So you thought the casting couch was just for actresses? Think again.
Everyone is familiar with the cliché of the predatory,
powerful, heterosexual male in television preying on vulnerable young females and
exploiting them sexually. While this
certainly goes on, Roger Ailes at Fox in the USA is a prominent recent example,
what is less well known is that there are other victims of sexual exploitation
in the business. One surprising example
of this is the director. Yes, the director. Believe it or not, directors are
in a uniquely vulnerable position in television drama today. Unlike other senior members of the production or editorial team,
principal cast and often the crew, the director is rarely a permanent member of
the unit. Typically directors
are freelance, hired to shoot an individual episode in a series. This means directors have,
effectively, no employment rights whatsoever and can be dropped like a used tissue as soon
as their gig is over. Directors live or die entirely at the whim of the producer and in order to get on, directors must get on with the producer and other permanent members of the team. Directors in television are the
original victims of the gig economy.
Nevertheless, directors can themselves be subject to temptation,
especially on location. So the wise
director, particularly if married, will avoid fraternising with the cast. The possibility of finding oneself in compromising
and potentially career threatening, not to mention marriage breaking,
situations is all too evident. Young
bit-part players are particularly to be avoided in this context. But it is not just the hungry and ambitious,
looking for a leg up on the ladder, that present a career hazard to the
director. People who have nothing to
gain from an assignation with the director will also pursue them for sex. People like the director’s boss, the producer. It can be a profound shock for the director to discover that their role confers on them a certain sexual allure but there are too many examples of this occurring to ignore the effect. Producers can and do demand sexual favours
from directors in return for career advancement or even just the prospect of another
contract. They can do this precisely
because of the director’s vulnerability in the workplace. The unscrupulous producer knows they have the
director over a barrel and will exploit that fact very happily. The casting couch is well used in the 21st
century tv business.
In writing TELEVISIONLAND Ian Reid delved deep into the underbelly
of television drama. The character of the
director, Max Virtue, is based on several specific individuals who Reid
knows. Here are three examples of how
the casting couch operates with regard to directors in today’s television world. These are all true stories…
Director A was working on a very well-known popular drama for
a national broadcaster. He was a married
man in his 50s and, like Max Virtue, he was very well preserved. The production was based far from his home,
and so he would find himself on location for weeks on end. He was in the habit of occasionally dining with
his female first AD. She was gay, and
so director A considered this to be an entirely safe and pleasurable way to
unwind. There would be no question of
anyone getting the wrong idea.
After several of these enjoyable meals, the first AD brought
up a new topic of conversation. The
producer, she informed the director, fancied him. The director laughed it off but the first AD
pursued the point. The producer was in
her thirties and undeniably attractive. The
first AD would not be deflected. She was
a friend of the producer. With her
girlfriend, a senior production executive, the first AD had recently
entertained the producer to dinner. At
this meal the producer had made clear her desire for director A. The first AD had been delegated to make the
approach. In other words, the first AD
was pimping for the producer. Director A
recorded the conversation in his diary.
‘She’s not my type,’ said director A.
‘Maybe you’d better make her your type,’ said the first AD.
‘I’m married,’ said the director, showing his wedding ring.
‘(Producer) gets what
(producer) wants,’ countered the first AD.
As director A said to Ian Reid: ‘It was unbelievable. There was no subtlety about it. It was blatant. A demand, with menaces, for sexual favours. I couldn’t believe it. I was 53.
The producer was in her thirties.’
Not only that but it is clearly entirely wrong and in breach
of all employment law for a manager to be soliciting sexual favours from their
staff.
Director A politely declined the offer and subsequently he
was never asked to work on the show again.
Reid asked if the director had spoken to anyone about it; HR
for instance. ‘No,’ said the
director. ‘It would be my word against
that of the first AD. I was a freelancer. The first AD was staff and closely connected
to powerful people in the organisation.
If I kicked up a fuss I would only be seen as a trouble maker.’
