Women and genre films have been tied since the beginning of the medium: Alice Guy-Blaché’s 1900 film The Cabbage-Patch Fairy is a fantasy tale about a benevolent fairy who makes babies appear in (you guessed it) a cabbage patch. Despite this long history, the contributions of women to the fantastic side of filmmaking—think fantasy, horror, sci-fi and so on—are often overlooked. This was once especially true of horror movies.

A recent wave of activism promoting “women in horror” has produced film festivals, foundations, publications and awareness campaigns all advocating for increased gender diversity in the genre. But what effect have these initiatives had for filmmakers who are actually on the ground making genre work? To find out, Letterboxd put out a call to women and non-binary folks with projects either screening or in development at this year’s recent Fantasia International Film Festival. We asked a series of complicated questions, starting with: What is the status of “women in horror” in 2023?

Discussions revolved around what has (and hasn’t) changed for marginalized filmmakers in the genre, as well as the role of groups like Final Girls Berlin and Women in Film & Television in uplifting new voices. Many expressed their hope that “women in horror” can expand to include a multitude of marginalized gender expressions. Most were ambivalent about the term “female filmmaker”, feeling that it limited their opportunities or made them “a box on somebody’s checklist” as one writer-director put it.

Eleven filmmakers responded via in-person interviews or written statements, all of which have been edited for length and clarity. Cisgender and transgender women participated in the survey, as well as non-binary artists. Their thoughts, in all their conflicted, euphoric, awkward, nuanced glory, are presented below.

Jenn Wexler

Co-writer, producer and director of The Sacrifice Game.

Laura Moss

Co-writer and director of Birth/Rebirth.

I was at the American Film Market around the time that the Harvey Weinstein story broke, and so most meetings began with men telling me what a great time it was to be a woman in Hollywood, and talking about rape instead of talking to me about my projects. Weinstein kind of became the new weather or traffic, and I found it deeply unsettling.

I started using “she/they” pronouns about four years ago, and really shifted into “they/them” pronouns about three years ago. It’s been a difficult journey for me as a filmmaker, because I feel like a lot of the organizations set up to underrepresented genders in horror are specifically designed to women.  When I started really identifying as non-binary, I would still apply to grants and fellowships for women, and I would reach out individually and explain my gender identity and ask if I was still meant to be included. Several of them have changed their mandate—for example, The Future of Film is Female has publicly changed its mandate to include non-binary filmmakers.

It was a difficult liminal space to be in, because the male gaze has so often dominated horror. I certainly don’t identify with that perspective, but I often felt like I had to fit into a “woman” box in order to be ed. I was raised as a woman; I have been ed by initiatives meant for women, and I have a lot of gratitude for those organizations and they have a place. I don’t think [the category of “women in horror”] is outdated, because it’s been so male-dominated for so long that I would not want to take away any momentum or for women in this field. But it feels good in my heart when these festivals expand their definition, and really try to grow beyond a traditional idea of what a “woman” is.

I think that there’s a fear of losing ground, which is understandable, but also avoidable when these organizations think of queer folks as partners, and not as interlopers. What we’re looking for is to diversify the cis male-dominated perspective in our industry, and that can be done without restricting opportunities to cis women, or even to women in general.

It should be a more fluid space, one that allows for more radical ideas to come through because people are exploring them on their own . Good filmmakers do that regardless, but there can be this pressure where, if you were less sure of your footing as a filmmaker, you might feel like you have to fall into a [narrow definition] in order to get your movie made. I can see both sides of it, but ultimately I’m in favor of just being a film director. I don’t want to be a sidebar. I want to be in the main competition.

Mary Dauterman and Lexi Tannenholz

Writer/director and producer of Booger.

Mary Dauterman: Here’s the thing: I do not know what it would be like to be a male filmmaker, and I can only make observations... but I have absolutely shown up on set and people assume I’m anything but the director. I feel like that may not happen to men quite as often.

Lexi Tannenholtz: Being a woman is all I know, and I fucking love it. I can definitely say that, as a producer, I’ve felt all the common “female gendered” cliches: she’s ‘too hard’, ‘too soft’, ‘too nice’, ‘too mean’, ‘too emotional’, ‘not feeling enough’—I mean, yikes—‘what if she has kids?’, and on and on and on. Going through life any other way feels too easy, you know? And I do love the lens I specifically get to see the world through.

MD: I make things I want to watch, and I am me, a woman. I think I can write female characters and experiences in an authentic way, and for the most part, at this time in my career, I only write female protagonists. It makes sense that my storytelling stems out of my lived experiences, paranoias and neuroses, but I want to make whatever kinds of films I want to make: disgusting, emotional, stupid, bloody.

LT: I do find myself mainly working with women and non-binary filmmakers. I am definitely drawn to these people, their energy and their stories, which I guess feels mutual in how people find and approach me. I don’t think I would say I make “girl movies”, but, in earnest, I do understand that phrase and do love a “girl movie” [laughs]. I mean, who doesn’t love to see themselves reflected on screen?

Louise Weard

Producer of Riding Shotgun (an as-of-yet undeveloped film, seeking market at Fantasia).

