Cheryl Dunye

Dear Cheryl Dunye,

One of the first steps of my coming out process was watching Little White Lies’ 100 Great Queer Films. I discovered with fascination queer cinema dating back from the beginning of movies, films like Mädchen in Uniform and Glen or Glenda, masterpieces with an aged aesthetic I’d only associated with more conservative fare. But even within these underground or forgotten films there wasn’t a lot, if anything, where I truly saw myself represented.

The Watermelon Woman was already one of my favorite films when I started going through this list. A queer rom-com with a video store meet cute? A quasi-mockumentary about an unknown black actress from the 30s? A film about friendship and interracial relationships, made with a bold and unique aesthetic? It didn’t surprise me that I loved your film. Who wouldn’t? But as a white trans woman who has never lived in Philadelphia and was just a baby in the 90s, I didn’t understand why your film affected me so personally.

Then I realized. I was doing exactly what your protagonist was doing, what you were doing. I was searching for a cinematic history that doesn’t exist. Your film was my mirror, not because it was my story, but because your conclusion was self-fulfillment. Even if I can’t find some lost trans classic, I can always make my own.

Your entire body of work is an affirmation of this possibility. Greetings from Africa, The Owls, Mommy is Coming, these films remind the audience of their own creation. That once, this film didn’t exist. And then you and your actors and your crew made it exist. As a queer filmmaker as consumed with the past as I am the present, I feel so grateful for this message.

Thank you for reminding me that sometimes you have to create your own history.

Love,
Drew

Jodie Foster

Jodie,

Your imprint on my world is freaky. It felt like you knew me when I was not yet knowable. Freaky Friday’s Annabel, Stealing Home’s Katie Chandler, Driver’s Iris, to Brave One’s Erica, there is just not the time. But, your acting work made my isolating world feel not so alone. Your film direction magnifies this gift. I see you as a lover of aliens—those alien to one’s body, one’s gender, one’s family, one’s world, one’s dreams. Your films do not judge, or turn us away—the queer, the alien, the different. You gently summon your audience closer, gesturing to the difficult and uncomfortable parts of humanity we share, but often resist or deny. You help us to know our aliens differently.

Home for the Holidays. My yearly tradition of loving dysfunction and the dysfunction of love. Each Larson at that dining table is a stranger, aching to be recognized by their family (knowing, deep down, they never will be—not how they need). Like The Beaver’s Porter routinely smashing his head into his bedroom drywall, eventually breaking clean through, peering beyond pink insulation at the outside world, your alienated characters scream in solitude, claustrophobic but alone.

Family.

To paraphrase Home’s Joanne, ‘If you met these people on the street and they gave you’re their number, you’d throw it away.’

But….  family.

In the final scene of The Beaver, Porter and Walter—the disaffected son and the lost mentally ill father—break down. They flee the safety of their own private universe. We see them see each other, flawed, broken, and desperate. They connect and collapse into one another in ways men rarely can or will. It is terrifying and shattering, but infused with hope and risk. It, like so many of your fragile aliens, expose something so raw and harrowingly vulnerable, almost too dangerously honest to exist in their world. You turn your camera to them, in all their queerness, and invite us to see heroism reimagined.

Dusty

Nora Ephron

Dear Nora Ephron,

When I was 27 I attended a discussion of your book, “I Remember Nothing,” a reflection on life in your 60s. I was the blonde in the sea of blue hair facing the stage. Afterwards I introduced myself but could only mutter, “I love your films.” Shortly after, you passed away and worse, didn’t warn any of us. To add insult to injury, Lena Dunham wrote a New Yorker piece that said you once took her to lunch and passed on a potpourri of personal wisdom. How could you? When I’m the one who truly loves you! I framed your photo on my desk! So this letter is our lunch. We’re at Cafe Lalo, famous from your film, You’ve Got Mail. I just embarrassed you by insisting the chef have a salad with your name.

The first shot of Julie and Julia. A crane lowers a 1950s station wagon onto the docks of Paris. That’s when I knew I had to be a director as lovely as you. You shoot through windows, doors and behind bins of potatoes, as if we’re peering in, a fly on the wall, a 27-year-old girl stalking you at your book discussion. Your establishing shots are awe-inspiring, your scene-styling as decadent as the food on characters’ plates. And every moment is paired with the perfect, timeless song. You open a bookstore with “Splish Slash (I’m Taking a Bath)” and it works. Nothing’s ever worked better.

But more, I adore you for teaching me resilience. When I’m hopeless and stuck, staring out a window from my computer like your characters often do, I hear you say: “Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim.” And I keep going. So I guess, I just want to say thank you. Thank you for showing me who I could be — and in your own magical way, helping me get there too.

Everything is copy,
Karolyn McKenzie

Maïwenn

Dear Maïwenn,

What can I say, other than Wow (Sensationnel)? I guess I could say Thanks (Merci), or Brilliant (Brillant) or Amazing (Incroyable) or any number of adjectives, but there’s not a single word (in English or French) that fully describes the naturalistic, emotional, gripping and real magic you bring to the screen. In Polisse, which rightly received critical applause at Cannes and beyond, the story of the people (so different in their approach and temperaments, so intriguing to see outside of work, so conflicted, so passionate) who work in the Children’s Crime Unit is compelling enough, but the way you filmed it, the nuances, the suspense, the heartbreak, the hope, the humanity of it all. Again, Wow. And you didn’t just write and direct it, you also played the shy photographer who starts as an outsider and hesitantly joins the group. The pure joy of the dancing scene, where these hardworking cops try to shed their worries on a rare night off, is unforgettable. And in My King, you portrayed the trajectory of a relationship that’s as spellbinding in how it self-destructs as in how it sparks and gains momentum. Emmanuelle Bercot’s acting is mesmerizing, slightly untethered, cautious yet trusting, cynical yet optimistic: in other words, real. For Polisse and My King, you are My Queen. 

