JTWO

For as long as I can remember of my 23 years, I’ve been labeled as “difficult” by others. Passionate, over-emotional, fiery, intense, whatever word you want to use for it. It was what frustrated teachers who didn’t have answers to my constant questions and irritated other kids. It was what I was told made things hard for me with socialization overall. When working in groups, I was labeled as “bossy” because I usually had a vision for whatever was being done, artistic or otherwise, and would give people directions. And yet, it was also praised by those same teachers, who would remark to my mother that I was the best out-loud reader in class, that I was the best kid to pair up a new student with, that I was a “pleasure to have in class”. It was confusing, to say the least. The same parts of myself that were applauded in gifted and talented programs and drama club were shunned in my realm of human interaction. This confusion added fuel to the fire, and led me to be even more of a “difficult child”. My angry crying when some boy would make a snarky remark in class increased tenfold, and I grew frustrated with myself. Over time, I grew tired of crying, tired of being the difficult girl, and by the time I was in high school, I wasn’t even myself. I was a shell of the person I was as a child, a mere flame compared to the roaring fire that I came into the world as. I became quiet and docile. I started to stutter when reading aloud in class. I sweat bullets any time someone spoke to me, regardless of who they were. But I was finally no longer “difficult”. In cutting out this part of myself, I had lost touch with who I was as a person, and began to question everything about myself. It was only in the world of art that I still felt that connection to the child I had been a long time ago. It was acting and film that kept me tethered to that last piece of myself left. 

By the end of my time in high school, I had grown bored with trying to fly under the radar. I wore weird clothes and strange hairstyles and said obscene things to make people laugh or get pissed off. I reveled in making people angry, a complete 180 from before. So when it came time to pick what to do with my life, I threw caution to the wind and kicked up even more of a storm than I usually did by deciding to go to art school. I was still an anxious little clam, though, so the concept of becoming a filmmaker and potentially being labeled as “bossy” again still scared me, despite my volatile fashion choices and sailor’s mouth. I decided instead to go to school for acting, and ended up at the University of the Arts (which I just graduated from) here in Philadelphia. Yet, I soon found myself deeply unsatisfied with just doing Acting Major things, and declared myself a film minor my first semester of freshman year. During the single film class I had, something had awakened in me. At the end of the year, I sat down in my advisor’s office and felt a question jolt through me out of nowhere:

“Can I be an Acting Major and a Film Major?”

The short answer was no. The long answer is that the two programs did not mesh schedule-wise, and there seemed to be some resistance towards the idea in general, as it had never been done before. Both my Acting and Film advisors were invested in the idea, though, so the three of us collectively pushed to change the system. I had chosen the school due to their narrative of interdepartmental and interdisciplinary crossover, so why not? It was exciting for all of us, and for once, it felt like I was being truly commended for pushing for what I want. From the beginning, I knew I would have to tack on an extra year of school to pull it off and go over the regular credit limit some semesters, but I had made peace with that. And so… it happened, making me the first of my kind at the University. Most of my time was spent running down Broad Street, booking it from my Stage Combat classes five blocks away to make it in time for Film History or anything else in that vein. Moving forward, I noticed that despite my constant grind, some professors didn’t take me as seriously as other students. At first, I had thought it was due to some lack of skill of mine, or the fact that I was originally just an Acting Major. I distanced myself from my theater school identity when in my film classes and pushed to learn everything I could, but soon realized it wasn’t my acting history; it was that I was female and the students that were treated like actual filmmakers were mostly male.

Growing up, I was the filmmaker of the house. Armed with a small digital camera (one which would be replaced every couple of years due to their inevitably short lifespan back then), basic editing software, and a bored friend or two, I made my first works as a filmmaker. Music video remakes, dramatic puppeted movies using American Girl Dolls as our actors, fake talk shows where I hosted; these were the works that came out of my adolescent mind. I commanded the controls of my ancient version of Windows Moviemaker with the ease of a expert pianist performing for thousands and churned out my 480p masterpieces. Sadly, many of these were lost to time and outdated technology, but honestly… it might be better that way. Those that have survived on old flash drives and laptops are cringeworthy at best, but it’s still nice to have something to look back on. And when I wasn’t making, I was acting in the yearly musical at school and watching anything I could get my hands on. I anguished over not being old enough as an actress or filmmaker to contribute to my favorite films in the ways I knew how. I lamented over the fact that I wasn’t swordfighting or directing a crazy scene or being hailed as my generation’s next big creator. But even during my gripes, I felt more alive than I had felt since I was that child kicking up dirt and driving the adults around me crazy. I clinged to that.

This is by no means me condemning all men in the industry or my male/masculine presenting peers. Men are just as lovely and talented as women! But time spent in feminist film classes and having a space with my female/femme friends to discuss what had been happening to all of us made us realize that our experiences weren’t singular by any means. It was the realization that we were being treated differently that launched me back into my childhood self, full of angry tears. Suddenly I was the same little girl who clenched her fists and demanded respect and an apology from a kid who said something I was told to ignore. I had grown tired of sitting by and letting my friends and I be disrespected, treated like we weren’t real filmmakers and that our work made about the female experience was inferior. Many of us chose to channel this into our work, myself included. But I was also not afraid to speak up. It was during this experience that I truly felt myself become free of my fear of being seen as a “nuisance”, and I realized why I had been labeled the way I have been my whole life.

