Winter 2012 in Toronto, Ontario… I started my filmmaking journey alongside my good friend and cousin, Aramis Pacitto, as we formed an independent film production company originally called A + N Productions (later becoming Suit & Stubble Productions in late 2013).
Our first film, The Challenger, was made by just the two of us along with a couple of family members and friends. Our one goal was to build a portfolio to showcase our TV series concept of the same name. We spent the next three years building and improving from project to project (16 films in total). We wrote, acted, directed, and Aramis edited every single project. It was a small team… but a great one.
The experience with Suit & Stubble eventually led me to the United States, where I directed and worked on various projects—from the well-received Decades Apart to the indie comedy feature The Rush Chairman, on which I was hired as both cinematographer and director. Indie project after indie project pushed me closer to my lifelong goal: working full-time in the film industry.
You see, even though my original motive was to get my own TV series made, it became about so much more. It became about working in an industry I loved in any capacity. By 2019, I no longer cared about directing or writing (even though I had a degree in it). I only cared about filmmaking and being on set. I spent over a year cold-calling and emailing producers in Hollywood until one day a woman named Laura Hall gave me a call. This was during the height of COVID in 2020. She offered me a job on the FOX hit series The Resident.
The position was brand new to me (not that I cared—I just wanted to be on set). It was a new department and a new role called Set Monitor, which basically involved enforcing COVID protocols. I eventually became the Key Set Monitor (essentially a junior manager). I was happy to take the job, fully aware of the struggles that would come with such a controversial position.
My teammates and I were not treated well at all, as expected during the height of the pandemic. We were constantly jeered at—called “COVID police” and asked things like, “How does it feel to do a job where everyone hates you?” But I was just happy to be there. A kid in a candy store. It was also exciting to work on a set with DP Bart from Burn Notice. I was willing to take the abuse for the experience.
That experience eventually led to a job offer in the locations department as an assistant.
I enjoyed the position a lot and expected that once I was out of the COVID unit, I would be treated better. Boy, was I wrong. If anything, it was worse. It was a smaller team on a hit show with a massive amount of ground to cover. Putting down mats on wires and controlling A/C and heating units is a lot of work for just two people. Yup—only two people on set at a time. I don’t know if that’s an industry-wide budget issue, but it felt like it, especially when other teams (including the COVID team I had been on) had three times the number of people.
Being told to “hurry the fuck up” and being called other names (I’d rather not get into it) was a daily occurrence. Even when I did PA work, it wasn’t any better. I had gone from a kid in a candy store to someone slowly getting tired of the daily bullying from people in power who couldn’t be fired because of union rules. These individuals could say whatever they wanted to anyone, whenever they wanted, with zero consequences.
I’ve witnessed sexual harassment on set, and when I brought it up as Key of my team, the production team told me that if I pursued it on behalf of my teammates, we would all be fired because we were non-union and therefore disposable.
I apologize if I’m being vague—I’m not going to name names. Hollywood is a dangerous place, and defamation cases are something I’d like to avoid.
Continuing…
The sexual harassment, the verbal abuse, and—how can I forget—the illegal working hours for non-union members. You could start a shift at 5 a.m. and work until midnight, only to be expected back at 5 a.m. the next day. PA wages ranged from $8 an hour to $13–15 an hour. There was no guarantee of more work once your current season’s contract ended.
These working conditions are inhumane and unfair to everyone involved. Even union members often only got 10-hour turnaround times—not as bad as non-union, but still far from ideal.
One of the worst things ever said to me on set happened when I returned after a week-long leave of absence following a death in my family (also not typically allowed, but my boss Laura was very kind and understanding). Someone in a position of power asked what had happened to me, as if I had just disappeared for fun. When I told her, her response was something like, “Oh, that’s it? I’ve had several people die and I still came to work.”
The irony? A week later, her house burned down and we were all told to be extra nice to her because she was going through a rough time. Apparently losing a family member didn’t qualify as a rough time, and I received no such grace or respect.
In retrospect, the indie feature I directed, The Rush Chairman (which had a $100K budget), should have been a warning sign. The producers had to fire a crew member for his hostile attitude toward me and other young crew members. He even had his name removed from the credits. But I told myself it was just a low-budget indie project and that things like that wouldn’t happen on bigger productions. Looking back, that level of ignorance is embarrassing—especially since I was the director and still faced that treatment. I should have realized it would only be worse in a lower position. But you live and you learn.
This is just a small sample of the reasons that led me to leave the industry in 2022. There are many more, but that could fill a book on its own.
I am grateful for these experiences. For a while, I was living the dream I had always wanted. But that dream eventually became a living nightmare, and I’m glad the nightmare is finally over.
— Andrew Di Pardo