A few months later the, still single, producer became
pregnant. It would appear she had been
looking for a sperm donor and had found a more compliant provider…
Director B was working on a high profile drama for an
independent broadcaster. The shoot was
in the Peak District, far away from the production company which was based in
London. The film unit was based out in
the wilds with cast and crew unable to get home for weeks on end. It will come as no surprise that romantic assignations
were formed. As they say, what goes on
the road stays on the road. However, Director B was recently married and
had a young family. He was there to work,
nothing else.
The young female producer was very flirty around director
B. On the technical recce, instead of
riding on the bus with the rest of the team, the producer decided to take her
own car. It was an open-topped, Audi
sports car. It was summer and she was looking
cool in sunglasses behind the wheel. ‘She
looked like she was on her way to Monte Carlo,’ said director B. The producer invited director B to ride with
her in the Audi. ‘My spider sense
tingled,’ said director B. ‘It didn’t
feel like a professional approach.’ He
elected to ride in the bus, as is usual on a technical recce. On the bus during a technical recce many
important conversations are held concerning production. The director couldn’t take part in those
conversations if he was swanning around in the producer’s sports car. This event was an indication of things to
come.
Social duties are part of a director’s job on these location
shoots. When the producer threw a party
for the production in her rented home in the Peak District, Director B had
little choice but to attend. The party happened on a Thursday night. So there was a shoot the next day. At the party the producer became very drunk
and made a pass at the married director.
At which point the director pointed out that he was due on set
at 7.00am the next day and, as politely as possible, he left. The next day the heavily hungover producer
arrived on location at 4.00pm. It was an
interior and yet the producer wore her sunglasses for the entire time she was
on set. After this, the producer, who
had up until then been conspicuously friendly to the director, became cold and
even hostile.
When the shoot was over, the producer fired the director out
of the edit. He never worked for that
production company again.
The show crashed and burned after one series due to the
ineptitude of the producer. The scripts
were terrible. Nevertheless, the producer
moved serenely on to other high profile productions where she also failed and she
is now out of the business.
Director C was working on a well-known soap for an
independent broadcaster. He was sitting
in the edit with the male producer, the editor and a manager. They
were all watching a review of the director’s latest show. The director was a seasoned professional but
even he was shocked to hear the producer boast about his forthcoming dinner
date with one of the actors in the show. The performer in question was a bit-part
player and a very bad actor. Watching the actor on the screen, the producer
proceeded to make several lascivious comments about him; comments which, if
said by a heterosexual, male producer about an actress would be considered inappropriate
for the workplace… to say the least.
Eventually the producer seemed to realise that he had overstepped and
chided himself with: ‘Dignity. Dignity…’
while inviting all in the room to chuckle along with his charming ‘naughtiness’. Maybe the director didn’t laugh loudly enough
because thereafter the producer proceeded to tear into his show, finding numerous
supposed faults.
Sometime later, the manager returned to the edit and took
the director aside for a quiet word. He suggested
that the director should spend some time with the producer. The manager informed the director that the
producer was, ‘di-curious’; short for, director curious. His
point was clear; be ‘nice’ to the producer and the director would get more work
on the show.
The director didn’t take up the offer. He was never asked to work on the series again.
His supposedly ‘bad’ show received a very warm critical
reception.
Some may see these stories as deserved revenge for centuries of heterosexual male abuse. Maybe so. Others may say that two wrongs don't make a right. I simply set out these stories as examples of life in television today. They are not isolated examples. They are three true stories, three first-hand accounts, which
feed into the character of Max Virtue in TELEVISIONLAND. Television can be a dirty business. The obvious question that presents itself is
this; how many successful directors working in television drama today didn’t
say, ‘no’, when presented with similar choices?
I know what you’re thinking.
You’re thinking, ‘how did they ever get into positions where they could
do that?’ I mean, they must always
have been that way, right? People don’t suddenly
just become that. There must have been people around them who
knew what they were like, right from the start.
There must have been. Surely. So why didn’t they say anything? Why weren’t these guys stopped before
they started?
How could this happen?