Lauren

Jane Campion

Dear Jane Campion,

The first time I saw one of your movies I didn’t know I was a girl.

I was fifteen and had spent my adolescence watching the Canon of Great Macho Movies, or as the patriarchy calls it, "the Canon." And then I saw Bright Star. And then I saw Sweetie. And then I watched everything you’d ever made in less than two weeks. It’s hard to describe how meaningful it was to finally feel like I saw myself on screen, especially since at the time I was presenting as a boy and didn’t have the language to believe anything contrary. I just accepted that for some reason I was a male teenager who felt a deep kinship to your many heroines. They thought how I thought. They cared about what I cared about. They acted, not how I acted, but how I wished I could act. They were stubborn yet vulnerable, wildly intelligent yet prone to bad decisions. But you always respected them. You always let them lead and never judged. I wanted to be like these women, these real, complicated, fascinating women.

And now I am one.

But I’m still discovering things about myself and I’m still discovering things about your films. You ask questions but don’t feel the need for definitive answers. Your films are explorations, not statements. Holy Smoke! and In the Cut are both so weird and dense and entertaining and I love them so much. I love all of your films, the perfect perfect ones (shout out to The Piano the best film of all time) and the messy perfect ones. I’m grateful for what they meant to me as a teenage “boy” and what they mean to me as an adult woman. Thank you for showing me what it means to be unapologetically female.

With love,
Drew

Penelope Spheeris

Dear Penelope Spheeris,

It’s a summer morning in 1992 and I’m sitting in my babysitter’s car in a Blockbuster Video parking lot, waiting for it to open. Months before, I had watched Wayne’s World in the theater and I had not stopped thinking about it. It was the funniest, coolest most insane movie I had ever seen. So, when the clerk unlocked the door, I sprinted in and grabbed a VHS. The mob I assumed would be gathered to get a copy before they were all rented did not arrive.

It wasn’t until years later that I realized that you, a woman (duh), directed it. And it wasn’t until years after that, having worked as a television writer, that I had an inkling of how much skill it takes to walk into a film that’s based on beloved, pre-existing characters, written by one of the stars and turn it into a movie that grosses $183 million worldwide. Yes, a lot of that success is based on the writing, but let’s keep in mind that you weren’t asked back to do Wayne’s World 2 *cough Mike Meyers cough* and it did not do nearly as well. So.

Recently I watched your documentary, The Decline of Western Civilization about punk rock bands in LA in 1979/1980. One of the bands you followed was called Fear, whose lead singer played Mr. Boddy in Clue. So, obviously, you’re the coolest person on the planet. I don’t remember Black Sheep and I never saw Little Rascals (my husband says they are “amazing” and “fun,” respectively) but I do know that it is punk as hell be one of a handful of women who directed big budget comedies in the 90’s. And the fact that you didn’t get your Wayne’s World break until you were 45 makes me want to get up, put on some pants and kick some ass.

Thank you,
Sarah

Miranda July

Dear Miranda July,

As identical twins, we have always felt different. Not just you regular angst, but weird. Really weird. As children, to cope, or just because it’s who we are, we each created incredibly elaborate inner lives that we frequently relied on to help us escape. We fed on an inordinate amount of television, saw every available film, and read constantly. We each had rich fantasy worlds of stories and pictures, sometimes crossing over into each others, but often something we felt alone with.

In the spring of 2005, we were 18. Both trying on adulthood, and finding it wasn’t a comfortable fit. When together, we were a tight pair, and we saw your movie, together, in the theater. Sitting quietly in the dark, we truly did not know what to expect, having not seen a trailer or read much about it. We entered blind and came out bright and amazed. In Me and You and Everyone We Know, we didn’t find escape, we felt understanding. We knew this was a special movie, a rare experience that reconnected us by reminding us of our inner selves, forcing us to appreciate our weirdness and humanity. Since then, we have taken a keen interest in everything you have produced. From your fantastic Rihanna interview to The First Bad Man (Andrea loved it so much she read it in one sitting) - we devour your work and feast on its intensity and humor. We love your characters and the freedom you give them to be weird, and not just privately, but with each other. We are comforted by your enduring presence and validated by your voice. This is a short letter and, we hope, a sweet one. Thank you for everything you’ve done and the sensitivity in which you do it. Consider us lifelong fans, patiently waiting to see what you will do next.

Love,
Andrea & Caroline Donadio

Amy Heckerling

Dear Amy Heckerling

As you probably already know, you’re the seventh highest-grossing female filmmaker of all time. You made your directing debut with one of the most iconic teen movies ever made— Fast Times at Ridgemont High. And you were only 27 (27!) when you made it. But that’s not why I’m calling…

I’m actually writing to you because of my deep, DEEP love for Clueless, the 1995 comedy which you both wrote and directed. And which I have seen roughly 30 times. (Honestly, this estimate is wildly conservative, but I’m trying to play it cool.)

I remember the first time I saw Clueless. I was not-a-girl-not-yet-a-woman years old and my best friend was coming for a sleepover. So my mom and I were at Blockbuster because I can’t remember if the internet existed yet, but I needed a movie to watch. And that’s where I discovered the VHS display box for Clueless. Best Friend and I watched it that night and again the next morning and would it be too much to say this was one of the best decisions of my life?

