I grew up learning about film.. dare I say, cinema! Before I really knew what they were, movies were my happy place. Heck, my parents still regale me with their memories of using Hatari to help with my potty training.

You heard that right. The John Wayne film. Random choice, I know. This toddler loved Hardy Krüger. 

As I came of age around movies l learned to love the creators. You know, the cinematic Old Masters! The essentials! The boring ones that everyone likes. Men like Billy Wilder, Alfred Hitchcock, and Howard Hawks. I idolized Billy Wilder’s writing. I dreamed of emulating Hitchcock’s creativity. I took a while to get, you know, experimental. 

I grew up learning (and loving!) foundational Old Hollywood works at their most “classic”. Hell, I was in my thirties when I discovered that few filmmakers “saw” me quite like Peter Bogdanovich.

A few years ago, when I was deep, deep down my Peter Bogdanovich rabbit hole, I found myself giving a lot of thought to feeling “seen” in movies. 

I realized, though, that I wasn’t sure — prior to my Bogdanovich deep dive at least— that I’d ever truly felt “seen” in my movie watching. I’m still in love with Bogdanovich’s work, but watching as a woman— and knowing his personal history— things become complex.

There were some characters, of course. Winona Ryder playing Jo March was foundational. Rachel Weisz playing Evelyn in The Mummy was another. Heck, any role Keira Knightley played between 2003 and 2010. Thinking back, though, none of these were truly identification. They were aspirational. I didn’t see myself in these characters. I wanted to see myself in them.

Coming of age in the hellscape for women that was the late 1990s and early 2000s, I was a bookish kid who loved writing book reports and picking my own essay topics. Heck, my best friend in elementary school nicknamed me “Scully”. I wanted to be these glamorous women, but whether this came from insecurity or not, I knew I would never be those flashy actresses up on the screen.

Jumping back ahead to my thirties… kids… it was a period of epiphanies. At one point, I was deep down a Roger Corman rabbit hole. If you’re noticing, that happens a lot.

For so much of my life, Roger Corman had been akin to Ed Wood. He was a “bad movie” director.

Friends, nothing is ever truly that simple.

Roger Corman, the director, is responsible for some truly diverse and delightful works, from moody dramas like The Intruder to all-time schlock classics like A Bucket of Blood.

As a producer, meanwhile, Roger Corman is one of the figures responsible for shaping Hollywood as it transitioned to the 1980s and 1990s.

In his quest to save a buck, Roger Corman fearlessly employed unknown talent. Men like Martin Scorsese, Joe Dante, Ron Howard, and even James Cameron (among others!) got their start working under Corman.

One night, during a particularly deep YouTube dive, I stumbled onto an interview. As I flipped it on, hoping to bask in all of Corman’s brilliance, I was struck by something… not in the fun way.

The basis of the clip revolved around Corman’s various mentorships. Every time he spoke about working with young directors, he used “he” as the hypothetical pronoun.

It must be pointed out that Corman did work with women directors in this era, namely Stephanie Rothman and Barbara Peeters. This moment brought me to what was ultimately a crushing realization…

Throughout history, so few women have been directors that it wasn’t even conceivable at the time that a director could be a “she”.

And honestly? He’s not wrong. You can count the number of women directors working in mainstream film on one hand during the middle of the 20th century.

Depressingly, things are really only marginally better in the 21st century.

The realization punched me in the face. In an industry that was so outwardly a “boys club,” had I ever truly been “seen”? I was a young woman who grew up in the Whedonverse. I’m used to being gaslit. Was I seeing myself? Or had I simply learned to watch films like a man?