Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman And The State Of Period Dramas
When Sully approaches the government about the Cheyenne, it’s usually after consulting his best friend Cloud Dancing. Larry Sellers, who played Cloud Dancing, was also credited as a “Native American consultant” for most of the show’s run, a role that developed after he turned down a part in Dances With Wolves:
Sellers returned to Los Angeles and got a call from the executive producer of “Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman.” They talked and the part of Cloud Dancing was offered to Sellers. He immediately began to flesh out the sketchy character written into Dr. Quinn scripts.
“Cloud Dancing was originally called Black Hawk,” he said. “They just wanted a representative American Indian, not a character. I came up with Cloud Dancing and became the technical adviser for Native American concepts and thoughts.” His technical adviser role gave him a chance to present American Indians of the past as regular citizens in a town. “One of the things never represented in movies or TV is an interracial relationship between a white woman and an Indian man,” he said. “Indian men treat their mates with kindness.”
Sully and Cloud Dancing’s relationship would fit well under the modern definition of television bromance that every show has to have, but could a Native character be created with as much thought as Cloud Dancing?
Instinct–and the craft shop crow sitting atop Johnny Depp’s head in trailers and stills for The Lone Ranger–say, “probably not.”
Dr. Quinn used Cloud Dancing and Sully to tackle a variety of issues not limited to the troubled formation of reservations and the Custer-led Indian Wars (notably, the show portrays General Custer as an unquestionably villainous character). The episode “Hearts and Minds” focused on the forced Westernization and education of Native American children–which features another uncomfortable scene depicting that forced behavior–emphasizing the show’s efforts to present a different American narrative.
Gender roles played a large role in that alternate narrative. While the show fit in well with the 1990s trend of shows about Women Doing Things (a la Murphy Brown, Xena, Ally McBeal, and the like), and more often than not passed the Bechdel test, there were missteps here and there. The show was radical not only in the confines of the show’s world for being an unmarried female doctor, but in the world it was airing: she was a 35-year-old-virgin, and it took three seasons of chaste courtship and a marriage for that to change.
It also distinguished itself by being one of the very few period dramas about the American past that focuses solely on a female protagonist–a professional female protagonist at that. Mad Men does the same, to an extent, but it’s built around an ensemble cast. While the professional woman hasn’t disappeared from modern or period television, their portrayals have changed. Shows can no longer get away with having only one “conventionally attractive” female star; Dr. Quinn went so far as to allow only Jane Seymour to wear her long hair down–the Western symbol of traditional femininity–all six seasons. And the lack of passionate romantic encounters would likely bore a modern audience so used to these encounters–problematic or not–as being necessary to move the plot along.
As refreshing as it was to see Seymour’s character as a woman in a period drama who derives power from an aspect other than her own or others’ sexuality (i.e. more Peggy Olson, less Gillian Darmody), there were times when Dr. Quinn reminded you it was “family friendly,” usually when the town’s sex workers were involved. At least two prolonged “hooker with a heart of gold” storylines find their way in through the six seasons, and it’s made clear throughout that sex work, despite being a profession, is unacceptable.
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