Sure, Clueless is young and cool and seemingly superficial. But it’s also smart and funny and a rare coming-of-age story where the protagonist actually learns something. You never treated Cher Horowitz like a stupid teenager and because of that, she wasn’t one. She learns to be more accepting of others and realizes how boring life would be if different people weren’t bringing different life experiences to the table. (Should we, uh, make everyone in America watch Clueless maybe? Just an idea…)

And look, do I still sometimes fall asleep at night thinking about that one shot where Cher realizes she loves her ex-step-brother, Josh, and the fountains swell behind her just as the chorus to “All by Myself” kicks in? Yes. The answer to that is obviously yes.

And so, in conclusion, will my love for Clueless ever fade? As if.

Kristen

Gurinder Chadha

You did it, Gurinder Chadha, you made me love a sports movie.

Of course, I loved you long before I saw Bend It Like Beckham, I loved you the minute I turned on the TV in my teenage bedroom and a bunch of loud, complex Indian women were half way to Blackpool in Bhaji on the Beach. They were like the Punjabi girls in my home town who were my friends, but whose lives, pulled between generations and cultures, I could never fully see. You gave me a window into a world that wasn’t mine. I fell in love, but I didn’t know who you were.

Ten years later, you pulled me into a Punjabi family, and I fell in love again. Bend It Like Beckham was about so many things, soccer, of course, and young love, love of people and of ideas and of dreams. It was about cute shoes, trying to be someone you can’t, and about the knife’s edge an adolescent Punjabi-British girl must walk to become a woman she and her parents can respect. It was things I’d seen in life but never seen in art.

And it SINGS. It made me understand that a sports movie, like a musical, is about emotions too big for the regular world. From the soccer field to a living room full of aunties, it pulses with energy. And BODIES! You make us fall in love with young women’s bodies as things that are powerful and dynamic. Bend It Like Beckham understands that in some women’s lives, a foul kick can be more important than a wedding, and that round chapatis can be as daunting a challenge as the World Cup.

You fill your movies with color, movement, songs, and love. Thank you, Gurinder Chadha, for sharing your artistry, and your mother’s Aloo Gobi recipe. They are both delicious.

Guy

(P.S. Bride and Prejudice was good, too)

Agnès Varda

Ma Chérie Agnès Varda,

I ached for your presence, unknowingly, through tedious film history courses deliberately focused on men. I knew that something, someone, remained absent. When finally I discovered you for the first time I saw myself speaking back to me from the screen. I felt whole, connected to the womb of my own inheritance as a filmmaker.

Seeing through your photographic eye the subtle, truthful moments between people convinced me that film acting must never just play pretend. You bring a documentarian’s observant curiosity to every narrative moment, as in your first feature Le Pointe Courte. Laced with feminist activism, your films address the very nature of the woman’s experience - showcased by the feminine role in Le Bonheur and in defiance of it in Vagabond.

Life calls to me through your lens. I drink in every frame, be it the tree reborn out your window in Agnes Varda: From Here to There or the uprising of the beautiful Black Panthers (aka Huey). You love life’s magic and mysteries. In Cleo from 5 to 7 when Corinne Marchand scoops up the little black kitten in her all-white apartment. Or in Le petit amour (aka Kung Fu Master!) as Jane Birkin stares blankly into the ocean of her own existence. Oh, and the mirrors! Such relief! A momentary reflection on inner life captured so simply that we can see into the conversations we have with ourselves. You even turn the mirror inward, revealing, questioning, inspecting the woman behind the camera and the very nature of cinema itself in The Beaches of Agnes. You push boundaries you would never admit exist, pressing your camera right to the heart of your own humanity. I strive to live! To create living art as present and vibrant as your own. No matter what they teach, who they credit, you’ll forever remain the matriarch of my cinematic history, the true grandmother of La Nouvelle Vague.

Sincèrement Votre,

Samantha

Rory Kennedy

Dear Rory Kennedy,

I’ve been a fan of yours since before you were born, and that is NOT creepy. I watched with millions of other Americans as your pregnant (with you!) mother, Ethel Kennedy, walked behind the coffin of your father, Robert Kennedy. As a kid from another crazy big Irish Catholic family, I identified with you and probably even prayed for you, that being my default response to crisis in those days.

Picture my excitement, then, all those years later, when I saw that HBO was showing “Ethel,” a documentary about your mother produced and directed by you! Always fascinated by the Kennedy mystique, with its glamour, ambition, privilege and tragedy, I couldn’t wait to get the inside scoop.  

And you delivered! You revealed your mother to be a gutsy woman, a devoted and fun-loving wife and mother who was always up for mischief. But there was something else, too. When your mother talked about you coming into the world just months after your father was assassinated, it was like the sun came out from behind the clouds. She lit up with the biggest smile. In that moment, you showed her as Everymom, and as a mother myself, I once again identified with a Kennedy.

“Ethel” was my gateway drug to your other documentaries. And it turns out there are A LOT of them. In 30 documentaries, you gave a voice to victims of human rights abuses, domestic violence, drug addiction, and poverty. Like Iraqi prisoners abused by American GIs in “Ghosts of Abu Ghraib.” Girls in a detention facility for Maryland’s most violent offenders in “Girlhood.” And “Street Fight,” about Cory Booker’s scrappy campaign for mayor of Newark.

You showed yourself as not just an incredibly prolific, award-winning filmmaker, but as an activist for social justice and human rights. I would say a prayer of thanks, but I stopped doing that in 1972. So instead I’ll just say, thank you Rory Kennedy!

-Carol

Ida Lupino

Dear Ida Lupino,

This is not a completist letter because I have not seen all your work*, but you directed my favorite movie ever and the last time I saw it, I started weeping during the title sequence and, also, it’s a comedy. So here we are, Ida.

