The sitcom Bewitched is one of the queerest shows I’ve ever seen — which is a little
strange, since it’s about a straight couple. Just a few years later, Soap had gay characters;
Mary Hartman Mary Hartman had a gay couple; MASH had a gay coming-out episode. Bewitched
never had any of that. And yet … it somehow feels more queer than any of those other shows.
So, why is that? Well, that’s what I want to show you.
Hello friends! I’m Matt Baume, I make videos about LGBTQ+ milestones from TV and film.
This time we’re taking a look at Bewitched’s queer secrets and its hidden messages about
the closet and coming out.
"We're living in a world that just isn't used to people like us."
And by the way, if you want to check out the shows I talk about in this video, there’s
a link in the description to where you can find them streaming. And also a link to my
Patreon, if you’re enjoying my videos and want to see more.
So let’s start with the premise of Bewitched, because even though it’s about a straight
couple, it’s also pretty campy. Then I’m going to show you some specific episodes that
never use the word gay… but there’s no mistaking what they’re really about.
The show premiered in 1964 — you can tell by the Jackie O hair — and it was about
a witch named Samantha who marries a mortal named Darren, and then the couple decide they
should keep her witchcraft a secret so they can blend in as a nice normal suburban family.
As you can probably guess, something always goes haywire, and the more they try to blend
in, the more their lives become completely wacky and abnormal.
You might already be detecting something a little queer about that premise: Keeping a
secret so you can blend in is what a lot of queer people were doing around this time.
And Bewitched wasn’t the only show about keeping secrets. The mid-60s were a weird
time for TV. In the 50s, sitcoms tended to be extremely normal, focusing on regular nuclear
families. Then in the 60s, something changed. Where shows used to be about how the American
family is doing great, suddenly that gave way to shows about how American families are
really weird.
For example, in the 50s, you have Leave it to Beaver, about a midwestern family dealing
with normal topics: Going to church, making friends, choosing a college. In the 60s, some
of the same people who made Leave it to Beaver made The Munsters, which was also about a
suburban family, except they’re all monsters and episodes are about werewolves and cursed
jewels and dancing bears.
A ton of these weird 60s shows were about keeping secrets.
On Bewitched, nobody must know that Samantha’s a witch, or else she might be burned at the
stake! Around the same time we got Mr Ed, about a man who keeps his talking horse hidden
from his wife. My Favorite Martian, about a guy keeping his Martian friend hidden from
the authorities; My Living Doll, about a doctor hiding a robot from the military. Batman,
about a secret crimefighter. There was even the show called My Mother the Car about a
man whose secret is that his mother has been reincarnated, get it?
“But believe it or not my mother dear decided she’d come back … as a car.”
I wish I had half the confidence of whoever had the nerve to pitch that show.
But something more serious was also going on with TV. This was the start of the civil
rights era, and TV shows were tackling social issues unlike in previous decades. A lot of
sitcoms introduced fantasy scenarios so they could deal with metaphors for actual society.
They could move away from lightweight problems like “who’s going to invite me to the
Sadie Hawkins dance” and satirize more serious contemporary social issues … without having
to address those social issues directly. And that’s where things started to get a little
queer.
For example, take a look at an episode of Bewitched from Season 1, where a group of
witches talk about how unhappy they are that mortals think all witches are ugly and evil.
“I don’t know why we don’t simply tell everyone we’re witches. Then they’ll see what
wonderful nice people we really are.”
“I guess they just don’t realize we’re like anybody else.”
They’re talking about coming out — in fact, the title of the episode is “The Witches
are Out.” At first, the witches decide it’s not safe for them to reveal themselves — the
last time they tried that, they were burned at stakes.
So we’ve got a group that’s invisible and misunderstood, and will put themselves
in danger if they reveal themselves, which you sure could read as a metaphor for queer
people. Homosexuality was illegal in most states when this aired, and considered a mental
illness. And at the time, a big theme of what we would now call queer protests was just
what the witches proposed: “we’re just like you,” that gay people are no different
from straight people. Activists like Frank Kameny wanted everyone to come out, to tell
everyone they were gay, so America could see what lovely people they are.
And the witches are indeed lovely people — literally magical. Here’s Endora, Samantha’s mother,
describing what makes them special:
“We are quicksilver, a fleeting shadow, a distant sound... We live in music, in a
flash of color... we live on the wind and in the sparkle of a star!”
I like to describe being queer in much the same way: colorful, flamboyant, ineffable,
living lives of mystery and beauty. And, sure, the reality is that most nights I prefer to
sit around in sweatpants, eating ice cream and watching cat videos, but don’t let the
straight people know that. Queer culture can be vibrant and exciting and fun (when we feel
like it) and I love how Endora makes being an outsider sound like the most enviable thing
in the world.
