Seed and Spark – Page 2

Seed & Spark: On Fear and On Not Giving a Fuck About It

As I write this, I’m approaching the mid-point of a crowdfunding campaign for my second film. It’s going slower than the first, and I’ve got the stomach pain and canker sores to prove it (thanks for talking about yours, Tina Fey. It makes me feel slightly less gross about mine). And I’m fearful. I have also had, at one time or another, the following thoughts on the making of this film:

You’re being selfish. Self indulgent. No one will like it. There’s a REASON you’re still scratching to get by. You’re just not good enough. Or pretty enough. Or talented enough. Did we mention that thing about your thighs being too fat? No one will back this project. And you’ll look like an idiot. With fat thighs. And you’ll never work again.

This is a guest post by Kimberly Dilts.

Elizabeth Gilbert doesn't give a fuck about your fear. — Elizabeth Gilbert doesn’t give a fuck about your fear.

Ok, enough, you get the idea. It sucks. Our fear fucking SUCKS. It masks itself as something helpful—something that will keep us safe and warm and wound-free. It wants us to not rock the boat. To be comfortable. To stay where we are. But not for a SECOND are we actually safe, comfortable or wound-free when we listen to our fear. And you know what? As Elizabeth Gilbert said in her extraordinary essay, our fear is boring.

So you know what? I don’t give a FUCK. I’m running toward my fear.

What brought me to this radical place?

You know who else doesn't give a fuck about your fear? Tina Fey, Jill Soloway and Ava DuVernay. — You know who else doesn’t give a fuck about your fear? Tina Fey, Jill Soloway, and Ava DuVernay.

1) Exhaustion. Because Hollywood Lady Statistics. Because I just can’t even.

2) Understanding that I’m not alone. There are women in every corner of this industry running toward their fear every day, and I found some of them. And like the badass tribe that they are, they showed me my own ferocity.

3) Knowing in my bones that I want to be part of the changing of the guard in Hollywood. Straight white men have written and directed many—most—of my favorite films. That’s the history of who has gotten to speak, and I’d like to be part of the writing of the future where we ALL get to.

4) Understanding that I DESERVE a place at the table, but that I have to fight for it. No one is going to hand it to me, as much as this straight-A student wants that validation so very badly.

And most importantly,

5) The concept of “Why not?” as my husband said, when I asked him for the hundredth time if he really really thought we should dive in to making another film. I came to realize that fear was quite literally the ONLY thing holding me back. And I am not a chickenshit. I am happy to be looked upon as crazy, foolish, and ridiculous, but not as fertilizer.

For better or worse, I’ve done most of my learning as a human being in uncomfortable circumstances—and I’d venture a guess that you have too. So, if we want change, both within ourselves and within our industry, we have to be willing to get uncomfortable—to expand so much that the fear can just float right through us, like those blonde dreadlocked twins in the second Matrix movie (sorry, that’s the image that came to mind–feel free to substitute… Judi Dench in the Pitch Black sequel? The ghost train through Winston in GB2? Beans through your intestinal tract? …I may not be helping).

The film that I’m funding is about artists, and I’m finding that it is NOT going to be for everyone. It pushes some buttons, both for artists themselves and, I suspect, for the cultural critics who look at young artists with both the disdain and envy (judgment?) of age. It’s a comedy, which is certainly a matter of taste, and it touches on, among other things, women who choose to remain childless, global warming, eating disorders, and the collapse of the creative class. My husband had someone tell him to his face that he won’t see it because he’s “living it, why would I want to see it?” Didn’t matter when he explained it was a comedy. Dude wasn’t into it.

This border collie will eat your fear for BREAKFAST.

But you know what? Fuck it. Uncomfortable circumstances: I’m running at you, too.

Last week, the Executive Producer of one of our projects had me and my husband over for lunch. A recent cancer survivor, this woman had just left behind an impressive career as a fashion executive to pursue a passion project (a film we’re working on together), and to take on an entirely new career. She told us she’d never really thought about her retirement portfolio because it was scary—money brought up fear for her. And when cancer and a stroke temporarily slowed her down, she took stock of her situation and realized she was no longer passionate about her work, and that her retirement fund could have done so much better if she had just learned a little bit about how it all works when she was younger… So now she’s training, in her 60s, for a new career advising young women on how to invest wisely. She’s not running toward what she fears, she is sprinting at it, grinning like a puppy, ready to pounce on it and chew-love it to PIECES. It’s an incredible sight to behold.

So right now, when I’m scared, I think of her. I think of my mother who raised three children while working two jobs. I think of all the other women fighting the good fight in this industry—and of the women around the world living in desperate situations, denied the most basic of human rights. I think of my marvelously supportive husband, and of the million good things that are easy and good and delicious in this life, and I just have no more room for–not a single f#ck to give about–my fear.

Kimberly Dilts is a Los Angeles-based writer/producer/performer currently crowdfunding her second feature film, Auld Lang Syne, on Seed&Spark. The film is being written, directed, shot, and produced by women. She has worked off-broadway, at a hedge fund, in Haiti, and in TV and film, sometimes at the same time. Special skills include dreaming, playing the fool, and passing the Bechdel Test.

Seed & Spark: Why Men Need More Female Storytellers

As I move closer to publicly putting three generations of our multicultural family’s racial situations into a film, I think back to the valuable lessons I’ve also gleaned from five female storytellers that have made me a better male and male storyteller.

This is a guest post by Jason Cuthbert.

I am a man who has zero problems admitting that we have been wrongfully taught to believe that males should do all the thinking and women can only do all the feeling. But we all do all the thinking; it’s just us guys that unfortunately ignore those tingly emotions. But if boys and men don’t have real life feminine angels to bless their development like I did, they will need to turn to female storytellers to unlearn the wrong ways to treat women in life and in fiction: those people that so graciously carried every single human being in their bodies for 3/4ths of a year.

I am taking great pride in directing a true story featuring the first two leading ladies of my life: my mother and sister in Colouring Book: The Mixed Race Documentary. As I move closer to publicly putting three generations of our multicultural family’s racial situations into a film, I think back to the valuable lessons I’ve also gleaned from five female storytellers that have made me a better male and male storyteller.

Ava DuVernay

Way before it was ever announced that Ava DuVernay would become my choice for Best Director when she rose her head high above the hills of Mount Hollywood with her Martin Luther King drama Selma – we followed each other on Twitter. I completely appreciate this digital window into her very personal filmmaking process. By adding Ava’s prolific 140 character-or-less points of view to my Twitter timeline, I shared her victory as the first African-American to win Best Director at the Sundance Film Festival for Middle of Nowhere. I watched as she erected her African American Film Releasing Movement (AFFRM) to assist storytellers from a similar experience, building audiences for Big Words and Vanishing Pearls before my very eyes.

There were also those deep DuVernay tweets of solidarity during the Trayvon Martin horror show and the #Ferguson demand for justice. Then my inspiration reached above the clouds when Ava DuVernay began sharing her research trips, production updates and promotional runs as the director and co-writer of Selma. Whether it is a love story in her hometown of Compton, or passionately portraying the biggest figure of the Civil Rights movement, DuVernay has taught me the importance of making cinema personal. If a piece of me isn’t in the work…it aint working.

Diablo Cody

I admittedly was more than fashionably late to the Diablo Cody party that started off with stripper tales told in her popular blog. But once I happily suffered from unapologetic laughing fits in front of complete strangers while watching Cody’s story Juno, I was instantly in awe of this Academy Award winner’s whimsical way with words. I loved how the bold “Diablo Dialect” vomited out of her character’s mouths with zero fear of being considered pretentious. This inventive keyboard killer wielded words that were born to be reincarnated as bumper stickers and t-shirts.

Juno defied stereotypes: she was not brainless, half naked or waiting to be rescued. She was a young mother-to-be that was actually striving to be responsible and take ownership of her actions. These coming-of-age elements normally get traded out for fart jokes and keg parties. But Cody with the devilish first name taught me the importance of coloring outside of the lines and to not be afraid of writing a script that feels like I had way too much fun concocting it.

