It is often thought that adolescent fiction must sell subversion in order to work and penetrate among young audiences, be as loud as possible in the dramatic. It may be true. The sexual brazenness of Sex education, the drug use of Euphoria and the frivolous plots of Elite, recent phenomena of the genre, indicate this. These are series that appeal to the obsession of young people to grow up in a hurry, to show off to others as adults. But there is a series that conveys innocence, illusion, friendship and romantic ideals without the need to seek toxic conflict, which is characterized by its delicacy when caring for the characters. It is Heartstopper, which premieres its second season on Netflix with a central theme that bears similarities to the real life of Kit Connor, the actor who plays Nick, the bisexual protagonist.
In the first eight episodes, airing in April of last year, Nick and Charlie (Joe Locke) met while sitting together in class. Charlie was at a vulnerable moment, having been bullied for his homosexuality, and Nick was one of the popular ones, as a player for the rugby team. After experiencing that inexplicable complicity called chemistry, Nick began to question his sexuality.
Now that the feelings are mutual, the athlete considers how to experience his discovery naturally and without pressure, with Charlie’s support. It’s impossible not to draw comparisons to Connor’s private life. When it was discovered that he was dating actress Maia Reficco, fans began to speculate about his sexuality and criticized him for queerbaiting, insinuating possible homosexuality on social networks to curry favor with fans.
This led to Connor publicly coming out of the closet in October by exploding on social media: “I’m bi. Congratulations on forcing myself out of the closet at 18. I think some of you didn’t understand what the series is about. Bye bye”.
“I really don’t understand how people see Hearstopper and then spend their time speculating about sexuality and judging based on stereotypes,” defended the screenwriter Alice Oseman, who adapts her own comics, and wished that those who had harassed her on networks “felt ashamed of the host”.
He even commented on the situation Olivia Colman, his fictional mother, who said she was “very proud” of Connor while lamenting that “people should be able to go their own way” in reference to his sexuality.
This toxic behavior of a sector of the public should not tarnish the work of Oseman, who experiences a contradiction as positive as his sense of creativity. On the one hand, he makes Heartstopper a safe place for audiences, both young and old. It offers a representation of an open and healthy adolescence to those who lived affected by the trauma of not fitting into the heteronormativity.
This idea is even verbalized in the season: the lost opportunities of those who lived censored or marginalized. On the other, it is a work that asks to be appreciated beyond its queer condition. It has a pedagogical component by showing relationships that, despite having conflicts and being marked by teen insecurities, are based on respect, trust and the duty to try to understand loved ones. Heartstopper is, in short, affective responsibility turned into a series.
