Boycotting Movies is Erasing the Work of Minority Filmmakers

Within any industry, certain individuals sit atop as symbols of their field and expertise. These figures, whether by design or by the slow but imminent spread of information through the news and media, are often looked up to as the people who embody and run their respective projects and initiatives. In other words, strong ties are created between a figurehead and product or company, especially in our present day when social media platforms are involved in spreading the imagery of certain industries and companies. Elon Musk and Tesla, Bill Gates and Microsoft, Bezos and Amazon, just to name a few.

But these face-to-product connections are never stronger than within the arts, where oftentimes the products and services provided by individuals are incredibly intimate and tell of one’s personal values and beliefs. The work of a writer and their literature or a painter and their paintings are often inseparable. This inseparability between the face behind an artistic work and the work of art itself can lead societies to blend the two. But this phenomenon can often occur in more collaborative arts where the title of the creator isn’t as singular. In filmmaking, crews can be upwards of 300 people large with even more that work on pre and post production as well as distribution and marketing. Even on smaller independent films, as many as four to five people may be sharing a singular vision that can go on to become the final product that we as viewers end up seeing on screen. However, from the outside looking in, many will view films and filmmaking as a single person’s project. With the director or even a producer being seen as the sole figurehead of a filmmaking effort. This conflation between film and other arts can easily be made, as most, if not all, other art forms will involve a single creative mind who drives forward the ideas or production of a single project.

While pinning a film to one single person doesn’t directly harm anyone, it can often leave the reputation of a project and the other hundreds of people working on a set in the hands of someone who is selected by the public to be the face of a movie. But where these associations between film and a single “creator” can get tricky is when the reputation of this person at the head of a film's production is tarnished in the eye of the public. Despite the depth of a film crew and the vast array of creative minds who contribute and work tirelessly on a project, their work can become blacklisted or taboo in society and media culture if a big name director, producer or actor does something that the public doesn’t want to support.

This issue has been a familiar one to the entertainment industry for as long as films have been hitting big screens. Big name Hollywood directors like Roman Polanski and Woody Allen have made questionable - and even heinous - decisions which have left their films shelved and untouched by viewers weary of supporting the cause of someone whose beliefs and actions don’t align with theirs. More recently, big name producers like Harvey Weinstein and contemporary screen icons like Armie Hammer have been pushed into the harsh spotlight of the public through the use of social media, leaving their works to be ridiculed and removed from certain streaming platforms and theaters. That uneasy feeling of watching a renowned film that has had connections to figures that have been involved in domestic violence, sexual assault, and other acts of that nature is not only warranted, but is a rightful and deserved consequence for those in the film industry who have made decisions that have harmed the well being of others. These figures deserve to be boycotted and ostracized from our industry.

But the questions I’d like to think through here concern the other hundreds, if not thousands, of people who made their work possible. What happens to the work of the below the line workers - many of which identify as immigrants, women, people of color, and/or members of the LGBT+ community - whose careers and livelihood are based in these films? Despite being honest artists trying to make a living, is their shared work subject to the same boycotting as their higher ups whose actions have brought shame to their artistry? These questions don’t concern the process of calling out and boycotting the films of big name producers and directors, but rather the rubbled remains of the work of minority filmmakers whose work suffers from the same consequences and are left behind by the industry. Boycotting entire films ignores the collaborative effort of filmmaking and erases the work of below the line workers who often identify with minority groups. Rather, our culture around boycotting should shift over to a process of reeducation that raises awareness of the corrupted individuals involved with parts of the making of a film while still supporting and upholding the contributions of the rest of the artists.