Anyway, the metaphor of witches as outsiders goes even deeper in this episode. Samantha’s
husband Darren is an ad executive, and she catches him working on a campaign for Halloween
candy that features stereotypical witch images:
S: “That picture, it’s offensive.” D: “That’s the way most people think witches
look.” S: “Is that any reason to discriminate against
a minority group?”
This is a long way from what sitcoms were talking about ten years earlier. This couple
is straight and white, but they’re at least talking about stereotypes, inequality, and
media representation. Making the point that the “ideal” American nuclear family might
not have been so ideal for everyone. And maybe those people who’d been left out didn’t
want to stand for it anymore.
“When we see those children running around on Halloween with blacked out teeth and warts,
well don’t you understand? It hurts.”
The episode ends with the witches picketing — not in public, but in the dreams of a
candy company executive who wanted to use ugly witches in his ads. He promises not to
rely on stereotypes anymore.
So this seems pretty gay. A misunderstood minority, blending in and harmed by stereotypes,
longing to come out but afraid of the response. And then staging a protest. I think this is one reason I remember Bewitched
as being so queer — the central metaphor of the show mirrors queer life in a way that’s
more authentic than just having a one-and-done gay guest character on a single episode.
But did the show know that what they were making could be read as a metaphor for the
closet? Turns out … yeah, they did.
In 1994, Elizabeth Montgomery did an interview with The Advocate, and they asked her if the
show was ever meant it to be an allegory for queer people. Here’s what she said:
“Don’t think that didn’t enter our minds at the time … We talked about it on set,
certainly, not in production meetings … It was a neat message to get across to people
at that time in a subtle way.”
So they were at least aware of what they were doing. And did they keep doing it? Of course
they did! And at times, it seems like the show had surprising insight into the realities
of day-to-day queer life. I want to show you a moment that really surprised me, this one
coming in Season 3.
At that point in the show, Samantha has a daughter named Tabitha. And when Tabitha starts
doing magic of her own, Samantha has a tough conversation with her about keeping her powers
hidden:
"I know what a wonderful feeling it is to be part of the magical life.
To have so much at your fingertips.
But we’re living in a world that just isn't quite used to people like us, and I’m afraid
they never will be."
That’s kind of a bummer. I guess the coming-out effort in Season 1 didn’t change things
as quickly as they’d hoped.
But what I find moving about this line of dialogue is how familiar it is to me. Remember,
this was broadcast pre-Stonewall. This is a speech that in 1966 I suspect a lot of queer
elders were giving to younger folks — maybe not THIS young, but still. I was born fourteen
years after this aired, and although things had improved, I still remember being told
essentially the same thing when I was coming out in my teens: The world’s not ready for
people like us, and it may never be. I was in a gay student group in high school, and
I remember advisors talking about having to learn when I could be truly open, and when
I’d have to stay hidden, blend in, pretend I’m like everyone else, for my own safety.
I remember making tough choices about who I could trust to know I was gay … and who
I was afraid it wasn’t safe to tell.
So how did Bewitched manage to get across a common queer experience without ever directly
referencing it? Well, it’s hard to know much about the personal lives of the writers
and directors, but we do know that at least some of the cast was queer.
Maurice Evans, who played Samantha’s father, was gay. One story, which I haven’t been
able to verify but I love, is that around the end of his life, his former lover hired
young men to lie in bed next to him to make his last days more comfortable.
But more famously, there’s Paul Lynde, who played Uncle Arthur. You might also know him
as Templeton the rat:
"I hope you're satisfied!"
Or from Hollywood Squares:
"Who's generally better looking, a fairy or a pixie?"
"Looks aren't everything."
There were really two Paul Lyndes — the fun public persona, and the darker private
life. Paul never came out publicly while he was alive, but after he died one of his friends
wrote a biography and talked about how frustrating it was for Paul to be closeted. On screen,
he was typecast as the frustrated straight father. But behind the scenes, he was a frustrated
gay man.
Watch what happens when Johnny Carson asks him why he doesn’t do more interviews:
“I really don’t know other than I’m just absolutely scared to death of coming
out and being myself.”
Well, no wonder. Remember that speech Samantha gave, people might not be ready for us? That
was certainly the case for an actor like Paul Lynde in the 60s and 70s. Coming out would
have probably meant the end of his career.
If Bewitched was made today, I think Uncle Arthur would probably be portrayed as the
quintessential gay uncle: popping in to entertain the kids, babysitting for a while, telling
some whimsical jokes, and then galavanting off on some flamboyant adventure with his
husband. I wish that was possible back then — I wish Paul Lynde could have been TV’s
first openly gay uncle. Instead, he could only be gay-coded.
