Dollhouse

In a change from our usual programming, this is a quasi-academic exploration of Joss Whedon’s 2008-2010 series, Dollhouse with a particular focus on everyone’s morally grey Brit, Adelle DeWitt. When I say ‘everyone’s’, I mostly just mean ‘mine’. This was originally written as my submission for Smart Pop Book’s anthology Inside Joss’ Dollhouse but was unsuccessful – I’m currently in the process of reworking it to be more explicitly academic in order to submit it to some journals. As such, it is aimed at readers already familiar with the premise of the show and contains spoilers for the entire series. In other words, if you haven’t seen Dollhouse yet, go and watch it right now (or at least familiarise yourself with the premise courtesy of this handy YouTube clip) then come back and read this.

Playing a bad hand well: Adelle DeWitt as abuse survivor

“Achievement is balanced by a fault, by a lack. You can’t have one without the other. Everyone who excels is overcompensating, running from something, hiding from something.”[1]

One of the most ambiguous characters on the show, Adelle Dewitt initially appears as the glamorous Madam who seduces future Actives as efficiently as they later seduce their clients. Described variously as “Cruella DeWitt”, “the coldest bitch on the planet”, and “mistress of the dark observation”, she is not a likely candidate for heroine. Nor is she, on the surface, a victim – rather, she is predator, complicit in and even encouraging of the sordid fantasies of wealthy men, to the point of becoming a client herself. But as we learn in Season Two, she is no more a willing participant in the Dollhouse than the Actives themselves[2]. In fact, her subjugation at the hands of Matthew Harding is only one more stage in a cycle of abuse – and there are signs that it began long before ever she encountered the Rossum Corporation.

This essay argues that Adelle DeWitt is largely motivated by a past history of sexual abuse, indicated through her responses to the repeated violations of Sierra and to her near-fetishization of the innocence of her Actives. It also charts her initial failure to break out the cycle of abuse, where victim becomes perpetrator, and her role as feminist avenger as defined by Jacinda Read[3], in enacting the necessary retribution for crimes against others – saving them to compensate for her inability to save herself.

Reading between the lines – the hidden backstory of Adelle DeWitt.

“Nothing is what it seems.”[4]

Although it is ostensibly the past of Caroline Farrell that drives the show, I believe that it is Adelle’s history that drives her actions and thus influences the fate of the L.A House’s inhabitants. Aside from her scientific background, very little time is given to her personal history, but from her reactions to several key incidents, it can be argued that Whedon implies a very dark past indeed. These responses considered individually could be read as an empathetic side to Adelle’s usually frosty character. But viewed together, they tell a far more disturbing story. In the same way that abuse victims with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder frequently experience flashbacks in a non-linear fashion, Whedon offers the audience a tattered patchwork of fragmented and unpleasant memories.

The unaired pilot opens with the wistful acknowledgement that “as we grow up, [the world] grows around us, a dense thicket of complication, disappointment. Unbearable for some. And even for the luckiest of us, still sometimes more than we can handle. Less than we’d hoped.” The theme of unbearable disappointment and betrayal is a common one in her dialogue, although throughout Season One, it has no obvious source. Then, in 2×02, her interaction with Nate Jordan leads to the rumination that with proper parenting, a child “is imprinted with the idea that the world is a safe place. A child that does not feel loved grows up to be… [laughs awkwardly] well, mostly likely a sociopath.”

That the route of Adelle’s hostility, need for control and, most likely, alcoholism, is rooted in the failures of at least one parent can be supported by a comment made to her bespoke lover Roger, back in 1×09. If dating is about hiding first your flaws and then your disappointment, she says, marriage is about hiding your sins. In order to work out to whose marriage and what sins she is referring to, we must look at her reactions to the theme of sexual abuse that runs through the show.

The Season One episode, ‘Man on the Street’ is only one of several Dollhouse episodes that deal with rape.[5] In this case, the victim is Sierra and the abuser her handler and parent figure Hearn. For a character known for her exemplary – at times, even terrifying – self-control, Adelle’s reactions in this episode are predominantly emotional. Her questions to Hearn regarding the abuse, and her need to have him verbalise his actions can be read as an attempt to understand the actions of her own abuser – her blank tone as she asks if it made it easier to abuse someone incapable of struggling expresses both disgust and a need for answers. Interestingly, this scene has direct parallels with an earlier one where Sierra is outlined through a frosted glass wall. Here, Adelle is seen through a full-length window, partially obscured by blinds. Although she is not the victim, both the camera angle and her outfit are reminiscent of Sierra, drawing visual parallels between the two.