Before diving into these erased minority filmmakers, I’d like to do a further breakdown of the structure of the film industry and film crews themselves to provide a clearer picture as to how vulnerable and disposable they are to higher ups in the industry. In film, the boundary between these higher ups and those below them is known simply as “The Line”. Aaron Pruner, a writer for the entertainment industry magazine Backstage, writes on the distinction between Above the Line (ATL) and Below the Line (BTL) workers, explaining that “Above-the-line roles provide the creative foundation for any project… while below-the-line jobs keep the production wheels turning. Both categories rely on each other to ensure a production stays on track from development to the premiere” (Pruner). ATL workers who make up this “creative foundation” that Prunder describes are roles like the director, executive producer and principle cast (main actors, or “leads”). On the other hand, BTL workers include those who work underneath these creative leaders, including roles like costume designers, make-up artists, electricians, assistant directors and cinematographers. Essentially, these BTL workers are those that may not be the first names who come to mind when you think of Oscar winning films, but keep the wheels turning under the direction of ATL staff.

Pruner also dives deeper into the financial and managerial differences between ATL and BTL workers, continuing on to detail the “fixed rate” that ATL workers earn, which “never alter, even if there are schedule changes or fluctuations” (Pruner). This is in direct opposition to the wages of BTL workers, who “are not compensated on a fixed rate… [i]nstead they are usually paid by the hour… and can be replaced at anytime during production” (Pruner). Just looking at the way that these different types of roles on set are cut out in terms of role and payment, it’s clear that BTL workers are placed in a very disposable position. Their pay can be cut completely if there’s a lack of work for them on certain days of production, and their income can be cut off entirely if ATL staff decides that their services are no longer needed.

To bring this discussion back around to the concept of the figurehead in film, these directors, producers and lead actors are placed in positions of power within the industry as people that are assigned with the “creative direction” of a story, but are also given financial and social power over workers that are arbitrarily deemed to be less valuable by the industry. Although ATL work is intensive and is extremely influential in the outcome of a film, the social and financial power disparities on sets often allows ATL workers to place themselves at the head of a film’s public image despite representing an extremely small portion of a filmmaking team.

It’s also no coincidence that many of these BTL workers that don’t get the same credit for their artistry and hard work are people of color. In his Variety article titled “Hollywood’s Labor Force Does Not Reflect California’s Diversity”, staff writer Gene Maddaus breaks down the stark lack of ethnic diversity among BTL jobs using California’s overall population of ethnic groups for reference. Maddaus begins presenting the data collected by Variety by pointing out the stark lack of diversity within Hollywood’s BTL work. Looking specifically at Asian American and Latinx populations, Maddaus points out that, “overall, 16.1% of the below-the-line workforce is Latino and 4.7% is Asian American. Both groups are dramatically underrepresented compared with their share of the state population (39.4% and 15.5%, respectively)” (Maddaus).

These statistics may seem low at face value, considering how small 16.1% and 4.7% might seem. But taking a step back and analyzing the bigger picture of just how many of these minority filmmakers are currently working within the film industry, these minority workers in BTL work appear to be in the vast majority of people of their ethnicity working within the industry. Another Variety article, this time by staff writer Adam B. Vary, takes a look at reported data which accounts for minority work in ATL jobs. When looking at one of the largest ATL jobs, directing, Vary reports that “[o]nly 4.3% of directors in 2018 and 3.4% in 2019 were Asian, and only 0.7% in 2018 and 2.1% in 2019 were Latinx” (Vary).

The data presented by Vary and Maddaus show us that of these filmmakers who come from ethnic minority backgrounds and work in the industry, the vast majority of them are pushed into BTL work, with only a small percentage working ATL jobs like directing. These same workers, as previously mentioned, are the ones who are more likely to be subject to fluctuating wages and hours, as well as the general invisibility of their work that is usually just attributed to the big names attached to ATL workers like directors or producers.

With this industry context and vocabulary in place, I’d like to attach the social dynamics at play between BTL and ATL workers back to the initial conversation of film boycotting. The pay disparities and social power between someone like a director or producer (often white and cisgendered) and a costume designer, gaffer or art director (made up of the majority of ethnic minorities in the industry) can place ATL workers, either intentionally or inadvertently, in the limelight as the face of film. Most of the public and the majority or film audiences may not be familiar with the depth of a film crew and will often credit the work of hundreds of the minority workers that we’ve gone over thus far to the director or producer. And although their work is important, attributing an entire film to someone who is only a small fish in a large pond of filmmakers can be misleading.

