For as long as I can remember, I have been surrounded by stories. As a child, I indulged in the strangest of creations on screen, in books, and within my own mind. As a teenager, I began a dreamer’s journey toward the enigmatic world of entertainment. I spent hours studying every television series, blockbuster film, and best-selling novel that crossed my path. I took neural notes on what propelled them towards success, gathering intel in preparation for a moment I hoped would find me. As an adult, albeit a fledgling one, that moment finally arrived as I became the puertorriqueña screenwriter I wish I’d been able to read as a kid.
In the spring of 2023, one of my dearest friends reached out to invite me onto her first independent film set. I served as a script supervisor and was exhilarated by the electric energy speckled like stars around me. On this set, I saw a mosaic of talent, a small battalion of creatives determined to bring the script to life against all odds. On this set, I felt like I belonged. My friend, director Samantha Joia, later explained that she prioritizes diversity on her sets because, in this industry, it is very difficult for marginalized groups to ascend into positions of power. She’s opening doors for people who’ve only ever seen them locked in the past.
To say I was inspired would be an understatement. As Sam and I started discussing another project, a fire of courage lit up within. She asked if I had any stories to share, and despite being historically timid about letting my writing be read, I presented the idea for a dystopian sci-fi where synthetic classicism has become the backbone of society. I’d first thought of it when I’d seen a video of puppies being subjected to animal testing and asked the great void how human beings could do such a thing. I wondered if the scientists could do the same if the puppies looked more like them, more human. Would some visceral instinct come online and stop them? Would they look into familiar eyes and cease the torture?
The answer bubbled up in my brain like a ghostly howl: “Don’t you see… Humans already do this and far worse to those who look like them.” The story quickly became a call to action in my heart, a plea with the world to take a closer look at the systems we’ve built and all those who suffer beneath them.
As a neurodivergent puertorriqueña in the LGBTQ+ community striving to become a screenwriter, I worried that my voice would merely fizzle out amongst the masses. At the time, I was hopelessly anxious and in anorexia recovery. I was also painfully aware of the hostile occupation of Hollywood. Notoriously, they push aside diverse voices, and when they do recognize us, we aren’t always treated like equals. As disheartening as it is, straight, white men still make up the world’s most powerful demographic in Hollywood and beyond. It’s a pattern that’s left wounds on my self-worth. Did I deserve to make a movie? Could I even handle it? Would anyone take me seriously?
Suddenly, the image of a locked door came into my mind’s eye. Before I could despair, however, I realized something terrifyingly, overwhelmingly true. At some point, someone has to take a hammer to the lock. At some point, someone has to tear the door off of its hinges. At some point, someone has to open a gateway to inclusivity in Hollywood. These realizations converged in a tidal wave, leaving just one question in their wake.
Why can’t that someone be me?
Together, Sam and I mobilized, assembling a team of passionate individuals who resonated with the film’s message. We prioritized diversity above all else, ensuring our entire team was built of creatives from many different races, ethnicities, sexualities, disability statuses, and backgrounds. We wanted our set to feel like a haven for those who might have experienced prejudice and mistreatment of others. It quickly became much more than just a set. In a largely monochromatic industry, it was our little pocket dimension of total equality and acceptance.
Life mimics art, and art mimics life. The relationship is synergistic. What we see on screen inspires us to take action in the real world. What we admire behind the scenes motivates us to create our own things to read, watch, and discuss.
If we can change Hollywood, I truly believe we can change the world.
Within my film, A Perfect Copy, the main character is something of a superhero who breaks free from the oppressive expectations imposed upon her by her creator. She stands up for what she knows is right and fights for her freedom. She is played by the amazing Haile Ferrier, an autistic woman of color. In front of the screen, I hope this character shows that superheroes don’t have to look like brawny white men in tights. Superheroes can and should be portrayed in all shapes, colors, and sizes. Superheroes can and should be women, people of color, people with disabilities, people with different sexualities, and so on and so forth. It may not seem like a big deal to some, but to a little girl questioning if she’ll ever survive because of the beautiful things that make her different, it might mean everything. I know I would have given anything for a Puerto Rican superhero with anxiety and OCD when I was a kid. I didn’t see any on screen, so I’ll just have to keep writing until I do.
Behind A Perfect Copy, a team of real superheroes worked for weeks on pre-production, braved two extremely challenging overnights on set, and carried the project through months of post. Throughout it all, I felt like an absolute star. I didn’t feel like a weak, overlookable, terrified woman with nothing to offer. I didn’t feel the urge to speak in a whisper or shrink down for others’ convenience. I felt like a screenwriter, and a puertorriqueña one at that – perfectly worthy and perfectly at home. I basked in the glow of my fellow artists, all of them shining in their own brilliant ways. I marveled as my childhood friend transformed into a director and took command. In a career where people like us are too often sent to grab coffees, here we stood, making our movie, our way. For so long, we’ve been barred from opportunities like this. Now is the time to stop asking for a place on the path and start paving a new one.
I did it. So can you.