Adelle says that she rewards Boyd because she “needs” to – for once, the fantasy the Dollhouse is fulfilling is one where the victim is rescued from the hands of an abuser rather than being delivered into them, and she is grateful, if unwilling to acknowledge it to anyone else. Furthermore, in alerting the other Houses about the abuse, she risks her professional reputation for the first time in order to safeguard all the Actives, not just the ones under her care. Foreshadowing what will be revealed as her real priorities in the Dollhouse, it is a far cry from the self-serving, ruthless image she projects. That she entrusts this task to a man who will a few episodes later betray her is a bitter twist. The final scene of the episode has Adelle questioning the extent of Topher’s ability to remove traumatic memories, a doubt she has not previously expressed. Her approval that Sierra’s memories have been erased is laced with something that feels like envy – we may deduce that hers have not.

Miss Lonely Hearts

“Illusions aren’t worthless. They’re at the heart of most relationships.”[6]

Adelle describes the Dollhouse as “a place of safety, of untroubled certainty. Of purity. This is the world we must maintain. It is imperative that nothing disturb the innocence of life here. Once any temptation is introduced, it will spread like a cancer. All will be infected.” It is a bleak view of the sexual companionship she supposedly sells, especially in light of what will become an enduring love between Victor and Sierra. There is a twisted sort of protectiveness in the way she maintains their innocence – the Edenic life they live between engagements at the L.A House is a far cry from other establishments, where they are kept “more like veal”. In fact, Adelle is invested in keeping the Actives frozen in a state of childlike innocence – an innocence she markedly lacks.

As Victor’s psychiatrist imprint in 2×08 observes, Echo “gets to be the virgin and the whore, and for both she is celebrated.” In contrast, Adelle must compartmentalize her professional self and her sexual self into the roles of emotionless ice queen and feminine romantic, the clichéd businesswoman by day who turns into a sex kitten at night. She cannot enjoy sex as herself, she has to adopt the false mantle of ‘Katherine’ before she can indulge her desires. Whilst her male peers may flaunt their sexuality, she has to hide hers or risk being punished for it. Harding uses her relationship with Roger as a means of both humiliating her and reminding her that she is no different from the rest of Rossum – “We all like to take something home from the office once in a while.” The reduction of Roger as an object demeans Adelle as well, and the context in which the comparison is made suggests that the relationship is as much an abuse of power as that between Nolan Kennard and Priya Tstsang.

Her relationship with Roger has echoes of Buffy’s relationship with Spike in Season Six of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It is the self-destructive, deliberate engagement in behaviour that their peers would disapprove of, and in both cases sex and violence overlap. “This is what you wanted, or you wouldn’t have cut me,” Roger points out as he backs Adelle up against a wall during their fencing bout, a violent prelude to their sexual encounter. Both Buffy and Adelle feel considerable self-loathing for their actions – Adelle refers to herself indirectly as “pathetic and self-deluding” – and the coupling with a partner they consider soulless is chosen because they believe that is all they deserve, because they too are damaged and thus not a fit partner for the whole and unbroken men in their lives. However, despite his façade of sexual dominance, Roger is under her control – as she will ultimately remind him, she designed his life. Thus, he is not a threat, with the post-engagement offering of a treatment functioning as a safe-word and his parameters defined prior to their encounter.

When Victor-as-psychiatrist says “you are chastised for any suggestion of sexuality, punished perhaps”, it sounds directed at Adelle herself rather than the generic analysis of male-female relationships. Discomfited, she deflects the remark by pointing out that such punishment is the fate of all women, but the comment obviously rankles. Echo’s mid-Season Two story arc has proved definitively how unreliable the wipes are at removing all the Actives memories, and Victor’s relationship with Sierra is about to disrupt his romantic engagements. Could it be that he is referring back to a confidence Adelle shared with Roger?

The Rossum Corporation as abusive partner.