Because I am female.

Knowing that there wasn’t something wrong with me, that if a boy were to do any of the things that I did which were considered “troublesome”, he would be applauded for “strong leadership skills” or “good character”– it was such a freeing realization. To know that I’m not wrong, but the patriarchal standards set for women, especially in the film industry, are wrong was mind-blowing. I started to actually believe the things I had been telling myself for so long, like that I was talented and a good filmmaker. This whole epiphany came while filming my senior thesis project, and the difference in my presence as a director and filmmaker in general was palpable on set. I learned something valuable. That I need to walk into the room and know that I am talented, that I am of value, and that if whoever it is I may be auditioning for or applying to can’t see that, then there will be someone else who does. I think that’s such an empowering perspective to take. There is nothing to be gained professionally by downplaying your skills and making yourself lesser, aside from patriarchal approval. I have come to embrace who I am, flames and all. I don’t think it’s a bad thing to be passionate or intense or a leader or anything other than submissive and smiling as a woman. Those are qualities you need as a filmmaker, as an artist, as a person. As I’m writing this, I’m dealing with the internal struggle of “do I put this kind of thing out on the internet and potentially not get hired by someone because of it, or do I stay true to who I am and be open with that?” which is proof that I still have a lot of work to do, but I know I’ve come a long way. I’m not different from anyone else in that I have “too many” emotions or fire back when something upsets me. I am a person, just like men, just like other women, just like non-binary folks. It’s just in my nature to be more open about my thoughts and feelings, and I shouldn’t have to be ashamed of that. My journey as a woman and student of feminism and my journey as a filmmaker are so deeply tied together that if I were to separate the two for this, I think it would be a truly disingenuine representation of myself and the heart of my work. So here we are.

Wow, you made it through all of that! Now here’s the part you’re probably looking for: I am ridiculously excited to be interning at JTwo. I seek to create work that explores the depth and complexity of the human condition and am dedicated to raising the voices of those who cannot be or will not be heard in my work in both large and small ways. In addition to that, I have a passion for Stage Combat, and hope to have more opportunities to choreograph fights and expand my list of certifications so that I can use those skills in my work. I think combat is an extension of the extremes of human emotion, and am deeply fascinated by that. (Plus, I was raised by massive nerds, so my Lord of the Rings fangirl self has always loved it.) Overall, I just really want to tell a good story in the best way possible. It’s my belief that giving yourself to the story, to put your body and soul into your work, is one of the most selfless things possible that you can do as an artist. It’s not easy to be vulnerable, to let yourself dive all the way in, but the best work always seems to be made by those who put all of themselves on display and channel that into their creations. I think this philosophy reflects my work as both an actor and filmmaker, and why I was so drawn to this company. After all, “the story is everything”. If your heart and soul isn’t in the things you make, be it a feature film or just an introductory blog post for your internship that probably only five or so people will read, what’s the point?

Character Description:
Lex Forge (male) – 21 Years Old
A Pennsylvania State University film major seeking inspiration

INT. BEDROOM – DAY

A man — early 20s, unshaven, disheveled hair — sits on the floor leaning against a bed. He’s occupied the same position for some time now. He sits unmoving, his eyes staring forward into space — they seem to be focused on everything and nothing at once. But his outward stillness is deceptive. 

INT. THE MAN’S HEAD – DAY

He’s wading through a thick haze. The room is quiet but a low rumble fills his ears. It sounds like a muffled chattering, an ensemble of indecipherable voices. They coo, they hiss, but they remain unclear. There’s too many, only the occasional word cuts through the noise. The man is tempted to listen closer, to try to understand them. But he knows following them will only pull him further into the fog.

The ever present fog. It envelopes him. In every direction there only seems to be more of it. It’s beginning to slow the man down. Moving through it is disorienting. There’s no tether to follow back to where he started, no indication of where he’s going or where he’s been. Has he always been in the fog? Was there ever a time without it? He just knows he has to keep wandering. He has to keep wandering through that oppressive uncertainty. But suddenly he stops. He has the distinct sensation that he’s reached a precipice. That one more step will send him plummeting over an edge and into that fog forever. Then the whole struggle will have been in vain. There’s a reason he’s reached this point. He believes that. He was meant to reach it. He doesn’t dare move. The rumbling has stopped. There’s an eerie sense of quiet. Is… is the fog thinning?

Then a bright flash erupts through the fog. It explodes with such force that everything is instantly illuminated. There’s nothing but the light now. It washes over the man and for a moment everything makes sense. The fog is gone. The journey is complete. Then as quickly as it appeared, the light vanishes. The fog descends once more.

INT. BEDROOM – DAY 

The man snaps back to reality, feverishly scribbling an idea down on a piece of paper. It was only a brief glimpse but there’s no mistaking it: inspiration has struck. He knows he will have to travel into the fog once more. But at least, momentarily he has silenced his doubts and remembered why he chose to be a filmmaker.