by Joanna Lee
Three Short Stories: Women In Television
Crossing Swords
First there were the rumors, starting out
with the astonishment in the beginning that this "starlet," this
"girl" was actually writing . . . And that all the sitcom producers in
town wanted to meet with her only to see if it was true that she carried
briefcases dyed to match her outfits. That was pretty funny . . .
Oh, and I loved the one that went around
after I got an unprecedented ten script multiple, that no one person could write
that many scripts in one season and I had to be hiring kids to write the scripts
for me. Or perhaps I was sleeping with the star, who in this case, had anyone
bothered to check, happened to be Fred Flintstone!
Eight years of working six days a week,
no vacations, and I got my first executive title: Script Consultant on a
once-hot series which had sharply declined. There, the male star would take his
script at the weekly reading, throw it on the floor and scream, "I can't do
this shit. A woman cannot write for me." Every week for the whole season.
During which, by the way, we rose from ratings in the mid-twenties back to
number three.
On this show, I was taken to my first
"Executive Luncheon" where the network exec. complimented me on the
good job I was doing, and then turned to the Producer and loudly told him how
lucky he was to be working with someone with my anatomical proportions. Need I
tell you I am paraphrasing some simple, crude descriptions? And the whole
restaurant heard. Need I tell you, years later I watched Anita Hill on T.V. and
felt the old fury and humiliation all over again?
And yet, this same network exec. gave me
my first chance to produce a script I had written under my company's name . . .
Gave me my producer's wings. And then saddled me with a director buddy with whom
he was sure, since we were both single, "I'd get along famously with on
location." I did not. He did not. We did not.
Another story: Again I have crossed
swords with a director, force-fed to me by the all-powerful agency who
"packaged" my picture. My script. My company. I am the only producer.
The director, not American, kept calling me "doll" and
"sweetie" until the network ordered re-takes on scenes they hated and
he went ballistic and paranoid, convinced it was somehow a plot I cooked up. I
had a delivery deadline. He dragged his feet on showing me his Director's cut. A
week late, he finally agreed to three o'clock on a Saturday. Just me and the
editor, of course. I showed up straight from gardening, slightly muddy... and
walked into a sea of people dressed for a cocktail party. Behind my back, Mr.
Over-the-Border Director had arranged a chic screening of "his film."
Stars, relatives, agents, press - for my first look at the assembled footage. My
one-on-one Producer's screening. Oh, and he had made a cassette and sent it to
the network, assuming it to be proof of how perfect and wonderful it was in case
I wanted to change a frame.
He would never have dared to pull such a
stunt on a male producer.
Thank God I knew how to handle the
situation. As he waved for the film to start, I waved for it to stop, got up,
muddy clothes and all, and warmly thanked all assembled for coming to my
screening. This being a work in progress, I shared with them how many, many,
many changes there would be before this infant grew up and saw the screen, but
wasn't it fun for all of us to be in this creative process together? I invited
notes from the audience for me to read after the screening. I told them food and
drinks were on our wonderful director, and told the projectionist to roll film.
If you could have seen his face.
Joanna Lee is an EMMY Award winning writer, producer and director and is
President of Rosebud Productions.