My favorite movie is The Trouble With Angels, in which Hayley Mills plays a mischievous Catholic schoolgirl and Rosalind Russell plays an imperious nun. Yeah, that’s my favorite movie. A fifty-year-old nun-based comedy. And it’s absolutely gutting.

In addition to having a sexy Gypsy Rose Lee interlude and one of the most honest, brutal discussions of aging ever, this move is also a two-hour passing of the Bechdel test. There are virtually no men, no conversations with men, no conversations even about men, unless you include Jesus. And He’s not really spoken of that much. The nuns are strong, sweet, inventive, brave, brilliant, petty, and complicated. You get hilarious performances out of the cast, the comedy is brisk and lively, but you also tell the story of love and devotion to something bigger than yourself. It doesn’t have to be God. But it could be.

The last time I saw this (at Cinefamily, through the aforementioned tears), I noticed for the first time, that the convent where the story takes place is named St. Francis. And, rhythmically, as a director, you put the audience in a St. Francis state of mind. There are all of these shots of trees and birds and no actors. Shots of snow falling and leaves changing and flowers starting to grow. Shots of women leaving out birdseed in the winter. The first time I saw the movie, I thought it was simply a way to show the passing of the seasons. But it’s more. It’s: Hey. Look. It’s nature. Nature exists. Slow down. Pay attention to it. It doesn’t have to be God. But it could be.

Xoxo,
Dorothy

*since I decided to write you this letter, I have learned from Wikipedia that your first movie Not Wanted is
A)  about an unplanned pregnancy, which was a pretty racy subject to tackle in 1949 (!)
B)  you directed it because the original director suffered a heart attack (!) and you stepped in all chill and just picked up directing
C)  because of its social themes, Eleanor Roosevelt (!) invited you to talk on her radio show about how women and children need less judgment and more love. Thanks for that, too.

Lisa Cholodenko

Dear Lisa Cholodenko,

As is the case with most things in my life, I was a little bit slow in discovering my love and admiration for you. But please don’t let my delay distract from the intensity with which I eventually fell for you and your gift at bringing to life the deepest, most secretive desires that, until the night I watched High Art in a college library cloister, laid barren and dusty within me. Ally Sheedy was fiiiiine and whatever in that dumb movie about kids in detention. Her dandruff made me laugh, I guess. But, it wasn’t until you worked with her that I saw the depths and truth of Ally Sheedy. She should sue the other directors who she worked with before you. And that wasn’t just a fluke. I’m in awe of your skill for summoning and crafting the most unique and intense and funny performances from actors who I never really thought of in quite that way before. I’ll admit, initially I guffawed at the idea of Julianne Moore and Annette Benning as a couple. I winced a tad at the idea of a lesbian love affair with Mark Ruffalo…but, it worked. It worked in a way that no one else could have made it work. You tapped into something in our culture and achieved the impossible – a believable, funny, thoughtful conversation between Julianne Moore and Annette Benning about why lesbians like gay man porn. That conversation in The Kids Are All Right is possibly the first time I ever “felt seen.” But, at the same time, it’s a movie my parents loved. That’s an unbelievable talent that I admire much more than someone who can only make the beautiful, boundary pushing indie that pretty much no one sees. You have that rare ability to say something, to create these special characters that I, and the world, is desperate to see, but you do it in a way that envelopes the viewer into the experience, makes them feel a part of something, instead of making them feel like they’re on the outside, peering into something they’re afraid of…for that, I say, thank you.

Amy York Rubin

Kelly Reichardt

Dear Kelly Reichardt,

Can we talk about how you're the best director working in American independent film right now? Because if for some reason that was still up for debate, once Certain Women came out last year, that should've been the final word on the matter. One of that film's stars -- and your frequent collaborator -- Michelle Williams called your work "38 things buried under the semblance of nothing", and who am I to argue with Michelle Williams? Whether it's coming from the eco-terrorists in Night Moves or the band of settlers in your feminist western Meek's Cutoff, nobody does silence better than you. Your movies are all gestures and subtlety. They're small movies about universal subjects -- friendship, class, love, poverty, isolation, loneliness, and a subject I find the most universal of all: being a female ranch hand pining for Kristen Stewart. And between the corgi in Certain Women and your own beloved Lucy in both Old Joy and Wendy and Lucy, you are one of the all time greatest directors of dogs. Also, is there a way to comment on your appearance without coming off as sexist? Because if there is, I’d like to mention that your sweater game is basically unparalleled. So like I said: the best.

Laura

Penny Marshall

Oh, Penny Marshall, how do I love thee?

I love thee for making Big, an endearing, inspiring movie for every woman who has ever tried to form an adult relationship with a man who is literally a child. And for the racquetball scene, a brilliant portrayal of white male fragility.

But I mostly and forever love thee for A League of Their Own, a movie that gave me all the feels the first time I saw it-- a baby gay 15 years from coming out, in my softball jersey, at the movie theater, opening weekend. I felt like Marla when she first walks into Harvey Field. I love the cast you brought together and the performances you brought out of them. I love Helen Haley innocently asking, "Has anyone seen my new red hat?” I love Doris, a pre-out Rosie O’Donnell, pretending to love male attention. I love Madonna teaching Alice to read with sexually explicit romance novels and Dottie’s smolder as she strides to the plate for the last at-bat in the World Series. And I really love the cameos from the real-life athletes finally celebrating their place in the history books, decades overdue. And I really, really love that this movie made you the first female director ever to gross over $100 million at the box office twice.

A League of Their Own showed me an unfair world where women had to trade kisses for fouls and be beautiful and “act properly” to even be given a chance, a world where black women weren't even allowed in the stadium, much less the dugouts. But also an inspiring and achievable world where women, together, can create something empowering and all their own.  

