Enraptured by this Glorious Media Landscape: Anne with an E and cross-platform coproduction

Abstract

This article examines the CBC/Netflix coproduction Anne with an E (2017–19), a leading example of cross-platform coproduction whose legacy is disrupted by the drama’s unexpected cancellation. Theories of cultural and media imperialism are discussed to contextualise this circumstance, along with an overview of the Canadian media policy context. The relationship between the CBC’s public service model and Netflix’s subscription service is considered, followed by an analysis of the increased cultural representation of the drama, which incorporates Black, queer and Indigenous identities. The article concludes by suggesting what Anne with an E’s cancellation may mean for the future of cross-platform coproductions.

Keywords

CBC Netflix media policy cultural representation media imperialism

Introduction

In the penultimate episode of Anne with an E (2017–19, 3: 9), a strong-willed and compassionate young girl looks longingly out of her window at the landscape of Prince Edward Island. This is not Anne Shirley-Cuthbert (Amybeth McNulty), however, but a Mi’kmaw girl called Ka’kwet (Kiawenti:io Tarbell), who Anne befriended earlier in the season. Ka’kwet is an original character for the CBC/Netflix drama, one of multiple augmentations to L.M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables that are created to expand the novel’s scope and incorporate diverse identities into its narrative. Furthermore, Ka’kwet is not ensconced in a safe household equivalent to Green Gables, but imprisoned in a residential school where her Mi’kmaw identity is effaced. This is also her last appearance in Anne with an E; she remains un-rescued and unmentioned in the final episode.

Shortly before this article was written, the horrific legacy of the residential school system in Canada was brought to the forefront of the national and international consciousness by the discovery of the remains of 215 Indigenous children in the grounds of the former Kamloops Indian Residential School, British Columbia (Coletta, 2021), followed by over 1000 other graves at sites in Saskatchewan and British Columbia (Cecco, 2021a, 2021b, 2021c). Amongst the renewed cultural reckoning and calls for reconciliation in the wake of this discovery came the recognition that, even in Canada, awareness of the ‘cultural genocide’ – as it was deemed by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in 2015 (Barber, 2015) – enacted by the residential schools system had remained minimal (Ling, 2021; McKinley, 2021). Ka’kwet’s story in Anne with an E allows these events to be exposed, both within Canada and to a near-global audience through Netflix’s international distribution. It is also, however, the story that is most evidently curtailed by the programme’s cancellation.

The imperialist values that informed the residential schools system were controversially evoked by Catherine Tait, the CBC’s President, through her increasing wariness over coproduction arrangements with Netflix and other transnational streaming services. In an Ottawa panel in early 2019, Tait reportedly said the following:

I was thinking about the British Empire, and how if you were there and you were the Viceroy of India, you would feel that you were doing only good for the people of India […] fast forward to what happens after imperialism and the damage that can do to local communities. So all I would say is, let us be mindful of how it is we as Canadians respond to global companies coming into our country. (quoted in Vlessing, 2019)

This was followed later in 2019 by a wholesale rejection of coproductions with Netflix; at this time, Tait stated that ‘over time we start to see that we’re feeding the growth of Netflix, or we’re feeding the growth of Amazon, rather than feeding our own domestic business and industry’ (quoted in Benzine, 2019). Alluding to the lack of a mandate for Netflix to contribute to the Canada Media Fund, and standing by her earlier sentiment regarding imperialism, Tait further asserted that ‘we believe that anybody profiting from the Canadian system should contribute to the system’ (quoted in ibid.). Although not directly attributed to this development, or to the CBC or Netflix individually, news of Anne with an E’s cancellation shortly followed these developments (Ahearn, 2019). Tait’s concerns resonate with those concurrently apparent within the Canadian media policy space.

While Tait’s concerns do have merit, it is equally important to recognise the potential of transnational coproduction in a globalised media ecology. Without the cross-platform agreement between the CBC and Netflix, Anne with an E may not have existed at all; it certainly would not have been developed in the same way. Ka’kwet’s story may be a product of imperialism in one respect, but it also exposes imperialism in another – and plays an important role in revealing a multifaceted Canadian past. This circumstance represents the duality of the multiplatform age as a whole, where the opportunity for high production values exists in tandem with a necessity for coproduction and the potential compromises concomitant with this.

