But He's Disgusting

By Rebecca Green

I’ve been struggling to figure out what to write post election. I’m not a political analyst who feels the need to dissect “what went wrong” publicly, but it feels strange to go back to normal when everything feels both urgent and absurd. I also can’t assume everyone who reads Dear Producer shares my same political views.  

Like many of you, I have family and friends who voted for Trump. I tried to engage in conversations with them about their choice, tried to open their eyes to different points of view, tried to convince them to vote blue. I often found myself saying, “but he’s disgusting” in an attempt to connect over what I thought were shared values. But on the flip side, I’ve also spent the last several years working hard to heal broken relationships, to establish firm boundaries with certain family members, and to find my own inner peace. So when I was met with closed minds and sometimes aggression, I chose not to burn down my house. I know there are some who will criticize that, who will say we can’t look away, but I hope you see my activism in this space as my own little rebellion. That by amplifying the work of artists of all walks of life, I am pushing progress forward in the way I know how. 

My birthday was last week and I was reminiscing by looking at old photos from my 20s in Los Angeles. Parties of Hollywood assistants, junior executives, and baby agents who came up in the industry during a time when “everyone knew” about people like Harvey Weinstein, Kevin Spacey, and Brian Singer. I recalled having a conversation with a friend during that time, someone who is now a power player in the biz, about how uncomfortable I was knowing that so many of my older, male colleagues were cheating on their wives - they did it openly and without fear of consequence. At the time, my friend advised me to keep my mouth shut, that they all did it, and it would only hurt my career if I made a fuss about it. I didn’t listen and he was right. 

The truth is, this business can be really disgusting. 

I’ve been taken advantage of and mistreated on so many occasions it’s impossible to keep track. Some career highlights that still haunt me include: As a junior executive, I was pushed off the first studio movie I got greenlit and when I asked my boss (who took over the project despite having done little work on it up until that point) if I could stay involved to keep learning he said, “What, did you think we were going to give you the keys to the kingdom?” I printed out that email and still have it. Over a decade ago, I produced a “pilot presentation” for an A-list company, which went on to be a hit Emmy Award winning, multi-season television series. I was only paid $5,000 and when the pilot was picked up by a broadcaster for 13 episodes, I was not taken on to the series or given any sort of bonus for producing a show that made a lot of people a lot of money. I now have a lawyer who would never let that happen, but this was early in my career when I didn’t have a filmography worth representing and I wasn’t versed in negotiating a deal myself, I just needed a paycheck. I’ll also never forget a director getting in my face and telling me to “try harder Rebecca” when I hadn’t slept in days, was making no money, and was breaking my back to make the impossible possible. The film office wouldn’t permit his desired location because a murder had just taken place outside the building, but apparently I was supposed to make it happen regardless. Another director berated me over the phone and on text as I was trying to manage an emergency on set while making sure the wheels of production didn’t fall off. They were more concerned about their own image at that moment rather than the safety of everyone else. Most recently, I’ve had producers I once respected punch me in the face (figuratively) over and over again by dismissing and devaluing my work and taking credit where credit is not due. 

More senior industry players would say to stop whining, that I’m just paying my dues. There’s a common point of view amongst an older generation that because they suffered when they were entering the business, so should everyone else. And to that I would ask, but when does it stop? Despite emerging from my naive 20s, working for top tier companies and nonprofits, and producing critically acclaimed box office successes, the blows keep coming. I personally experience and witness bad behavior all around me and I hear stories from producers every day about industry colleagues behaving in abhorrent ways. From directors and actors, executives and agents, and what producer Chris Moore calls “producer on producer crime,” whether it’s a nasty email or text or a fraught contract negotiation, I’m regularly shocked at how awful people in this business can be to each other.    

One would think that now that I have this platform, that tens of thousands of people read what I write and publish, I would be shielded. That people would worry I could easily expose them and think twice before stomping on me. But people know that it’s not in my character to fight bad behavior with more bad behavior. Dear Producer was created to be a positive and safe space, not a burn book. Maybe if I had less integrity I would be more successful.  

This isn’t a woe is me tale. Despite being pushed around Hollywood for 20+ years, I’m still here.  I have a small circle of trusted friends and those of you in it know who you are. I can keep going because I know you have my back and will never tell me to not ‘make a fuss.’ I can look back at my 20s and see how much sexism was at play. Prior to #metoo and social media, women weren’t openly talking about the professional abuse we were experiencing. I didn’t have the language for it then, or frankly other women in the workplace to go to for advice. I was often the only woman in the room, sometimes I still am. I recount these stories because it’s hypocritical to yell through the bullhorn, “but he’s disgusting” and not look in the mirror and evaluate our own behavior in Hollywood. 

In August, The Atlantic published How America Got Mean, by David Brooks that’s worth a read. The piece explores the moral and cultural fragmentation in the United States over many decades, highlighting a decline in shared values and moral education, arguing that individualism has undermined empathy and collective responsibility. As it relates to the entertainment industry, I found this data very interesting: Brooks cites that, “For decades, researchers have asked incoming college students about their goals in life. In 1967, about 85 percent said they were strongly motivated to develop “a meaningful philosophy of life”; by 2000, only 42 percent said that. Being financially well off became the leading life goal; by 2015, 82 percent of students said wealth was their aim.” If you look under the bad behavior in Hollywood, what you find is “wealth was their aim.” Everyone is vying for bigger paychecks, better credits, and the most subscribers regardless of who they have to walk on to get it. Even in the independent space, people have lost their moral compass in the pursuit of money and fame. 

As I looked back on my 20s, I wondered how my life would be different if people around me weren’t always in it for themselves. Would I have risen the studio executive ranks and be running a department by now? If I had been rewarded for my work with a position on that hit television series, would I be more financially stable and have leverage to get more work made? Would I have taken on a bigger slate of films if I wasn’t dealing with the PTSD of constantly unhappy directors? 

Recently, Variety ran an article which quoted George Clooney saying, “The older you get, time allotment is very different. Five months out of your life is a lot. And so it’s not just like, ‘Oh, I’m going to go do a really good film, like Three Kings, and I’m going to have a miserable fuck like David O. Russell making my life hell. Making every person on the crew’s life hell.’ It’s not worth it. Not at this point in my life. Just to have a good product.” I applaud Clooney for calling out bad behavior publically, but it shouldn’t take growing older (and being untouchable like Clooney) to be able to call it like it is. Just because you’re talented, doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole. Much like Clooney, though without his financial safety net, I’ve hit a ‘life’s too short’ point in my life. 

In the Atlantic piece, Brooks wrote, “Some moral skills can be taught the way academic subjects are imparted, through books and lectures. But we learn most virtues the way we learn crafts, through the repetition of many small habits and practices, all within a coherent moral culture—a community of common values, whose members aspire to earn one another’s respect.” 

I believe we all have a collective responsibility to each other, not just in our personal lives, but professionally as well. I wake up every morning not wondering how I can get ahead, but how I can help someone else achieve their goals. While I am actively working toward financial stability, what is more important to me is being respected as someone who looks out for others, who plays fair, and who is working hard to leave Hollywood in a better place for the next generation. 

Brooks writes, “If your status in the community was based on character and reputation, then a farmer could earn dignity as readily as a banker.” As we face the next four years together, this is the ethos we should all be working to build.