But with each passing episode, I began to question whether Oscar’s banal villainy could be considered a good thing. Not that I had suddenly developed an appreciation for lackluster characterization, per se. Rather, I found myself not caring one way or another. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t obsessing over the presentation of a show’s Resident Gay. 

The clearer it became that show creator Julian Fellowes had no plans to add any shades of nuance or complexity to Oscar’s character, the more I relaxed into a state of blissful ignorance. Oscar had no tragic backstory to elicit my sympathies; the story offered no satisfying answers to my probing questions about his elusive motives. Oscar is just set decoration, I realized. A thinly-drawn gay villain with almost nothing to offer to the plot? Great! Who cares! There’s so much more to focus on!

For years, the conversation about LGBTQ+ representation in the media has revolved around debates over what constitutes the “right” kind of representation. These discussions have certainly done their fair share of good. Slowly but surely, we’ve abandoned villainous characters whose immorality is directly linked with their queerness. I don’t think we’ll be getting another Silence of the Lambs anytime soon. 

But in the process, have we set the bar for queer characters too high? Where are the gays who are evil just for evil’s sake? The messy queens who solely live for drama? Sure, complex queer characters are desirable and necessary. But isn’t the real sign of progress reaching a point where queer characters can be painted just as dully as everyone else? Shouldn’t true equality include the freedom to be an empty shell?

Compare Oscar to Thomas Barrow, the Resident Gay in Fellowes’ previous hit, Downton Abbey. Though equally conniving, Thomas was saddled by tragedy, and the series enjoyed contextualizing his actions through his own self-loathing as a gay man. Though Oscar is far from “out and proud” — he is firm in his desire to keep his relationship secret — he does not appear to resent himself for being gay. His public disavowal of his sexuality is a societal response more than it is a personal one. 

Far from a tragic figure, Oscar is free to move purely in self-interest. There is no pretense surrounding his gold-digging ambitions. He’s just arrogant and entitled, a narcissist who thinks he can have it all and believes that he deserves it. He’s all the worst qualities of man, and that’s the extent of his contribution to the story. But here, finally, that feels like enough.