Living as a Young Woman in South Korea (16) Searching for feminists in the film industry
By Nam Soon-a
Published: October 22, 2016.
Translated by Park Subin
※ Editor’s note: To begin a
new feminist discourse in 2016, Ilda is running a series on “Living as a Young Woman in South Korea.” The series receives support from the Korea
Foundation for Women’s “Funding for Gender-Equal Society.”
An actor sat me on his lap
When people ask me what I do
for a living, I say I work on independent films. I direct my own films or work
in the production team of a narrative [non-documentary] films. When I get to
chat with people who work in the film industry, especially those on independent
films, I often hear them saying that compared to other fields of work, the film
industry has a higher awareness of gender equality. My experience is a far cry
from theirs. In my opinion, there is no place safe from discrimination in a
society full of gender inequality.
When I was 19 years old, I
chose working in the production team of independent narrative films over
entering college. The following incident happened while I was working as an
assistant director on a short film. It was very cold, all the more so because
we were doing a night shoot outdoors in the middle of winter. I was warming
myself on a chair by the fire. When an actor came by for warmth, I gave him the
seat. He said he was sorry. Then he offered to let me sit on his lap.
I refused, but in the end he
dragged me to sit on his lap. Because his attitude was very composed, and not
one staff member passing by commented on what had happened, I thought that
perhaps I shouldn't feel so uncomfortable. But I did. Apart from myself, there
was only one female crew member on the set. That was the first incident of
sexual harassment I experienced on the set of an independent film.
A friend of mine has also told
me that she discovered male crew members, including the director himself,
chuckling as they used a camera on the set to zoom in and out on the breasts of
an actress. When my friend raised objections, they turned it around on her,
saying, “You say that because you don't know anything. If you are that
sensitive, you cannot continue on in this field.” If my friend was not a young
woman, but a weathered male veteran of the set, they would not have dared to answer
her in that manner.
Once, a male producer asked me if
any male crew member has ever sexually harassed a female crew member in the
independent film industry. He said he himself had never heard of such
incidents, and that he was genuinely curious. But when I told him what my
friend had seen, he said, "Not actresses harassed by male crew members. I
already know plenty of cases of that." I fell silent. It was startling
that he failed to see such incidents were humiliating not only to the actresses
themselves, but also to the female crew members on the site.
A structure in which the
sexually-harassed alone bear all the pain
As time passed and I gained more
experience, I could glimpse the structural flaw of the film industry. Due to
the nature of shooting, where “time is money,” the organization becomes
increasingly hierarchical and the grand cause of “The Film” is prioritized over
individuals. On the film set, departments are segregated by gender. The
departments associated with filming equipment, such as the filming and lightingdepartments,
have more power relative to others, and they comprise mostly men. On the other
hand, the departments that are generally regarded as less important (such as the
makeup and costume departments) are mostly populated by women.
![]() |
| Time is money at filming sites. They are hierarchical for the sake of speed, and the grand cause of “The Film” is prioritized over individuals. ⓒNam Soon-a. |
Also, such organizations are
based on temporary projects. Most of the time, they are contracted for one-to-six-month
periods. This unusual characteristic makes it more difficult to deal with
incidents of sexual harassment or sexual violence if they occur. Since the
victim is well aware of how much funding went into the film, and how much time
and money the production would lose should she bring up the problems, it
becomes extremely difficult for her to speak up.
Even if she does raise
objections, the production company often does not question the abuser or even
separate him from the victim, if he happens to have an important role. Under
such a structure, usually the victim is forced to either swallow her
humiliation or leave the set. Once the filming is completed, the organization
cannot bring the abuser to account because the contract between them has
expired. In the end, it is the victim alone who bears all the pain.
Because the abuser is not held
responsible for what he has done, he can continue on with his work and the
victim might encounter him at another shoot. This is all the more true for
short films, since they have a much shorter shooting period and usually depend
heavily on personal relations, without a production company.
Because my incidents of sexual
harassment took place amid casual laughter from the abusers and the silent on-looking
of others, I could not swiftly decide on whether I was entitled to be angry or was
just overly sensitive. As such incidents repeated, I grew to blame myself for
not coping with them appropriately. Although I viewed my colleagues as “nice
people,” I could not trust them to be on my side when such problems happened. I
had seen too many bystanders keep silent, and I was tortured by the thought
that I might have done the same in their shoes.
My friends and I could only
cope by whispering rumors of what some actors had done, and what happened at
certain shootings, and secretly sharing a list of those to avoid. I started to
turn down more and more offers to staff narrative films, because I did not want
to suffer anymore. I was not strong enough to bear the pain.
Labor-issue documentaries by
male directors, and 'private' documentaries by female directors?
After that time, I grew
interested in documentaries and started to work in that field. Compared to narrative
films, documentaries offered more autonomy in the production process and fewer
time constraints. So I could afford to preserve the values I hold dear against
the great cause of “The Film.” Though not satisfactorily, I could still afford
to ponder the production methods and relationships between crew members. I also
liked that I could work with a relatively small crew.
![]() |
| A scene from the documentary film, Papa, Please Don't Leave (Directed by Nam Soon-a, 32 minutes, 2015) |
However, I was faced with
another problem during screenings of one of my films (Papa, Please Don't Leave, 32 minutes, 2015). Many people treated me
not as the director of the film, but as a young woman. Time and again they
would compliment me for making the film, when I am “so young and petite.” They
easily talked down to me, and did not hesitate to compare me with their
children or even tell me that I am young enough to be their own.
