The play takes the form of a faux-teenage constitutional debate , and just as Supreme Court justice William O. Douglas used the metaphor of a penumbra — the partial shadow between the darkness and the light — to extend an implied right to privacy in the constitution, Schreck uses it to argue that the history of women in the United States is a slow but inevitable movement toward freedom and enlightenment. Near the end of the show, Schreck pitches the idea forward, bringing a current high school student onstage — a role played on alternating nights by Thursday Williams and Rosdely Ciprian — to debate her, and also to represent the bright future of feminism. “I have learned so much from younger women, from younger feminists,” Schreck says. “Sometimes, I feel like you are shining a light backwards into the darkness so the rest of us can follow you into the future.”

A similar dynamic is explored less optimistically in Meg Wolitzer’s 2018 novel “The Female Persuasion.” A famous second-wave feminist activist and speaker, Faith Frank, partners with a venture capital fund to create a feminist foundation, only to be shown up by her mentee, the millennial Greer Kadetsky, who deserts Frank when she realizes that her wealthy investors are not, ultimately, allied with the movement. This is a little disingenuous; if any generation has seamlessly aligned feminism with capitalism, it is Greer’s. But the book’s meditation on intergenerational relationships between women — how mentorship is tied up with competition, and how discarding existing leaders is necessary to make room for new ones — feels honest, even if its constructions are pat. By the end, Greer has written a best-selling feminist self-help guide, and now it is her turn to be eyed as out-of-touch. The message comes from her teenage babysitter, Kay Chung, who informs her that younger women do not “care about figureheads.” They are only interested in dismantling structures.

One of the most interesting things about the bad boss archetype is her ability to shine a light on those structures. She is evidence that the patriarchy is not simply propped up by men; it colonizes everyone it can. By its seventh and final season, “Veep” had become a lame-duck satire, but the series finale was oddly moving, in part because it offered a sincere explanation for why Selina is the way that she is. In the midst of one of her many bid s for the presidency, a male rival tells her: “You don’t have a political future, Selina. That is your punishment … The party and the nation will never forget all that door you pushed open.” But instead of giving up, Selina goes on a political rampage, proves herself more ruthless than even the men, and finally wins.

The message is that progress develops too slowly to benefit the women who pushed for it. Selina always had to fight harder to survive; she had to sacrifice everything, including her friends, her family and her conscience. Younger female candidate s like Kemi might have the luxury of being powerful and liked at the same time: At the series’ end, we learn that Kemi went on to become the first woman to serve two full terms.