Sarah Polley

While developing the structure for my first full-length film: Colouring Book: The Mixed Race Documentary, I rewatched Sarah Polley’s super brilliant documentary-within-a–documentary-with-a-taste-of-lime: Stories We Tell. It carries a similar approach to Colouring Book in that I will also be the Sarah Polley narrator in my doc, probably making my family just as uncomfortable with my personal questions like she did.

I love how Sarah Polley uses humor when things get serious while getting us misty-eyed moments later. Polley taught me that documentaries don’t have to stay reluctantly chained to the wall as dusty talking head book reports. You are allowed to incorporate hybrid meta-dramatic approaches and peek-a-boo “its just a movie” moments while you arrive at the truth.

Kathryn Bigelow

As the director of explosive hard-hitting thrillers like Point Break, The Hurt Locker, and Zero Dark Thirty, Kathryn Bigelow refuses to drop to her knees before the feet of gender stereotypes. I dare you to find a single romantic comedy on her report card as of today’s date. Kathryn Bigelow has educated me on the idea that if a protagonist is going to be really violent then there has to be more than just courage and a brain inside that soldier of misfortunate – there needs to be a beating heart.

Bigelow’s opinion on being a female director, or more accurately, a director who just happens to be a female can be summed up in one of Kathryn Bigelow’s many fine quotes: “If there’s specific resistance to women making movies, I just choose to ignore that as an obstacle for two reasons: I can’t change my gender, and I refuse to stop making movies.”

Francesca D’Amico

The female storyteller I have actually learned the most from is Francesca D’ Amico – the producer of Colouring Book: The Mixed Race Documentary. When I brainstorm out loud or quietly deliver thoughts in cell phone texts, she isn’t brutally honest–she is soothingly honest. She puts my imagination at ease with her clearly drawn reasons to bring a concept to life, or drop a bad idea off the face of the Earth–fast!

Francesca cares about everyone’s feelings and it is her self-less compassion for everyone who will ever exist that has helped to organically attract people to our documentary. I’ve learned from Francesca D’Amico that those silent emotional connections between human beings are little timeless stories of eternal universal truth. If the audience can’t relate to the characters on a primal level, no amount of glamour will remove how useless the story will be.

Jason Cuthbert is a screenwriter, writer and the biracial (African Trinidadian and Caucasian American) creator, director and co-producer of Colouring Book: The Mixed Race Documentary, a full-length film comparison of multiculturalism in the United States to Canada, paralleled by the exploration of Jason Cuthbert’s own mixed race experience.

For more information on Colouring Book: The Mixed Race Documentary:

Jason’s Twitter: @A2Jason

Francesca’s Twitter: @HipHopScholar82

Colouring Book’s Twitter: @ColouringBk

Website: ColouringBook.info

Support: http://www.seedandspark.com/studio/colouring-book-productions

Seed & Spark: The Bravery of Being a “Slut” on Camera

So when I started production on ‘Slut: A Documentary Film,’ I knew the intensity of what I was asking of the women I interviewed. Not only were they sharing their personal experiences with sexual shaming, they were doing it on camera. They were using their full, legal names. They were putting their faces and their voices out there into the world, with the hope that what they had to say would change someone’s life.

Seed and Spark Screen Shot — Contribute to the *Slut: A Documentary Film* crowd-funding campaign to help The UnSlut Project complete post-production.

This is a guest post by Emily Lindin.

When I first started The UnSlut Project, I imagined it would function like the It Gets Better Project – but rather than focusing on LGBT youth, it would be geared toward girls who were being “slut”-shamed. The parallel was obvious: like people who are bullied for being LGBT, girls who are sexually bullied are often convinced that it’s not something about them that is “wrong”; rather, it is their very being, who they are, that is “dirty” and “bad.” This can make them feel worthless as a person and, in the most tragic cases, can lead to self-harm and even suicide.

In case you’re not familiar with the It Gets Better Project, the premise is that when LGBT youth don’t have supportive adults in their lives (which is, unfortunately, often the case), they can find comfort in videos made by adults who have survived similar bullying. These videos provide solidarity, hope, and the message that it will get better.

Slut: A Documentary Film is currently crowd-funding for post-production. — *Slut: A Documentary Film* is currently crowd-funding for post-production.

My idea was that this kind of project would make sense for young girls who were being sexually bullied, since they, too, often lack support from the adults in their lives. Many parents’ first instinct is to blame their daughter for being labeled a “slut” by her classmates, rather than to help her overcome that reputation in a kind, open-minded way. I had supportive parents growing up, but when I was bullied as the school “slut” back in the late 1990s, I would have greatly benefited from the reassuring messages of women who had survived something similar.

N'jaila action — N’Jaila Rhee shares her experience being shunned by her parents and church community after being sexually assaulted, as part of *Slut: A Documentary Film.*

So women started submitting their stories. But here’s the thing: they wrote to me instead of recording video messages, and in most cases they asked me to keep their submissions anonymous. Some of these women were in their 40s or 50s; decades before, someone had decided they were a “slut.” But there was still so much shame surrounding that time in their life that they could not risk being identified. They wanted to reach girls who were going through sexual bullying, they wanted to speak out about their stories, but the stigma surrounding the “slut” label was still so strong that they could only do so anonymously.

Allyson Pereira shares her experience being sexually bullied after sending a photo of her breasts to her high school ex-boyfriend, as part of "Slut: A Documentary Film." — Allyson Pereira shares her experience being sexually bullied after sending a photo of her breasts to her high school ex-boyfriend, as part of *Slut: A Documentary Film*.

I can’t blame these women for wanting to protect their identities. The stigma they fear is not imagined; in many cases, they could be putting their jobs or personal relationships at risk. In fact, when I first launched The UnSlut Project by blogging my own diary entries from when I was labeled a “slut” in middle school, I changed the names of everyone involved. To this day, I use a pen name to protect the people who bullied me over 15 years ago.

So when I started production on Slut: A Documentary Film, I knew the intensity of what I was asking of the women I interviewed. Not only were they sharing their personal experiences with sexual shaming, they were doing it on camera. They were using their full, legal names. They were putting their faces and their voices out there into the world, with the hope that what they had to say would change someone’s life.

They were doing something braver than I have ever done. And they were trusting me to represent their stories clearly and honestly, to make a film that will not only reach adults who need to know just how pervasive and widespread the issue of “slut”-shaming is, but whose message will find girls who need to know that “it gets better.”

_______________________

Emily Lindin is the founder of The UnSlut Project and the creator of Slut: A Documentary Film. She was labled a “slut” at age 11. Now a Harvard graduate pursuing her PhD in California, Emily started The UnSlut Project by blogging her middle school diaries. The project has grown into an online community where people who have experienced sexual shaming can share their stories, and where girls who are currently suffering can find support.

Seed & Spark: ‘The Song the Zombie Sang’

This was perplexing to me. Were people actually more interested in the story of a dead man over a live woman?

This is a guest post by Andrew Sayre.

The Song the Zombie Sang is going to be my second feature length film. It is also my second feature length film with a female lead character, which honestly is not something I’ve done intentionally. When I started writing my my first film, Whatever Makes You Happy, the idea was to make something that was more balanced, equal between two main characters, a man and a woman as they embarked on a tragic affair. But slowly, starting from the first time I scribbled notes on a piece of paper, through filming, and then editing it, the film started to lean far more toward her point of view than his. Watching it now, it is set up to be equal between the two of them, but it is still clearly more her story. I couldn’t even tell you when I noticed that I was doing it, or why, with any certainty. But there it is, and it felt right to me, so I didn’t think much of it.

