“If you ask me what I came into this life to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud.” — Émile Zola

I watch films to understand the world. And it seems sometimes the biggest lessons are just behind the scenes.

What I’ve learned at this year’s Venice Film Festival is that it seems that if you’re a woman journalist, you’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t. I’ve run the gamut from enemy of the people for publishing an interview with a man accused but never convicted of bad things, to being made to feel (by my women editors) that I don’t know how to write just so they can justify only having male writers in their roster. I also felt that a current article was unjust to the amount of women filmmakers that are actually in Venice — if the journalists who wrote it actually bothered to look at all the films, and not only the few titles in Competition — so I pointed out in another piece about a Critics’ Week title that the filmmaker was indeed a woman. And a man, I swear I can’t make this stuff up, added a comment to the FB post saying I made it sound like women filmmakers were creatures from another planet. I used the phrase “woman filmmaker” one time in the entire piece, to claim her as one of my own who makes me proud… But anyway.