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Film and TV Editor John O’Connor and Mary O’Leary discuss the representation of sex workers in both film and documentaries - and mediate on how the two forms can offer different perspectives.
In Documentary
By John O'Connor
“When someone has rejection from their mother and father, their family, when they get out into the world…they search.” - Paris is Burning
The documentary Paris is Burning (1990) celebrates and chronicles the vibrant New York ballroom scene of the 1980s and the dreams of those who gave the era its warmth and vitality - those who searched for a place to belong. For many in the community at the time—primarily Black and Latinx LGBTQ+ individuals, as well as trans women who had been cast out by their families—options for living their authentic selves were limited. In a society that did not accept them or outright denied their existence, sex work became the only option for many. In film, we see the sex worker trope be played by the attractive female lead - this documentary shows how Queer and trans sex workers have played a major role in shaping our perception of the sex work industry.
Paris is Burning features a series of interviews with gay men and women, drag queens, and trans women, offering an intimate glimpse into their lives. While the documentary has been surrounded by controversy since its initial screening, with some criticizing its potentially exploitative portrayal of its subjects, it nonetheless provides a candid snapshot of the lives of those who were forced into sex work. This is where the documentary form triumphs in its pursuit of authenticity, surpassing traditional film in capturing a raw, unfiltered and under-documented reality.
In Paris is Burning, we witness the sex work industry through the hopeful eyes of Venus Xtravaganza. Her story serves as a poignant reminder of the disproportionate violence faced by the transgender community. Her kindness and hopefulness in the face of adversity represented the strength of those in the community. Tragically, Xtravaganza’s body was found strangled and hidden under a bed at the Fulton Hotel shortly after the filming of the documentary. Her death highlights the immense toll some transgender individuals had to face in their pursuit of authenticity during that time. The violence directed at sex workers and trans people continues to haunt us to this day.
Among the many sex workers interviewed in the documentary, we encounter feelings of both liberation and regret. One sex worker expresses this internal struggle, saying, "I just hope that when I die, God forgives me for what I've made of my life, and that he knew what I would become the day I was born." She seeks forgiveness in terms of the choices she has made yet remains true to herself, asserting that this is how God made her. The documentary holds no position of judgement—only understanding, and a powerful, unfiltered look at their lives and choices.
There remains a significant taboo surrounding the discussion of sex work, with harmful stereotypes in film only intensifying the controversy. However, documentaries offer a unique opportunity to hear firsthand accounts, shedding light on how sex work has impacted a subculture that is often neglected and treated with far less respect and empathy than it deserves.
Near the end of the documentary, a sex worker reflects on the devastation of the AIDS epidemic, stating, "They say the end of the world’s coming. It’s not the end of the world, because the world’s always been here… it’s the end of us." These resilient men and women were forced into sex work as a means to provide for themselves, and in doing so, helped preserve the ballroom scene, creating a safe haven for Queer youth for decades to come. It was not the end of them. Their sacrifice gifted us a new beginning.
In Film
By Mary O'Leary
“You know I’ve been thinking about our honeymoon, and I think we should do it at Disney World because that’s been like my dream since I’ve been a little girl.” - Anora
Throughout history, the stories told regarding sex work have been embedded with judgements of morality. Sex work has been a story told both as a cautionary tale for young woman and as a fantasy for young men. One vital truth here is that the perspective of sex workers themselves are often neglected within these retellings. As such, the reality of sex workers often inhibits a space completely fabricated by the judgements of its storytellers.
In film, the stereotypical sex worker is an attractive woman who acts as either the love interest or the would-be mistress of the male lead. The ‘mistress’ is the immoral seducer, not just because she is trying to steal away the male love interest but because she is aware of her own sexuality. Her choosing to act promiscuously and knowing that her actions go against traditional virginal values enforces the narrative that she should be punished for her overt sexuality. Very rarely is this character given any depth, nor her actions given any nuance. It is also important to note that these characters are often only shown in scenes of sexual intimacy or coercion. Her entire narrative purpose is to instead oppose the pure, virginal female love interest, whom the male lead eventually returns to.
However, there are many films which instead depict the sex worker as the female love interest herself. The only issue is her agency over her own body and sexuality are almost entirely stripped from her. Instead, she acts as someone the male love interest can save, not only from her career but also her loss of innocence. Movies like 1990’s Pretty Woman follow this narrative exactly, with the main female character showing almost no sense of sexual promiscuity to begin with. And when she is depicted sexually, it is exclusively for the male lead. Any other male attention given to her is strongly refused.
In making innocence such a vital part of sex worker narratives, it creates a fantasy inherently related to the sexualization of young, childlike girls. Movies such as 1978’s Pretty Baby staring Brooke Shields, created a narrative that allowed for the sexualisation of children through its depiction of sex work - children such as Brooke Shields herself.
2024’s Anora combines both tropes in its attempt to humanize and add depth to its main character, the sex worker Anora. Though Ani is aware and overt in her sexual actions, she remains innocent in her belief that the Russian oligarch who married her on a whim, truly loves her. Her wish to honeymoon in Disney World and her Cinderella narrative enforce this expected innocence. As such, Anora allows for a realistic yet humanized version of its sex worker character. And though not perfect, it takes a step away from questioning the morality of women forced into this industry and towards the men willing to take advantage of them.