But of course, this can become most damaging in instances where a director or producer who carries the image of a film is ostracized or criticized by society, taking the work of BTL workers down with them. One of the best examples of the reputation of a film being tanked by a higher up in the production process comes in the form of Woody Allen’s 1979 comedy Manhattan. In Allen’s supposed love letter to New York City, his main character, television writer Isaac Davis (played by Woody Allen himself) jumps into a relationship with a teenage girl, a dynamic which is further complicated when he falls in love with his best friend’s mistress. Manhattan, at the time of its release at the end of the 1970s, was critically acclaimed for its quirky costume design, shot composition/cinematography, clever writing and its catchy score. Manhattan won Woody Allen a handful of Best Director awards from respected establishments such as the New York Film Critics Circle and the Academy of Arts and Motion Pictures. Mariel Hemingway even nabbed a Best Supporting Actress role for her work on the film at the Oscars that year. Manhattan has also stacked up against the slate of all time great films, earning itself a spot on the National Film Registry as well as on multiple “Top 100” lists put together by the American Film Institute to commemorate the best films in any particular genre.

When it’s all said and done, Manhattan is an indisputable all time great. And like many other great films, Manhattan truly does it all, with a film production highlight reel that spans from directing down to its make-up art, costume design and supporting cast. But despite the praise for the formal elements of this film, connections drawn between director Woody Allen’s past actions and certain plot points in his film has brought this film into harsh question by the public. Particularly, the relationship that Allen’s character in the film - aged 45 - has with a 17 year old girl by the name of Tracy.

Hannah Brown, a writer for the feminist magazine Next Tribe, provides her own experience as a young woman watching Manhattan, as well as her thoughts following recent allegations and actions concerning Allen. Brown provides a detailed account of her time watching Manhattan on the big screen as a movie-crazed teenger when she writes, “I had loved Annie Hall and Allen’s ‘early, funny movies.’ The glamorized world of New York intellectuals that Allen portrayed in Manhattan was one that I longed to [be] part of. My friends and I celebrated Woody Allen as a neurotic Jewish underdog who conquered all by being smart and funny… [b]ut here was Woody Allen—my nebbishy hero—on the big screen, having a blissful romance with a girl my age… Back in 1979, the film was unambiguously embraced by critics and moviegoers, but for some of us —particularly young women who were approximately the age of the Tracy character — it caused confusion” (Brown). But for many, these feelings of confusion and concern that have been hinted at in the 70s upon an initial viewing have been expanded and exacerbated by revelations about Allen in recent years. Brown goes on to provide details about her current thoughts on the film, 42 years after her initial viewing experience, explaining that, “it all seems indicative of a serious problem and lapse of judgment on Allen’s part in light of the 1992 scandal surrounding his affair with and marriage to Soon-Yi Previn, his then-partner Mia Farrow’s 21-year-old daughter, as well as the allegations made by Farrow and, in recent years, reiterated by his daughter, Dylan, that he molested her” (Brown).

The realization that Woody Allen’s intentions in steering the narrative of Manhattan may have been guided by ulterior motives is a realization that many have had to confront in recent years. But this new contextualization has also leaked into the rest of the work done by many of the set designers, costume designers and cinematographers who made this film what it is today. Despite their work, Allen’s intentions and scandals provide a reading of Manhattan that is impossible to not notice, drawing what was once praise for the craft of one of the greatest films ever towards the predatory persona that has haunted Allen and his work in the last few decades. Over 40 years after its initial release, what was once heralded as a masterpiece of the romantic comedy genre is impossible to discuss nowadays without mentioning the past actions of Woody Allen. These allegations against Allen have led to many of his past films being boycotted, and even some of his recent films like A Rainy Day In New York have been declined distribution by big name distributors like Amazon Studios.