So thank you, Penny. I hope you know how special it was, how much it all meant.

Love, Jessie

PS: Just between us, did Dottie drop the ball on purpose? Never mind, I know she did ... right?!

Sarah Polley

Dearest Sarah Polley,

I don’t remember being floored by a movie like I was by your film Away From Her. Your exploration of lifelong, unconditional love and devotion moved me in a way that I still reference when thinking about love/regret/ forgiving/forgetting (c'mon do we ever really forget?) and what grief and loss can look like and how uncomfortable it can be to sit in the mess of things not being black and white. So you can imagine how I thought we could only go downhill from there, but then you go and make Take This Waltz, a movie about the complexities of marriage, and Stories We Tell, a doc about your own family secrets that you shared with world, and I thought you were trying to kill me. And you did. So now I'm a fucking ghost writing this. Thanks.

I love your curiosity about human behavior-- what motivates us to make the choices we make, what makes long term relationships work, and how we change within them. You capture so well the stillness, the quiet, the time in between… and you let your actors have the space and freedom to explore this. That snowshoeing scene in Away From Her when Fiona falls (surrenders) into the snow, and the freedom she feels in that, is an image I will never forget. You touch on something similar in Take This Waltz, how sometimes getting derailed or lost actually gets us where we are going in a more beautiful way than we could’ve ever imagined. Wait, I want to come back to the word devotion. Your country. Your political activism and your devotion to Canadian authors, actors, locations, musicians, etc, is truly inspiring. And so I am devoted to you until the end of time and waiting with bated breath to see what swoon-worthy thing you do next.

Maggie

Nancy Meyers

Dear Nancy Meyers,

As you read this, please imagine us in one of your kitchens, each holding a warm mug of something, ready to bare the souls that lay beneath our cozy September sweaters. Because that’s how you make me feel. At home. No matter where I am.

I adored your words before I knew they were yours, before I knew that words would put food on my own table one day. Your words always ushered in a sigh of relief, much like the words that would come to define you in my mind: cozy, comfy, home

So of course I’m obsessed with THE HOLIDAY, your film about two women who swap homes – ultimately just trying to feel at home within themselves. That’s all I’ve ever tried to do. When I moved to LA, everything felt foreign. I was so far from every home I’d ever known. Would this town ever feel familiar?

Cue The Santa Anas.

Who knew gale force winds could make me so happy? Turns out, your love letter to Hollywood – old and new – was the meet cute that LA and I needed.

Today, I’m proud to say that my Jasper is long gone. And that my favorite lipstick is MAC’s version of “Berry Kiss.” I chose my apartment because it felt like Iris’ cottage – the space and the fact that I could see myself sleeping with Jude Law there. But mostly the space.

The pieces of myself that I see in Iris are no longer the sad ones. There’s a comfort that comes from that, a new cozy layer to add to the pile of handmade blankets you’ve already covered me with over the years.

Thank you for showing me how to be at home. How to nurture my own space. And to only share it with those who are worthy. Both my cozy Jude Law love nest… and the home within.

With Love and Gumption,
Toby

Nanfu Wang

Dear Nanfu Wang,

When I first saw your documentary Hooligan Sparrow, about Chinese activist Ye Haiyan's fight for six little girls who were sexually abused by their principal, I was terrified for you. At the beginning of the film you seemed as nervous as anyone would be about going up against a famously oppressive government. Then, as the filming goes on and the government targets and threatens you, you become increasingly fearless. You start ignoring the odds stacked against you. When cameras are impossible to use, you shoot with secret recording devices. You smuggle footage out of the country so that this story can be told.  It's an amazing transformation to watch and one that makes me hopeful that such transformation, from concerned person to bold activist, lies within all of us - even within me.

Also, the film is so masterfully filmed and edited, it's as exciting as any big screen thriller. And if anyone doesn’t believe me, Hooligan Sparrow’s Peabody Award, George Polk award, IDA award, and place on the Oscar documentary shortlist should be convincing.   

As determined as you were to make the film, I’m most inspired by your determination to make a lasting impact. And undoubtedly you did since earlier this year Ye Haiyan's daughter received a full scholarship to a high school in the US. She is here now, free of the constant threat her family faces in China and thanks, in part, to you. It's the kind of impact I aspire to help create and an incredible testament to the power of your filmmaking. You not only garnered support for Ye Haiyan’s family, you emboldened other political activists and human rights lawyers in China. 

There's a ton of injustice in the world - more than it feels like we can fix. But I have hope because there are filmmakers like you who aren't going to sit by and let this shit fly. 

Wendy

Claudia Weill

Dear Claudia Weill,

Now that we've been at this letter writing thing for a little while, one of the joys of this whole venture has been getting even a few people to watch some movies they hadn't come across before. With that in mind, if there's one thing we write about here that I hope people seek out above all others, it's your film Girlfriends. As far as I'm concerned, any conversation about the history of independent film in America that doesn't include Girlfriends is irrelevant (see also: conversations about New York movies, movies about best friends, movies where Christopher Guest is hot). You've said the movie was inspired by a line in the book Advancing Paul Newman -- "This is a story of two girls, each of whom suspected the other of a more passionate connection with life" -- which might be my favorite logline ever. It's about the feeling of losing your best friend to the ultimate friendship killer: growing up. Basically, if someone is reading this who loves any movie or TV show about female friendship from the past thirty years, I promise Girlfriends did the thing they love first. This would include Girls, which -- because Lena Dunham was such a fan of yours -- you directed an episode of. It might also include My So-Called Life, which, yep, you directed as well. It probably wouldn't include the six episodes of Once and Again you directed, but I feel pretty strongly that Once and Again is consistently underrated, so if I can use this opportunity to bring it up, I'm certainly going to take it. Now that I think about it, if there's one thing we can get people to watch here, maybe it should be Once and Again. But right after that, everyone definitely check out Girlfriends.