This article will assess Anne with an E’s exemplification of cross-platform co-production (Dunleavy, 2020), considering the commonalities and conflicts between the CBC’s public service model and Netflix’s premium subscription service, which intersects with the drama’s textual negotiation between local and global appeal. These will be aligned with the increased cultural representation of Anne with an E, which incorporates Black, queer and Indigenous identities into the framework of Montgomery’s novel, consciously expanding the world of Avonlea and uncovering Canadian sociocultural history for an international audience. Lastly, the circumstances around Anne with an E’s cancellation will be evaluated, both in terms of its impact on the final episode’s narrative and what it suggests for the future of cross-platform coproductions.

Scope for the imagination

In evoking imperialist histories to critique Netflix’s impact on the Canadian television industry, Tait encroaches upon a critical field with decades of debate behind it. Foundational to the concepts of cultural and media imperialism is Herbert I. Schiller, whose work in the 1960s and 1970s asserted the power media corporations wield over cultural consciousness (Schiller, 1976, 1978, 1992). According to Schiller, cultural imperialism ‘develops in a world system within which there is a single market, and the terms and character of production are determined in the core of that market and radiate outward’ (1976: 5). However, in the ensuing decades this concept has been challenged; its limitations are summarised by David Morley, who asserts its oversimplification of international communication flows, failure to consider recent ‘glocalisation’ strategies, the problems of ‘cultural protectionism’, and the inadequacies of the implied ‘hypodermic’ media effects theory (2006: 34, see also Tomlinson, 1991:34). By the 1990s, Schiller himself argued that cultural imperialism needed to be ‘recast’ in light of globalised consumerism and media conglomeration (1992: 12). However, other scholars argue that the term retains some importance. Oliver Boyd-Barrett insists that media imperialism theories must ‘embrace phenomena of media support for, antagonism to, or relationships with the acts or agents of imperialism and imperialistic aggression’ (2014: 11). Vital, then, is the complexity of media representations; as Milly Buonanno (2008: 99) argues, while a ‘cultural trace’ of American television drama is apparent in other nations, this does not equate to the ‘destruction of local cultural identity’. These considerations are important to take into a study of recent transnational television, which has seen a resurgence in concerns around imperialism and cultural protectionism in a number of countries (Lobato, 2019: 144).

The history of Canadian broadcasting reveals the country’s status as a nation vulnerable to the global media ecology. As John D. Jackson and Mary Vipond assess, public and private broadcasting imperatives have been in tension in Canada since the CBC’s mixed funding model and affiliate stations were established by the 1932 Broadcasting Act: this ‘compromise […] created a public broadcaster, but did not give it a monopoly […] the affiliate arrangement placed public and private broadcasting in a symbiotic relationship’ (2003: 75–76). The public/private relationship also impacted the programming visible on the CBC: ‘popular American programs co-existed with those that promoted a particular vision of Canada as a nation’ (ibid.: 76). While not directly considered by Jackson and Vipond, it can be extrapolated that this tension also exists within Canadian productions, which must also negotiate the CBC’s own commercial/public service hybrid model. Marc Raboy (1996: 105) identifies subsequent developments in this internal negotiation, as the public and private sectors became increasingly intertwined from the 1980s. The negotiation also exists in the responses to the Canadian broadcasting system, from the perspectives of policy-makers, scholars and the popular press. Raboy poses the following question, to which he favours the latter option: ‘should the CBC concentrate on providing a distinctive, streamlined public service on the margin of an increasingly commercial television market, or should it participate in expanding the public service horizons of broadcasting?’ (ibid.: 114) A quarter of a century after its asking, this question remains important in considering the Canadian responses to the threat of internet-distributed television.