Now, with The Song the Zombie Sang, I knew from the very start it was going to be a story centered around a female lead named Rhoda, a gifted musical prodigy. That was always the intent. The original story, as written by Harlan Ellison and Robert Silverberg, was more an equal perspective between her and the zombie of the story, Nils Bekh, an iconic dead musician who is reanimated nightly to perform. But what I always found most interesting about this story and wanted to expand on was Rhoda and what her life and her struggles were. That’s the aspect that I wanted to look into. Bekh is still prominent, still the person the ideas of the story are very deeply embedded in, but there isn’t much growth you can expect a character to have who is, well, dead. So he is more of an enigma, still a well-rounded character (I hope), but more of a thematic device than normal.

Anyone who has eyes, ears, and is able to notice even the most basic patterns in the world can tell you that films with a female lead are not common–not unheard of; they are out there and some of them rank among my favorites films ever. But it certainly isn’t what you could call standard. You can cut those numbers down even more if you negate the lame romantic comedies or other movies where it’s all about “finding your man” instead of some non-love centric goal, as I feel mine is. You can cut those down even further when you look at sci-fi stories with female leads.

Still, even knowing all that, I didn’t particularly worry about that with The Song the Zombie Sang or think it was any kind of hurdle I would have to get over. For me, good writing and good stories are what matters, and the gender of your lead shouldn’t be a factor. I’ve never cared when I watch something whether it’s a man’s voice or a woman’s voice, as long as it was a good voice. And on top of that, this indie film: it really shouldn’t be an issue here.

After I finished the script, I did as I always do, and started showing it around to people to get their take on what I had done. Standard operating procedure. A lot of people never got back to me, as usual, others did, and there were some good points and bad ones. One of the things I was noticing with a few people was that a lot of them were not connecting with Rhoda well, and thought her struggle was not interesting to them. Okay, that can happen, in of itself it doesn’t mean much. Sometimes when you create a somewhat abrasive lead character like Rhoda is, some people will balk and not empathize with them and gender isn’t much of a factor in that.

But instead of suggesting ways to work on her character to make her more likeable or what have you, people wanted to know more about Bekh, the dead guy. They wanted to learn more about his story, what made him tick, what his motivations were. That was who they thought the story should have been about. One person actually thought the better story would be all about him deciding to become the zombie in flashbacks, with no story about Rhoda at all apart from when she interacts with him in the present day.

This was perplexing to me. Were people actually more interested in the story of a dead man over a live woman?

I don’t want to make too much of this, for a few reasons. One, while yes, these kinds of comments were coming only from some of the men I had given the script to read, I know these guys, they’re not misogynistic jackasses. They’re good people. Just as thoughtful and intelligent as a person could be. If there was any kind of prejudice towards male orientated stories on their part, it certainly wasn’t something I think they were doing intentionally.

Secondly, and this probably a bigger reason I didn’t make a stink about it or call out any one of them, it could just very well be my script sucks. Maybe none of the characters are particularly well crafted, I missed my themes completely, the structure is totally unsound, and that the only thing I did well in the whole ninety pages of it was I used proper format and type font. I mean, I don’t think any of that is true, but of course I wouldn’t. The script could just be a total misfire, and they were just trying to latch on to ways they could think of to salvage it.

But why did their attempts to give me ideas on how to fix it all center around diminishing my female lead in favor of a dead man? Why is it that this was the way some people saw to fix what they saw was broken, instead of working on the female lead to make her more relatable, or likeable, etc? That is what I couldn’t understand. I’ve gotten countless critiques of things I’ve written, some crazier than these, but at least I could always see why a person was saying what they said, could see their point of view. This time around it has me a little stumped. I don’t want to say its a bias towards stories with a male perspective, but I’m not sure what else I can point to.

In the end, obviously, I’m not doing any of that to my script. It just wouldn’t be right, and it wouldn’t be a story I want to tell. Even if it could hamper my chances of getting this made, I’d rather fail at what I want to make than succeed with something I don’t.

This whole thing has opened my eyes a bit more towards the problem of the lack of stories with women as the lead character. And also made me wonder if its not just a problem with the filmmakers, but with the audience as well. Most of the people I get feedback from are film folks, true, but they are way down at the bottom of totem pole in this business just like I am, and are still more audience than creator. So perhaps the problem isn’t so much the makers of content being backwards as much as they are reflecting a still sadly true fact about the people they are trying to cater to.

Andrew Sayre is a filmmaker from New Hampshire, currently living in Brooklyn. He graduated from Keene State College in Keene, New Hampshire with a degree in Film Production and a minor in Philosophy. He wrote and directed his first feature length film, Whatever Makes You Happy, in 2010, and is currently working on his second feature, The Song the Zombie Sang, based on the short story by Harlan Ellison and Robert Silverberg.

Seed & Spark: Taking the Lead

Why, then, are most mainstream movies and TV shows out there representing a world that does not seem to match the real world in which we live? And most importantly, why do we accept that as normal? Why do we buy it? Specially knowing that what we see in movies and on TV, whether we want it or not, shapes our minds and the way we behave and perceive reality. It shapes society as a whole.

This comedy-drama gives us an insight into the life of a father who reveals himself as trans later in life

This is a guest post by Rosa Rodriguez.

I am sure you have heard the terms “lead” and “character” actor/actress. The lead actor/actress is the one who plays the role of the protagonist of a film or show. The character actor/actress plays the sidekick, the friend, the co-worker, the villain, and the minor roles.

Lead actors are usually “attractive” by general, narrow standards: thin, slim, muscular; clear skin and flawless hair and makeup; generally tall and able bodied. They are normally white or, if they have “the right look,” sometimes of other ethnicities. They are young, or youthful. They are normally cisgender and straight. They are the big names that most of us remember.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FSwhRZwFjfY”]

A funny parody to Lorde’s “Royals” that definitely strikes a chord.

The character actors are more “unconventional-looking”: short, very tall, bald or balding, stocky, heavy set. They have the crooked noses or teeth, the big ears. They are the people of ethnicities other than white and oftentimes perform with an accent or a speech impediment. They are the middle aged and older guys and gals. They are the gay, transgender, gender fluid, etc. They are usually better known as “Whatshername” or “That guy from that thing” (check out a post on this blog called “Whatshername as a Great Actress: A Celebration of Character Actresses” for a beautiful explanation of what a character actress is and some interesting comparisons to the male counterpart).

These standards are widely spread on mainstream TV and movies, and generally accepted both by audiences and by actors and actresses, who want to be able to work and make a living. We are used to seeing the “attractive” people as the center of the stories. The belief is that the lead actors/actresses have the physical beauty and magnetism “needed” to play love interests and heroes, with whom the general population is meant to identify. The character actors fill the world around these main characters. Some of these supporting roles are quite strong and interesting, but they exist in relation to the leads. They are secondary characters.

The mini series Olive Kitteridge is a beautiful example of a production where we get to follow the story of an older woman who is generally unlikeable, but who wins our heart anyway — The miniseries *Olive Kitteridge* is a beautiful example of a production where we get to follow the story of an older woman who is generally unlikeable, but who wins our heart anyway

A lot of character actors and actresses have managed to have long, successful careers playing supporting roles, and sometimes an offbeat lead here and there. It can be quite fulfilling to play a character with real, human flaws (other than the muted ones usually allowed to the leads, such as clumsiness, shyness, or naïveté). Even when said characters are underwritten, or do not appear in the film or show long enough, it can be very satisfying for the performer and the audience when these brief appearances show interesting, real human beings.

The problem I see with the accepted standards is that in real life every single person is the lead character of his or her particular story. We all have lives, passions, dreams, pursue careers and occupations, fall in love, have our hearts broken. All of us, the thin, the medium sized, the large, the blond, the brunette, the red-head, the bald, the balding, the young, the old, the loud, the quiet, the Hispanic, the Asian, the Middle Eastern, and so on, have goals and aspirations, battles, successes, loses. We all teach and learn lessons in life.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QTCHzcsxrdg”]

A message to Hollywood from a few well-known character actors. Funny and true.

