So from what I’ve gathered from interviews, it seems like before anyone had been cast in Our Flag Means Death aside from Blackbeard, David and Taika were talking about the role of Stede and David said something like “He should have the same vibe as Murray from Flight of the Conchords, who could we possibly get?” and Taika went “Literally there’s nothing stopping you from calling Rhys.” Meanwhile, Rhys knew about the project and was like “Wow that sounds great! I can’t wait to see it :)” and was surprised to get the call, doubly surprised when it was for the lead. David and co. auditioned more than just him, but the other actors, while talented, all played Stede in a way that was kind of unlikable? Before taping his own audition, Rhys called Taika like “I really want this, do you have any advice?” and Taika was like “Calm down it’s literally perfect for you.” So he did, and the rest is history.
no but this time ed and stede are fully aware of the feelings they have for each other like this is a WHOLE SEASON charged by romance and passion and yearning and that reunion is going to be so fucking JUICY
Out of all the takes and thoughts and ramblings that I’ve had about Our Flag Means Death, there’s one specific notion that I’ve not been able to move past. I suppose it comes from my occupation as a queer historian combined with Lucius’ scribing duties, and the journals that Stede was so devout on keeping.
In history, we’re often faced with the notion that queer lives are difficult to ascertain or uncover; and this is for a myriad of reasons. The illegality, secrecy, a lack of labels as we’d recognize them today, societal obligations, people and historians attempting to obscure the lives within, and so on. But if you’ve ever looked into or studied queer history, you’ll find that a lot of our sources rely on personal diaries and journal entries. Time and time again- and perhaps with Anne Lister’s diaries as a prime example- it’s in these personal notations that glimmers of queer lives shine through the historical record.
And for me, when you combine that OFMD concept- the preserving of such a varied, courageous, romantic homage to taking risks by Stede and Lucius- with the fact that personal, first-person-accounts of queer lives from history are often recorded solely through diaries and journals; something quite poignant and beautiful emerges. When Anne Lister wrote her diaries, all queer encounters were ciphered. This lessened the danger, but it in no way prevented the journal entries from being a risk taken. In OFMD, the story being journaled by Lucius is one of adventure and risk-taking and of being an outcast and stepping into paths decidedly less travelled. As the season progresses, this evolves into many, equally-profound queer love stories.
In a very romantic way, it makes me want to think of someone in our era, 300 years after the lives of our queer pirates, stumbling upon those diaries that Lucius kept. With everything in my tiny, queer historian heart I want to indulge the idea that someone will find such a poignant queer love story shoved in a box or placed on a weary bookshelf; and for them to uncover this tale of taking risks, being true to yourself, and finding love in the process.
Coming back to this for pride month (+ the season two renewal news) to say that Our Flag Means Death has not and will never be fictional for its recognition and celebration of queer lives from the past.
It’s fictional for its reimagined characters and plots, for the portayal of the individuals that inspired it. It’s fictional for all the reasons a historical romcom would be. But what I say here, what I maintain and want to state outright, is that queer lives are as embedded in history as the cishets who so often came to record it.
Across the world, across time, under labels and societal roles that today we may not recognise, we have forever existed.
As I say in this post, so often queerness becomes something secretive. Whether through illegality (in part with,) colonialism, outside pressures, the work of cishets aiming to shun our voices, to blot the past, incapable of recognizing the voices forever present in our histories- they become quiet, hushed, hidden. But that silence should never be mistaken for a lack of existence, should never obscure how you come to understand our pasts and our histories.
OFMD’s very bones are queer. The plot engages with the journey of being true to yourself, of the sacrifices, lows, and love that is so embued in the process. The show seeps with stories so often buried, and while joyously fictional, they are no anomaly. To watch Our Flag Means Death, to engage with the concept of queer pasts and the notions like the one I mention above, that’s a celebration of pride in and of itself.
ALT
