Monday, August 26, 2013

Gender Disparity in American and British Television Writing Staffs (Or: Somebody, Please, Please, Take Away My Excel Access)

My quest to spite Steven Moffat may have gotten out of hand. (Quoth Community: “This is how supervillains are created.”)

If you’re breathing and use the internet, you’ve probably heard the screaming and debate over whether current Doctor Who showrunner Steven Moffat needs to hire more female writers. And by “more,” I mean “some”: In his three-year, 42-episode tenure, Moffat has not employed a single female writer.

Well, you know me. I love getting outraged at Steven Moffat. I want so badly to be able to say, “Fuck you, Steven Moffat. This is fucking ridiculous.” But, sadly, I can’t get outraged without data. Before I could swear delightedly at Moffat, I needed to know whether Moffat is really doing such a bad job, compared to everyone else. What if, as one of the above links suggests, gender inequality on writing staffs is a systemic problem in British sci-fi/fantasy? “Fuck you, British sci-fi/fantasy, this is fucking ridiculous,” is just way less fun to yell.

So I started researching the writing staffs of the big sci-fi/fantasy shows: Star Trek. Game of Thrones. Farscape. (It’s big to me, damn it!) And then I started researching the staffs of some other shows of interest: Mad Men. Community. The Walking Dead.

And then I thought, Holy fucking hell, selection bias, much?

There was only one solution: A comprehensive study of gender equality in British and American television writing.


The Study

I looked at every scripted show that aired six or more episodes in Britain in the last three years on any of the following channels: BBC One, BBC Two, BBC Three, BBC Four, ITV, and ITV2.

I looked at every scripted show that aired six or more episodes in America in the last three years on any broadcast network (ABC, CBS, the CW, Fox, or NBC).

In order to avoid poring over thousands of soap opera episodes, I limited my sample to shows that generally aired once a week.

For each show, I recorded the total number of episodes written; the total number of writers credited; the number of episodes credited to at least one female writer; the number of female writers credited; and the number of the first episode with a female writing credit. Excel then kindly calculated for me the ratio of female-credited episodes to total episodes, as well as the ratio of female writers to total writers. Excel is good like that.

My data was gathered from Wikipedia and occasionally from IMDB, and is only as accurate as my sources. I used names as an indicator of gender, which is not a 100% accurate system; when in doubt, I googled the writer to check. (There were a very few cases in which Google did not provide. In those cases, I either played the percentages, if it was a name that generally goes with one gender or the other, or I defaulted to male, if it was not. There were not, I think, enough of these cases to make a very big impact on the data, and there is no show in which an uncertain name was the only female credit.) If a name looked obviously male or obviously female, I didn’t check, so to any female television writers out there named George: I’m sorry, but I counted you as a male writer.


Definitions
Define your terms, people. Always define your terms. Otherwise we’re all just wandering around in a haze of random gibberish.

Popularly, an auteur project is one that is controlled entirely by one writer or small group of writers. I specifically defined an auteur television show as a show that:

                Credited 3 or fewer writers

                OR

                Had the same writing credit for every episode.

The episodes ratio, for the purpose of this post, is the number of episodes a show has with at least one female writing credit divided by the total number of episodes:


The writers ratio, for the purposes of this post, is the number of female writers a show employed divided by the total number of writers:


Those interested in looking at the full data (complete with relevant and irrelevant notes) can do so here:

(America)

(Britain)


The Breakdown


Total
Mean Episodes Ratio
Mean Writers Ratio
British non-auteur shows
34
.205
.243
American shows
154
.378
.334
British sci-fi/fantasy
8
.134
.187
American sci-fi/fantasy
25
.404
.341

In Britain, there were 34 total non-auteur television shows.

In America, there were 154 total television shows.

In Britain, for non-auteur projects, the episodes ratio was .205. (The “average” show credited a female writer on 20.5% of its episodes.)

In America, the episodes ratio was .378. (The “average” show credited a female writer on 37.8% of its episodes.)

In Britain, for non-auteur projects, the mean writers ratio was .243. (24.3% of the writers employed over all time by the “average” show were women.)

In America, the mean writers ratio was .334. (33.4% of the writers employed over all time by the “average” show were women.)

In Britain, there were 8 non-auteur sci-fi/fantasy television shows.

In America, there were 25 sci-fi/fantasy television shows.

In British non-auteur sci-fi/fantasy, the mean ratio episodes ratio was .134. (The “average” show credited a female writer on 13.4% of its episodes.)