I find myself wanting more than what I am seeing. I want to see more movies and TV shows display a society where people of all looks, sounds, backgrounds, get to lead their own stories. I want to see a story about a Latina with an accent who is a college professor or a scientist. I want to see a story about a short guy with a receding hairline finding the love of his life. I want to see a love story between two senior citizens that is not meant to be a joke. I want to see main characters with some acne, or an apple shaped body, or frizzy hair. I want the full-fledged characters who look like everyday people to be the leads of stories, just like they are in real life. I believe if the audiences demanded more of that, it would be made.

Six Feet Under was so ahead of its time in many ways, including having one of its main characters, David Fisher, be a complex, realistic gay man with a compelling storyline — *Six Feet Under* was so ahead of its time in many ways, including having one of its main characters, David Fisher, be a complex, realistic gay man with a compelling storyline

I am a founding member of a production company called Room 1209 Productions, together with Ravin Patterson, John Wiggins, and Patrick Avella. We define as our mission to generate opportunity for ourselves and our fellow actors, writers, directors, and other artists, through the creation of challenging, imaginative, quality content that represents the diversity found in real life.

Our first project is called Space Available, a character-driven web-series about a film student shooting a documentary in his seedy stepfather’s rehearsal studio, in an effort to expose the underground world he suspects exists behind the artistic façade. This is a project about people, about duality and gray areas.

So far we have been able to finish and release a prologue and two episodes, and are in the midst of a crowdfunding campaign, through Seed & Spark, to fund four more episodes that will complete season one. We have a myriad of characters of all colors, sizes, shapes, and backgrounds in the works, and are proudly committed to creating a space for character actors to take the lead in interesting stories. Should we have the opportunity to finish the first season of this project and move on to others, there will be a rich and diverse lineup of writers, directors, and other artists, that will get to work and tell their stories (to learn more about Space Available, and to view the prologue and first two episodes, visit our website at www.SpaceAvailableSeries.com, and our Seed & Spark campaign page at: http://www.seedandspark.com/studio/space-available-web-series)

Rosa Rodriguez is an actress, singer, writer and producer living in LIC, New York. She was born and raised in the Dominican Republic and is proud of her roots and her accent. She has numerous stage performances, short films, commercials, and industrials to her credit. She also holds a degree in Civil Engineering, and earned her Master’s in Construction Management from NYU. For more about Rosa visit her website: RosaRodriguezNYC.com.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WACRJdl9qVg”]

Seed & Spark: Writing Women

Five-Fingered Lucy, from seedandspark.com, © Jack Lawrence Mayer — *Five-Fingered Lucy*, from seedandspark.com, © Jack Lawrence Mayer

This is a guest post by Martine Moore.

This month, I’ll shoot a short film called Five-Fingered Lucy, in which I play the lead. It’s a dark, girl-meets-patriarchy story about a young shoplifter, written and directed by Jack Lawrence Mayer. The script tackles sexuality, abuse, and solitude. Jack is a long time friend and collaborator, and yet, my decision to be in his film is a conscience call. He is telling a story about male culture from a female point of view. Should I let Jack tell my story for me, or broadly speaking, should women let men tell our stories for us?

This is a question that can be asked at every level of the industry. Let’s take a look at the big awards circuit films this year, as presented by the Golden Globes list of nominees for 2015. Of the Best Picture nominees, only one centers on a woman’s experience, and that’s The Theory of Everything, which, arguably, is a story popularized by the famous male figure it depicts. The film is based on Jane Hawking’s memoir of her marriage to Stephen Hawking. The screenplay is written by a man, Anthony McCarten, and directed by a man, James Marsh.

The Best Actress category is a better place to search for films with female driven content, and here the pattern holds: Cake, Still Alice (an adaptation of Lisa Genova’s novel), Wild (an adaptation of Cheryl Strayed’s memoir) and Big Eyes are all written or adapted and directed by men. Annie has a single woman on the writing staff, Aline Brosh McKenna, but is otherwise written and directed by men. The notable exception is Gone Girl, directed by David Fincher but adapted by Gillian Flynn from her own best-selling novel.*

Cheryl Strayed, from her website, cherylstrayed.com, photo by Jobi Kabana

Much has been made of Gone Girl’s feminist or anti-feminist content and its psychopathic anti-heroine, Amy Dunne. I’m not sure this movie qualifies as female-driven content, as half of the narrative is a male POV, but I saw the movie and will say this: I don’t think it’s up to Flynn, simply by virtue of being a female writer, to create characters that advance the feminist cause, though her reliance on stereotypes that seem to re-reinforce misogynistic views—namely that women lie about rape—is unfortunate. Still, these stereotypes have more to do with Flynn’s capacities as a writer and her chosen genre than they do with her stance on feminism. I side with Zoë Heller, who wrote in the New York Review of Books that both the novel and film are too plainly pieces of pop entertainment to be taken as serious examinations of gender.

Yet, Flynn carried her story into this second, male-dominated medium on her own, which is no small feat. How come the female authors of best-selling books like Genova and Strayed didn’t adapt their own work for the screen?

Strayed, in an interview with Indiewire, is asked the question, and responds, “Well I wasn’t offered the job! And I think I agree why. Reese and Bruna both felt that with a memoir the writer isn’t the best person to make that adaptation because he or she is too close to the material and to that life.” Apparently the best person for the job is Nick Hornby, a popular male British writer who has written numerous novels and screenplays. He received Strayed’s blessing before adapting Wild.

Can men tell authentic stories from the female perspective? For any artist, the world should be his or her fictional oyster. Men can write women, and women can write men; imagination and empathy do not have a gender. Male filmmakers who are captivated by women’s stories and want to tell them can be allies. Actresses are still lucky to get a role in which they are fully developed (and fully clothed), with nuance and an inner life, and many words to speak. Still, the overwhelming likelihood is that those words will be written by a man, and spoken under the direction of another, despite the source material.

Women’s Media Center logo, from their website, womensmediacenter.com

It’s not enough to simply say to women, “Make your own work.” They are attempting to do so. Look at enrollment numbers in film schools, as one indication. Women make up 46 percent of USC’s School of Cinematic Studies, according to their admissions site. On the indie film circuit, women’s participation is greater as well, making up 26.4 percent of writers at Sundance in 2013, and 50 percent of its narrative directors. But when women hit the larger market and the culture at large, these numbers slide drastically. Women either can’t get hired or secure funding. The Center for the Study of Women in Television & Film at San Diego State has found that women’s participation behind the camera is at 16 percent for the top 250 domestically made films in 2013, down one point from 1998. The Center’s Director, Dr. Martha Lauzen, is quoted as saying “there is no evidence to suggest that women’s employment has improved in key behind-the-scenes roles over the last 16 years,” debunking anyone’s notion of gradual but linear progress.

So, where does that leave us? There are the dismal numbers, all laid out, Hollywood’s claims that it can’t take risks, that women are a financial liability (though they buy the majority of movie tickets), or that the few female execs that climb to the top can’t or won’t pull other women up with them. But on the micro-level, this is about individual decisions each woman makes when she allows a story she wrote to be usurped as it transfers to the screen, or takes a part, no matter how fantastic, that is written and directed by a man. It’s a decision that comes with internal conflict. We’ve come a ways in acknowledging that women’s stories on screen hold universal, non-gendered appeal. We need to take the next step in giving women more opportunity to tell them themselves.

*While this is a separate though related discussion, I would be remiss not to point out that all these stories, with the exception of a re-imagined Annie, are about white women.

Martine Moore is an actress and writer living in Los Angeles. She is a co-creator of the web series Ingenue and will appear in the upcoming shorts Dry and Five-Fingered Lucy and the feature, Americana. martineaverymoore.com

Seed & Spark: “do… you… use… your… tongue… in… kissing… scenes… when… acting… ?” (I actually googled that!)

