Barriers to Breaking Into the Industry

​​Breaking into the screen industries can be hard at the best of times. For BIWOC, getting a foot in the door can feel can feel like a pipe dream.

The lack of representation on screen is both a symbol and symptom of how welcome BIWOC are in the industry. For several research participants, going to film school and then finding work in the industry wasn’t their “Plan A.” Instead, they chose other career paths where they could more easily see themselves before diving into the world of film and TV later in life. As compared to their white counterparts in the industry, they may be “behind” in their careers.

Another barrier to entering the industry was access to education and training. One participant noted that “there are a lot of BIWOC who are immigrants, and won’t be able to access post-secondary education in that field. Because it’s so expensive, it’s ridiculous.” Tuition costs and applications, which require references, can be a significant barrier to BIWOC who are low-income or don’t have strong connections to the industry. 

A number of participants noted that once they’d overcome the hurdle of being accepted into film school and making tuition payments, they were met with other challenges in post-secondary. According to one participant, they faced a lot of racism and microaggressions, some in part because “professors didn’t know how to show or understand non-Western perspectives.”

“My department [at school] is still run by mostly white people and a lot of POC or women of colour friends also felt that they were not supported. In hindsight, students who are white women didn't go through that same stress or experience.” 

“In four years of my cohort, I’m the only Black student, even in the contemporary arts department. It's a very collaborative space, but I still feel very alone. I feel very boxed in by what people expect from me. I’m not only the only Black person in the space, I'm also an international person. I’m African and my vibes and my interests are totally different, so I’m already lost all the time.”

“[At film school], I wrote a script about how violent [the n-word] is and how it makes people feel. It was a whole thing, I wrote a script with this one word in it. And they were trying to police how I went around that. The faculty who still works there, said that word six or seven times in meetings, where we were talking about it and their excuse was I was allowed to because it’s in the script and I couldn't believe it was happening. I feel like it’s hard in this industry, it affects wanting to stay in the industry.”

Participants also drew attention to how their success in the industry is determined, in large part, by who you know: “The majority of people are hired because they know people already, and usually it’s another white male who they’re friends with.” 

“A lot of the films have been curated because [people] know each other: ‘I’ve been working on this for eight years, we’ve known each other for 15.’ Of course your film will get in. We don't have that legacy to set us up.”

Lacking those networks and connections, participants felt they were offered fewer opportunities for work or to have their films shown. A participant commented on how BIWOC were often in competition with one another, especially in front of the camera. With very limited roles for BIWOC, the only time they would come across other women of colour would be in the audition room, an inherently competitive environment.  

“When I was starting out as an actor, it was difficult to book roles because there are limited roles written for women of colour. So you're competing against other women of colour. And there's a lot of you and it could be like, you know, a Black woman, Asian woman, Latina woman — just all of these women of colour and they're all fighting for one role, because this is the only role that they're open to seeing someone who's not white…. It’s basically one tenth of the roles that a white woman could play.”

“We aren’t getting the same opportunities as white women or white men. We’re not getting the same opportunities for leads, eight-page auditions, etcetera. So I have to work twice as hard so if I ever get that eight-page audition, I'm ready... I’m getting called for a two-word part as an EMT or police officer, and they call that diversity because the entire screen isn’t white anymore.” 

Several participants noted the lack of women of colour in leadership or gatekeeper roles, who could understand the stories they want to tell and fund them, hire them, or act as mentors and role models as a significant barrier. One participant suggested, BIWOC are often considered for jobs by white leadership but ultimately passed over because they “won’t fit the culture.” 

“It's all about luck, who you know, and people taking chances on you. And unfortunately, there's not as many women of colour in those positions. If you remind somebody of a younger them, they're probably gonna take a chance on you. That's just how this industry works. They're like, ‘I see something in you. You remind me of me, and I'm gonna take a chance on you.’ No white man is going to tell me that I remind them of them.”

Participants shared stories of feeling pushed away and compelled to leave the industry because the barriers felt insurmountable. A number of participants shared how they took time away from the industry to recover and heal.

“There's a lot of things I haven't done because white men wanted to be in that space more, pushing and elbowing you out of the way. I’m somewhat thankful though because if I [pursued working in sound], I probably would’ve left the industry and not come back.”

“I don’t know how many people just have the strength to keep going.”