PASSING THE TORCH
WHY I AM LEAVING PRODUCTION by anonymous
Editor’s note: The Trebuchet is dedicated to furthering the careers of women in entertainment. As such, we tend to focus on stories of women’s successes, but we also need to know what we are fighting for. We’re fighting, not just for the futures of women in this business, but also on behalf of those who finally had to throw in the towel to protect themselves from destruction. This story was shared by an anonymous reader.
I worked in Development and Production since I left college. I have worked on big budget projects, tentpole movies, and major events. I’ve doctored scripts for multiple major studios, worked on tons of sets in all conditions, and won jobs. I have never been so proud as the day I saw a good chunk of my dialogue in a script, or the day I was half of a team that pitched a tentpole movie around town that ended up getting a distribution deal from a major studio, or the day I had a $25k/minute budget to produce content.
I did not go to film school, or have a film major. Didn’t ever edit the yearbook or newspaper, or join the media team, or debate team. Everything I’ve learned about the industry was through a great passion to learn and a dedication to staying here, in Hollywoodland. I interned and studied my ass off to compete, to win. I worked long hours, I worked for free, I went above and beyond to deliver. I kept my mouth shut when I knew I was expected to, and I worked worked worked to excel in the world I wanted to be a part of.
It’s been half a decade of work in the Entertainment Industry. I have been incredibly successful, and I am leaving Production, forever.
For a long time I was unhappy here, and people would say inspiring things like “Keep at it!” Or “Don’t give up!” Or various other things normally typed over foggy pictures of the PNW in a sans serif font. My parents were ecstatic that I was getting promoted constantly. My family and hometown friends were happy that I got ‘out of town’ and found a name for myself. My coworkers were seemingly jealous of the opportunities I had. Because of all of that chatter, I did not quit.
I felt like I would be ungrateful, a waste of space, if I gave up things that people fall over themselves for. I tell these people that I am tired of this industry, and they tell me to think of my passion for filmmaking and keep going, to not give up on my dreams even if it gets hard. They speak as if I have not been able to get work, but that is not the case. I have been lucky, it would seem, in my ability to land jobs. Lucky, or talented at getting jobs. I like to think of it as skill; it was not luck, it was hard work and grueling hours and lots of sucking up to get my foot in the door and build enough momentum to be steadily employed. A lot of focus, a lot of dedication, and thousands of hours.
It has been a long journey to admit, to myself, that this industry is poisoning me.
The industry is filled with sexism and misogyny. This statement is incredibly upsetting to many people who automatically become defensive and tell me that I am wrong, that I am being emotional, that I am one of “those people” who is a man hating feminist. There are people who dismiss this claim when I say it, when I say that this industry has systematic issues, and say “Oh yeah, well, lovely weather we are having,” and skip over the horrors of what I have said because they know it all too well, themselves, and they don’t want to go there because they would rather keep soldiering on.
I am horrified by the reaction I get when I say that this industry is sexist. It is almost an even split, in film schools, but only 2% of tentpole movies will be directed by women, and many of them will be A-List actors or have a direct male relative in the film industry. My reality is not an outlier, based on those statistics; it is the norm. And yet I am constantly disbelieved when I speak up. Gaslighting, anyone?
Few believe that someone above me would grill me on my sexual history.
Few believe that a someone above me I just met would say it wouldn’t be weird if he fucked me, since we’re only two decades apart and I’m not quite half his age, only for him to introduce me to his wife and kids 20 minutes later.
Few believe me when I say that a man who met me three times before can’t remember my face because as he says “I don’t see women under 30 because I’m married.” As if the only reason a woman under 30 would be in a creative meeting was because she was there for him to look at and fantasize about.
Few believe me when I tell them how I introduce myself to people as a Producer of award winning content in competitions and my title is doubted. “No, you can’t possibly be a producer!” someone has said at a networking event.
These bold comments outrage certain people, who get stuck on the one example I divulge and do not get past it to listen to the countless other examples I have to show that men do not treat me with respect. It doesn’t matter what I wear — pants or skirts, no make up or a little make up or a ton, hair up or down. It doesn’t matter what my title is — assistant, head of a department, or a creative on a script they want to buy. Nothing matters except that I am female, and this is true to a huge part of the population I dealt with professionally.
I am tired of it. I am tired of the need to prove I am smart and intelligent in every meeting. Nothing can describe how disheartening it is for almost every new male I meet to not look me in the eye, to not shake my hand, to not think to speak to me for every. Single. Meeting. I took Calculus when I was 15 and was a math major in college, yet men I work with doubt my basic addition and multiplication skills… .but they don’t doubt my male counterparts who never went to college, never got past Algebra. I have watched my male coworkers be treated with more respect and have a discussion about creative projects, only for that same businessman to turn around and comment on my appearance even though I have contributed more to the script we are meeting about.
I am tired of businessmen shaking hands with my male coworkers, only to face me and come in for a hug. I am tired of the number of times those hands that hug me run down my spine. I am tired of the times those hands have ran through my hair if I forget to pin it up — oh, god, how I regret it whenever I feel foreign fingers entangle and pull down. Oh, god, how I regret it whenever that hand goes down to my lower back, or further to my ass. How I regret it that I speak so coarsely about being felt up at work, because I do not know how to process the incredible number of times this has happened.
