A recent dip in female-led theatrical releases in the UK - back to 2018 levels of 26% reminds us that our work is far from over; that we cannot be complacent.
Below you can read about the research we conduct into gender representation in film and the wider industry, tracking the release landscape to present an accurate picture of investment in films by filmmakers of marginalised genders.
Here you can also find out about news and opportunities at Reclaim The Frame, along with curated film recommendations, filmmaker interviews, and creative responses.
Updated: May 1, 2024
Although Labour Day or International Workers’ Day isn't traditionally celebrated in the UK, it holds significance in over 160 countries worldwide, championing the working classes and their rights for nearly a century and a half. In light of this, this programme aims to prompt reflection on the essence of being a worker. This curated journey will spotlight the triumphs of workers' rights and union achievements, while also underscoring the persistent need for further progress.
Women have always been at the forefront of the labour movement. From Rosie the Riveter to the Willmar 8 to the real-life secretaries working 9 to 5, women in the workforce have fought hard to make their voices heard. But what about the stories that don’t get amplified by Western media? This International Workers’ Day, we're platforming stories of marginalised workers from around the world, as told by marginalised gender filmmakers.
Central to the programme is a recognition that workplace rights are not universally guaranteed. Illustrating this is a diverse selection of films that provide a global perspective, allowing us to transcend our individual experiences. From nurses' strikes in 1960s Charleston to the advocacy of garment workers' unions in Bangladesh, from South Korean retail workers protesting unfair treatment to the poignant struggles of a young girl striving to support her family amidst conflict-ridden Afghanistan, this lineup paints a diverse picture of labour realities worldwide.
Directed by Madeline Anderson, celebrated as the pioneering African American woman to direct a televised documentary, I Am Somebody chronicles the courageous narrative of 400 Black and Brown nurses who initiated a historic strike in 1969. In the wake of their bold action, thousands rallied in solidarity, igniting a wave of protest that echoed far beyond Charleston.
This documentary not only captures the struggles faced by nurses in 1969 but also draws striking parallels to the ongoing mistreatment of nurses across nations and throughout history. It shows the profound impact that collective action can wield, resulting in meaningful change.
Through Anderson's lens, viewers are confronted with the timeless truth that the fight for justice and dignity knows no bounds of time or geography. I Am Somebody stands as a testament to the resilience of those who dare to challenge systemic injustice and a reminder of the transformative power of solidarity. Available to watch on Vimeo
Over half a decade, directors Hannan Majid and Richard York document the fight of garment workers in Bangladesh and the women at the forefront of the campaign for workers’ rights.
In the face of physical abuse, illegal sackings and unliveable minimum wages, the workers remain steadfast in their cause, committed to educating colleagues about their rights and the importance of a unified front. For them, it is often a case of life and death: the unimaginable tragedies of the 2012 Tazreen Fashion factory fire and the 2014 Rana Plaza collapse are not unfamiliar prospects for the millions forced to work in perilous conditions.
As well as examining the vicious cycle that traps generations of women and girls in a lifetime of unsafe, underpaid work, this revealing documentary impels its audience to consider their own role in this system. What is the true price of our consumption? Avialable to watch on YouTube
Sun-hee (Yum Jung-ah), a mother of two, is told she will be getting a full time contract after five years of hard work, before the company instead announces that they are letting her and the other all-female temporary workers go. Confused, angered and in desperate need of their jobs, the women band together to protest the firing and fight for justice.
Cart is inspired by true events. In 2007, a new law was passed requiring that employees be given regular worker status after a certain period of employment. However, a supermarket chain laid off its predominantly female temporary workers to avoid complying with this law. The ensuing strike in front of the supermarket of both the laid-off staff and the labour union lasted 512 days. This incident and the film it inspired highlight the lengths corporations will go to to cut corners, and the need for laws to protect workers. Available to watch on AppleTV
Dolores Huerta is an activist and labour organiser fighting for agricultural labourers’ rights, women's rights, and working to end racism. Throughout her life she has faced both racism and sexism as a Mexican American woman in a male-dominated working world.
In this short film, Dolores discusses the sexism and sexual harassment she and other women have faced in the workplace, from payment being withheld for work done unless sex is provided, to being cornered in an office and sexually harassed, to having men take credit for her work. Hannah McNally’s beautifully animated short shows only a snippet of the workplace discrimination Dolores and other women must face on a daily basis. Dolores continues to campaign for equal pay for women, health care for all and social justice. Available to watch on Vimeo
In The Assistant, Julia Garner portrays a young woman navigating the cutthroat world of entertainment, working as an assistant for a formidable industry mogul. Her job is a gruelling and dehumanising experience, marked by incessant belittlement and the unenviable task of cleaning up her boss's mess, both literally and figuratively.