In American sci-fi/fantasy, the mean episodes ratio was .404. (The “average” show credited a female writer on 40.4% of its episodes.)

In British non-auteur sci-fi/fantasy, the mean writers ratio was .187. (18.7% of the writers employed over all time by the “average” show were women.)

In American sci-fi/fantasy, the mean writers ratio was .341. (34.1% of the writers employed over all time by the “average” show were women.)


Britain has a lot of auteur shows (40 out of the 74 shows I looked at), so I looked at those shows separately. Here are the relevant statistics:

In Britain, 40 out of 74 (~54.1%) shows counted were auteur projects.

In America, 0 out of 154 (0%) shows counted were auteur projects.

In Britain, 13 out of 40 (32.5%) auteur projects credited a female writer.


So, Who Won?

Amurka won by a fucking landslide. I was good to Britain. I only considered shows that had actual writing staffs (since most of Britain’s auteur shows are run by men). But sadly, they just couldn’t keep up with good ol’ US of A.

How badly did they lose? Well, take a look at these sexy, sexy histograms:

BRITAIN:
 AMERICA:
What’s that you’re saying? You don’t really know much about how histograms work, because you’re a normal person who can get angry at a TV writer without performing a comprehensive analysis of gender disparity in the workplace?

Oh. Okay. Well, a histogram measures frequencies. Consider the British Episodes Ratio histogram. Each of the bars represents the number of television shows whose ratios fell within that particular range. The numbers below the bars represent the upper limit of each bar’s range. So, since the left-most bar (the one over the 0.1) hits 16, that means that there were 16 shows in which at most 10% of the episodes were credited to a female writer. (The other bars are for the shows with ratios between 0.1 and 0.2, 0.2 and 0.3, 0.3 and 0.4, and so on.)

If there were a totally even number of male and female writers in the potential workforce, and writers were hired totally at random (or at least, if they were hired with actual gender-blindness, since I don’t actually believe that men are inherently better writers than women), we would expect each of the above histograms to conform to a normal curve, also known as a bell curve.

Data that conforms to a normal curve looks like this:

Basically, it looks like a bell—hence the name. In our hypothetical world where writers are employed without regard to their gender, we would expect the tippy-top of our bell to be at or around 0.5, meaning that the most common episodes ratio is 0.5.

If a lot more male writers are employed than female writers, we’ll get a lopsided bell, with the tip-top on the left. In the opposite case, well get a bell with the tip-top on the right.

Okay. Now go look at the histograms again. Which ones look more like our hypothetical gender-blind world?

Yeah.

If you’re still not convinced, here’s a less rigorous but more evocative statistic for you. Of the 34 non-auteur British television shows I looked at, 7 employed no female writers at all. That’s about 20.6%.

Of the 154 American television shows I looked at, only one—Allen Gregory, for those interested—employed no female writers. That’s about 0.6%.

(“But Madelyn!” you say. “American TV shows have so many more episodes in which to hire female writers!” Yes, but of the 154 American shows I looked at, only 11 took more than 6 episodes to get to their first female writing credit. In Britain, 13 shows took more than 6 episodes to get to their first female credit—and that’s not counting the 5 shows that had more than 6 episodes but no female writing credits at all.)


Does That Mean British People Evil Misogynists?

I dunno, maybe. But probably not. Correlation is not, as they say, causation, and there are a lot of potential reasons that the world of British television isn’t as X-chromosome-rich as America. Maybe there are some subtle sociological factors that discourage British women from being writers. Maybe there’s a law in Britain that says you have to bench press 200 lbs. before you can write for TV. Maybe (and this one seems very plausible, to me) British TV writers staff their shows with writers they know, and male writers tend to know male writers—and, since we’re not so far out from the 70s, established writers tend to be male.

What I doubt is that British (or American, for that matter) executives and showrunners are getting scripts from women, thinking, “Ew! Girls can’t write! They have cooties!” and rejecting them.


Didn’t You Say Something Earlier About Sci-Fi? Maybe it’s Sci-Fi’s Fault!

Well, in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave, it’s certainly not. Check the stats. (They’re about three miles behind us, in the “Breakdown” section.) American sci-fi/fantasy actually has higher ratios of female writers and writing credits than does the general American population.