“I promise – you wouldn’t like the early retirement plan.”[7]

That the structure of power in the Rossum Corporation is patriarchal is unsurprising, but what is not immediately clear is that women occupy the same marginalised role as the Actives – Adelle is reduced to a puppet during Harding’s period in charge of the L.A House, and the handler known as Cindy Perrin is effectively whored out to the Active whose wife she poses as. When Adelle pretends to seduce the Head of the D.C House, his immediate complicity and lack of surprise indicate that such “compromises” aren’t unusual at Rossum. Following the pernicious influence of Harding, it takes very little encouragement for Topher to turn on his employer, for whom his fearful respect has always been tinged with dislike. As early as Season One, he demeans her prickly persona – or tries to – by calling her catty[8], and when she is passed out drunk at her desk in Season Two, his suggestion of drawing on her face with a Sharpie reflects a desire to us e her as his canvas in much the same way he uses the Actives. The punchline to an unheard joke in episode 2×07 sums up the misogyny inherent in the organisation – women are better seen and not heard.[9]

On the surface, Adelle’s capitulation to Harding’s coup in Season Two is uncharacteristic, especially given her warning to her opposite number in D.C in the previous episode. However, it seems likely that her submission is simply a taught response to the threat that Harding poses towards her – unlike Echo in 1×09, she does not have the luxury of taking out her biggest threat, as there is no parental figure to protect her. It is a common for victims of abuse to fall into abusive relationships, thus repeating the pattern of earlier abuse, and here Adelle’s relationship with Harding is analogous to that of another Jossverse Brit occupying uncertain moral territory. Angel’s Wesley Wyndham-Price found himself gravitating towards the controlling and occasionally undermining world of Lilah Morgan and Wolfram and Hart following a childhood characterised by verbal and emotional abuse on the part of his father, and the parallels between the interdimensional law firm and the sinister Rossum Corporation are marked.

Harding adopts a paternalistic attitude towards Adelle and, given his knowledge of her illicit Lonely Hearts engagements, is clearly privy to secrets she does not want him to possess. The ability of Dollhouse senior staff to discover and exploit their employees’ weaknesses is exhibited at various points throughout the series, not least of all by Adelle herself. Harding clearly knows which buttons to press, and during his tenure her body language is both submissive and eerily childlike, the glossy war-paint that has previously defined her appearance replaced by the desexualising affect of minimal make-up. The literal penetration of the patriarchal forces of Rossum into an office whose floral arrangements and red walls have already marked it out as a feminine space is emphasised by the grossly phallic presence of the men’s cigars – it is not until Adelle has regained control of the House that she is able to safely reject them, even if it is on their terms. In the following episode, she comments that “there’s only one place for a doll as irreparably damaged as you.” For Echo, it’s the Attic – for Adelle, it is the Dollhouse itself.

My House, My Rules – DeWitt as abusive parent

“If we do this, what does it make us?”

“What are we already?”[10]

Adelle’s role as Dollhouse matriarch takes a darker turn after she regains control following Harding’s coup. The theme of misplaced loyalty is expanded – when Topher accuses her of betraying his trust, Adelle parries by saying that he should have known better. Immediately after she slaps him for talking back to her, she reminds him that she is only doing this because she cares about him. This is later mirrored in her 2×08 scene with Echo, where she refuses the Active the treatment that will ease her crippling headaches. Because Echo is special, we are told, she has to be punished. This punishment is both for absconding from the House and thus Adelle’s command, and something that Echo ‘deserves’ because of her status as favoured one.

This is not the first time that she has been identified with the role of abuser – earlier on in the season, parallels were drawn between Adelle and sociopath Terry Karrens, who creates his own basement full of human playthings:

“At some point you decided that real people weren’t worth it. You pushed them away. Alienated everyone in your life so you could surround yourself with the fakes, the copies. It makes you feel like you had some control, but you’re not in control.”[11]

That this description extends beyond Karrens to the staff of the Dollhouse is underscored by the way the camera cuts away from the interrogation room to a close-up of Adelle herself. The comparison is not necessarily a flattering one, but it is illuminating. Ballard indicates that this kind of behaviour is often rooted in early trauma, which fits in with the previous oblique hints Whedon provides us in terms of Adelle’s background. In addition, it echoes the pattern followed by some abuse survivors summed up by Beverley Engel: “Those who perpetuate the cycle of…abuse do so because they are out of control and feel they have no other options.”[12]

The rape-revenge cycle – Adelle as maternal avenger.

