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Bounced out of the boys club:
By Ellen Snortland Pasadena Weekly Columnist
Worldwide heartache over Ukraine and COVID-19 continues. Meanwhile, “Consider This” is here to amuse and occasionally generate some indignation.
Uh-oh. I wonder if that feeling of being called to the principal’s office will ever leave me. (Nope.) Let me back up and give you some context for my directing career.
I have had, and continue to have, a career full of both amazements and WTF moments. On camera, I was a quick-on-my-feet star of a short-lived hidden camera show called “Anything for Money.” I had the opportunity to turn my naughty, prankster nature into gold by being an on-the-street actor, setting unsuspecting people up with actions that ranged from having them floss my teeth to taking care of my pet tarantula while I went to an interview. Hilarity ensued.
I was adept at subtly turning people toward the hidden camera and having them speak clearly into my hidden microphone. I was also slick about shutting my mouth and ensuring that what they said was more important than anything I said. The show was a lot of fun and was canceled too soon.
When I hit 35, my sell-by date as an on-camera person, I transitioned to behind the camera. There were few female directors in the late ’80s-early ’90s, but I became one of them, and I was good at it.
I walk into the Fox Network’s “Totally Hidden Video” production office, and Jim tells me to close the door. I sit. I have a massive lump in my throat. I’m internally running the Kentucky Derby in my head. Some horses in the “I’d done something wrong” race are: I’d blown a shoot; a male crew member was friendly to my face but complained about me behind my back; someone was rankled about working for a female director.
“Huh?”
“You know, tits and ass.”
“Yes.”
“Did I miss a memo? Were they told to?”
I’m never invited to have a beer or golf with the other directors, who are — no surprise — all white and probably heterosexual men. Now I start to understand why. I am speechless.
I had no idea there was an unspoken agreement to surreptitiously record unconsenting and unsuspecting women’s orchestra and balconies. If I’d been directed to do that, I would have refused. Or at least, I like to think I would have refused. I probably would have done something smart-ass instead, like shooting dogs’ butts and chests.
I liked my supervising producer and intuited that he was uncomfortable, but apparently not enough to stand up for me, even though I was highly competent. I had directed theater. I had hours of experience as a performer in the genre they hired me for. I was so proud. So excited. So well compensated. And it was a significant step forward for me.
I had, and still have, a strong ethic of bringing other women up. I made a point of getting female production assistants when I picked the PAs that would go with me on shoots. I had them look through the camera; shadow me, if you will. If the “boys” wouldn’t invite me to socialize with them, I would pass on what I knew to the young women on set. I was determined to use my opportunity and privilege to bring other marginalized people with me.
I wish I’d had the guts to go “upstairs” to the Suit Suite and confront the executive. However, then as today, the drive to keep one’s head down, be a “team player,” and not be branded as a bitch was extremely strong. Once a woman gets painted with the broad bitch brush, she’s doomed. As it was, I psychologically limped home and wept, then went into a deep depression. I wish I’d gotten angry. I wish I’d made a scene. I wish I’d done something more, shall we say, “directorial”?
And now, it is with a mixture of joy, grief and pride that I see women insisting on female crew members and that there are more and more women directing. I know what the phrase “I could have been a contender” means at a deep level.
As it stood, my dream job and a breakthrough for all women was nipped prematurely in the bud because I didn’t understand the Boys’ Club. I didn’t participate in a practice that I found repugnant and still do. Jiggle, my ass! Which they could kiss.
Ellen Snortland has written “Consider This…” for a heckuva long time, and she also coaches first-time book authors! Contact her at ellen@beautybitesbeast.com.
•CARTOON•