Netflix’s near-global expansion, which acted as a harbinger for the international strategies of the likes of Disney+ and HBO Max in more recent years, brought into focus the shifting context for television coproductions. Ramon Lobato assesses Netflix’s movement into an international service, confirmed in grandstanding style by CEO Reed Hastings in early 2016 – complete with the somewhat sinister promise of ‘no more frustration. Just Netflix’ (quoted in Lobato, 2019: 2). As outlined by Lobato, this stoked anxieties around content, cultural effacement and internet infrastructure in various countries, exposing ‘deep-seated tensions in international media policy’ (ibid.: 3). Netflix, according to Mareike Jenner, has created a ‘new kind of transnational broadcasting’, which ‘has to integrate itself not merely as [a] new channel, but distinct media form, within most markets’ (2018: 187). In response to the threats posed by this, and drawing upon the theories of Frank J. Lechner and John Boli, Jenner notes that the nation can ‘fight back’ when its culture is threatened, citing particularly the quota on local content imposed by the EU (ibid.: 189). This quota conversely threatens the UK production industry, in light of that country’s departure from the EU (Boffey, 2021). In the case of Canada, despite a pre-existing Canadian content quota, the current lack of a requirement for Netflix to reinvest in Canadian-made productions means that ‘the content regulation question once again becomes entangled with questions of national sovereignty’ (Lobato, 2019: 151–152).

Canada’s media policy framework includes gaps that leave the nation vulnerable to Netflix’s intervention. As Michel Sénécal and Éric George establish, the Canadian Radio-television and Telecommunications Commission’s (CRTC) 1999 decision not to regulate the Internet has significant consequences in the present era. Among these are the lack of revenue from imposing taxes on international Internet-distributed television services, the consequent ‘inequalities of treatment’ between these and Canadian services, and the capacity for Netflix to build its film content without regard for Canadian cinema releases (2021: 161–2). Emilia Zboralska and Charles H. Davis further identify arguments from Canadian stakeholders at the CRTC’s ‘Let’s Talk TV’ hearings of 2012 and 2013, which included that the freedom of an unregulated Internet does not equate to quality content, the lack of opportunities for domestic content creators, and the absence of data from Netflix around its investment in the Canadian industry (2017: 14–15). Both studies agree that the present moment is of vital importance in reframing a regulatory system that can continue to promote Canadian cultural representation (Zboralska and Davis, 2017: 20; Sénécal and George, 2021: 167).

Canada’s potential negotiation of the threat presented by SVoD services is indicated by the Innovation, Science and Economic Development Canada commissioned report titled Canada’s Communications Future: Time to Act (Broadcasting and Telecommunications Legislative Review Panel, 2020). This report grapples with the problems caused by Netflix’s presence in Canada, proposing a framework through which the advantages would be preserved while negative effects are mitigated. Central among its recommendations is the requirement for all ‘media curation undertakings […] including Netflix and other online streaming services […] to devote a portion of their program budgets to Canadian programs’ (ibid.: 12). This aligns with the report’s overall aim to recommend a legislative framework ‘that reaffirms Canada’s sovereignty, supports our democratic values and inclusivity, and aims to realize the promise of advanced technologies for the benefit of Canada’s economy and future prosperity’ (ibid.: 10). As Sénécal and George note, it remains to be seen whether such recommendations will be adopted (2021: 167); if they were, cross-platform coproductions may be more appealing to broadcasters such as the CBC.

It is also important to consider Netflix as what Lobato calls ‘a series of national services’, rather than holding uniform content and experiences worldwide (2018: 245). Users outside the US, particularly in the early days of the service’s international launch, are familiar with jealousy over the perceived superiority of ‘American Netflix’. In a broader sense, ‘while internet distribution has created new forms of mobility for content and audiences, it has also served to reduce mobility in other cases (e.g. via geoblocking), leading to increased territorialization’ (Lobato, 2019: 11, emphasis in original). Coproduction, again, may be able to manage this potential drawback. Anne with an E, typical of Netflix coproductions, was broadcast on the CBC in Canada and remains available online via CBC Gem domestically, while existing on Netflix in perpetuity in all other territories. Such co-productions, therefore, are relatively uncompromised from a purely distribution perspective; they capitalise on the global reach offered by Netflix’s network, while remaining domestic content at home.