When she suspects her boss to be abusing his power, she courageously attempts to inform her superiors, only to find herself obstructed by a culture of complicity that pervades the entire industry.
Against the backdrop of the #MeToo movement, The Assistant emerges as a poignant and timely portrayal of the toxic underbelly of the entertainment industry. Through its understated narrative, the film powerfully underscores the devastating consequences of unchecked abuse and the insidious effects of silence. It serves as a sobering reminder of the urgent need for systemic change and accountability. See JustWatch for where to watch.
This short documentary offers a glimpse into the working lives of four Palestinian women as they navigate careers both in male-dominated spaces and on occupied land.
Hanan Al-Sharef, The Filmmaker, works to maintain integrity in her profession within the bounds of her religion. Majda Al-Bahr, The Cabbie, wears her headscarf in the Jewish fashion and speaks Hebrew to assuage her Israeli settler customers’ discomfort over being driven by a Muslim woman. Niveen Al-Sawi, The Cop, finds pride in being one of the few women in the police academy, able to carry out duties her male counterparts cannot. Yusra Mansur, The Mechanic, studied the man who used to fix the machines from the sidelines until she was able to take over the job herself; now she must withstand daily harassment from settlers as she transports her goods.
As prejudice and oppression persist in these four different fields, so do the women’s bravery and resilience. Available to watch on Unplugged.com
The journey from Mongolia to China is bleak and hazardous. Maikhuu, a truck driver, delivers coal from the Mongolian basins to the Chinese border. This stark, visually striking documentary shows the loneliness and isolation of life in her profession; Maikhuu yearns to be at home with her family but has chosen a job in a male-dominated industry to provide for her children.
Filmed in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, the film highlights the impossible conditions the drivers had to endure while waiting to continue their journey. Maikhuu remains steadfast as the only female driver, showing strength and resilience, living out of her cab for weeks at a time. Her husband, also a truck driver, joins her for a meal - a brief but poignant date on an arduous journey.
Maikhuu is sensitively portrayed in a beautiful film set in a remote part of the world often overlooked by Western filmmakers. Available to watch on YouTube
Author Deborah Ellis spent months interviewing women and girls in Afghan refugee camps. The stories she heard became the basis and inspiration for her bestselling novel and the animated film The Breadwinner. Parvana is an 11 year old girl growing up in Kabul, Afghanistan in 2001, after the Taliban have taken over. When her father is wrongfully arrested, Parvana cuts off her hair and dresses like a boy in order to support her family.
Stories are a theme throughout and stories are an escape, a powerful tool to light the family through dark times. The telling of stories inside the main narrative, separated by masterful stop-motion styles, builds a beautiful, imaginative world. An early scene showing the centuries-long colonisation of Kabul with the different colonisers on horseback sets the tone of a powerful, exciting film aimed at a younger audience that will appeal to everyone. See JustWatch for where to watch
The Stroll explores the untold stories of Black and Latina transgender women who navigated the challenging world of sex work during the 1980s and 1990s in New York’s Meatpacking District. Director Kristen Lovell’s own story mirrors that of many shown in the film, forced into sex work after being fired from her job due to discrimination.
Through a powerful blend of archival footage and photographs as well as interviews, the film shines a light on an important moment in trans history. In these interviews, women share their harrowing experiences, offering a raw look into their lives during these times.
This film serves as a poignant reminder of the discriminatory barriers that have historically limited the options available to trans people, forcing them into dangerous circumstances such as sex work. These injustices still occur today, and The Stroll highlights the need for continued advocacy and action for trans rights, especially in the workplace.
See JustWatch for where to watch.
We would like to thank Jessica Campbell (she/her), Mae Roberts (she/her), Sarah Curtis (she/her), and Olivia Frazer (she/her), final-year Film students at Sheffield Hallam University, for putting this programme together, and sharing their passion for women and marginalised-gender-led stories and working-class representation in film.
Happy #InternationalWorkersDay, everybody!
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Written response by Isra Al Kassi
A look at the tell-tale cinematic signs of feigning a virginity in Elaha
If American teenage films are anything to go after the “losing of” or “ridding of” or are actively sought out by men while women are more mindful of the preservation of what’s deemed as both their innocence and their value.
Milena Aboyan debut feature film Elaha’s original synopsis reads: Elaha, 22, believes she must restore her supposed innocence before she weds. A surgeon could reconstruct her hymen but she cannot afford such an operation. She asks herself: why does she have to be a virgin anyway, and for whom?
In this context virginity takes on the word ‘innocence’ - instantly negated by the ‘supposed’. As an audience we are told that virginity isn’t where the film or filmmaker places the value, but that the pressures in the community feature is something so real it affects the protagonist. We are to understand it as a value placed by someone else; if being a virgin is to be innocent then to get rid of that innocence is to be damaged, impure and devalued.
