Violet Chin operating camera on the set of Rue

See, in my already (short) career as a short filmmaker, I've borne witness to a plethora of mid-set talks, catering line gossip, and post-pack-up criques of the female directors I've worked with. These complaints, often coming from “men”, almost always have a lack of specific grounds for their arguments. Whether it be that she has cultivated a “unprofessional vibe” or if she dared ask a gaffer to do their job and move their lights while seeming “bossy,” the aura of a female director seems to sway male crew members to complain, even without basis. All the while, it seems to be the favorite task of each man on set to “pop quiz” the directors, asking them playfully if they know how to use the equipment which they have been working with for years. Oftentimes, when I express annoyance at these men, I am met with equal parts apology and justification, with more than a few crew members qualifying their assumptions with the fact that I simply “looked confused.” These assumptions, aggressions, and unprofessional actions all seem to boil down to a matter of looks – since we (the she-directors) fail to look like the Steven Spielberg, Quentin Tarantino, and Martin Scorsese, these men grew up idolizing, they have trouble computing our authority, talents, and excellence. 

Thus, this means that in recognizing female directors, the industry would be, by effect, losing the traditional picture of Hollywood many have become familiar with. Cinema is, ultimately, a medium of the “stars,” so why would the voters at the academy choose to praise a director who would disrupt their classical picture of fame? So when we think of a best director, a position whose impact is often hard to pinpoint because of its general, wide-reaching nature, many tend to attribute the great attributes of any particular films to the male crew members, rather than recognizing the “foreign” entity that is the female director, as it’s just more digestible to the crowd accustomed to the history of Hollywood.