1. Your film asks how much it really costs to speak up. Is the more uncomfortable question how much it costs not to?
Both questions are uncomfortable, and both are very necessary to keep asking.
In The Secret Assistants I wanted to explore the fact that speaking up can cost someone their
career, their livelihood and their future. But also to show that not speaking up comes at a
great cost, it shapes the future, because when we stay silent, we allow the behaviour to
continue. It’s a film that explores the ugly reality of both questions.
I don’t think there’s an easy answer, and that’s precisely why I wanted to make this film. I
wanted to explore the grey areas we don’t often look at, the moments when doing the right
thing isn’t as simple as we’d like to believe.
2. Sophie finds herself being asked to compromise her principles at precisely the moment
when her ambitions might finally be realised. Is there a point at which ambition becomes a
form of self-betrayal?
Only in a corrupt system. If the system is healthy, ambition is a good thing. You should be
able to work hard, pursue your dreams and get ahead without having to compromise your
principles. The problem comes when the system forces you to make those compromises, and you’re forced to consider how much you’re willing to sacrifice to get where you want to be. Sophie has worked incredibly hard to get to this point. It’s tragic that she’s forced to choose between her integrity and her dream career, but it’s also realistic.
I think this is particularly complicated in creative industries because creatives are so focused on the work itself. When you’re trying to bring something to life, you become completely invested in it. You want to see it realised, and you’re willing to do whatever it
takes to make it happen. Often, the work itself is the thing you feel most strongly about, the thing you need to stay true to. And that can make it very difficult to recognise when your commitment to the work is being used against you. You can end up justifying things you wouldn’t normally accept. That’s where the line between ambition and self-betrayal can become very blurred.
3. One of the film’s most unsettling ideas is that people can recognise wrong doing perfectly well and still choose to participate in it. Are we too comfortable imagining that, in Sophie’s position, we would behave differently?
I think there’s something fascinating about the fact that, when we watch a film, we get to put ourselves in someone else’s shoes without having to live with the consequences. We watch characters make decisions, we want to see what happens when they take a risk, we want them to be poked and prodded and we get frustrated when they don’t do what we think they should.
I think we’re drawn to watching people struggle because we want to see what they’re made of. We want them to be braver than us, stronger than us, to do more than we think
we could do ourselves. We want to believe that, faced with a difficult choice, we’d rise to the occasion. And when a character doesn’t, we can be quick to judge, because it’s much easier to know what the right thing to do is when you’re not the one who has to do it.
I wanted the audience to be a silent witness to what unfolds in that room. I didn’t want to tell them what to think or give them an easy answer. I wanted them to ask themselves honestly, what they would do in Sophie’s position. I know we go to the cinema to escape
everyday life, but I also think we sometimes need to see stories that reflect the reality we live in, so we can look at these things more honestly and face them as a society.
4. Do you think we have created a culture in which integrity is treated as a luxury — something people can afford only once they have achieved a certain degree of security?
We live in a harsh world where a lot of people are just trying to keep their heads above water. They’re trying to survive. For the lucky few who have dreams, and the time and energy to pursue them, it often comes down to weighing up the pros and cons. Is this
going to help me with my dream, or is it going to hinder me? Is it worth risking everything I’ve worked for?
Having integrity is hard. It shouldn’t be, but it is. We shouldn’t underestimate what we’re asking of people when we expect them to put everything on the line to do the right thing. Ideally, you shouldn’t have to choose between your principles and your future. But in a
corrupt system, that’s exactly the position people find themselves in.
5. Henry Mann represents a particular kind of authority: someone whose power is sustained not only by his own behaviour but by the willingness of others to accommodate it. How do people like him become so difficult to challenge?
I believe people like Henry grow accustomed to never hearing the word no. They become so disconnected from everyday life, so privileged, that they’re genuinely baffled when things don’t go their way. They’re used to getting what they want, and I think for some of them it becomes a game, a power play. How far can they push things? What can they get away with? And who’s going to stop them?
With characters like Henry there are always people around them who enable their behaviour, whether they agree with it or simply decide it’s safer or more profitable to keep
their heads down. And it goes right back to the people who hire them, who give them power in the first place, and who continue to give them opportunities despite knowing what they’re like. The more people accommodate them, the more untouchable they become. And the harder it is for anyone to be the first person to say no to them.
6. Why does the burden of confronting misconduct so often fall on the person with the least power, the least security and the most to lose?
The system is set up that way. Very cleverly, very abominably, the powers that be have made it easier for people who behave badly to get off the hook by putting the responsibility for doing something about it on the people with the least power. And I don’t think that’s
accidental. The system protects the people who are valuable to it, and makes it incredibly
difficult for anyone to challenge them.
The person who speaks up is the one who risks their career, their reputation and their future, while the person responsible can carry on as if nothing happened. It’s a very
effective way of keeping people quiet. If you make the cost of speaking up high enough, most people will think twice before doing it.
7. The film is set within the film industry, but its themes could apply to almost any hierarchical workplace. What is it about creative industries, where passion and prestige
are so closely intertwined, that can make exploitation particularly difficult to name?
We’ve really romanticised the idea of suffering for art. Someone working 20 hours a day in an office job would quickly be recognised as being exploited, but in the creative industries, it can be seen as dedication, as doing whatever it takes to realise the vision. We admire
that kind of obsession in creative industries. And when someone is considered a creative genius, we’re often willing to excuse their behaviour because we respect their work and are in awe of them. The art very quickly becomes more important than the people making
it. It is a higher calling, not a job. When you have passionate people, you have people who are willing to do almost anything to realise their vision. You can’t get between a person and their passion. Artists are
obsessive, and when the thing you’re making is incredibly expensive, it adds a whole new layer to that. Suddenly, there’s even more at stake, and even more pressure to make it work, whatever the cost. In an industry that so many people are desperate to be part of, where they’re trying to get their foot in the door or work with someone they admire, it becomes very difficult to call out
exploitation. You don’t want to be the person who gets in the way of the work, or the person who can’t handle the pressure. You’re just so grateful to be part of something
special that you convince yourself it’s worth it. And so we end up accepting things we really shouldn’t.
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