We Are Lady Parts is available to stream on Neon

Pop CultureSeptember 23, 2021

The gutsy authenticity of We Are Lady Parts

Guest writer

We Are Lady Parts is available to stream on Neon

Ronia Ibrahim reflects on the fearlessness of We Are Lady Parts, the comedy series about an all women Muslim punk band that hilariously smashes tired tropes.

I’m one of those people who you might describe as “prudish” or “conservative” type. “Frick” is an unironic part of my vocabulary, and I struggle to say the word “sex” or “boyfriend” without flinching. R16 movies make me wary, and I still have never tried a V. So how did I end up watching a TV show about an all female Muslim punk band, titled We Are Lady Parts?

Well, the honest answer is embarrassing (TikTok and a period of misandry-related grief), but let’s just say, in this state of the things, I decided to cheer myself up by consuming some edgy content. Also, if the world is ending I may as well not be ashamed of trying to be woke, dammit. But perhaps I wasn’t being as indie as I thought – this show was recently nominated for Best Comedy Series at the Edinburgh TV Festival. It’s also got a 100% Certified Fresh rating on Rotten Tomatoes. This is weird to me because We Are Lady Parts seems like a niche show, with an ensemble of BIPOC actors and a premise that feels very unconventional.

The show is about an all Muslim-female punk band called Lady Parts, who are trying to make a name for themselves in the music scene. Going into it, I was apprehensive for two reasons. Representation of Muslim women in Hollywood is already infamously abysmal: sad girl takes off her hijab for the aggressively mediocre white boy, as she struggles to connect with her strict religion and ruthless immigrant parents (who are like, always forcing her to get married, or something). The last time I had hope was watching Apple TV’s Hala, which made me cry with disappointment at its rehash of this terrible character trope.

The second reason I was apprehensive is that this show’s premise is almost deliberately provocative. Punk and Muslim are basically opposing identities. The former is seen as violent, profane and unhinged, the latter is a religion that values modesty, peace, and prayer. Furthermore, the show features and discusses music, queerness, dating, smoking, and tattoos – all big taboos in Islam, so I was wary of how it might be represented and the potential response from Muslim viewers. We don’t like to admit it, but Muslims can be really superficial. There’s a troubling problem within our community of cyberbullying and bashing each other (women in particular) for how religious or non-religious we present ourselves. For a faith that is already so heavily misrepresented, or just plain missing in the media, our appearances can be taken as blasphemy just for existing.

All that considered, the moment I realised that this was going to be a good show was in one of the show’s featured songs, ‘Bashir with a Good Beard’. The lyrics expose and challenge the misogyny that exists within our community: “Are my clothes too tight? Do I laugh too much? You I say I’m not polite, I say fuck you very much!” Hearing this, I exhaled with a mix of relief, nervous laughter, and empowerment. The show feels fearless in acknowledging the elephant in the room that is the internal conflicts and issues within the Muslim community. While it was shocking at first, I slowly realised how refreshing it felt to watch a narrative that finally felt authentic.

Lady Parts is written by a Muslim-Pakistani woman, Nida Manzoor, which really makes sense when you look at just how rich and real the characters feel. Manzoor manages to challenge the idea of being a Muslim woman in 21st century Britain, and execute it without being overtly #girlboss. The band is made up of a diverse set of women who come from different ethnic, career, and family backgrounds. Saira, my favourite, is the mega-angsty but secretly soft-hearted leader of the band; Bisma is Nigerian, a mother and zine-maker; Ayesha, the sharp-tongued, crazy eyeliner-wearing drummer; Momtaz – the band’s producer – a niqabi (someone who wears a niqab or “burqa”) who vapes, which I find both hilarious and badass.

The show’s protagonist, though, is Amina, the lead guitarist. Geeky, a hopeless romantic, and a little bit socially awkward, Amina just wants to be the good Muslim girl her peers expect her to be, which means to settle down and marry a good Muslim guy. Her determination to find a husband is a hilarious but all too familiar ordeal of falling for disappointing men, glorifying connected beards, and obsessing over Muslim dating apps. When she joins Lady Parts, however, her life becomes a balancing act as she struggles to maintain an undercover punk identity with the expectation of being a “good” Muslim girl.