Laura

Lana Wachowski

Dear Lana Wachowski,

I was already crushing hard when Neo realized “there is no spoon” (The Matrix) but I knew my love for you was forever when Amanita flung her postcoital, glistening strap-on to the floor of her San Francisco loft (Sense 8). In that moment, as Amanita and Nomi moved on to after-thrust cuddles, my childhood quest was finally over. I mean, I’m no strap-on flinging lesbian but ever since I was a wee gaybe, I have longed to identify with someone like me on TV. Unfortunately the television gays of my formative years (side eye to you, Stanford Blatch) weren’t designed to express the full range of their sexuality or emotions and had little in common with the everyday gay man I was becoming. They were stereotypes wrapped in glitter, faggotry, and dialogue which felt more like what the real gay men writing them thought straight people wanted from their TV homos.

With Sense8, you brought together a family of fans whose mind holes were yearning for a sopping wet dildo of bold awkwardness and relatable failure on a whole new Kinsey scale of longing. And while likely few of your “fanily” are Chicago cops, billionaire Korean warriors, Icelandic DJs, Kenyan bus drivers, Indian chemical engineers, closeted Mexican superstars, German mafia heirs, beautiful trans hackers, or the fucking amazing DARYL HANNAH, you make us feel like we could be any of the above. Because even when Lito and Hernando are literally wrapped in glitter (and rainbows and not much else -- S2 E6), the relatability of what they fear and how they love saves them from stereotype and elevates them to human. My wish for you, Lana, is that your voice and vision are supported creatively, financially and never limited by anything but your imagination for the whole of your lifetime. And when my grandchildren ask how they got to live in a world where inclusion and love are the norm, I’ll teach them about bold visionary women like you.

Charley

Dorothy Arzner

Dear Dorothy Arzner,

If we lived in a fair and just world, your name would be more than just the answer to "who invented the boom mic?" at bar trivia. You would be mentioned alongside DeMille and Fleming and Lubitsch and any of the other -- ahem -- men who, like you, successfully made the transition from silent film to talkies. You'd be lauded for directing one of the best (and bawdiest) Pre-Code movies with The Wild Party. You'd get more credit for launching the career of Lucille Ball in Dance, Girl, Dance and creating the proto-Katharine Hepburn role in Christopher Strong. You'd certainly be recognized more for being the first woman to join the DGA. Oh, and for having directed more movies within the studio system than any woman ever.  

And at the very least, you'd be given some sort of respectful high five for fucking Joan Crawford.

Laura

Susan Seidelman

Dear Susan Seidelman,

At some point in my youth, She-Devil played on a loop on Lifetime. It was one of my first exposures to dark comedy, the trickiest-but-most-satisfying-when-done-right genre. I loved the tufted pink satin world of Meryl Streep’s romance novelist as much I related to Roseanne Barr’s dark and dorky housewife. Later I saw Desperately Seeking Susan, a movie so dangerously cool I watched in on low volume while my parents slept. It’s a movie that defines the 80s, not just because it’s chock full of amnesia, rare Egyptian artifacts, and Madonna, but because it epitomizes what the decade (and Madonna) was all about: the thrill and pangs of reinvention.

And if anyone feels like Desperately Seeking Susan was too glossy a version of 1980s New York, they can just trot on over to your first film Smithereens, which captures the city in all its trash-filled-vacant-lots glory. It’s so good that it was the first American film ever to compete at Cannes but more importantly it features one of my top ten favorite comedy dialogue scenes ever. You know the one I’m talking about, right? It involves a man, a van, a hooker, and the tuna sandwich her mother made her. It’s the stuff of Apatow wet dreams, a comedy scene so grounded it gets funnier with every line.

And in case you ever doubt your place as the iconic New York director, Susan, I’ll remind you that you directed the pilot and two more episodes of Sex and the City’s first season. Here at iheartfemaledirectors.com Laura and I hold the humble and controversial opinion that season one of Sex and the City is its absolute best and frankly more interesting than what the show later became. But what do we know, we’re both Mirandas!

Annabel

Dee Rees

Dear Dee Rees,

Of all the movies coming out this year, there isn't one I'm more excited about than Mudbound. And this is a year with no shortage of great movies. But none of the directors of these other films made Pariah, a movie I love so much you've earned an evergreen "take all my money" from me for every subsequent movie you make. When I first saw Pariah as a short film, I was floored. And when you turned it into a feature, I was... what's a word that means floored but times ten? If there's one thing I'm confident in, it's that I've watched every movie ever made about teenage lesbians, and Pariah is quite possibly the best of all of them. It's so spot on about both the highs and the lows of coming out that I'm pretty sure you somehow gained access to the diary of every baby gay who's ever baby gayed as you were writing it. And you directed your lead actress Adepero Oyude to a performance so good that Meryl Streep shouted her out at the Oscars just cause. Yeah, that Meryl Streep.

Then with Bessie, your HBO biopic about Bessie Smith, you showed that a movie that should've been made years ago was worth the wait. And you won a DGA award in the process. If all this wasn't enough to make me a lifetime fan of yours, your next movie post-Mudbound is a horror movie about the domestic lives of black lesbians in rural America. So again, take my money. All of it.