Jenner alludes to the potential homogenisation of Netflix’s transnational dramas, noting that its ‘grammar of transnationalism’ is ‘heavily influenced by an assumed “universality” western cultural value systems claim for themselves, even if this may be marked by a western cultural imperialism and may be understood differently in some regions’ (2018: 226). The mention of ‘cultural imperialism’ here invites comparison with Tait’s concern over Netflix: although Jenner considers this from the more global perspective of western values, the threat of assumed universality is familiar. Serra Tinic identifies the danger coproductions pose to Canadian drama in particular, noting the erasure of ‘culturally specific markers’ in favour of ‘Hollywood formulas and genres’ to increase international sales (2009: 69). Nevertheless, ‘PSB co-productions may provide opportunities to speak to the ever-increasing complexity of multicultural communities as globalization processes complicate the “nation” as a stable category of identification’ (ibid.: 70). A decade later, it is worth considering whether the same may be true of cross-platform co-productions between a public service broadcaster and premium internet-distributed television network; as Trisha Dunleavy establishes, ‘while cultural specificity and originality are both expected qualities for “public service drama” […] these same characteristics now appear to have a commercial value to international premium networks seeking to distinguish themselves on the basis of original dramas’ (2020: 352). Alessandro D’Arma, Tim Raats and Jeanette Steemers identify the risks of such coproductions to public service media, which include: the ‘cannibalisation’ of national channels and services; ‘brand dilution’ through misleading ‘Netflix Original’ labelling; conceding control over key creative decisions; and commercial pressures prioritising ‘globally appealing’ series over ‘national communities’ (2021: 4). The balance, as D’Arma, Raats and Steemers see it, is between resistance and collaboration.

In this environment, Anne of Green Gables presents an attractive prospect for a transnational drama production. While her name is well-known over the world, Anne’s story is arguably less familiar to audiences outside North America; an expanded, revisionist adaptation of Montgomery’s novel therefore holds the potential to give new life to a narrative of national importance for Canadians, while asserting its relevance to the new territories and generations experiencing it for the first time. The following section evaluates how these diverse aims are pursued in Anne with an E, positioning the drama as an illuminating example of cross-platform coproduction.

A matter of much solemnity

The initial critical responses to Anne with an E demonstrate the various perspectives brought to the drama, informed by the viewer’s location, familiarity with Anne’s story, and perhaps even age. American reviewers focus mostly on – and arguably exaggerate – the adaptation’s introduction of darker elements, often considering these a betrayal of Anne of Green Gables’ spirit. For instance, Joanna Robinson’s Vanity Fair review summarises Anne with an E as ‘a gloomy series with grim, life-or-death stakes draped over the bones of something beloved, warm-hearted, and familiar’ (2017). Particularly objected to is the depiction of Anne’s life before she arrives in Avonlea, which recontextualise her eccentric behaviour:

The version of Anne we meet at the start of the series […] isn’t quite the sunny, optimistic girl who has won over generations of readers […] This is an Anne with PTSD. And not for the last time in the series, Anne with an E struggles to make this new version of the red-head fit with the hallmark scenes of the story. (ibid.)

Writing in The New Yorker, Sarah Larson further assesses the drama’s tone as follows:

At times, “Anne with an E” feels like it’s slipped genres, like one of those comedies-recut-as-horror-movies trailers that made the rounds a few years ago. [Moira] Walley-Beckett [creator] suffuses her scenes with a grim grayish light, showing us the mud, the dirt, the cold. Anne […] [is] quick to anger. When her face is at rest, she has a slightly open, turned-down mouth, as if waiting for the next indignity to come her way […] When she goes into raptures about the White Way of Delight or the Lake of Shining Waters, she sounds anxious. (2017)

In The Atlantic, however, Sophie Gilbert takes a more nuanced approach to these objections, recognising that Montgomery’s novel is darker than many readers remember and praising the adaptation’s augmentations (2017). Back home in Canada, John Doyle’s positive review picks up on the implications around nostalgia Gilbert makes, identifying this as an issue with previous adaptations of Anne of Green Gables:

That era, a time when CBC had a more vital and dominant role in Canadian TV, before the arrival of specialty cable channels, creates its own kind of nostalgia and longing. Things were more fixed then, anchored in a particular interpretation of Canadian values and culture. The period featured a lot of sweetness and sentimentality. (2017)

Doyle’s connection between televisual eras and the tone of an adaptation usefully introduces this section’s discussion of Anne with an E’s development, which outlines the drama’s combination of nostalgia and revisionism. This is designed to appeal to a transnational audience, with a focus on the diverse identities and psychological reality of its characters.