I’ll be honest, I’ve never encountered any of these types of women in real life, but they each prove to me that the Muslim experience, especially the Muslim woman’s experience, is extremely diverse, and much of our stories are yet to be told. Some viewers aren’t going to be happy with these representations or the premise of the show, but others are going to feel seen for the first time. Just as the show is bound to spark criticism from being not properly “Muslim” or “Islamic”, the band and its members deal with external backlash and internal dilemma of managing faith, identity, and societal pressure. Low-key, it’s real meta.

In an interview with Variety, Manzoor reflects on her experience writing the characters. “I realized […] I can only speak from my truth and represent the women I know.” She says most of her character inspiration came from real life, from “art collectives, poetry readings, or musicians”. Finding inspiration from real women provided a sense of freedom to really develop an authentic narrative and voice for the show, despite not everyone relating or agreeing. “In a way, having that slightly mixed feedback made me realise that I couldn’t possibly represent everyone, and what I have found so much joy in doing is speaking my own truth and connecting with the people who this does speak to.”

While we often think of representation as a matter of being seen, I think there’s also room for conversation around the importance of seeing. It’s so easy for the criteria of representation to be superficial, but this has got guts. I was surprised that a show with so many inside jokes could appeal to a broad audience, but seeing the likes of film reviewer Kate Rodger raving about it proves that it can occupy the marginalia and mainstream. Part of me wants to keep the show to myself for its wonderful characters and stories that feel so rich and personal. Watching these different characters on screen reminds me that not all Muslim women carry their identity the same. Though we come from different places and pathways, our common thread is always sisterhood.

This season is only six 25-minute episodes but it’s still jam-packed with stunning performances, fun set designs, a snappy plot line and cool editing. The songs – my personal favourites being ‘Voldemort Under My Headscarf’ and ‘Ain’t No One Gonna Honour Kill My Sister But Me’ – are hilarious. Head-banging at home to these anthems has also taught me that punk is more than just an edgy music genre, but a medium for self-expression. It’s got the guise of being anarchic, while actually being really fun.

While some of the Gen Z humour and slightly exaggerated acting did throw me off at times, for the most part I couldn’t stop grinning at my screen. We Are Lady Parts is currently available on Neon. I think you should stream it. It’s fricking good.

We Are Lady Parts is streaming now.

Image: TVNZ / Tina Tiller

Pop CultureSeptember 23, 2021

Who the hell comes up with Celebrity Treasure Island’s challenges?

Chris Schulz

Guest writer

Image: TVNZ / Tina Tiller

Celebs are being forced to dive for puzzle pieces, lug bags of sand through waist-high water, and work their way through mazes made of sharp sticks. Who did this? And why?

Richie Barnett and Johnny Tuivasa-Sheck are pictures of concentration. The former rugby league players are facing off, tasked with balancing black rubber balls on long-stemmed paddles while manoeuvring their way through a network of rusted wire frames. It looks like a puzzle Lara Croft might find while raiding a tomb. “So much is riding on this!” screams host Matt Chisholm as Northland’s summer sun beats down on their backs. “It’s do or die!”

That tension ratchets up another notch when Tuivasa-Sheck, a mostly happy-go-lucky Celebrity Treasure Island presence, misses a checkpoint, his ball sliding into the sand. He has to start over. Despite team mates yelling slogans of support like, “Slow down Richie!”, Barnett manages to make the same mistake. The look that crosses both their faces as they regather their balls and run back to the start tells a similar story. They’re thinking: “Why is this so fucking hard?”

CTI — Richie Barnett tackles a tricky section of a balancing task on Celebrity Treasure Island. Photo: TVNZ

That, says the show’s executive producer Greg Heathcote, is entirely the point. “You’re always trying to up the ante, you’re always trying to come up with something bigger or flasher,” he says. Those tasks are the most important part of the show. “The challenges are the catalyst for the story. Something will happen in a challenge and … it will change the way contestants feel about one another. They’ll go back and it will dominate what happens in camp.”

That’s exactly what happens. Tuivasa-Sheck eventually succumbs to the poised presence of Barnett, yelping, “Holy snap!” as he’s eliminated. Art Green, who engineered his elimination by pitting him against the more poised Barnett, celebrates. While all that is going on, Angela Bloomfield ponders a request, delivered via secret parchment paper under her seat, for a secret alliance with opposing team members. It was chaos. It was TV gold. Heathcote smiles. “I was there for that,” he says proudly.

