Silencing Sapphics: A Mirror Image Between Killing Eve and Bly Manor

In short, mainstream media hates lesbians. If the “Bury Your Gays” trope is supposed to show the supposed tragic harsh realities of queer happiness being a fleeting feeling with death being love’s ultimate sacrifice, why can we not, at least on occasion also have stories between women that showcase moments of joy and intimacy without the need for punishment? With both the endings for Bly Manor and Killing Eve being an almost identical shot for shot mirror of each other, this dated narrative trope is still well and truly alive.

After four whirlwind years, we said goodbye to some of the queer community's most beloved sapphic characters on Monday night, Villanelle and Eve. The internet was shook, twitter feeds being filled with backlash, anger and a feeling of betrayal, and as I’m writing this I still feel the fresh ache in my heart too.

Now we as fans knew that Killing Eve wouldn’t finish with a happy ending wrapped up in a shiny red bow because it goes against the core of what the show is about. At the heart of it, Killing Eve is messy, nuanced, complex and filled with morally grey characters. It never tries to be perfect. After years of sexual tension and build up, audiences are finally given a glimmer of hope. Eve and Villanelle liberate themselves from other people's expectations to be with the one they love, each other, and give us probably one of the best sapphic kisses on screen in television history.

To go from these sweet and tender scenes, feeling like there is a chance of a real future for the two, to then have the last 3 minutes of the episode end in tragedy and Villanelle’s death after defeating The Twelve, felt like a real stab wound to the chest (throwback to season 1, a much simpler time).

Head writer for the show, Laura Neal has been defending the series conclusion since its premiere, stating “I think the reason we ended up killing Villanelle was because we wanted to give Eve new life,” Neal explains. “For Eve, the moment where she burst out of the water was always something we had right from the very early iterations of the ending. We were really into Villanelle dying kind of to save Eve. And I think there’s a remnant of that still in the final version.” What adds more salt to the wound is that the finale also goes directly against the source material. The series originally based on the 4 part novella by Luke Jennings ends with Villanelle and Eve living a somewhat peaceful existence in St Petersburg, faking both their deaths, not necessarily in domestic bliss but not living without the other either.

Any fans of both Killing Eve and Bly Manor will have noticed the multiple similarities between both couples and their untimely demise. Both two blonde/brunette outcasts, feeling misunderstood by the world, both dealing with compulsory heteronormativity and both ending with one tragically dying underwater, whilst the other must deal with the loss and grief. As the screen begins to fade to black, audiences are left with many questions unanswered, a feeling of emptiness, and that all too familiar anger that comes from queerbaiting.

Mike Flanagan’s The Haunting of Bly Manor, the anthology horror series follow-up of The Haunting of Hill House, may seem at first glance your classic gothic ghost story, but don’t be fooled—it’s actually a queer love story. The romance in Bly Manor is a slow burn with our protagonist Dani suffering a massive personal loss coming to work at the manor still in the depths of her grief. Jamie, the resident gardener of the estate is also going through her own issues and trauma, struggling to make connections with others.

Over the course of the series we see the two ultimately fall in love, with the final episode giving audiences an insight into their romance over the course of five years, building a quiet, comfortable and heartfelt life with one another, the two eventually become engaged. This is the calm before the storm. Over the course of the series, Dani finds out that the manor is haunted by “The Lady of The Lake.” Dani commits an act of great sacrifice to save the children of the manor and becomes partially possessed by the lady. Eventually, the possession is too strong, and Dani is forced to return to the lake to ensure history never repeats itself. Our final shot of the series shows an older Jamie, sitting in her chair towards the door of her room leaving it open, as she has done since the lake incident on the off chance that Dani will somehow come back to her. Jamie curls up to sleep on the chair and in the final frame, a hand is resting on her shoulder and watching over her which we presume to be Dani’s.

Originally, Bury Your Gays (also called Dead Lesbian Syndrome due to the disproportionate amount of female characters who fall victim to the trope) was enforced as a way to allow filmmakers, writers and tv producers to tell stories which featured queer characters without risking social backlash or breaking Hays Code laws regarding “promoting” homosexuality. More often than not this trope would be used by queer people themselves too as a way in which to get some form of representation show on screen or in paper. Bury Your Gays as a trope has changed, it has gone from something queer creators can use to pass by oppressive societal standards and laws to something that is used to exploit queer characters and romances for a heterosexual audience. We see this time and time again in horror, many millennials sapphics will remember the tragic end to Tara and Willow in Buffy or Denise and Tara in the Walking Dead (which strangely enough also goes against the source material of the comics where our lesbian character isn’t killed off).

The link between death and romance for lesbians in media send a message to queer fans, especially those that are younger or perhaps still in the process of coming out that they cannot find their own happiness without sacrifice. These problematic tropes, often at the hands of what feels like rushed scripting, promotes a view of lesbians as primarily victims, coded as inherently tragic.