The psychological exploration of Anne, informed by her traumatic childhood, commences the extensions made by Anne with an E to Montgomery’s novel. As Robinson’s review establishes (2017), season 1 largely follows the events of Montgomery’s novel, with some tonal and contextual alterations. Fundamental to these is Anne’s age; she arrives in Avonlea at 11 in Anne of Green Gables, but in Anne with an E is 13 (1: 1). This shift makes her unworldliness and escapes into fantastical imaginings appear more unusual, particularly to the modern viewer, and unavoidably a result of her traumatic past experiences. This intersects with her remembrance of events from the orphanage and family home she lived in previously, presented in flashbacks experienced through Anne’s subjectivity. These flashbacks set the stage for the ‘darker’ developments to Montgomery’s narrative that follow. Yet Anne’s intelligence, compassionate nature and appreciation of the world around her are unblemished by this transition. This Anne has a more difficult journey to acceptance by the community, but the increased adversity makes the betterment of herself and others readily apparent for the drama’s new audience. This is seen in the raised stakes of the end of the first episode, where Anne is accused of stealing Marilla’s (Geraldine James) brooch. As Larson notes, whereas in Anne of Green Gables Anne is forbidden from attending a picnic for this apparent crime, in Anne with an E she is sent away from Green Gables altogether (2017). Although Larson objects to this revision, its impact aligns with Anne with an E’s transnational and transgenerational functions. Not only are expectations of a nostalgia-feeding happy ending to each episode subverted, adhering to Netflix’s inclination for serialised storytelling, a circumstance is created where mutual growth can be emphasised: upon her eventual return to Green Gables, Marilla’s reserved demeanour convinces Anne that she is still unwelcome, until Marilla is finally able to express her emotion (1: 2). A similar movement is seen when Anne begins school; in contrast with her immediate popularity in Montgomery’s novel (Robinson, 2017), Anne’s different experiences and naïve awareness of sexual relations initially set her apart from her peers in the dramatisation (1: 3). Anne’s ‘depths of despair’, to borrow her turn of phrase, are thus made lower through the novel’s adaptation, allowing the significance of emerging from them to be felt more keenly. The sense of growth is increased by the drama’s multi-season existence; Anne and her peers visibly grow between each season, giving an authentic emotional resonance to their advances towards adulthood. The universality of this appeals to the drama’s transnational and transgenerational audience, indicating the potential to reach out to diverse identities that is capitalised upon in the narrative of the subsequent seasons.

Anne’s importance to Canadian cultural identity is established by the scholarly responses to Anne of Green Gables. Holly Blackford outlines the character’s significance to the turn-of-the-century moment she was written in:

Within a context of declining population and perhaps a certain longing to get off the train of modernity, the mythic force of a paradoxically Canadian-born child, yet a marginal outsider who loves the land more than its residents, takes on a certain intensity. But during this period of national transformation, ideas of childhood underwent an even more radical change; the reform of institutions supporting children became part of a national agenda in both Canada and the States. (2009: xix)

Anne’s ‘outsider’ status is thus of great importance to her appeal, as is her being a child of the new century in attitudes and outlook. It is perhaps natural, then, that a modern adaptation of Anne of Green Gables would seek to align Anne with 21st century values of inclusivity. Tangentially, Blackford’s comments even justify the presence of the residential school system in Anne with an E, as a too-often neglected part of the history of Canadian childhood. This situates Anne as part of Montgomery’s authorly impact on Canadian culture, which according to Irene Gammel and Elizabeth Epperly promotes ‘loyalty, industry, pioneering courage, a dedication to service and humanitarian values’ (1999: 7). As Gammel and Epperly identify, Montgomery’s characters ‘grow into writers and teachers to promote their unique cultural visions […] these formative elements do more than heighten individual cultural awareness: they construct Canadian culture’ (ibid.: 4). Their imparting of Canadian values is also noticed by Frank Davey, who establishes Anne’s capacity to redeem and improve others: ‘the more prominent characters who react negatively at some point to Anne […] are all helped by Anne’s insouciant hopefulness to reveal themselves as more flexible and more sensitive than they have previously demonstrated’ (1999: 169). This capacity to project positive Canadian values can be felt at a societal level: Anne can improve communities, not just individuals. The attitudes she projects are also of a distinctly anti-imperialist character, rejecting Britishness in favour of Canadianness (Pearce, 2009). This is complicated, however, by Janice Fiamengo’s identification of Anne’s ‘exuberantly imperialist language’ (2002: 236), and by the lack of any Indigenous or other non-white characters in Montgomery’s novel. To audiences at a further remove from Anne’s world by time and/or geography, the complexities of her Canadian heritage require careful consideration and – at times – revision through adaptation.