In Britain, sci-fi/fantasy does do a little worse than the average, but not a lot worse. Removing sci-fi/fantasy shows from the population only brings the mean episodes ratio up to .229, and the mean writers ratio to .261. Both are still considerably below their American counterparts.

In other words: It’s not British sci-fi that’s doing a bad job hiring women. It’s just Britain.

(Not, by the way, that America’s doing all that great a job. It’s just doing better.)


Is There Any Random Miscellany You’d Like to Share? We Know You Love Random Miscellany.

I so totally do. Two shows (Lonestar and The Playboy Club) were cut from the American list because, although six episodes were produced, fewer than six had locatable writing credits. Of the five available episodes, Lonestar had one episode credited to a female writer; The Playboy Club had three.

The hardest time I had figuring out a writer’s gender was for Dana Greenblatt. Eventually, I discovered that she had once been a contestant on Jeopardy, and after twenty minutes’ googling, I found a fansite with pictures of basically every Jeopardy winner. Never has twenty minutes been better spent.

While compiling the British data, I held a contest for Most British Name. The winner was Harry Wootliff, writer of one episode of Waterloo Road.

There’s also an American procedural writer named Speed Weed. You’re welcome.


Wait. Wasn’t This Supposed to Be About Steven Moffat?

Fuck, you’re right. Well, here’s the thing. Moffat has produced 42 episodes of Doctor Who. In the process, he employed 12 writers. None of them were women. Of the 7 British TV shows that have never employed a female writer, only one—Not Going Out—even has 42 episodes. Of the rest, only one—Agatha Christie’s Poirot—went longer than 42 episodes before it credited its first woman. (That’s not counting classic Doctor Who, which technically went 107 episodes before crediting a woman, though I think it was on something like its 23rd serial.) Moffat’s way the hell on the left of the histograms; he’s bringing down the average; he’s part of the problem, not the solution.

But…he really is only part of the problem. Maybe this will help explain what I mean: Moffat employed 12 male writers. His predecessor, Russell T. Davies, employed 16 writers, all but one of whom were male. Of Moffat’s 12 writers, 8 were already writing for the show under Davies. Moffat only hired four writers, and two of those, Neil Cross and Neil Gaiman, are very high-profile; he stuck with the people he knew. And there are plenty of shows on the list that hired four male writers before they got to a woman.

(By the way, it took Davies 32 episodes to give out a female writing credit.)

Basically, Moffat is an extreme example of a systemic problem. Should he employ more female writers? Yes. Absolutely fucking yes. Yes, yes, a million times yes. For one thing, there’s a chance that it will make Doctor Who less casually sexist.

But do I think he (and by extension, the rest of British and American television) should make an effort to go out and hire more women, just to even out the score?

I don’t know. I really don’t know. There’s an argument to be made—and it’s not an obviously false one—that having a few women around will make television better just because it brings a new perspective. It widens the range of stories we think to tell. (Much as hiring ethnic, religious, and sexual minority writers would.)

But my guess is that the majority of the writers who come across Moffat’s radar, and the radar of many others, really are male.

I guess what I’m most comfortable saying is this: I think the best writer for the job should be hired, every time. But I don’t think that the best writer is always the guy you know. I think television producers would benefit from broadening their searches. Not necessarily hiring the people they worked with on their last show. And I think a byproduct of that, in many cases, would be an increase in the diversity of writing staffs.

But wow, that’s hard to yell about. So as much as I’d like to end this ridiculously long post by saying, “Fuck you Steven Moffat, this is fucking ridiculous,” I can’t. Instead, I leave you with this:


Fuck you, systemic problems affecting the gender disparity of writing staffs on British and to a lesser extent American television! This is fucking ridiculous!

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Actual Things I Said Out Loud While Watching the First Season and a Half of Nip/Tuck Until It Betrayed Me By Making Me Feel Things

In the vein of my previous post, Actual Things I Said Out Loud While Watching the First 2 Seasons of Pretty Little Liars Over a 4-Day Period. Herein you will find mild spoilers for Nip/Tuck and, oddly enough, major spoilers for The Newsroom.


"Ew. Ew. Ew, ew, ew."

"You brought hors d’oeurves to your sex-tervention?"

"Oh, honey, this is dumb."

"Honey, why are you doing this? Why are you so dumb?"

"This is unquestionably the stupidest idea anyone has ever had."

"You see how the music has stopped being awesome? That’s how you know this is a terrible idea."

"This is not the worst idea anybody’s ever had, actually."