Another director focused on my
age in a different rude way. He compared me to “a withered flower,” telling me
that I was past my youth. Even though I participated in official events as the director
of the film, people would patronize me, or be plain rude to me due to my young
age. Nonetheless, none of them displayed such attitudes to my boyfriend, a man
in his thirties who works in the film industry just like me.
Above all, I was anxious that
people's perception of me as “a young woman” might interfere with an objective
evaluation of my documentary. People often compare my documentaries with those
of a certain male director. When he discussed his works, people would label
them as "documentaries on labor issues” or “documentaries on the young
generation.” And they actively connected his discussions to social discourses.
But when I discuss labor issues, minimum wage, and human dignity in my
documentaries through stories of my life, they call them “private documentaries.”
“Private documentaries” are
only a subcategory of documentary films, and the categorization itself does not
belittle the work. But it is necessary to think about what the term exactly
means, and by whose standards they are private. This is all the more necessary
under the present circumstances, where documentaries by female directors in
particular are classified as private documentaries, and no connections are
drawn between them and various social discourses. The classification of private
documentaries is gendered, and subconsciously induces their messages to be
viewed as less important and trivial.
I was confused about whether
this discomfort I felt was excessive sensitivity or valid suspicion. That is, I
was not certain of whether people failed to read beyond private stories in my
films due to my inadequacy as a director, or my films were denied chances for
diverse interpretations due to my gender and their categorization as private
documentaries. Likewise, narrative films by female directors are often described
as “delicate” due to the gender of the directors. If the creator's gender
instead of the work's content has more influence on its assessment, many female
creators, like me, cannot help doubting their capabilities.
![]() |
| My Q&A session after the screening of Papa, Please Don't Leave, the opening film of the Busan Peace Film Festival. ⓒ Nam Soon-a. |
Introducing Sexual Harassment
Prevention Education into Film Production
As my train of thought
continued in this manner, I started to view everything through the frame of
gender issues. Why can't female directors whose directorial capabilities have
been proven at film festivals make it to mainstream films? Where have all those
female students in film studies gone? Why is it so hard to find female crew
members in filming or lighting departments? How do female crew members deal
with menstrual pain during months of filming? How can we handle sexual
harassment problems on shoots? Questions just kept on coming to me.
But I could not figure out what
I could do about it all. I grew to learn many things, similar to adopting a
whole new language, as I read books on feminism and attended feminist lectures.
But no matter how much I delved into books, the discrepancy between theory and
reality felt insurmountable. In reality, I still could not pinpoint the reason for
my frustration. I would let the incidents pass by, and vent my anger only
afterwards with my friends.
While I was caught up in this
problem, I heard that a film I had contributed to as an assistant writer was
about to start shooting. I was offered the position of script writer. I
accepted it because I had great affection for the film, but I was also fearful
of suffering yet another time. The repetition of similar problems had seemed to
make me helpless. I wanted to protect myself.
Around then I happened to read
on the website of the Federation of Korea Movie Workers' Union that “all
filming sites are required to conduct sexual harassment prevention education
before the launch of filming.” I inquired at the union to see if the obligation
applied only to commercial films, but was assured that it holds for low-budget
films as well. My heart skipped a beat at the hopeful news. Still, until then I
had never heard of any shoot in which the education was actually conducted, and
I was not sure if this production would be willing to spend money and time on
the preventive education.
When I cautiously broached the
subject, both the director and producer readily embraced it as something that
must be done without a doubt. After some research, the producer told me that on
other shoots, proper education seems to have been shunned in favor of video
clips or pamphlets. There seemed to have been no sexual harassment prevention
education, especially for independent film productions. We decided to take the class
at Korean WomenLink in order to learn from a creditable lecturer.
We took a two-hour lecture on creating
a gender-equal organizational culture. The lecturer taught that because sexual
harassment does not arise from a single problematic person, but from an
organizational culture in which such acts are condoned and reproduced, we need
to look into the organizational culture itself. However, the lecture was not
fit to be applied specifically to the system of film production, as it was intended
for average companies. I wished there were a lecture for sexual harassment
prevention education at filming sites in particular. Although not all of the
staff could attend due to differing schedules, and there was a higher proportion
of female crew members than male crew members at the lecture, just listening to
it with the others made me feel excited and stronger.
"I am a feminist
too"... We are not alone
To make myself stronger, I
started talking with other people. I shared experiences and criticism with the
crews I met on the shoots, the crews I met at film festivals, and the directors
I got to know. Like members of a secret society, many people would respond to
my confession of my feminism and say the same about themselves.
I have met senior feminists and
peer feminists. I have also met female feminists and male feminists. At each
encounter, I felt that we were connected. Just getting to know that there are feminists
other than myself gave me courage. It is still not easy to swiftly deal with
discriminatory words or sexual harassments, but now I have faith that I won't
be alone when I raise my objections. The existence of like-minded people in
itself makes me feel supported. It dawned on me that in order not to be lonely,
we need to meet more fellow feminists and be assured of one another's
existence.
I frequently reflect on the
saying “The more connected we are, the stronger we are.” To become stronger, or
to become less helpless, I am going to search for more fellow feminists from
now on. Just like I get strength from meeting other fellow feminists, I hope to
give them strength too. And I am planning to make this process into a documentary
film. I hope I will have become even stronger by its completion.
*Original article: http://www.ildaro.com/sub_read.html?uid=7636





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