So What?
At this point, there may be some objections. Even if we’ve convinced you that the narrative does use Loki’s cooperation with the Grandmaster as a contrast to the heroic values it proposes, and that Loki’s cooperation is intentionally hinted as being both sexual and queer, thus entangling the shame with the queer-coded sexuality, you may still want to argue that it doesn’t have to be interpreted that way. And, well, you’re right. It’s fiction; you can do a resistant reading if you choose, or a very superficial one that merely ignores all this. But most of the actual arguments that have been made in that direction don’t do the trick.
Interpretations and Objections
One of the most common objections is that there is nothing wrong with it if it’s Loki’s choice, the same as it would be for a real person. But, of course, like a female character wearing boob armor and high heels into battle, Loki is fictional. We can’t exactly defend his right to choose it, because someone else is making him make that choice within the context of the specific narrative.
Others argue that they don’t interpret Loki as having consented but as having been coerced, such that his participation is little different from Thor’s, or they don’t believe any actual sex took place. And those are definitely possibilities! But regardless of whether you interpret Loki as a willing participant, an extremely uncomfortable coerced one, or even as trying to ride a line of avoiding following through for as long as possible without actually refusing, you cannot avoid the fact that the narrative is set up to shame and condemn him for his role in what happened, whatever that actually was.
- If he is consenting of his own free will, from the point of view of the narrative, he is consenting to further degradation. Why do we claim that? Because our heroes react with revulsion to the Grandmaster’s orgy ship, for example; there is no sex-positive reading here. Loki’s willingness to embrace the depravity and debauchery of Sakaar and its murderous ruler doesn’t save him from condemnation in any way; it debases him even more, and sets him in explicit contrast with the heroic Thor, and even against the amoral Valkyrie, who the Grandmaster also shows interest in, but who is too strong to be messed with.
- If, instead, Loki is coerced, then actually things don’t change much, because while Thor is shown physically struggling to escape, Loki is not—thus, like many victims of sexual violence, the narrative condemnation is placed on him again, this time for not fighting back. For giving in to unwanted advances in the hopes of avoiding violence and death, rather than physically fighting (against a much stronger opponent, with weapons and structural power) to get away. (Perhaps he actually wanted it, I suppose.)
- And if he is stringing the Grandmaster along, the narrative is shaming him for equivocation, for avoiding the issue rather than facing up to it in the way a “true hero” would: as Thor says, a hero runs toward his problems, not away. In this case, Loki is giving the impression of willingness, and he is still taking the cowardly way out.
In all of these cases, the narrative condemnation will latch onto whatever it is given, because without that condemnation, the story would not make sense. It needs Loki’s moral flaws, his failings, if his interactions with his brother and his “arc” are to be understandable at all (or simply stand), if Thor’s own arc and his whole “this is what heroes do” thing is to find any purchase.
And most importantly, it undermines a common objection to any sort of critical reading of the film: that none of this should be taken seriously because the movie is a comedy and everyone is made fun of at some point. However, we’re not talking about just some offhand pratfall. This isn’t Thor hitting himself with a rebound or pleading abjectly with Stan Lee not to cut his hair. This isn’t Skurge playing with a Shake-Weight. It’s not even Loki falling on his face in Dr. Strange’s Sanctum Sanctorum. It’s a “joke” that’s built into the structure of the narrative, so on whatever level the story is saying anything, this is part of that meaning. And the “joke” ... is that Loki is so spineless and shameful that he’ll consent to gay sex with a depraved madman for safety and personal gain. Not exactly funny, in our opinion.
The most serious objection commonly put forth is that these actions are in character for Loki, in one way or another, and this means it’s all fair game. Many have insisted that of course Loki would do whatever it takes, without shame, because he is a trickster, and because he is openly sexual in some other canons (myth, some comics). And it’s true that in mythology and the comics, Loki is often captured, forced to comply, and forced to cooperate with his captors to survive. And, as is common for trickster figures, there are a few stories about his deviant and open sexuality, and his willingness to use sex and/or sex appeal to achieve his aims (as in myth, when he shapeshifts into a mare to distract the horse Svadilfari from his work, or in comics, where he is at least flirtatious with several of his villainous allies, such as Dr. Doom and Mephisto).
This argument fails, though, for several reasons—first, again, in how these interactions are treated in their respective narratives. In the comics, Loki’s relationship with Doom (one of the most notable examples) is a relationship between equals; they are both villains, and the reader is meant to understand that their romantic/sexual interactions are both business and pleasure, and it is never entirely clear who is most using who. The point, in fact, is Loki’s unpredictability and his independence, and for the reader it’s rather like watching a chess game between masters. Hardly comparable to Loki’s situation in Ragnarok. Likewise, when the myths show Loki captured and at another’s mercy, the point is usually to illustrate how his cleverness and willingness to defy the ordinary rules save the day. Those tales are about how the trickster’s willingness to do what others won’t offers up a solution in otherwise impossible situations; the other gods may turn up their noses, but the narrative treats Loki’s actions in those stories as laudable. The narrative applauds Loki’s actions by applauding the outcome: it praises Loki’s scheme by showing that it works and that no one else had a solution—if Loki had not come to the rescue, the Aesir would have been screwed. It even celebrates the actual offspring of this union by making him Odin’s famous steed. The tale may be told with a titillated wink and a nudge, but Loki is, in many ways, the hero, even if he is one who falls on his ass a lot and creates the very trouble he ends up in.
Not so in Ragnarok, where at every turn the narrative positions Loki as being in the wrong.
Additionally, while trickster figures are indeed traditionally rather infamous for their expansive, deviant, shameless sexuality, that does not mean always, in every situation. The context matters: it makes perfect sense for a trickster to be happy to seduce a horse as part of his own plan, or to get up to some private deals with Dr. Doom as an equal. It is rather different to talk about “consenting” under duress to sex with a nigh-omnipotent being, especially when Loki has so recently had some seriously traumatic experiences under the control of similar beings; we might very well imagine this putting a damper on his interest.
(And when we are talking about the famously buttoned-up MCU Loki, who has always been depicted in clothing that covers him from toes to neck, and sharing physical touch with anyone only very rarely and with apparent reluctance, one might wonder if instead “sexual deviance” for an Asgardian might be being ace.)
So the purpose in the narrative matters. The context matters. And how it fits into the overall characterization matters.