With an international viewership via Netflix in mind, and taking advantage of the technological possibilities of high-end drama production in the 21st century, Anne with an E’s aesthetics foreground the landscape of Prince Edward Island. This is established in the opening episode of the series, where Anne’s first ride to Green Gables with Matthew (R.H. Thomson) is depicted at length. Indeed, when Anne’s vocalised stream of consciousness during the journey leads her to utter examples of her favourite words, her first instinct is to stand up in Matthew’s cart and declare ‘I am enraptured by this glorious landscape!’ (1: 1) Demonstrations of delight in Avonlea’s surroundings continue throughout the series, such as when Anne, Matthew and Marilla enjoy a hot air balloon ride over the island during the county fair (3: 6). This use of the Canadian rural landscape connects Anne with an E to the engagement with cultural and literary associations of place in the Yorkshire-set dramas of Sally Wainwright (Woods, 2019). Through the drama’s international distribution, its regionality encourages a postmodern tourist gaze, which is focused on culture and understood though media representations (Urry and Larsen, 2011: 115–8). After establishing Anne’s heritage through such aesthetics, Anne with an E is able to extend its cultural outlook as the series continues.

Precedent for incorporating wider representation in a Montgomery narrative is found in the CBC’s 1998–2000 adaptation of Emily of New Moon, which, according to Christopher Gittings, is re-visioned ‘through a politics of difference and national pluralism framing the cultural moment of the series’ production in 1996’ (2002: 193). This is realised through the introduction of French-Canadian and Mi’kmaw characters, cultural identities that are also featured in Anne with an E through Matthew and Marilla’s farmhand, Jerry (Aymeric Jett Montaz), and Ka’kwet. Emily of New Moon is a multi-season adaptation commissioned solely by the CBC; achieving such longevity in a purely domestically-financed production is increasingly unlikely in the globalised context of television in the 2010s. While other recent Canadian television dramas investigate diverse historical identities, with CBC/BET miniseries The Book of Negroes (2015) a leading example, the near-global reach of Anne with an E through its distribution on Netflix, and its renewable concept, make it a more significant production in terms of the representation of Canada to other nations; as Andrew M. Schocket (2018: 180) notes, the impact of The Book of Negroes in the US was negligible. Nevertheless, while Anne with an E’s coproduction facilitates its multi-season realisation, high budget and pursuit of diverse narratives, the institutional circumstances around the drama’s cancellation threaten to overshadow this benefit.

Moira Walley-Beckett’s strategy for expanding the world of Anne with an E becomes apparent from its second season. From this point, original characters of diverse identities are added to the drama, allowing Anne’s inclusive worldview to be projected more widely than it is in Montgomery’s novel. The first of these characters is Bash (Dalmar Abuzeid), a Black Trinidadian who comes to Avonlea after meeting Gilbert (Lucas Jade Zumann) on a steamship. Walley-Beckett explains the motivation behind Bash’s introduction in an interview with IndieWire:

I’ve always been super uncomfortable with the fact that this is a very, very white world, and it doesn’t reflect the reality of Canada’s diversity then and now […] I knew that I would send [Gilbert] away to some sort of exotic port of call where he could see a much more colorful world […] I want him to have a friend, I want the friend to be a person of color, and I want them to travel together, and ultimately I want this friend to return to Avonlea. And so we conceived of Bash from Trinidad. (quoted in Nguyen, 2018: 2)