But the question of what we are to do with the filmography - past, present and future - of Woody Allen is a larger question that is to be asked of our contemporary society. With social media allowing the voices of people like Hannah Brown to voice their realizations and circulate their feelings of discomfort and concern, many big names like Armie Hammer and Harvey Weinstein are being - rightfully - put in their place and ostracized by both the film industry and society as a whole. But as we’ve discussed up until this point, the art of film is a collaborative one, and it’s impossible to boycott the work of a big name like Woody Allen without erasing the artistry of hundreds of others. An honest attempt to keep a privileged body accountable for their actions can quickly turn into an unintentional erasure of the work of innocent minority workers.

After doing my own research, I’d like to propose the solution of education and contextualization as a way to uphold the work of BTL workers while still maintaining the accountability that comes with boycotting. To put it simply, I’d like to propose that, rather than boycotting or “canceling” films, we instead provide context to films through disclaimers and discourse surrounding certain movies that may have ties to problematic filmmakers or pasts. Within the world of film criticism, many critics are adopting this approach as a way to condone wrongdoings of the past while still being able to promote the great movies and artistry of film history. In the entertainment industry magazine The Wrap, film reporter Brian Welk reports on a discussion held by a panel of film critics who discussed the reframing of old or problematic films from the past. Included on this panel were notable critics such as Ann Hornaday of the Washington Post and Michael Phillips of the Chicago Tribune.

On the topic of informing audiences of the issues surrounding certain films prior to viewings, Welk reports that “Hornaday noted that some [platforms] are providing new and critical context. She praised the recent efforts of TCM host Jacqueline Stewart, who introduced an airing of Gone With the Wind on HBO Max with a disclaimer that put the film in an appropriate context without erasing or censoring it” (Welk). Michael Phillips of the Chicago Tribune adds to this concept of education of past pitfalls of films and filmmakers rather than a complete erasure. In response to Hornaday’s statements, Phillips echoes similar sentiment and is reported as explaining that “‘[critics] love sorting through the contradictions of it all. That is what we have to do… If you can’t reserve the right to just puzzle through these massive contradictions and minefields, don’t run from them, run toward them… Otherwise, we are at risk of dismissing decades and decades of film history, and we would do that at our cultural peril, no doubt’” (Welk).

In this panel, Phillips and Hornaday touch on the issue that film crews have to face when their artistic endeavors are suddenly subject to dismissal and pushback over scandals and accusations that have nothing to do with their own personal work. The contextualization that’s currently being used within film criticism to still educate the public through these films and support the efforts of the other filmmakers on a project is something that can be easily transferred to the field of production as well.

Even with current films, going into a theater to watch a movie that has received some sort of pushback from the public for certain social issues or past wrongs that are tied to a single member of the crew doesn’t mean you’re directly supporting the work or efforts of that one person. If you enter into a theater to watch a new release while understanding the background of one individual who may have hurt others allows you to still keep that person accountable while also supporting the work of the other filmmakers who have worked years to get their projects cemented in film history to be enjoyed by viewers for years to come. If we choose to run from these “contradictions” that Phillips uses to describe this conundrum between supporting a film but unintentionally supporting the ideals of an individual who you may openly oppose, we leave behind and effectively ignore the cultural contributions that the other honest filmmakers have to offer.

As we move deeper into a digital age where the public has the power to rise up against those in positions of power through platforms like Twitter and Instagram, I’d like to propose an adoption of the contextualization and education currently being used by critics to disregard problematic individuals while still acknowledging the collaborative efforts and the many minority bodies which go into the making of motion picture art. Using this more nuanced approach to accountability will ultimately create a more inclusive environment for those who may get caught in the crossfire of media discourse while limiting the number of minority filmmakers who would otherwise get erased from film history due to the mistakes of an individual who abused their position of power.