There are people who tell me to keep at it, to keep fighting. Most of those voices are male, since I do not have many female mentors, or did not know how to approach these issues when their wounds are deep, too. So I hear a lot of people tell me to keep at it, chin up. All of those voices who tell me not to give up on my dreams ignore all of the times I was sexually harassed and/or assaulted. They do not take into consideration that I felt in literal danger half the time I was at work. Entertainment is daunting to begin with; people try to take creative control, they overuse people who work below them, they work long hours on a normal day. I could deal with all of that, but what I am really trying to distance myself from is the inherent belief so many hundreds of colleagues have put upon me that I am less than them, that I am an object.
I fully understand that my story is not everyone’s story. But my story deserves respect, because all of this is true. What do I care if the average person does not experience this? I have experienced it, and I am weary. I am tired of picking up the good fight.
For a while I told myself that it was better that I was here, fighting the good fight, than if I quit… even if fighting felt like I was slowly killing off my soul. I have tried my best to be an ally to people of color when I was a script doctor, and I researched the hell out of cultures if I did not have the budget or the contacts to speak to POC themselves about their representation in a script. I have tried my best to make scripts fuller by creating complex female characters with motivations other than men. I have tried to bring my sisters up by hiring them. I have kept people of color on the casting boards even when I am told that I should take them down because they will not help international sales. I have done my best, but my best exhausts me when the response to my fight is for someone to cut me down as a woman or a human being. I refocus as much as I can for the greater good, but each comment slices at me.
Few people understand how exhausting it is to be attacked every day. Few people ask me to elaborate when I tell them I am exhausted.
It was the jealousy of others that kept me here, for so long. It was knowing how many people would kill for my position, or the ability to be a fly on the wall in meetings I have led. I didn’t want to be ungrateful. I didn’t want to let anyone down. But it kills my soul, it really does, to compartmentalize the parts of me that object to every aspect of this culture in order to keep doing my job.
I am tired of being objectified. A few people have asked me, “But can’t you just take it as a compliment?” when I say someone told me my ass looks great in those jeans. I do have a body I am proud of, but that is not what objectification is. Objectification is taking away my personality and contributions to society in order to focus solely on my appearance, and that is what I find depressing. When people do not read my work, or downplay my role, or refuse to give me credit, and INSTEAD they make comments about my looks. That is objectification; the substitution of comments on my sexuality or fuckability instead of a conversation about the work we are all there to do.
I am tired of the comments on my looks, when I am not there to be pretty. I am tired of the amount of negativity I get when I do not fit into a size 2. I’m tired of focusing on limiting the push back I’ll get on all these things, instead of focusing on creative. I mean, fuck, it’s depressing… I’ve watched my male counterparts dive deep into story lines, while I’m concentrating on proving that I’m clever enough to be listened to in a meeting. I’m tired of people’s initial reactions often being “Well if you just….!” instead of listening to the hundreds of stories behind the one I had the courage to speak up about that set them off, instead of thinking oh hey, maybe she’s tried every trick in the book, instead of realizing that, fuck, this just sucks and there are systematic problems we should all work on changing instead of asking the recipient of disgusting sexist things to stand up for herself and all those around her. I’m tired of defending myself, and justifying why I am so angry or pissed off or upset or tired. I am especially tired of doing all of these things alone.
I am so tired that I no longer care to try to explain myself after this, and I am leaving this field.
I tried, for this quarter. I honest to God tried to get other jobs, and feel it out, and see if I could rekindle the passion that drove me to long hours on insane jobs. I loved what I did. I still love development, and production, if it is on a friend’s project. But I can’t do that for a living anymore. I can’t justify putting myself in danger.
Many times I tell people I am tired, and they say, “Oh, well, would you like to help on my project? It’ll be great!” And they don’t realize that I mean it, that I’m fucking done. I’ve helped them, many times…. For my very best friends, I was happy to help because I feel safe and know I will be respected. For tangential friends, or coworkers looking to trade favors, I am upset with the lack of seriousness they take my claim. I guess they’ve heard it often and aren’t surprised, but shouldn’t that be a good reason to be even MORE upset? Half the population struggles to survive, let alone thrive in this industry, and you move on with your life when another soldier leaves the field?
A very good friend of mine, upon hearing that someone else asked me to help on set, told me not to give into peer pressure. I thought about this for a long time, and volunteered anyways, and ended up having a giant panic attack when I had flashbacks to that time a businessman followed me into a dark room when no one else was around. I do not want to give into peer pressure any more. I do not care about the many voices who tell me not to give up. I am not giving up, this is not my fault. I am tapping out because this industry is disgusting, and it has hurt me, and I am exhausted of coming to my own defense.
The men in my life in this industry do not tend to value how good they have it, with all that mental space they have to focus on the creative. They do not realize what a gift it is to think purely of what they came to this town to do, and to not have to worry about their general safety. Although, hey, that’s not entirely true… men need to watch their backs, as well. They need to know to protect themselves from all the same things that aren’t spoken of. But, in general, the men I meet in this town do not know what a fucking gift it is to struggle with character development in their script, and nothing more.
I pass the torch to other women who have more strength in their reserves to continue changing the norms.
I pass the torch to men who will be allies and stand up to their coworkers every time a woman is objectified and her work is obscured by this objectification. Do not ask me to fight this battle any more. It was my battle. It was for me, my sanity, my mental health…. And I am tapping out. Do not expect me to have the strength to fight for others when I cannot even take care of myself any more.
This story was published as part of The Trebuchet’s “Confessionals” series. If you’d like to share your anonymous story about working in entertainment with us, send us private message or contact The Trebuchet’s editor Hana Leshner.