Bash is thus poised to experience the more accepting island community that Anne’s presence has engendered. His first meeting with Anne (2: 6) exemplifies how she unwittingly facilitates Bash’s incorporation into Avonlea: contrasting with Marilla and Matthew’s awkward response to his skin colour, Anne effusively compliments his ethnicity, her innocent enthusiasm breaking the ice at their Christmas gathering. Bash’s integration also allows the breadth of Prince Edward Island’s representation to be increased, as he discovers Black community ‘the Bog’ and there meets Mary (Cara Ricketts), who joins his family unit at Gilbert’s farm upon their marriage. Despite the community acceptance found by these Black characters, their racial identity still shapes their existence in Avonlea; for instance, Mary’s wayward son Elijah (Araya Mengesha) can be understood as the product of an unequal society, with his actions even contributing to Mary’s sudden death (3: 2–3). Anne with an E presents a realistic yet optimistic view of its Black characters, where the challenges of prejudice remain but individuals can make a difference: Avonlea, naturally, rallies round Bash and his infant daughter in the wake of Mary’s death.

Concurrently, season 2 pursues a theme of queer identities, revealing the diverse sexualities that, according to Walley-Beckett, exist in the margins of Montgomery’s novel. In addition to introducing the new character of Cole (Cory Grüter-Andrew), a gay teenager, Anne with an E reads the minor characters of Aunt Josephine (Deborah Grover) and Mr Phillips (Stephen Tracey) as queer. Speaking of an episode where Anne and Cole attend Aunt Josephine’s queer-positive party, prompting Cole to come out (2: 7), Walley-Beckett again articulates the cultural importance of this development: ‘I hope to all the kids too who are struggling with their gender [and sexual] identity […] they see that it’s possible to find safe haven’ (quoted in Nguyen, 2018: 1). Clearly, the desired impact of this extends beyond Canadian audiences. Cole’s ‘safe haven’ is, in one respect, Anne herself, who even offers to marry him in the event neither finds their ‘romantic ideal’ (2: 8). It is important to recognise, however, that none of Anne with an E’s queer characters are able to live their authentic lives in Avonlea: Mr Phillips remains closeted, while Aunt Josephine lives in Charlottetown, her family largely ignorant of her sexuality, and Cole eventually leaves Avonlea to live with her (2: 10). Limits remain to the acceptance possible within the village itself, therefore; the drama exposes the diverse communities that exist within the Canadian past – and are excluded from literature such as Anne of Green Gables – but, despite Anne’s positive influence, Avonlea is not idealised to the extent that the difficulties these communities face are ignored. This depiction continues with Ka’kwet’s narrative in the third season.

Discussing Ka’kwet’s introduction, Walley-Beckett describes the story of the Mi’kmaq as one that ‘deserves to be told’ (in Grimonte, 2019). Again, the cultural implications of this are clear, especially considering how this story encompasses the residential school system. Within the narrative of Anne with an E, it is Anne’s intervention that once more allows this story to be told; her tenacity and curiosity leads her to the Mi’kmaq’s village and ultimately makes her the person Ka’kwet’s parents come to for help. The burgeoning friendship between the two girls is established when Anne visits the Mi’kmaw village; this sequence is characterised by her openness to the Indigenous community and spiritual similarities to Ka’kwet (3: 1). Ka’kwet is situated as an Indigenous parallel to Anne, demonstrating how the latter’s values connect to a wider demographic than that represented in Montgomery’s novel. Ka’kwet’s narrative, however, meets tragedy rather than escaping from it, revealing the wide gap in the experiences of white and Indigenous peoples in Canada’s history. Thus, instead of Anne’s treasured puffed-sleeved dress – which she bestows on Ka’kwet as she leaves for the residential school – Ka’kwet’s wardrobe changes from Mi’kmaw dress to grey rags, while her long hair is cut, and even her name is taken away (3: 4). This cultural effacement, as the recent discoveries at residental school sites have attested, is part of the Canadian story, no matter how unpleasant it is to acknowledge. It is also one that, within the chronology of Anne with an E, is unlikely to be resolved; the Catholic Church, who run Ka’kwet’s school, remained involved in the residential schools system until 1969, and the last school did not close until 1996 (Miller, 2021). Correspondingly, the Indigenous narrative ends with less optimism than might be expected in the context of a child-appropriate drama: Ka’kwet successfully escapes her school but is shown to still suffer from her experiences there and is almost immediately recaptured (3: 8–9). Despite the assistance of Matthew and Anne, Ka’kwet’s parents are unable to retrieve her and are left camping nearby, not giving up on their daughter but with little realistic hope of bringing her home (3: 9). Although Matthew and Anne agree to write to the national press to expose the practices of the residential school system, there is no evidence that they have done so in the final episode; it is thus left to the drama itself – and its viewers – to take this crucial step.