You see it all the time, actors kissing passionately on screen. It looks like they really mean it. But have you ever thought about what it is like for them – the first time they have to conjure that passion in a roomful of cameras, equipment, and onlookers?

This is a guest post by Kim Wilson.

For me, what started as sheer terror at the thought of my upcoming sex scene for my latest film, Cleave, actually turned out to be not as scary as I thought, AND… okay, I’ll admit it—it was even a little bit hot. When I helped write this film, I didn’t know I’d be cast in it. Only in the preparation for the scene did I chastise myself for writing a sex scene: What. Was. I. Thinking?!

Even my own mother asked what it was going to be like. In the weeks prior to filming, I searched the internet incessantly on what to expect. Most searches ended up taking me to porn sites, which I can say definitely did NOT help my self-confidence. I needed something to draw from, something to ease the irrational fears bouncing around in my head. It was all-consuming. It terrorized me hourly.

I was anticipating the worst: bad kissing, missed queues, awkward touching. Sometimes I would have to pull over on the side of the road flushed with anxiety, beads of sweat pooling on my upper lip, trying to catch my breath in a panic. Could I really pull this off? My mind manically raced. What if my partner is dreading kissing ME? After multiple (hundreds of) calls to my acting coach and a few hundred self affirmations I found on YouTube, I finally convinced myself that I would get through this with flying colors because, after all, I am a goddamn professional.

My acting partner and I met before our scene. This was a good thing. Even though we knew each other already, it was nice to remember he was an actual human being and not this sex demi-god I had made him out to be in my head. And, what I realized immediately was that this meeting was imperative. If any of you reading this are actors and you have a racy scene coming up heed this one piece of advice: You must trust your partner implicitly in a scene like this. They have to have your back. Your vulnerability is just out there flapping in the wind for the world to see. And by god, we were going to fly high in that windstorm. How do you develop that trust?

COMMUNICATION

We both agreed we wanted the scene to be authentic as possible. No robot kissing, but to be “in the moment “ and authentic. And that meant really allowing us to lose ourselves in each other. Gulp. We discussed our boundaries in detail: “Yes, you can feel me up.” (That’s an actual quote.) And while we awkwardly laughed at ourselves during these conversations, it really helped us feel just a wee bit more comfortable. On the day of filming, I was still terrified. I don’t know exactly where my head was, but between my mantras and my power posing, I decided to wear sweatpants to set. Hideous sweatpants. Old sweatpants. I have no idea why I wore sweatpants. I must have thought that I would come off as “casually cool” and “I’m totally okay with this scene that’s about to happen–see? I’m sooooo comfortable.” Yeah. My “day after thanksgiving” outfit might not have been the best way for me to communicate to the crew and my scene partner “I’m ready to get sexy!” One hour before our call time, I had already had the self-talk in the bathroom before the scene – you know the one I’m talking about: the “pull your shit together” talk in the stall.

It’s YOU and HIM (or HER)

My partner and I are in our places. We stand facing each other inches apart. It’s literally minutes until the director calls “action.” I can tell he is nervous. He can tell I am too. All of a sudden, this wonderful thing happens: we comfort each other. I stroked his arms. He stroked my neck. I reached for his shoulders, he reached for my back. This touching was actually calming us down. It was helping prepare us mentally and er…physically for the impending scene. There were new beads of sweat forming on my lip now. “Action!” the director called out. We lean in and we kiss. It was effortless. I was surprised. Best of all, it was authentic. We had built our own little world of intimacy.

As the scene unfolded it went from kissing into more passionate stuff that became less and less awkward. Even when the director called out, “OK, now arch your back here” and “drag your hand there,” it felt effortless. Yes, think about that for a moment. Someone calling out your next sex move as you’re in the throws of passion in a strange bar. Believe it or not, it was a relief. What could have been robotic and canned, felt natural and easy. I trusted my partner and he trusted me. And I admit, there were mortifying moments as well, such as being taken aside discreetly and told my breathing was too loud during the sex scene. Yeah. That happened. (That could be my new all-time low.) But it’s proven one of the funniest stories I can pull from my hat at parties lately, so I’ve got that going for me. You learn a lot from fake sex. I am not particularly looking forward to seeing myself on screen and thinking to my horror, “I make THAT face?” Fingers crossed I will be able to use it at parties soon as well.

SUPPORT MATTERS MOST

Looking back, I realize one of the biggest reasons that I felt comfortable on set besides my partner was the incredibly gracious crew who didn’t laugh or make eye contact (thank god) with me during those scenes. Our director had set the stage for all of us, having all of our best interests and safety as her priority. She was the one that was responsible for the mood, the tone and the professionalism. She met with the crew beforehand, giving them strict instructions on her high expectations during each take. She met with my partner and me before the scene to assess our comfort levels and allow us to express any concerns. The fact she was a woman was a huge comfort to me. Honestly, I couldn’t have done it without her support as well.

What I learned most of all, was that acting wasn’t so much about myself as it was about the other person. My partner and I learned how to put each other at ease, how to work together as a team to “give and receive” from the each other and how to turn our mortification into laughter. I am forever grateful to the director, crew and to my acting partner.

So, did I use my tongue in my kissing scene? I’ll never tell.

To learn more about Kim Wilson and the film Cleave, visit the following sites:

http://www.seedandspark.com/studio/cleave-0

Twitter: @whatsyourlceave

Instagram: Whatsyourcleave

Seed & Spark: Latinas in the House!

BUTS started as a joke we had about our bodies. We are both pear-shaped women. (And God bless Lena Dunham for putting that silhouette out there without apologizing or qualifying it.) However, as our beauty standards still predicate, the hourglass figure rules. But our “hourglasses” had all the sand in the bottom! We would laugh about it and pad our bras when going to auditions.

This is a guest post by Irene Sofia Lucio.

First of all, it is an honor to be included in this fancy group of Seed & Spark women writing for Bitch Flicks, given that this is our very first project as co–creators. Reading the past articles written by these inspiring women is humbling, exiting, and gives you a good kick in the butt to keep working and be worthy of this community.

I will start off by saying that I am a Latina woman as is my co-creator, Emma Ramos. Never in a million years did I think I would be starting an article, or a characterization of myself, with those two titles. Perhaps I am naïve.

But it is incredibly important to open with this fact—that I am a woman and a minority. To do so is not only about combatting a lack of representation (or misrepresentation) in media, but also about eroding the loneliness that we all feel when there isn’t a heroine that we can call your own.

I was trained as an actor. And, because I look white, I played all kinds of American and European characters in grad school. After graduating, I adapted to the struggling actor lifestyle right away and was thrust into the casting pool and casting mentality of New York. Since then, I have been similarly cast: When the director was open-minded enough to disregard my Latin name and imagine me as something else, I only played white characters. I realize that I am fortunate to be ethnically diverse, but I felt sad that I could never tell the stories of Latin America. I wasn’t brown enough; I seemed too educated; I seemed too aristocratic. What does that say about how we think of Latinos and how we’re characterizing them?

I am not the typical Latina. I was brought up in a wealthy town in Puerto Rico, went to an American private school, and then two Ivy League schools. These are all privileges and accomplishments that I have often felt apologetic or embarrassed by. I didn’t experience many of the struggles that Latin Americans have to face on a daily basis, and as a result, I felt I had to prove that I was from Latin America. This is sad— not only because that implies that being Latin American restricts us to a certain experience and color, but also because it suggests that my stories are less valid, or less welcome.

It was at the peak of my frustration with the industry that I had the good fortune of meeting Emma. Though Emma looked “the part” more than I, she too was not “Latina enough” to play the bulk of the roles available. Unfortunately, the majority of these are still restricted to prostitutes, maids, and hyper-sexualized stereotypical figures. Emma grew up in Sinaloa Mexico, studied business, led radio stations there, and then decided to become an actor in New York City. After graduating from grad school, she too felt the harsh reality of a fundamental lack of roles. Frustrated that our stories weren’t being told, we decided to create BUTS.