Laura

Jennifer Kent

Dear Jennifer Kent,

Jennifer, my Australian wildflower, you may be the first director to have given grown men the true postpartum experience when they peed themselves watching The Babadook. Your first(!) film is a marvel of production design, performance, and flawless horror cinematography, sure, but it comes with the added layer of some real dark women-only shit that’s been living in the shadows for too long. Nothing is more true to both grief and postpartum feelings (both of which I’ve experienced hard and simultaneously) than that they are monsters who take your sleep, dull your judgment, and make you ignore your beloved dog. Honestly, I wasn’t really okay with what happened to the dog but I forgive you. But only because of how boldly you broke one of cinema’s most longstanding rules, the old chestnut decreeing that mothers-on-film may never express a full range of emotions towards their children…unless they are the villain. You gave us a heroine who is sometimes embarrassed by, tired of, and furious with her kid but who will also summon all the forces of love and hell to protect him. It’s radical in its realness and so scary that the director of The Exorcist, William Friedkin, called it the most terrifying film he’s ever seen. Jennifer, I like my directors with a little darkness and a lot of feelings and so I like you very much. I mean I would never let you near my dog but maybe we go out for drinks sometime instead. Let me know.

Annabel

Alice Guy-Blaché

Dear Alice Guy-Blaché,

Let me begin, as women do, with an apology. Until recently, I didn’t know your name. I didn’t know you were the first female director ever. I didn’t know you invented the close up, shooting on location, and saying “be natural” to actors. I didn’t know you were the first working mom director or one of the first women to run her own studio. I didn’t know that for a brief time on this earth, when you and Georges Méliès were the only two people making narrative films (historians argue over who finished first), that the gender split among directors was - for the first and last time in history - 50/50. In 1896.

But now I know. I know Léon Gaumont, your former boss, literally edited you out of the history books when he published the history of the first film studio, even after promising he’d pencil you in. I know you died believing your legacy had been lost.

I also know you made, among your 750+ films, one of the first great gender bending comedies. In Les Résultats du féminisme (The Consequences of Feminism) men ironed, sewed, and fended off rapey advances while women drank in bars and got in fist fights. While dumdums in the Youtube comments section are still mistaking the message of the film as feminism-will-make-men-gay (if only!) the rest of us get it. Under the cover of laughter and over the heads of idiots, you were able to literally put men in women’s shoes and comment on how limiting and perilous it was to be a woman in an inequitable world. In 1906.

Alice, do you want to know the real consequences of feminism? 120 years after you made your first film, thousands of men and women are fighting right now to make sure more female directors make it into the history books. But don’t worry, we’ll put you first.  

Annabel

Maren Ade

Dear Maren Ade,

MAR-in AH-day. MAR-in AH-day. I recently looked up how to pronounce your name correctly because I plan on saying it a lot for the rest of my life. Maren Ade, I love you. Your Oscar-nominated film Toni Erdmann may be remembered for naked brunch and the best rendition of “The Greatest Love of All” since Whitney, but I’ll remember it for doing what your films do best: making melancholy funny. Your films are about people trying to connect and failing (The Forest for the Trees), or trying and wondering if they should quit (Everyone Else), or trying and somehow, against all generational gaps, succeeding (Toni Erdmann). And they’re all infused with just the right amount of magic – not dopey CGI movie magic, but moments so surprising and beautiful they can only be defined by the beat my heart skipped when they happened: a hug in Toni Erdmann, a sudden leap in Everyone Else, and the goosebumps-worthy last scene of The Forest for the Trees that I swear to God, Maren, I have dreamed a hundred times. And then there’s jizz on petits fours which is maybe less magical, but unforgettable all the same. Maren, My love for you burns so hot that I literally co-founded a website so more people would know about your work. And so I swear this oath to you-- if every film nerd who has ever swooned over a single minute of Cassavetes doesn’t go see or pre-order Toni Erdmann right this minute, I’ll kill myself for the publicity and it’ll be worth it just so more people learn your name. Maren Ade (MAR-in AH-day), thank you for making movies.   

Annabel

Chantal Akerman

Dearest Chantal Akerman,

The Village Voice said you were “arguably the most important European filmmaker” of your generation because the Village Voice never read that Stephen King book about how adverbs make you a pussy. So let’s take out the “arguably” and speak in declarative sentences: Jeanne Dielman, 23, Quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles is a motherfucking masterpiece. What you show onscreen is the stuff every other movie leaves out. The coffee making. The potato peeling. The soup eating. The blouse buttoning after paid sex with gentlemen callers. You know, boring mom stuff. But if anyone knows how to make boring work, Chantal, it’s you. Because when Jeanne’s routine starts to falter in microscopic increments, it’s one of the best tension building sequences in cinematic history. Bonus props for the calmest murder-by-a-domestic-object since that Alfred Hitchcock Presents lady killed her husband with a leg of lamb then fed it to the cops. Also-- it’s insanely inspiring that you made this movie when you were only 24 years old. And your origin story as a film school dropout who funded her first film Saute Ma Ville by trading diamond shares on the Antwerp stock exchange is the most badass of all time. Blessed were the years before Kickstarter, eh, Chantal?  

And look, I’d end this letter here but it seems important to tell you (I assume you receive love letters in the afterlife) that a casual dropped reference to Jeanne Dielman on the second day of a new job instantly united two co-workers like hanky code but for feminist film nerd friendships. Within a month they turned their office into a ball pit and within a year they founded this site together. So thank you, Chantal, for being the queen of both the long take and of our hearts.

Annabel

Reed Morano

Dear Reed Morano,

During a meeting last week I visualized flipping over a desk, smashing a Perrier bottle on the window sill, and holding its glinting, jagged points millimeters from the throat of man who said he “didn’t love” Margaret Atwood and had “less than no interest in watching The Handmaid’s Tale.” Reed, I tell you this not just to illustrate how a verdant imagination can help one survive Hollywood meetings, but also to say how much I’m enjoying The Handmaid’s Tale.

