Moms in Film
Crashing the industry with babies and boobs
I have recently come to three realizations about being a filmmaker and a parent:
- Everything comes down to money.
- The challenges facing parents in the industry disproportionately affect women.
- Babies and boobies freak out people, especially those who don’t have either.
My background is in acting. It took me seven years to realize my true passion was for crafting stories rather than performing them, and I wish I’d made the switch sooner.
My training at Drama Centre along with my years of experience auditioning and performing gave me valuable insights about the craft. I know how to speak to actors and am, what I suppose you’d call, “an actor’s director.” Still, I wonder what my career would have been like if I’d initially gone to film school instead of drama school — and if I’d spent all those subsequent years experimenting behind the camera instead of trying to get in front of it.
I don’t think my trajectory is unusual. Trying on a career for size, finding it doesn’t fit, switching to a second or a third — that’s par for the course these days.
But if you’re figuring out exactly what you want to do and you’re a little behind (compared to those who knew straight away what they were born to do), then you might also “make up for lost time” by waiting longer to have a child. I did. I was afraid of getting pregnant and of the impact it would have on my ability to work.
For women, waiting comes with consequences: physical ones on our bodies, and financial ones because “at-risk pregnancies” (women who are 35 or older) cost more. And the cost of having a child in the United States is absurdly high.
Those of us who got lucky — who’ve attained a certain level of success and financial stability — can take time off after giving birth and hope to be employed again after “maternity leave” (in scare quotes since no law mandates paid maternity leave for anyone in the US, let alone for freelancers). It all comes down to money.
“This is a necessity that you must cover for me in order for me to go and perform my job.” — Zoe Saldana on childcare
A woman I know, an editor, lost out on a gig because she was visibly pregnant. The employer, who liked her work, lamented the fact that “the timing wasn’t right.”
The woman’s husband secured a job at around the same time. His employer didn’t know he was about to become a dad. He also didn’t feel he needed to take as much time off right away since he could take his time bonding with his child.
Of course, he was also spared the ordeal of breastfeeding. And I deliberately use the word ordeal, because in my experience, it was really, really hard. I had a milk supply issue, my son was losing too much weight, and I spent a little over a month attached to a pump, feeling more like a dairy cow than a new mother, crying every time we had to resort to a bottle of formula.
Sure, digital technology makes filmmaking more democratic, more accessible, but there are still “gate-keepers.” There are hoops to jump through to become a big player in the industry.
Heavily underrepresented behind and in front of the camera, white women and women of color essentially have to show up uninvited to a party where virtually all of the guests are white men. It’s harder to make room for yourself if you don’t look like you belong.
So we try putting ourselves on the scene by creating good content.
It’s hard to receive funding when you are starting out, so many directors self-fund initial short projects. (My producer and I self-funded our first two shorts and our web series.) If you can afford to, you hire professionals to collaborate with and learn from. If you don’t, you ask your friends to fill in, even if they don’t know what they’re doing. Again, it comes down to money.
I moved to New York from Belgium; my family is still in Europe. My husband moved to New York from Portland, Oregon; his family is on the West Coast. This is not unusual. In our group of friends — creatives, young professionals — almost everyone comes from elsewhere.
It’s similar in Los Angeles. When our son was born eight months ago, we felt the distance more acutely. We didn’t have a built-in support system: no grandparents down the road, eager to babysit (for free).
If we were both going back to work, we needed to find childcare. Leaving your baby in the care of someone else, whether it’s a daycare facility or a nanny, requires trust. The best options are, of course, the most expensive. As a freelancer, you don’t necessarily have the job security to cover the cost and commitment of putting your child in year-long, full-time care, particularly if you might need to travel for a shoot.
Most childcare options don’t offer much flexibility. Long work days mean you might still have to hire someone to drop off your child at daycare and pick them up, especially if your partner isn’t available to pick up the slack or if you’re a single parent. That’s another person you need to pay.
