Women of Hollywood Can’t Catch a Break

It’s hard to imagine a more self-evidently pointless task than asking a group of successful women in Hollywood how Hollywood denies success to women. But it’s now the daily sport of magazines and trade papers who have editors demanding horrible sexism in Hollywood stories because that’s their agenda. We used to say, because that’s their job, but, you know, times change.

In the big Hollywood Reporter piece on how tough the industry is on female comedic actresses, a bunch of the funny ladies gripe about how the business is so heavily looks based and superficial, without mention to that fact they are all superficially good looking and working sixteen jobs. Dunham is the home on prom night outlier, but don’t think she too doesn’t suffer fools:

I heard a guy on my show say into his microphone: ‘I hate this job. I can’t wait to be back on a show where there’s a man at the helm.’ Later, that same guy came up to me at lunch and said, ‘You’re really enjoying that buffet, aren’t you?’ He’s the worst person alive. I hope he reads this, which he won’t because he’s drunk.

Dunham declined to name the guy because she’s classy, or she’s just making shit up again as she has routinely in the past to support her arguments. This article complements the recent interview with Maggie Gyllenhaal about how she was informed she was too old to play the love interest of a male character in his 50’s.

There are things that are really disappointing about being an actress in Hollywood that surprise me all the time. I’m 37, and I was told recently I was too old to play the lover of a man who was 55. It was astonishing to me. It made me feel bad, and then it made me feel angry, and then it made me laugh.

That’s a whirlwind of emotions that I’d bet my life didn’t get past anger. Gyllenhaal also refused to mention any details, like the role, the producer, the director, the actors involved, or provide any context to the sexist charge because questioning this authenticity of this anecdote is in it itself sexist. I’m certain the sewing slaves assembling these ladies’ outfits are passing around the Hollywood Reporter and lamenting what $150,000 an episode of oppression must feel like. It’s okay to cry, Thiri Aung. Now back to the work bench in your diaper. Your fifteen seconds of me time is over.