The celebrities didn’t know it, but that paddle challenge, and the rest of Celebrity Treasure Island’s deliberately daunting tasks, had been formulated six months earlier. “It’s the very first thing we do,” says Heathcote. Producers gather at Warner Bros’ Auckland headquarters and map out the season, crafting one imposing creation after another. A whiteboard full of ideas is produced. “We work on the environments the challenges are going into,” he says. “If we’re in a maritime situation, we know we can do water challenges.”

CTI — Celebs get ready to dig for their first Celebrity Treasure Island challenge. (Photo: TVNZ)

From there, they head to their art department and discuss options with their builders. Sometimes, for either financial reasons or safety concerns, or both, doubts are expressed. “Eventually, we wear them down to the point they’re on board,” says Heathcote. “They’re Kiwi builders, they’re just clever buggers. You don’t have to give them a plan. You can literally draw something on the back of a napkin and it will come back and it will work.”

Something, though, seems different this season. The challenges are bigger, sturdier and scarier. Heathcote says shows like Ninja Warrior and Wipe Out have upped the stakes. “You used to be able to get away with just doing something on a beach and running around,” says Heathcote. That’s no longer the case, with celebs being put through their paces in intricately devilish ways. After just a few episodes of the latest season, they’d amassed enough bumps and scrapes to fuel an ER department, being sent up, over, under and around all kinds of contraptions, all in the name of charity.

Related:

Celebrity Treasure Island power rankings: Nothing breaks like an Art

At one point, they were tied together while lugging giant sacks of sand, tasked with chasing each other through waist-high water. At another, they maneuvered through a maze made of jagged sticks. Medics and safety officers are on hand, says Heathcote. “Occasionally we might mitigate the challenge based on a medic’s advice,” he says. But celebs know what they signed up for. “It is a game. The challenges are designed to knock them around a bit. They’ll get the odd bruise and the odd scrape … you just don’t want any broken bones.”

CTI — Edna Swart screams instructions from a fort on Celebrity Treasure Island. Photo: TVNZ

Wary of the contestants’ wide range of ages, skills and physiques, producers try to find a mix of puzzles, balancing acts and physical challenges. “What you don’t want is a tug of war,” says Heathcote. Producers scour YouTube and social media looking for inspiration. The best ideas are kids’ toys come to life. He’s working on one idea now that’s like a huge version of the game Connect 4. “We’re sitting there going, ‘How can we supersize that? How can we make that a two storey-high structure that they have to work off? You’re taking this childish thing and making it ridiculously large.”

All of this is a far cry from the challenges created for early seasons of Treasure Island. Heathcote was involved in those too, when celebrities like Mark Ellis and Lana Coc-Kroft would face off in tests that look entirely tame these days. In the 2001 season, Frank Bunch and Nicky Watson received a code that sent them wading through a muddy lagoon. “We were there before Survivor,” says Heathcote. “No one really knew how to play the game.” These days, Survivor is coming up to its 41st season, and physical challenges have become a mainstay of reality TV, appearing on everything from Love Island to Taskmaster.

CTI — Celebs including Frank Bunce and Nicky Watson search a murky lagoon in the 2001 season of Celebrity Treasure Island. (Screengrab: NZ on Screen)

The celebrities taking part are smarter too. Contestants spend time picking over the rules before each challenge, asking what they can and can’t get away with. Heathcote’s worst example of this was a few years ago. “Two rugby league players on opposing teams got in a physical fight over the rules of a game that involved giant balloons,” he says. “They were just so invested.” He had to break up the fight. “In my head, I thought I was breaking up a fight between two kids. When I got there, they were six-foot-four.”

Contestants like to push the rules. Chisholm’s on hand to chide them this season, but hosts haven’t always been so stern. Heathcote remembers the late reality star John ‘Cocksy’ Cocks turning up to a buried treasure challenge finale with a metal pole that he’d found washed up on the beach. He won by stabbing it into the sand and finding the treasure that way, saving precious digging time. “Coxy changed the game forever,” says Heathcote. “We used to bury the prize money at the end. We don’t bury the treasure any more.”

One thing that hasn’t changed is just how seriously players take the game. It might all be for charity, but, as Buck Shelford’s “If you don’t stick to the game plan, I’ll get right up ya,” outburst in the first episode showed, they’re there to win. “Every year they turn up and it’s a weird game of pirates (but) they get invested so fast,” says Heathcote. “When you’re sleeping rough and eating there, it quickly becomes your world.”