I had heard the show would be “pretty” and that a director-née-cinematographer would be doing the first three episodes and I thought, “okay fine just mainline Margaret Atwood into my veins I don’t care how it looks.” But then I watched and WOW. It’s beautiful, but not always. It’s funny, which I didn’t expect. And it’s brilliant at conveying the whole point of The Handmaid’s Tale – that oppression isn’t just our past and maybe future, it’s very much our present. Props to the writers OF COURSE but you created a world that’s the perfect mix of naturalism and formalism— beautiful airy memories contrasted with lenses so wide and oppressive Elisabeth Moss must have hit her head on them four times a day.

When I looked you up I realized I already knew you from the “You Are Not Safe” episode of Halt and Catch Fire which is very, very good. Aside from writing gushy letters to female directors, my other life’s work is to get people to skip season 1 and dive into seasons 2 and 3 of Halt and Catch Fire with their whole hearts. I haven’t yet seen your feature Meadowland because I can’t handle bad-things-happening-to-kids movies anymore but co-founder Laura says it’s excellent and she’s the one who told me about Halt and Catch Fire. Reed, have you ever fallen so hard for someone you can’t wait to see what they’ll be like in 5, 10, or 20 years? Because that’s how I feel about you.

Annabel

Gillian Armstrong

Dear Gillian Armstrong,

I'm not a huge fan of committing to favorites for fear of changing my mind in the future, but since I've had 23 years with it at this point, I feel confident in calling your adaptation of Little Women my absolute favorite movie. I've watched it no fewer than twenty times and have no doubt that I'll watch it at least twenty more. It's perfectly cast -- you somehow caught many of my favorite actresses at my favorite point in their careers, all at the same time. It's also one of the best representations of both family and what it means to be a woman (and a daughter and a sister and a mother...) I can think of. It's basically a perfect period film -- feeling old fashioned in all the right ways and modern in all the most feminist-y ways -- and as someone who grew up with a major Louisa May Alcott obsession, I have no qualms about mentioning it in the same breath with The Wizard of Oz and To Kill A Mockingbird as one of the few film adaptations that's actually as good as the source material. And look, Little Women alone would be enough to make me want to write you this letter, but you've also done some pretty incredible work outside of it. My Brilliant Career features one of my favorite Judy Davis performances, which -- considering the fact that Judy Davis has one of the highest batting averages of any actress basically ever -- is significant. And not for nothing, in 1979, it was the the first Australian feature to be directed by a woman in 48 years. Then in both Oscar and Lucinda and Charlotte Gray, you combined love of my life Cate Blanchett with the other love of my life, Movies Featuring Authentic Female Protagonists. And not to come on too strong here, but I'll go ahead and say you might be the third love of my life because of it. 

Laura

Elaine May

Dear Elaine May,

Not to start this on a bitter note, but the fact that your directing career has been so unfairly truncated is one of the bullshittiest pieces of bullshit to have ever occurred in the American film industry. Despite having directed four genuine masterpieces, you haven't made a feature in 29 years -- since Ishtar -- and that is frankly unacceptable. In the year of our lord 2017, can't we finally rewrite history on the quality of Ishtar as a film? Have we now reached enough of a critical mass on acknowledging its position as, sure, a big old flop, but a genuinely terrific big old flop? It's basically the funniest and -- as you intended -- a more than worthy successor to all the Bing Crosby and Bob Hope "Road" movies from the 1940s. One could argue that the only reason it received negative reviews in the first place was due to some critics being unable to separate behind the scenes drama from the film itself. And yes, if a man had made Ishtar, etc. etc. etc. Okay, so, with that out of the way: the good. If I could come up with my ideal movie, it would probably be one in which you direct yourself as a rich botanist involved in a romance with Walter Matthau. Luckily for me that's a movie that actually exists: your first film, A New Leaf. Then there are Mikey and Nicky -- a buddy film that subverts the sexism of buddy films -- and The Heartbreak Kid -- a romantic comedy that subverts the sexism of romantic comedies (that also happens to be ranked as one of the greatest comedies of all time on basically any list that would rank such things). And I'm not in the habit of talking about women as they relate to the men in their lives, but I would be remiss if I didn't mention your relationship with Mike Nichols. Your comedy team Nichols and May produced sketches that, as far as I'm concerned, still haven't been topped in sketch comedy. Your screenplays for Nichols's movies The Birdcage and Primary Colors are some of your best writing. And if I can't watch a new feature by you, the American Masters you directed on Nichols after his death is a pretty amazing consolation prize. So this letter doesn't pass the Bechdel Test. Sorry.

Laura

Gina Prince-Bythewood

Dear Gina Prince-Bythewood,

Before you become all next level famous with your new Marvel gig directing Silver & Black, please allow me to thank you for being one of the best in the game. With Love & Basketball, you made one of the all time greatest movies about basketball (sorry, Hoosiers) and an even better one about love (ya burnt, Casablanca). And frankly the best movie featuring an Omar Epps/Tyra Banks pairing ever (suck it, Higher Learning). Then with The Secret Life of Bees... well, to be honest I haven't seen it, but I hope you made a boatload of cash from it. And if it allowed you to make Beyond the Lights, even better, because with Beyond the Lights you went and became a great musical director, making this beautiful movie about stardom and authenticity and also maybe Rihanna, all while getting a next level performance out of Gugu Mbatha-Raw. Oh and you reinvented the mile high club while you were at it. Thank you for showing us that can't should never be in our vocabulary. Play you for screeners of the full season of Shots Fired -- double or nothing. 

Laura