The experience of ‘the first time’ in cinema aims to set the tone for the rest of the character’s journey. Whether it be everything they dreamt of, or a horrendous experience. From the coercive like Cruel Intentions (Roger Kumble, 1999) to the pact making à la American Pie (Paul Weitz, 1999).
As I continue to trip on the words to use, left with phrases like ‘popping cherry’, and ‘losing’ or ‘taking’ we’re already engaging in a futile discussion on ownership and conquest. Where are the terms for pleasure, self-expression, love, and exploration for women? What language and words do we have for virginity or a first sexual encounter?
Constructing a virginity in cinema is a reflection of the misconceptions and ignorance of real life. Equal parts sacred, and saved for preserving and simultaneously not for the choice of giving or losing to be up to the woman herself. What does it say about the high value we claim a woman’s virginity holds if it can crumble so quickly and easily?
As a society we seem to revel in the ‘is she or isn’t she?’ - it wasn’t that long ago (1981) that Princess Diana had to prove her virginity or the marriage to the then Prince, now King Charles. Her marriage to the future king depended on her virginity. There is nothing to say that Diana was inspected, but her word and her uncle’s public announcement confirming that she was a virgin were enough to seal the deal.
Other ways of telling are if someone has been married before, if they’ve had children or if they’ve been in long-term relationships. In Sex & The City (The Ick Factor, Season 6, Episode 14, 2014) when Miranda refuses a white wedding dress and asks for ‘nothing that says virgin’ for her nuptials she says: ‘I have a child; the jig is up.’ Of course cinema is the perfect place to look at the signs; and the aesthetic ques to go along with them.
Elaha’s secret is that she is not a virgin. We as an audience only know this from her desperate quest to reconstruct her virginity before her wedding to Nasim a mere weeks away. We know nothing of with who, or when, or the new favourite way to measure a woman’s purity: how many.
We never know Elaha as a virgin, this secrecy denies Elaha and audience of viewing sex as a rite of passage. This is not a teenage movie, nor is it a slapstick comedy about people in their 40s who ‘missed the boat’ and must now play catch up. This is a film about honouring one’s culture, loving one’s family and respecting one’s custom while also attempting to figure out what she wants and if she also places the same value on her virginity as those around her.
Writer Kim Hudson developed an entire method called The Virgin’s Promise for screenwriting which aimed to subvert the hero’s journey by focusing on ‘Feminine Creative, Spiritual, and Sexual Awakening’ - the word ‘Virgin’ here relates not to a woman’s sexual experience but of domesticity as her starting point before embarking on her journey. In a way this applies to Elaha.
While there is an emphasis on the Kurdish culture which Elaha comes from and is deeply embedded in in every facet of her life. The two outlets for her non-kurdish life is her course, one where her teacher tries to get involved in her personal life as a saviour of sorts. The second outlet is a male German peer who dropped out of the course but who Elaha is drawn to, exploring a different side of her domesticity within the walls of his flat and on walks with his dog.
Writer and director Aboyan credits VirginiaCare (blood capsules to be inserted before penetration to mimic the breaking of a hymen) and hymen reconstructive surgery as inspiration behind the story and says: It is my opinion that for as long as these patriarchal structures do not change, the women affected have no other choice than to have their “virginity” reconstructed.
The concept of virginity in film is about a before and an after, and the idea that the significance of the first time is the same across the board, for all women. On the most basic level after sex there’s nothing but pain, shame and blood. The act, and preservation is then reduced to this elusive hymen; one which may tear when cycling, doing sports, using a tampon or during intercourse. This is how the physical elements of sexual intercourse run the risk of being led by fables.
Elaha engages in the same tropes which she starts to resent. Placing value on bleeding on her wedding night and going to great lengths to restore her hymen, or to at least fake its tear.
In cinema the stages of losing one’s virginity are split into the planning, the act and the aftermath.
Unfortunately in some cases, like in Elaha: the aftermath involves fear, and a painful surgery to cover her tracks and transgression.
In Real Women Have Curves ( Patricia Cardoso, 2002) after Ana (America Ferrera) loses her virginity, her mother Carmen (Lupe Ontiveros) somehow knows that her daughter is no longer a virgin. This is either due to being incredibly insightful and that there were clear signs; maybe her daughter started to emit a glow which was closely linked to a new womanhood; or the mother is just paranoid.
The question isn’t so much about whether Elaha will get away with it on her wedding night, but if it’s even possible to consider so many people, carry all of that responsibility, and stay true to herself, her wishes and sexuality.
Isra Al Kassi (she/her) has a background in events management and community spaces and cinemas. She is the co-founder of T A P E Collective and has curated for London Short Film Festival, BFI Southbank and Aesthetica Short Film Festival. Isra has more recently worked with BIFA, Inclusive Cinema, Independent Film Trust and London Film Festival, Habibi Collective and Shasha with a focus on audience development and outreach.