At the risk of sounding like a broken record: it all comes down to money.
“It bumped up against my parental responsibilities, which made me feel uncomfortable.” — Elizabeth Banks, on her decision to exit Pitch Perfect 3
State laws govern many of the issues relating to working parents, rather than union contracts. Employers in most parts of the country have to provide new mothers with a “wellness room” to pump, for instance.
But these laws are made for traditional, permanent employment — not for freelancers. In the film business, you may have to travel to another state to shoot: another state, another set of laws pertaining to parenting.
You may also have to work ridiculously long days. Regular pumping breaks work well for those working 9–5. But for days that often run longer than 12 hours, there are no provisions that mandate whether infants are allowed on set so mothers can breastfeed and check in with their newborns.
The length of the film industry’s work days are discriminatory. They make employment really, really tricky for parents.
But because it’s hard to get work, we are made to feel grateful that we work at all, in an industry where we know we’re expendable. Someone is always ready to jump in and take our place if our demands are deemed too costly by the powers-that-be. (For the record, I don’t even blame the “powers-that-be” in the indie world, since budgets are already spread thin.)
I founded the organization Moms-in-Film to address some of these issues. We’re working on building community, raising funds, and providing advocacy. We recently had a fruitful conversation with representatives at SAG-AFTRA, the actor’s union.
One of our big takeaways was that female performers are wary of discussing their needs as mothers. There already aren’t enough roles for women, especially those past a certain age. They understandably don’t want to broadcast the fact that they’ve graduated from “sexy, young love interest” (more roles available) to “young mom” (not as many roles). Granted, that’s a generalization, but there is a documented paucity of complex roles for women, and on-screen mothers can be particularly two-dimensional.
Attitudes and policies need to shift. The corporate world is beginning to offer paid maternity leave, childcare on-site, and job-sharing. The film industry, supposedly made up of “lefty progressives,” should be a model for others to follow instead of lagging so far behind.
Of course, it’s not as simple as it sounds. Childcare on-set requires special insurance, which is costly, and these insurance policies are not currently structured for short-term projects like film shoots.
While we work towards effecting change, we still have to move forward with our careers. We have to fight for our right to tell our stories while doing the heavy-lifting: actually telling those stories. We have to remove the barriers and simultaneously crash through them.
Here’s a gate-crashing tip. Not long ago, I attended a public conversation between directors Julie Taymor and Jodie Foster as part of the Tribeca Film Festival. I was a little late getting there, and I almost didn’t get in. I was late because I had to hand off the baby to my husband, who was late coming home. I knew he might be late, but I didn’t want to pay for a sitter. (Money.)
A few rows behind me, I noticed a couple with a stroller. I was dumbstruck. I could have brought the baby? I tried not to stare.
Half-way through the conversation — coincidentally, about the time Taymor and Foster were complaining about “always getting asked about the woman thing” — the baby began fussing. A (male) usher started walking towards the family. Without missing a beat, the baby’s mother scooped her up and began nursing. And the usher stopped dead in his tracks.
The lesson I learned is this: just bring the kids. You’re already crashing a party you weren’t invited to… So bring the kids.
Don’t ask, because someone might say no. Just show up: to a Tribeca talk, to set, to an editing session, wherever. Chances are, nobody will dare say anything. Someone will probably step up and help out if it’s needed.
Here’s the good thing about crashing a party full of dudes: they’ll likely be too uncomfortable to react. And if they look like they might, pull out a boob — that ought to do the trick.
We hope you’ll be part of this journey with us. Join our mailing list and Facebook group to learn about our campaigns, opportunities, and monthly meet-ups in New York and Los Angeles. Children are always welcome at our events.
An alternate version of this blog originally appeared on the blog for Raising Films, our sister organization in the UK. Raising Films is doing outstanding work to support parents in Film. Read their exhaustive report on the subject, Making It Possible.