As a transgender woman, I can’t think of a moment in this industry in which gender hasn’t defined my relationship to the community and the medium. I didn’t formally “come out” until a few years ago, but I’ve been a “woman in horror” for nearly a decade because I obviously gravitated towards that designation. My filmmaking partner Dionne Copland and I were hosting Women in Horror events in Vancouver as early as 2015, and with festivals like Ax Wound and Etheria championing our work, I felt privileged that I got to be included as if I were “one of the girls”.

That said, a big part of my taking a hiatus from directing between 2015-2022 comes from my relationship to my gender and the emerging focus on “women in horror” around that time. I made Computer Hearts as a response to my complex feelings around deciding not to transition in 2013. After I’d exorcized those feelings in that film and its sister short, S.I.D.S., I didn’t know my place anymore.

I didn’t know anyone else in a similar position—where were the trans women in horror? I had complicated feelings about taking opportunities from women because of my perceived “male privilege”; that built up seeing how the horror press erased Dionne from coverage of movies we made as a team. As many issues as there are, I still love [being] included in conversations about “women in horror” because I genuinely get so much euphoria out of finally being seen as myself and for my work to be viewed through that lens.

Many of my contemporaries hesitate at the segregated ideas wrapped up in the terminology—“I’m just a filmmaker, not a female filmmaker”. I understand that, especially as one of the few directors who has “been on both sides”, so to speak. I specifically don’t use my femme speaking voice in the industry, because I am taken less seriously when I do. It’s disheartening, but with the additional hurdle of being transgender, I need to do whatever I can to be visible for those coming up after me. I never had a role model like myself ten years ago.

I think our crucial mistake was that “women in horror” as a rallying cry lacked nuance. Our new approach needs to be for “gender equity in horror”, as a means of achieving those goals in a way that isn’t exclusionary towards filmmakers of marginalized gender identities. For me, my current goal is building a community for trans filmmakers in horror, which is every much as diverse, regionally separated and undefinable as “women in horror” was. I’m hopeful that this next stage builds on what we did before—as complicated as this industry can be, the best means to make change is [through] community so that we can navigate [the industry] and succeed together.

I genuinely appreciate any effort toward inclusivity, but at the same time, it can feel reductive to always be categorized as a “woman in horror” or grouped in with other female filmmakers. If I’m a “female filmmaker”, then why isn’t [famous horror director] a “male filmmaker”? Do we group men’s films based on their gender? No, we group them by tone, or style or thematic parallels. I would love to get to a point where my work can speak for itself, and my femininity is only discussed if it directly pertains to the work.

Michelle Krusiec

Writer and director of Nian.

As a woman, and especially as a woman of color, I am constantly faced with the experience of being underestimated. My observation is that men are generally given the benefit of the doubt that they come to the table with some set of skills. If I’m good at what I do, it’s a surprise. If a man is good at directing, he need only be mediocre-to-average to gain entry, whereas I must be exceptional to even be considered.

I don’t mind the description “women in horror” because it implies that in a male-dominated space, here’s a woman who’s succeeding. I think the term is used for curation purposes to provide advocacy, and it’s very much needed. If we had gender parity, we’d have sections called “male comedies”, “male horror”, etc. While it’s every filmmaker’s hope that our work speaks for itself, the hardest part of this industry is making successive projects. Because women don’t gain equal access, we do need affirmative action language and programs to get our work seen.

I made Nian in response to the anti-Asian violence that surged during the pandemic, and while it addresses the rage and sadness I felt, it also treats the subject matter with irreverence. Being featured in [Fantasia’s] “Born of Woman” block, curated by Mitch Davis, gives me a conversation-starter for pitching my next project, and I believe Mitch knows that as a programmer.

Sophia Bierend

Writer and director of The Taster.

I feel that, especially since #MeToo, production companies in are trying to build more diverse writers’ rooms with female representation as well as BIPOC and LGBTQ+ people. The directing field is still much harder to enter.

I being a writer for a sci-fi-project, and being asked if I had any suggestions for the director. I asked afterwards why they did not think [to hire] a female director, since the protagonist was a woman dealing with questions about motherhood. The response was that there are no female directors in that were used to budgets as big as this one, and it wouldn’t be wise to give a big-scale project like this to a female filmmaker. I was stunned. What did they believe, that a female director would just throw away money not knowing what for? Unfortunately, I still feel that fear and insecurity about hiring women as directors is more common than excitement about ing female voices.

Here’s an example from the editing process of our short film The Taster: when we showed the cut to a first audience, 80 percent of the male test audience suggested deleting the first scene of our film, where we see a young woman being harassed by soldiers in a military jeep … Interestingly, none of the men who suggested deleting the scene could say exactly why they didn’t like it, but all felt uncomfortable watching it and questioned its importance in the movie. In comparison, all of the female test subjects insisted on leaving the scene in the film, describing it as an important characterization.

I wrote the scene because of my personal experiences, which I have had because I walk through this world as a woman. I think—whether consciously or subconsciously—that I will continue to tell stories based on my experiences in the future. These experiences don’t always have to be shaped by my gender, but I want to be able to be proud of it if that’s the case.

A true femme horror genre calls for a structure which understands the motivations of its protagonists without always offering a heavy-handed critique. Being a woman in any form means dealing with cruelty. When femme filmmakers approach the genre with these specific intricacies in mind, the identity of the female characters exists independent of even the filmmaker—just how it should be.