Soon, though, we realized that our “inadequacy” was reflected elsewhere too. Again, we were too educated, privileged, Americanized, quirky, nerdy—you name it—to be considered Latina by TV and film standards. So, with our butts in mind, we started thinking about how we could expand the conversation. We took a ‘T’ out of the butt and considered the many ways that we as women and Latinas complicate the stereotypes and the very notion of what those two titles mean. It is our BUT argument to how those labels are being depicted. We have chosen to do it in a comedic format because, as we say in Puerto Rico: “I laugh so that I don’t cry.” And it is crazy how empowering it has been to embark on this endeavor with Emma.

As of now, we have only released one episode, but the laughter and impact it is already creating is extremely encouraging. Episode two will be released at the end of the month. We simply cannot wait to tell more stories of what it means to be an American millennial Latina: a person that identifies more with what it means to be a millennial than what it means to be a minority (even though society continuously insists on keeping us in that box).

As I read these other Bitch Flicks Seed & Spark articles in preparation for writing this one, it became incredibly clear that we are all trying to do the same thing: produce work that stands on its own, that “happens” to be by women and by demographics that are considered minorities. Like these other projects, I hope that BUTS will open more windows into more stories that are valid and true. I hope that my little sisters will see the episodes and relate instead of feeling like they are strange hybrids. By opening windows we are creating opportunity, hopefully reaching others, and welcoming them to do the same.

Finally, I will also say that the self empowerment that one feels when producing original work and calling the shots to maintain its integrity is the most thrilling feeling I have ever felt professionally. It surpasses that of standing in front of a large audience and reciting gorgeous text. Thank you for inviting us to be a part of this inspiring community. I look forward to reading many more.

Irene Sofia Lucio was born and raised in San Juan, Puerto Rico. She is an actress, writer, and teacher in New York City. Recent credits include: Love and Information NYTW, WIT at MTC, We Play for the GODS at Women’s Project, Pygmalion at California Shakespeare Co., Bad Jews at Studio Theater of DC, and Romeo and Juliet at Yale Rep, Stranded in Paradise (Sony Pictures), Casi Casi (HBO Latino), and Gossip Girl. She is a graduate from the Yale School of Drama and Princeton University. www.irenesofialucio.com

Emma Ramos began her career in Mexico in politics and business. She dramatically changed her life to become an actress after training at East 15 Drama School, UK.

Credits Include: NYTW: Scenes from a Marriage. Off-Broadway: Comfort of Numbers (Signature Theater), Accidents Waiting to Happen (IRT), La Santa (Ontological Theater), Him (Soho Rep), Sangre (SummerStage) Mala Hierba (Intar). Film & TV: 3rd St Black Out, Sunbelt Express, El Cielo es Azul, “Unforgettable,” “The Hunt,” “Killer Talent.” www.emmaramos.com

Seed & Spark: Perspective

As the writer, my voice defines each character. Just as male writers paint masculine (or, worse, stereotypical) versions of the female characters they create, my characters each have a decidedly feminine spin. These are not gun-toting, one-dimensional he-men, but rather strong, masculine, flawed characters with quirks and cracks in their armor. They have no need for the mask of locker-room grandstanding. And a woman is telling their story. Unlike other dark comedies/psychological thrillers, this is a character-based story told from a female perspective.

OWEN BY THE LAKE: Brazilian Wood's Owen Bryant portrayed by Bill Wetherill — OWEN BY THE LAKE: Brazilian Wood’s Owen Bryant portrayed by Bill Wetherill

This is a guest post by Kristin LaVanway.

Much has been debated about the limited role that women play in film. Many believe that women’s voices are fewer than their male counterparts because of the limited number of strong female roles that are offered.

I was recently invited to participate in a panel discussion entitled “Leading Ladies are People Too.” This title described several topics related to expanding women’s roles in front of and behind the camera. The initial focus was on creating rich, well-developed roles for women, the lack of which is a large concern for many, given Hollywood’s often shallow female representations.

But as the discussion continued, I suddenly felt pangs of guilt, the need to apologize—an overwhelming dread that I had sold out my sisterhood.

You see, I am making a decidedly male-centered feature film called Brazilian Wood.

All but one of the main characters is a dude. In my defense, the lone woman in the pack is an awesome bad guy. She is a murderous, conniving, delicious, determined woman who knows what she wants. Surely that counts for something in the broad landscape of feminism?

I began assessing my mostly masculine cast to identify possible ways to support the sisterhood and bring a larger X-chromosome component into the fold. Happily, I began to realize that those components already existed. Not in the most obvious way —the gender of the characters— but in the manner in which the characters have been developed and in the way their story would be told: by a woman.

These Leading Ladies are the "People Too" Panel at the 2014 Jerome Indie Film & Music Festival — These Leading Ladies are the “People Too” Panel at the 2014 Jerome Indie Film & Music Festival

As a director, I can draw out this untold story. The actors portraying these characters know the back-story. They know the emotional arc these characters will be riding. They are ready to let their emotions show through the cracks, just as strong women do among their trusted friends. In this way, we can explore the motivations that drive them. We will bring more layers, more depth, and at some level, more estrogen to the audience.

As the editor, I have perhaps the strongest voice of all. I can piece together this multi-layered collection of story, emotion, murder, and mayhem, focusing not on the big splashy action sequences, but on the quiet moments, the nuanced expressions —the “girly” stuff. As the last leg in the storytelling journey, editing has a tremendous impact on the final version of the film. It can completely change the tone, message, and even the plot. That this phase is in my control can have an enormous impact in the portrayal of the characters, bringing a richness to a story that is so often told by simply counting the dead bodies and bowing to the last man standing. Bringing that depth into the frame tells the story from a new perspective.

I don’t view myself as a feminist filmmaker. I am a chick telling stories. I’m telling the stories I want to tell, from my perspective as a woman. I love an intriguing plot with twists and turns, interesting and relatable characters, and yes, even the obligatory happy ending. Whether the characters are male or female, a great story told by talented actors within a well-produced film is much more interesting to me than a film that takes a stand. As an independent filmmaker, my story can be told my way. And the voice behind the camera, my voice, despite the volume of testosterone in front of the camera, is decidedly feminine. No need to apologize for that.

Originally from the beaches of Southern California, Kristin LaVanway is a writer and director living in Mesa, AZ . She has produced numerous short films, including the award-winning comedy, “Reply Hazy,” “Try Again” and the award-winning drama, Condundrum. In 2014, she joined forces with actor/filmmaker Bill Wetherill to form Resonant Films. She is currently in crowdfunding mode for Resonant Film’s first feature, Brazilian Wood on Seed & Spark. She is also working with the AZ Audubon Society to develop a multiple film compilation called “Arizona River Stories.” Kristin is @Rl8rGal on Twitter.

Seed & Spark: Change From The Inside Out

So where are the meaty roles? What do you do when the women you’re asked to play aren’t really women at all, but stereotypes borne out of a writer or producer’s dream of what a woman is supposed to be (or what he thinks she represents to him)? The answer is: make your own work. Change doesn’t come from trying to twist pre-existing notions. It’s borne from within and then you act on it.

Caption: Our current short, Multiverse, is about the pressures anyone can feel about entering social situations. — The short *Multiverse* is about the pressures anyone can feel entering social situations.

This is a guest post by Rebecca De Ornelas and Michael DiBiasio.

Rebecca On The Challenges of Equal Representation

Acting, from the point of view of trying to get work, is difficult in and of itself. Every role has a fit, and it often comes down to a numbers game to begin booking roles at all – never mind parts that reflect a healthy and multicultural representation of women as we are in the real world.

Many characters I’ve auditioned for over the past several years may or may not have had a name, but in the breakdown they’re often qualified as “The Best Friend,” “The Loyal Wife,” “A Hooker.” Far too many are written in service to a male lead or are female leads solely looking for a man. When you add the fact that I’m part Hispanic, there’s a whole other slew of stereotypes to contend with. You don’t know how many times I have been asked to “Do it again, like Rosie Perez.”