#ReclaimTheFrame with ELAHA in a cinema near you.
Written response by Rafa Sales Ross
Children have a slippery grip on reality and an even slipperier grip on memory. What a cruel thing, then, that childhood recollections are the invisible hands moulding the sensitive clay on the kiln of adulthood, shaping a coming of age that makes or breaks the person that will come.
Cruel, too, are the muddy waters that envelop the body of young Ryan Quinn, blocking air from pumping through his small lungs. His body is buried in a tiny coffin while mourners battle both tears and the putrid stink of accumulated garbage. It is 1975 and the bin collectors have gone on strike, causing the streets of Glasgow to turn into a sprawling labyrinth of filth and home to the hundreds of rats that name Lynne Ramsay’s 1999 feature debut Ratcatcher.
It is here, in this very particular time and space, that we meet 12-year-old James Gillespie (William Eadie), a lanky lad whose hands have pushed the meek Quinn boy into the mud. Ramsay chronicles James’s grappling with the trauma of death and the overbearing burden of guilt with a gentle eye, allowing for brief moments of youthful joy to infiltrate the gruelling reality of a working-class Glaswegian family in the 1970s as the slurry runs through the slabbed pavements.
Much like James, Ramsay was born to a working-class family in late 60s Glasgow. Her childhood would come to inspire all of her work leading to Ratcatcher. Her graduation short, Small Deaths, seesaws through three formative memories of a young girl entering adolescence in a Glasgow housing scheme. Another girl, yet arguably the same Lynne, has her bubble of infantile innocence burst when confronted with the personified truth of her father’s double life in 1998’s Gasman.
Although her following three feature films would all be literary adaptations, Ramsay has yet to step outside of the themes she first explored as a budding filmmaker fresh out of the National Film and Television School. To step into a Lynne Ramsay film is to sign yourself up for a journey through notions of memory, death and childhood within tales beautifully framed by the eye of a filmmaker curious about what lurks underneath the often shallow surface of dialogue.
Ramsay, a photographer and painter before becoming a filmmaker, has a particularly sharp eye for composition and an ingrained understanding of the narrative potential of the frame. A hand holding tightly onto a phone cord, small feet climbing up bus steps, nagging shells plucked out of scrambled eggs. Such details, coupled with the director’s grasp on the emotional pull of sound, round up characters in a sensorial, extradiegetic manner — it’s a tangible, sensuous cinema to which we can return as a memory. It is cinema as a place.
Ramsay was only the second Scottish woman to direct a feature film, with Margaret Tait breaking the glass ceiling with Blue Black Permanent in 1992. Tait’s and Ramsay’s feature debuts share many commonalities: on a broader note, both revolve around poetic notions of grief and the intimacy that can be gathered from quiet observation. Narratively, both films tell the story of someone’s childhood being inextricably connected to death.
Many have labelled Ramsay’s cinema as poetic, commenting on her lulling composition and the breathing space she allows her characters, images, and sounds. This encapsulation of her work allows for yet another parallel with Tait, a poet before a filmmaker, whose many short films were created in tandem with her writing. “Ultimately, there’s only movement. Nothing else,” wrote Tait in her poem “Light,” a passage that could also describe the work of her countrywoman. Be it the frenzied scrubbing of red ink in We Need to Talk About Kevin or a man running through corridors in the haunting grainy security camera sequence of You Were Never Really Here, Ramsay’s expertise in stillness rarely manifests itself as clearly as when she captures movement — the tense quietness that precedes a rush of adrenaline, the paralysing nature of fear, the inability to escape someone or somewhere.
Tait died the year Ratcatcher came out, a, well, poetic passing of the torch. That her fellow Scot would only be allowed to make three more feature films in the two decades since feels a tragedy, but still, somehow, a step forward, considering that Tait only secured funding for her first and only feature in her 70s while Ramsay was still in her 20s when Ratcatcher made waves at the Cannes Film Festival. The same festival would come to catapult yet another Scottish female director to the hungry eyes of international cinephiles, Edinburgh’s very own Charlotte Wells, whose exquisite Aftersun immediately drew comparisons to Ramsay’s earlier work and the director’s curiosity about how grief can affect childhood recollections.
This time, however, it feels less like a passing of the torch and more a discernible proof that stories that feel true to Scotland’s social and cultural fabric can break through the still sturdy glass ceiling Ramsay has been fighting against for so long. And rarely has a film spoken so poignantly to that truth as Ratcatcher.
Rafa Sales Ross is a Brazilian film journalist, critic and programmer currently living in Scotland. She contributes to Variety, BBC Culture, Sight & Sound among others, and can often be seen writing about Latin American Cinema and explorations of death and desire.
#ReclaimTheFrame with Park Circus' new stunning 4k restoration of RATCATCHER, in celebration of the film's 25th anniversary, HERE.
