Roy Kent Is Everywhere ... and That's the Problem

In accepting his Emmy for Outstanding Lead Actor in a Comedy Series, first-time nominee Jason Sudeikis channeled his character's humble, empathic and equity-oriented persona by giving all the credit to his team. Then he joined the rest of the cast backstage to answer questions from the press and the typecasting continued. A reporter asked Jason what Ted Lasso would say about the moment and I leaned in with anticipation. After all, at the season two premiere, Jason pulled a Ted Lasso by using the platform to express his solidarity with the three Black British footballers who had endured racist epithets and death threats after missing penalties in the Euro 2020 Final, wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with their names: "Jadon & Marcus & Bukayo."

And, since 34% (23/67) of the Emmy nominees across all the major acting categories were Black, but 100% of the winners were white, I figured it would be on brand for Jason to take out his coach's whistle and tell the Television Academy to take a lap. Perhaps he'd even do a self-deprecating bit asking why he got to jump the line in front of Anthony Anderson, star and creator of black-ish, who has been nominated ten times for the two awards Jason won on his first time out (Outstanding Lead Actor in a Comedy Series and Outstanding Comedy Series), but whose record now stands at 0-7 and 0-3, respectively.

But, alas, that would have been a downer. So, instead, Jason sweetly speculated that Ted would be "more thrilled about the rewards of doing good work with people that you like than getting the awards for having done it." And when an obsequious reporter from Entertainment Tonight asked if the cast would do the Roy Kent cheer, they all happily obliged: "He's here! He's there! He's every f—where! Roy Kent! Roy Kent!"

And, in a sense, they're right. The Emmys are, if nothing else, a deeply subjective measure of taste. No comedy, drama or "limited or anthology series or movie" for that matter, is objectively "outstanding." The trophies are given out to who and whatever the members of the Television Academy happen to like best. It's a glorified popularity contest for television talent supposedly adjudicated by their own peers in the industry. But who, exactly, are these peers whose collective preferences will tip the scales in favor of some and away from others? Well, in a word, Roy Kent.

In the show, Roy Kent is a former star player at the end of his career. And though his glory days are behind him, as team captain, he's still in charge. Sound familiar? The Television Academy, which puts on the Emmys, was founded in 1948 and its voting membership has been built over an era largely dominated by white men. So, it stands to reason that much, if not most, of the Academy's 25,000 members are, like Roy, still white and still men. Of course, we can't know for sure because the membership list is private, but when the Hollywood Foreign Press Association (which awards the Golden Globes) got busted for not having a single Black member, the Television Academy quickly retained a diversity consulting firm and promised reform so as to not suffer a similar fate.

To be sure, some BIPOC actors won Emmys this year, but only in the guest and host categories, the relative importance of which can be surmised by their complete and utter absence from both the televised show and "The Official Press Release for the Complete Listing of 73rd Emmy® Awards Winners." As such, these awards are second-tier -- their relative lack of exposure making them akin to consolation prizes.

And, keeping with the theme, Black talent was performatively cast in many of the Emmys' hosting and presenter roles -- perhaps none more memorably tone-deaf (and yet wonderfully subversive) than the "No Emmy Support Group" sketch, dutifully introduced by Samira Wiley and featuring the show host, Cedric the Entertainer, patiently comforting and encouraging five white actors whining about not winning: "I want my Emmy … I've been in the business 47 years … Where's my f—cking Emmy?"

While ostensibly a lighthearted riff on actors' infamous egomania and sense of entitlement, the sketch, perhaps unwittingly, made a deeper point. Scott Bakula and Jason Alexander bemoaning their multiple nominations, then getting into a pissing contest about seniority, played like a behind-the-scenes glimpse of the inner-workings of the Television Academy, where white men cling to their role as the arbiters of good taste and insist that "outstanding" is what they say it is. But just imagine what they would say if Anthony Anderson had walked in. Or, better yet, Laverne Cox, who used her platform at last year's Emmy Awards show to take a risk, go off script, and speak truth to power:

"I am living proof of the American dream that anyone in this country can lose the Emmy four years in the same category and yet somehow end up on this stage presenting an award to someone who probably didn't effing vote for me. What happens to an American dream deferred? Does it shrivel up like a raisin in the sun?"

Isn't this the kind of underdog teammate that Ted Lasso would want us to root for? And, if he was coaching the Television Academy, wouldn't he give them his famous pep talk?

"We're broken. We need to change .... most of the time, change is a good thing. And I think that's what it's all about. Embracing change. Being brave."

At the end of season one, Roy sees the writing on the wall, steps aside and hangs up his cleats. To stay relevant to an increasingly multicultural society, the Television Academy needs to find ways for their legacy members to look past their own preferences for familiar genres and stories and pivot towards a future where the Emmys celebrate and award innovative entertainment from a diverse range of talent. Can they do it? Well, despite a long track record of #EmmysSoWhite, "I believe in hope. I believe in 'Believe.'"

Photo at top courtesy of Christopher Boulton

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