The answer is: make your own work. Change doesn’t come from trying to twist pre-existing notions. It’s borne from within and then you act on it.

Michael On His Journey to Writing Better Female Characters

To be completely honest, when I first started writing, and for a while after, it was from a decently misogynistic point of view. I don’t completely blame myself for this, but I think it’s important to discuss the point because I’m an example of how things can change for the better. In the years leading up to meeting Rebecca, I had already shifted my perspective substantially. A few friends, male and female, had been calling me out on various forms of sexism that had carried over from growing up in a more traditional environment. But it wasn’t until I met Rebecca that I really began the journey towards becoming a better man.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that my work also improved, not only in terms of perspective but also of quality.

The dirty secret of ignorance is that, when you’re someone espousing an unjust point of view, you always know that you’re hiding from the truth. Too often, many men make the wrong choice when this knowledge is forced to the surface. We get afraid, and when we’re afraid, we get defensive.

This, more than anything, is what’s holding our society back from more equal gender representation in film and TV. Yes, the first thing we need is more statistically equal representation among writers, directors, producers, actors, and so on, not only in terms of gender but also race. But the second thing we need, is more men (especially those with the power to enact true change) to admit and address the fact that the America we most often see on our screens does not represent what the country actually looks like.

The cast for The Videoblogs is comprised of nearly all-women. — The cast for *The Videoblogs* is comprised of nearly all women.

Speaking to Rebecca’s point, we’re making The Videoblogs for a lot of reasons. I spent most of the past two years on my website sourcing these reasons out. Essentially we’re seeking to participate in change. With this project, that means doing what we can to contribute to a greater dialogue on mental health with a film that features a non-stereotypical cast.

Most of the characters in the film (particularly the three central characters) are women, and characters vary by race such that they hopefully represent actual Brooklyn. The relationships between men and women in the film are based on everyday interaction rather than only on flirtation and sex.

As Rebecca notes, more than anything else we’re looking to “be the change.” Advocacy like what gets discussed here on Bitch Flicks does a world of good. As artists and filmmakers, though, it’s also up to us to challenge the status quo and force the rest of the world to follow suit by supporting that change.

Rebecca De Ornelas (Actor/Producer) was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. In addition to The Videoblogs, she is also currently working on OnTheRoad Rep’s production of George Kelly’s The Show-Off. For more on Rebecca, please visit her site: www.rebeccadeornelas.com.

Michael DiBiasio (Writer/Director) is currently in preproduction on his first feature film, The Videoblogs. To learn more about his work, or to watch his new short Multiverse (produced with Rebecca), please visit www.mdibiasio.com.

Seed & Spark: Finding the Female Voice

When I contemplate women in film, two thoughts come to mind: women in front of the camera, and women behind the camera. We are all familiar with the stereotypical female characters in movies and TV shows that portray traditional, predictable roles. There’s nothing wrong with that, I suppose, but it isn’t teaching us anything new about what it’s like to actually be a woman. When I fell in love with independent film in the early 2000s, it was for one reason: I had never experienced anything as risky or as honest as filmmaking without rules or boundaries. This was especially true in terms of exploration of female characters. It was refreshing, enlightening and, eventually, life changing.

This is a guest post by Jen West.

One of my favorite films of 2013 was Blue is the Warmest Color. It’s an outstanding example of including high-impact female characters. I stumbled into it one rainy afternoon in Atlanta, flying solo on a weeknight. I grabbed my bag of popcorn and took a seat in the nearly empty theater. I was originally intrigued by the trailer I had seen and the artwork of the mysterious girl with the bright blue hair. I soon saw that there was something different happening between these characters that I had never experienced before— a depiction of a true lesbian love affair on screen. I was sucked into the world of Adèle, a 15-year-old girl exploring love and sexuality for the first time. I know some would argue that the characters were a little too pretty, making the film feel a little like soft porn at times, but I found it to be intimate and intense. It wasn’t afraid to take us in the bedroom and expose the passion that existed between the two girls. Isn’t sexuality a part of all of our lives, whether in abundance or lack thereof? We shouldn’t be afraid to explore that. It was a brave film and the actresses held nothing back for those parts. That’s what independent film is all about— taking risks and pulling out raw emotions in the viewer. I liked that it made me feel vulnerable. I loved that snot dripped out of Adèle’s nose every time she cried. It was female authenticity. I want more of that.

Another recent stand-out performance for me was from Brie Larson in Short Term 12. This is a great example of not shying away from the ugly parts of life. Her character, Grace, deals with past sexual abuse as a life-changing event and she continues to deal with it while working at a adolescent treatment facility. She shows us the face of an abuse survivor, which isn’t always pretty. Everyone has demons that chase them down eventually. Each person’s coping process is unique. Grace is a beautifully broken and complex character who will go down as one of my favorites of all time. If you haven’t seen it, then you are missing a pivotal film in the indie universe.

I want the ugly. Give me the behind-closed-doors intimate moments that really mean something to my own struggles. I don’t care about surface appearances and the masks that each of us wear every day in order to fit in. The true self lies far beyond that. It’s a scary, but unifying experience to be let into another’s intimate universe. Film is a great medium to explore this concept, especially with female characters.

Nothing turns me on more than a powerful female performance, whether it be the actors on screen or the writers and directors behind the camera. As I’ve traveled the film festival circuit with short films of my own, I’ve always kept an eye out for my peers. Through this self-initiated challenge I’ve found the likes of Josephine Decker, Eliza Hittman, and Leah Meyerhoff. You should become familiar with these women. When you aren’t paid yet for your craft, when each film comes from your soul—that’s how you know someone is a real artist. It’s hard, sometimes even nearly impossible, but you do it anyway. There is absolutely no shame in wanting to be paid for your work, however there is something to be said for pursuing your passion just because it’s a part of your being. That’s the kind of filmmaker I strive to be.

For all of you female filmmakers out there— let’s keep creating characters that reveal something important about our humanity. It doesn’t matter if it’s done through humor or drama. For those of you who are film fanatics, or just the occasional theater dweller, I challenge you to discover more independent female-focused content and filmmakers. It’s easy to turn on Netflix and watch what’s on top of your recommended viewing list. Instead, why not dive into something different (but equally convenient) like Seed & Spark, or just dig a little deeper into your preferred medium for that independent film you’ve never heard of. Better yet, attend your local film festival and see what’s surfacing beyond the TV and movie theater. I guarantee that you’ll discover amazing female-focused content once you start searching.

Born and raised in Birmingham, Alabama, Jen West is a writer and director living in Atlanta, Georgia. She is known for Piece of Cake (2006), Crush (2011), Bubble (2013) and “Call Me” (2014 – music video for St. Paul and the Broken Bones). She wrote her feature script, Electric Bleau, as part of a creative residency with the Cucalorus Film Festival in 2014. Currently she is in preproduction for her next short, Little Cabbage and is crowdfunding on Seed & Spark.

Seed & Spark: The Bad Mamas of Contemporary Cinema

This is not an article that will chronicle empty mother characters. This is for all the badass mamas out there—the honest mother roles that women have nailed. Hopefully this will present a case for why we need a million more. Here’s to the female characters who have outlived the digital revolution and will continue to. Characters that live with us and remain faulted heroes. And here’s to the women who made them so electric.

Badass mom warrior Patricia Arquette in Boyhood — Badass mom warrior Patricia Arquette in *Boyhood*

This is a guest post by Mara Gasbarro Tasker.

Women have been speaking the hell up about gender in Hollywood this year and it’s been an awesome uprising to see. There has been an outpouring of voices across multiple demographics in media getting aggressive about the lack of opportunities available in all of its platforms.
What I find challenging, though, is the near constant focus on scarcity—the highlighting of women missing chances to shape film and media.