"You sound super drunk."

"Look, I’m gonna say this just this one time: Cheat on your wife, damn it."

"Oh wow, you’re really fucked up in lots of ways, aren’t you?"

"You’re like Jack Harkness with less self-confidence. But also slightly less self-loathing."

"You, see a therapist. You, see twelve therapists. Liz, keep doing what you’re doing."

"No kissy."

"I find you people boring and despicable, but better than watching kids die on The Newsroom, so…"

"I just need you to stop pretending you’re a mother."

"This is like the gradually-revealed backstory of a murder on an episode of Cold Case."

"For once, everybody else is as uncomfortable as I am."

"Shouldn’t you have some fucking security for your operating room? People are always just walking in there."

"Thank you for reminding me, as if I needed to be reminded, of how horrible of a person you are."

"Ha ha ha, your hair!"

"You guys just have a weird little thing going, don’t you?"

"But honey, if you’re gonna point a gun at a drug dealer, you gotta fucking shoot it."

"Why are you so short?"

"You just need to, like, settle down and have your threesome. Y’know?"

"I always feel kinda weird eating during this show."

"Stop it. Stop it, this show is terrible, and I don’t want to like it."

"Oh oh oh oh oh oh it’s a baby! Oh oh it’s a baby!"

"[said while fake crying] Baby. I want the baby. I want the baby."

"I do not watch this show to be in pain. I watch this show to have something to do while I do other stuff."

Monday, August 5, 2013

The Four Reasons People Actually Dislike The Newsroom (A Semi-Serious List)

I’ve been thinking about The Newsroom lately, perhaps because it’s one of the only shows I watch that’s currently airing new episodes. Lots of people deeply, deeply dislike The Newsroom. They have lots of reasons for their hate: it’s kind of pompous, it’s kind of sexist, the characters never do anything wrong, and using old news stories gives Aaron Sorkin 20/20 hindsight that he uses to make his characters seem better and right all the time.

Now, I like The Newsroom. And honestly, I think the complaint about using real-world news stories is kind of weak. (You think Aaron Sorkin has less insider knowledge about the outcome of news stories he made up? The West Wing was no less an indictment of real-world cynical politicians just because it didn’t use real-world political scandals.) But I do acknowledge it has faults, pompousness and sexism among them. On the other hand, those faults have been present in just about everything Sorkin has ever written, and while there are plenty of people who will complain about Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, that’s just not the case with, for instance, The West Wing.

So, why do people really dislike The Newsroom? I thought it over for a bit and came up with a few ideas. So here they are—the four reasons people really dislike The Newsroom:
  1. The Music

    I’m sorry, but the score is just wrong. Wrong wrong wrong all the time. It’s overdramatic and kind of slow and always gets the tone of the scene wrong. Even when it’s a funny scene (and there are lots of funny scenes!) the score just kind of keeps going on, like, “THIS IS THE MOST SERIOUS JOB IN THE WORLD.” It’s not bad music! It’s just that it’s wrong in every way.

  2. The Pacing

    Let me be clear, here. I don’t mean the pacing of the narrative, though that could probably be tuned up as well. I’m talking about the pacing of the dialogue. You remember Sports NightThe West Wing, and even Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip? You remember what made them enjoyable to watch? Everyone talked so fast! It meant you could fit like 30 jokes into a scene about the census. The characters on The Newsroom (with one exception, who I’ll get to later) just talk so slow.

    Plus, and I realize I already kind of made this point but I think it’s worth repeating, there are lots of jokes on The Newsroom. Unfortunately, the direction, music, and editing all just kind of ignore them.

  3. Maggie and Fucking Jim

    Fuuuuuuuuck Maggie and Jim.

  4. The General Lack of Sloan Sabbath

    Sloan Sabbath is far and away the best character on The Newsroom. She’s the funniest (and the show actually acknowledges when she’s funny), she’s the coolest, she’s the least annoying, and she doesn’t have a direct parallel in any other Sorkin show. So of course, she appears in about three minutes out of every sixty-minute episode. I hesitate to say that Sloan should have more storylines, because storylines are where Aaron Sorkin tends to go wrong with his characters (see again: Maggie and Fucking Jim), so let’s just say she should have more screentime. Way more screentime.


And that's all, really. Having read this list, I hope that you can now go forward, better informed about yourself and your reactions to The Newsroom, and appreciate the show on its own true merits.

(That is to say, Sloan Sabbath.)