“Given that you’re a raping scumbag one tick shy of a murderer, I can’t recall – do you take sugar?”[13]

The rape-revenge narrative[14], whilst punishing the rapist and allowing the woman to emerge triumphant, has frequently been criticized for its tendency to dwell on and eroticize sexual assault and objectification. Whilst laudable, this narrative device relies on, rather than doing away with, the sexist assumptions inherent in the male gaze. Such criticism has also been levelled at Dollhouse – as with Buffy the Vampire Slayer and, to a lesser extent, Angel, the impact comes largely from an objectified young woman turning the tables on her oppressor. Problematic or not, it is one of the principle narrative tropes that drives the show and the role of avenger belongs not only to Echo, Dollhouse’s nominal heroine, but to Adelle.

Adelle witnesses – and in some cases is party to – what most people would describe as massive violations of human rights. She has a conscience, but she is largely willing to occupy a moral grey area. However, Adelle’s role within the Dollhouse has more in common with the character of the avenger than the enabler or pimp, as is evidenced in her treatment of the two incidents of sexual assault that occur on her watch. Given how easy it is to rid the Actives of their memories, it would be simpler for her to ignore Sierra’s rape at the hands of Hearn, but she does not and instead gives another vulnerable woman the agency with which to destroy him. Similarly, far from letting Sierra go willingly to Nolan, she initially refuses the deal and moreover, terminates any further contracts with the Dollhouse although she is ultimately unable to enforce this.

On the surface, the kidnapping and rape of Priya Tsetsang is merely another example of the narrative trope Gail Simone called “the woman in the refrigerator”[15] syndrome. It provides an opportunity for the usually amoral Topher to test-drive the conscience he has been struggling with ever since Dr Saunders challenged him about the imprint he designed for her, and will pave the way for the mental breakdown we see in ‘Epitaph One’, and thus his eventual redemption. But in order for this to happen, his latent hero complex has to be activated by rescuing a damsel in distress. On this level, the horrific trauma Sierra experiences is merely another device to make a male character a better person. However, it also illuminates Adelle’s character in an interesting fashion. Once more, she has been made into an accomplice for rape – the sexless utopia she has created for the people in her care has been breached. Kennard tells her she can’t go to the police, Harding warns her that Rossum will prefer the testimony of “one of their biggest assets” to her moral objection. The story is familiar – you can’t tell anyone because they won’t believe you, because it’s your fault. Both men use the language and tactics of the abuser, and once again she and Sierra are linked together. Unlike the incident with Hearn Adelle does not enact the revenge herself, but we later discover that she was aware of it and has made no attempt to punish Sierra, Topher or Boyd for the murder. She may feel powerless to offer them an escape route – and, in any case, seems not to rate the real world very highly – but she is invested in improving the lives of those in her care.

Paul Ballard’s visions of rescuing Echo are dismissed by Boyd as “fulfilling some sad fantasy,” highlighting the misogyny inherent in rescuing a damsel in distress. As Adelle points out in ‘Epitaph Two’, the last fantasy that the Dollhouse fulfils is Caroline Farrell’s when the inhabitants are finally able to walk free, and they do so thanks to two women and an overgrown child rather than the traditional hero figure. From the complicit enabler of sexual fantasies and the passive pawn of the Rossum Corporation emerges a woman determined to use her own power to protect the vulnerable and marginalised.

Fixing the world – redemption and rehabilitation in ‘Epitaph Two’.

“I’m not planning on presiding over the end of Western civilisation.”[16]

Despite her flaws, Adelle has been a sympathetic if not entirely likeable character from the start – a lonely, damaged woman with a problematic attitude towards sex and an inability to trust people. Even at her worst, she is never an all-out villain – her decision to hand over Topher’s plans to Harding is done after months of emotional abuse as her only means of escape, and her moral code is clearly defined even as it allows her to profit at the exploitation of others.

Her redemption comes in the shape of Topher – the Tin Man to her Lion – who becomes a surrogate child following his mental collapse. That the relationship that solidifies her position as one of the good guys is maternal as opposed to romantic, shows that her primary character flaw has been the failure to protect those in her care, a common failing in those who have had damaging parental figures.

Whether or not she would have broken out of the cycle of abuse to become the world’s most unlikely saviour – a middle-aged, borderline alcoholic is unusual in the canon of heroes in a way that a blonde ex-cheerleader is not – had the world not almost ended is questionable. But, thanks to an apocalypse she admittedly helped bring about, she is able to make amends for her past actions. In saving the world, Adelle DeWitt manages to save herself as well. It may not be the happiest of happy endings, but it is better than any fate that Rossum could have afforded her.