Rather than dive into the dark abyss of what feels a regression of women’s roles in the world, I decided to focus this article on what is working. On our successes. It’s much easier to model our creative designs and ourselves after things that we can see. So, if I had a beer right now, I’d pour it all out for my female homies who have trail blazed contemporary cinema. Here’s to the women who are “crushing it” in complex roles, who take every opportunity on screen to serve as their own victory of what can be done.

Last week I went to see this summer’s hot blockbuster Dawn of the Planet of the Apes. Now I will fully admit that this black and white, Italian Neorealism nerd fully enjoyed the ride. Much to my surprise, the film actually had me thinking of Shakespeare and Greek tragedy because— in terms of technicalities of story and character structure— they pulled some classic tricks out of the bag and that’s always cool with me. But during the movie there was one note that kept hitting the wrong key. Can someone, anyone, please explain why Keri Russell had only a one line backstory (that she lost her child as the Simian Flu spread) but then was never touched on again in the film? She was prescribed the role of mother, lone survivor, who clings to others and is a surprisingly talented nurse on a whim. But where in the film did she represent what a woman who has lost her child in a bleak new world might actually be like? There was a human being missing in her character.

(Also brief aside, ladies we’re not really going to survive the apocalypse based on the ratio presented in the film. Because, uterus.)

Keri Russell in Dawn of the Planet of the Apes — Keri Russell in *Dawn of the Planet of the Apes* after walking into ape territory

This article is not one that will chronicle those empty characters. This is for all the badass mamas out there—the honest mother roles that women have nailed. Hopefully this will present a case for why we need a million more. Here’s to the female characters who have outlived the digital revolution and will continue to. Characters that live with us and remain faulted heroes. And here’s to the women who made them so electric.

Boyhood is, by logline and poster art, a film about a boy. But I was not alone in walking out of the theater thinking, “Patricia Arquette, you are a baller.” She is undoubtedly the silent hero of the film. From the start, she’s energetic, imperfect, driven, smart (but not genius) and loves her kids even though she wants nothing more from them than to go the hell to bed. She was a single mom who worked hard, got tired, got things moving in her life, and kept on. We’ve seen the foundations of her role a thousand times. (I will hold my comments about any Tyler Perry rendering of real life.) As the film evolved, she made mistakes; her body changed; at times she was involved with her kids and at times she was distant. What to me makes this a successful female role is that if you were to remove the rest of the cast from her, she still has an identity. Motherhood is a part of what she does in the same way that being married or single is a part of what she does. But stripped of supporting cast, she remains a real person with ambitions that grow internally and thoughts that are driven by her own needs and wants.

You see, there was always a storyline that belonged privately to her. She was the master of her own life and the force behind her children’s. When they grew, she grew too. She was very much a mother character AND an individual. It’s roles like these that are needed time and time again in the process of redefining the women we want to see on screen. She is multidimensional and therefore, truthful. (And, yes, I realize the film spans a very real 12 years in the world but even so. ) Kudos to Arquette for rocking the mom jeans like a warrior for 12 years.

Patricia Arquette in Boyhood — Mother and individual: Patricia Arquette in *Boyhood*

Definitely more overbearing but equally complex was Melissa Leo’s character in The Fighter. She was so nuanced. She got violent, volatile, and was packed with emotion. While she was unpleasant at many points in the story and her motivations were often outwardly selfish, she was honest. It was a straightforward portrayal of a mother not wanting to be outdone, even by her own children. She channels her own life through them and while this may not be a method condoned by any parenting books, she was very much alive and outspoken—faulted and capable of deep love. Again, if robbed of the other characters in the story, she was still a complete human being. There was nothing sexy added to her and yet her ferocious state of mind made her enigmatic and inescapable. (We need not bare tons of boob to get people to watch.) Her dynamic portrayal of a woman in a particular region and socioeconomic position, coupled with the hyper masculine surrounding pulls from her a wealth of complex emotions and decisions. And, let us not forget, unlikeable characters can still serve as outstanding representations of the depth of the female mind, soul, and existence. One of the elements ignored by women’s press this year is crowdpleasing. We want more opportunities. In every way. But I don’t care about crowd-pleasing characters. I go to the movies in search of truth. Give me that.

A complicated mother: Melissa Leo in The Fighter — The pistol Melissa Leo in *The Fighter*

Taking it even farther into the realm of complex is Julianne Moore in her disturbingly on point performance as Amber Waves in Boogie Nights. Apart from the fact that the movie itself is genius, much of its success is brought out by the powerful performances of its all-star cast. Moore’s character is particularly wild to follow. She has the softness and natural nurturing quality of a mother who has always wanted to be a mother. She is a soothing source of support but this, in the world of Boogie Nights, of course becomes complicated and perverted by the fact that she is also sexually drawn to the very young Mark Wahlberg. Her attraction to him, their on camera sexploits, and her simultaneous motherly qualities make her immediately full of wonder, questions, and provocations.

Adding to that, she’s an exciting hot mess. The woman likes her cocaine as she proves when doing hearty lines with Heather Graham in the bedroom one fateful afternoon. While in this heightened state, if you will, her inner life comes bubbling out and she emotionally confesses about how much she misses her son. She may be all over the place and her nose miiiiight be white at the end of it but she’s given fair treatment by the filmmaker and audience alike. She is trapped by her history, moves in certain ways because of it and, like any fully formed human being, when in a vulnerable position (or totally f***ed up), her inner demons come out into the world. She misses motherhood and longs for her child. It’s a part of her wiring and yet she continues to live outside of it. A hot mess with a real history—it’s a beautiful, vital performance. She embodies multiple elements of a woman in the world in this time and place and she won’t let you look away from it.

Hot mess of a mother: Julianne Moore in Boogie Nights — Julianne Moore before the infamous coke binge in *Boogie Nights*

Compared to the Hollywood backup female roles we usually passively sit through, not one of these roles and not one of these women has created as a silent, flat, disturbingly calm character. That is an untruthful portrayal in this spectator’s opinion. They came out screaming. Their exuberance breathed into these will written roles the fiery heat of a person with a true life, true purpose and fluid identity. These are the kinds of roles that make more room for women to prove that we thrive in the complex—that we are complex and that we want truth on screen.

Examples of female roles that kick ass exist. Women who will not let their roles become secondary exist. It’s been done since the beginnings of film. Alice Guy Blache’ didn’t take any shit and that was at the turn of the 20^th century. She directed, produced and wrote more than 700 films. She was doing it then, and women behind and in front of the camera have done it ever since. It’s our job now, in 2014, to recreate what we can accomplish based on our current industry model and find ways to make sure that truthful performances enter the marketplace. Hollywood films have always had plenty of fluff roles. But they’ve always had standouts. We are still in this position. We have model characters who broke ceilings once before in storytelling and will again. So…carry the torch and rock on.

In case you need further encouragement: Eva Khatchadourian in We Need to Talk About Kevin, Ofelia from Pan’s Labrynth, Kym from Rachel Getting Married, Nina Sayer from Black Swan. Marnie, Briony Tallis, Thelma Dickinson, Kate “Ma” Barker, Marge Gunderson, Bonnie Parker, Shoshanna Dreyfus, Nikita. Judy Barton/Madeleine Elster, Amelie, Evelyn Mulwray, Blanche Dubois, Betty Elms/Diane Selwyn, Coffy, Mia Wallace, Lisbeth Salander, Jackie Brown, The Bride, Hermione Granger, Clementine Kruczynski and Annie Hall.

Like Costner said in The Untouchables, “Let’s take the fight to them, gentlemen.” (ladies)

Mara Gasbarro Tasker is a filmmaker based in Los Angeles. She’s currently working as an Associate Producer at Vice Media and has co-created the Chattanooga Film Festival, launching later this spring. She holds a BFA in Film Production from the University of Colorado at Boulder. She is directing a grindhouse short in April and is still mourning the end of Breaking Bad.