact is in bearing witness to the things Bill says and does and their brutal reality.
It starts with Bill getting Jenny to cuddle with him under a blanket. He says she deserves better than silly young boys; that he wants to “save” her from them. He phrases things in a way to make her think it’s her idea, like to take her top off, giving her the false comfort of an agency she doesn’t have.
We see them make out and it is grotesque. We see him, over multiple scenes that take place over a series of weeks, attempt to penetrate her. “We have to keep stretching you open, slowly,” he says. And then again: “No young boy would do this for you.” We see her give him a blowjob when it doesn’t “fit.” Eventually it happens, the camera switching between her face and his as it does.
The film ends with a disclaimer that the sex scenes were shot using an adult body double. Nelisse, who was 11 at the time of filming, only shot the dialogue parts of the scene, which are graphic in their own right. Fox would coach her on how to react properly to the pain of losing one’s virginity: ”Act like you’ve been stung by a bee.”
It would be impossible to list the myriad tenets of the conversation surrounding abuse and victimhood that the film explores. Should there be guilt or shame? Is she emotionally scarred? We wouldn’t purport to answer any of those questions, and maybe the film doesn’t intend to either. And that’s the prickly part of it, the thing that will keep us and anyone who sees it itching long after it ends.
While watching it, you’re not exactly sure what Jennifer wants the outcome of this whole journey to be, and you’re especially not sure what you want it to be either. What are you rooting for, if anything at all? It all builds up to a confrontation between Jennifer and Bill. Is it satisfying? Could it possibly be?
Casting Jason Ritter as Bill was a crucial decision. His image, based on the characters he’s played in Parenthood, Girls, Kevin (Probably) Saves the World, is that of the consummate nice guy—the adorable, safe, all-around “good” guy. “The whole idea was to take out of the closet the idea that perpetrators aren’t monsters that we can pick out,” Fox said after the film. Mission accomplished.
There was an air of speechlessness as the standing ovation died down. How does someone talk about this film? What do we even say? It’s something that Burstyn herself acknowledged, before beginning the dialogue in an impassioned, immediate way: “The exploitation of innocence is a deep, criminal crime, and it’s time now, right now, in this moment in our history, to change it.”
But she wasn’t done. “And I want to thank Donald Trump for that disgusting tape that he made that we all heard that was the final straw that broke the camel’s back,” she said to rousing applause. “And we can now at last deal with this problem that has gone on for centuries all over the world. This film is giving voice to it.”

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Rape Teen Films