But that makes Bewitched seem a little depressing, when in fact, I think it was generally quite
empowering. On occasion, the show offered what I think are some metaphors that actually
affirm queer viewers.
In Season 6, Samantha’s magic starts breaking down because she’s repressing herself so
much. In one episode, the Stephenses are magically trapped in their house, because Samantha’s
feeling trapped by rules about not using magic. The solution is for her to use her magic more
often, so she can have an outlet and express herself.
And then in another episode, bicycles start appearing at random. Her doctor, who is also
a witch and plays a miniature Liberace piano, hmmm, explains that it’s because she’s
feeling repressed which is causing problems that are cycle-logical. Get it, cycle-logical?
Look, the show was on for 8 years, not every joke was gonna get a Mark Twain prize for
humor.
Anyway, the doctor’s solution is very clear:
“You must stop feeling guilty about doing witchcraft.”
This, I think, is my favorite queer-subtext moment of the series.
It’s 1971, and family sitcoms CAN’T talk about homosexuality directly. But if the show
can be read as an allegory for the closet — and Elizabeth Montgomery said that it
was something they knew they were getting across to people — just think about how
those words must have felt to see on TV. “You must stop feeling guilty.”
Now think about how those words must have felt to the actor playing Darren. This is
Dick Sargent. After the original actor who played Darren left the show, Sargent — whose
real name, I’m not making this up, was Dick Cox — came on to replace him.
The queer allegory episodes must have been particularly difficult for him because, you
can probably guess where I’m going with this, he was yet another cast member who was
deeply closeted when Bewitched was being made. Imagine working on a show about how unfair
it is to negatively portray a minority, about the danger of being discovered, about how
you shouldn’t feel guilty about who you are — being surrounded by all those
messages, while still trapped in the closet yourself.
But he made it out eventually. In 1991, Dick Sargent finally decided to come out as gay.
And the reaction was overwhelmingly positive. He was invited to grand marshall the Pride
parade in LA, and Elizbeth Montgomery showed up to march and support him.
“Elizabeth, what are you here today for?” “My buddy.”
Here’s his friend Sheila Kuehl, who played Zelda on the show Dobie Gillis, and later
became the first openly queer California state legislator — she helped him come out in
91, and saw how it changed him.
“He was happier than I’ve seen him in a long time, because there’s just nothing
freer than being yourself.”
I’ve been watching clips of Sargent from around this time, and it’s true — he seems
so relieved, like a weight that he’s been carrying for decades is gone.
“My life is better than it’s ever been. Because of coming out.”
And there’s this one really cute interview that he did where he imagined one way that
he wished Bewitched could have been even gayer. After he came out, he said he wanted to do
a reunion show where it’s 20 years later, and Darren is feeling the weight of having
to keep it a secret that he’s married to a witch.
But then, in this imagined reunion episode, Darren meets another mortal married to a witch,
and then another, and another.
“He forms a support group for the mortal spouses of witches and warlocks.”
"Word gets out and he's surprised by how many there are. At least ten percent of the population."
I suspect he’s describing his own process here. Meeting other people like him, joining
a support group, coming out. And then:
“Finally when Darren marches in the first mortal pride day parade, his still beautiful
wife still at his side, he turns to her and tells her he should have done this years ago.”
Okay, not the most subtle of subtext, but subtlety was never really Bewitched’s thing.
Sargent’s reunion special ends with him catching a glimpse of Endora, Samantha’s
mother, who never respected him on the show and could never remember his name. She’s
holding up a sign that says...
“I’m proud of my mortal son-in-law … Derwood.”
It’s such a cute little concept, but if you think about it, the metaphor’s a little
jumbled. Why would Darren, not Samantha, get a pride parade? She was the one who was keeping
a secret that whole time!
But I think it actually does make sense when you look back at the show’s message about
tolerance and inclusion. Dick Sargent may have played the mortal, but I wouldn’t be
surprised if he saw himself as a witch all along. He’s not imagining the Pride parade
for his character, he’s imagining it for himself.
Those lines about how stereotypes hurt, about the world not being ready, about how you mustn’t
feel guilty for who you are — that’s why the show is queerer than those that had queer
characters. Behind the silly jokes and dumb puns and slapstick, Bewitched was fundemanetally
about the closet, about overcoming shame, and about finding the right time and the right
people to come out to.
But my favorite thing about it is that Darren, the most buttoned-down, normal, conservative
character — the one piece of the show that reflected the old-style families of the 50s,
turned out to be the gayest thing about it.
Thanks for watching — and thanks to everyone who makes my videos possible on Patreon at
Patreon.com/mattbaume. And if you’re like to hang out and chat about more queer culture,
join me for my livestreams here on YouTube on Saturdays, and over on Twitch every Monday,
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Now if you’ll excuse me… I feel like I’m being watched.