Evidently, Ka’kwet’s story is curtailed by Anne with an E’s cancellation, excluded from a final episode that seems designed to swiftly move the drama to a conclusion earlier than anticipated. The narrative returns to a focus on Anne and her (white) peers as they move to teachers’ college, the romantic fulfilment of her first kiss with Gilbert and the discovery that sees her learn that her mother had red hair like hers (3: 10). Anne’s appearance has therefore moved from a ‘lifelong sorrow’ (1: 1) to a mark of pride in her lineage over the course of the drama. Additionally, a subplot involving Bash accepting a newly reformed Elijah is pursued in this episode, in a space that could have been conceivably occupied by a conclusion to Ka’kwet’s narrative. The latter’s conspicuous absence is hard to reconcile with the previous episode; this prompted negative responses, including from a Mi’kmaw perspective:

This is no longer just a matter of cancelling a beloved show, but a matter of white corporations making a profit off of Indigenous suffering, without giving Indigenous healing. It is a betrayal of responsibility, of trust, and of that sweet word one has to wonder if settlers even know its meaning: reconciliation. (Kispesan, 2019, emphasis in original)

Echoes of imperialism once again haunt this criticism, ironic considering how fear of the same within the CBC contributed to Ka’kwet’s story ending so abruptly. On the other hand, while a narrative of ‘Indigenous healing’ would provide comfort, would it be true to the unpalatable Canadian history Anne with an E aims to expose? It is perhaps more concerning not that Ka’kwet remains imprisoned, but that the empathetic Anne appears to forget about her entirely.

Conclusion: a tragical romance

Anne with an E’s international distribution is crucial to its cultural impact, and the realisation of its potential as a revisionist adaptation. The context of its commissioning and cancellation, occurring parallel to the acrimonious termination of the relationship between the CBC and Netflix, renews the fears around cultural imperialism that recur in the Canadian national imaginary. Does the drama exemplify the threat of American dominance, or does the renewed scope of its narrative allow Canada to emerge from its ‘absent nation’ status? The answer, in all likelihood, is both. If adopted, the recommendations of the Canada’s Communications Future report would forge a more nuanced way of negotiating the risks and rewards than the CBC’s wholesale rejection of collaboration; the latter has seemingly already curtailed Anne with an E, leaving its prescient Indigenous narrative unresolved. It also likely stymied subsequent transnational and cross-platform coproductions of similar breadth from being realised, steering Netflix towards the more controversial direct commissioning strategy in Canada (Sénécal and George, 2021). Without such international investment, it is hard to imagine a renewable drama of such cultural significance existing in the current media landscape. Even if produced by a domestic broadcaster such as the CBC, a commission over multiple seasons would remain unlikely; in Anne with an E’s case, it is the drama’s multi-season existence, facilitated by Netflix’s long-term investment, that allows it to maintain its high-end aesthetic and introduce Black, queer and Indigenous characters to Montgomery’s narrative. In a drama that aims to reach beyond its depicted community, an international audience is crucial to achieving its full potential. Netflix’s involvement therefore has both economic and cultural benefits. Negotiating the trade-off between national and international, rather than reconstructing territorial barriers, is essential if the diverse possibilities of transnational television drama are to be realised.

Footnotes

Declaration of conflicting interests

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

ORCID iD

Will Stanford Abbiss

Author Biography

Will Stanford Abbiss recently graduated with a PhD from Te Herenga Waka/Victoria University of Wellington, New Zealand. His research focuses on representations of nationhood in long-form television drama, including the status of public service television in the 21st century. His doctoral study established a post-heritage critical framework, through which British period drama productions from the 2010s were analysed. A monograph arising from this research, published as part of Routledge’s ‘Advances in Television Studies’ series, is forthcoming. His future research will further consider international and contemporary-set productions, applying his findings on the depictions of cultural identity to a broader spectrum of television drama.

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