Isa Mazzei

By Charlotte Scurlock

December 5, 2019

The monster of Isa Mazzei’s film manifests itself not in living flesh but in digital pixels. Within a small pool of narrative films about pornography that are at best a celebration of male achievement and at worst complicit in the further oppression of sex workers, Cam (2018), screenwritten by Mazzei, is a refreshing analysis of internet cultures. Set in the present age of online porn and based in part on Mazzei’s experience working in the porn industry, Cam follows Alice, a motivated and hard-working cam girl. When her account is taken over by an unknown doppelganger, Alice is forced to investigate and eventually reclaim her online persona. Beyond depicting the life and labor inherent in contemporary porn production, Cam explores the duality of twenty-first century sex work as oscillating between marginalizing and liberating.

After premiering at Fantasia International Film Festival in July of 2018 to great critical acclaim,  Cam was quickly acquired and released by Netflix in November of the same year. Mazzei sought to create a film that would “normalize and destigmatize sex work,” [1] and documentary originally seemed the best avenue to do this, as she felt it would provide insight into the life and labor of sex workers. Eventually, however, Mazzei decided that “documentary is still inherently from the outside,” and thus distances the viewer from those depicted on screen. Mazzei turned to the horror genre because of the instant alignment with the protagonist: “you’re scared with her, you’re hopeful with her, you’re panicked and afraid with her, and I think that that is a really powerful tool.” The horror genre, Mazzei says, is a great place to explore cultural anxieties and to build empathy. She attributes the recent rise of women working in horror film production to these factors of the genre. 

While Mazzei is credited as the screenwriter of the film and her long-term friend Daniel Goldhaber as the director, the film opens with a joint credit stating that the film was created by Mazzei and Goldhaber. Mazzei stated they used this credit because “film is all about collaboration, and we really wanted to compress the idea that the director is always the author because we don’t feel like that’s necessarily true.” While Mazzei and Goldhaber worked on the craft of writing and of directing respectively, Mazzei stressed that the entire production was a collaborative process, and that the two consistently turned to each other for guidance. This challenges the notion of the auteur, a term used to describe (usually male) directors. By emphasising the collaboration inherent in the filmmaking process, Mazzei and Goldhaber dispel the myth of director as sole creator.  

Cinematic depictions of porn are extremely limited, especially in narrative form. Outside of a slew of documentaries representing porn as exploitative of women sex workers (like Hot Girls Wanted and After Porn Ends) are a few narrative features like Boogie Nights and Knife+Heart. Both of these films are nostalgic period pieces by and about men working in the so-called ‘golden age’ of porn in the 1970s and 80s. Sex workers in film are often depicted as the victims of brutal crimes, from horror films like Peeping Tom and American Psycho to crime shows like Law and Order: Special Victims Unit and beyond. Sex workers, usually coming from marginalized groups, do not have much power in these narratives. They are often dead, and if not, they are almost always the victim of a crime and are seeking justice through the legal system where an attorney controls the sex worker’s narrative by advocating on their behalf. Cam presents a radically different narrative of sex work, where the fear stems not from a man in an alley holding a knife but rather from what Mazzei described as the “fracturing of self” she experienced as a sex worker. This anxiety first emerged from the disconnect she felt from who she was in real life versus who she was online, as she worried that her audiences only liked her for the fake persona she took on while performing. When some of her shows were uploaded to piracy sites, these fears grew even more pronounced. With hundreds of people watching copies of her shows now labeled only as “pale girl,” and with no way to connect her art back to her, Mazzei described feeling “alienated from [her] own image.” This experience led to the creation of Alice, exploring what it would be like if her online persona actually became a different person. 

In one of the most unsettling scenes in the film, Alice seeks help from the police after watching her online persona commit a graphic suicide on camera. The officers who come to her house are dismissive of her concerns and question the legality of her work. This too is based off of a negative experience Mazzei had with a police officer. Due to hyper-competition from other cam girls, stigmatization from family, dismissal by law enforcement, and loyalty of her fans only to her online image, Alice eventually becomes completely alienated. She alone must fight to get her account, her work, and her identity back. Her ultimate success dissolves the narrative archetype that women in horror films must have help in getting out of a dangerous situation. Her decision to return to porn at the end of the film disrupts the cultural narrative that people turn to sex work as a last resort and thus need to be rescued from their self-inflicted marginalization. Alice does not work in porn out of necessity, but because she enjoys the work and the benefits it provides.   

In order to further normalize sex work, Mazzei wanted to depict the actual labor that goes into being a cam girl. “A lot of camming is sitting alone in a room talking to a computer …  but it’s really fun and it’s really dynamic and exciting and addicting and stimulating.” Cam presents a contemporary portrayal of women’s labor, echoing the representation of ‘women’s work’ present throughout the history of feminist counter cinema. Alice spends the majority of her time working, and earns enough to neglect some of the traditional women’s work. Instead of cooking, she has sushi delivered to her house. Instead of washing the dinner dishes, she vacuums rose petals from an earlier show. She is constantly working, planning and preparing different shows, studying other successful cam girls, and communicating virtually with her clients. In this way, the film depicts the tedious and demanding nature of sex work. 

The construction of femininity is significant in the narrative arcs of all the women in the film. Most obviously, the cam girls in the film perform as ultra-feminine in their work. Through costumes, themed shows, and personalized communication with clients, the cam girls capitalize on their femininity for monetary profit. The other two named women in the film are also concerned with presenting as desirably feminine, albeit in different ways. Alice’s mother Lynne works in a salon, where she helps women acquire mainstream beauty traits. Prior to her knowledge of Alice’s career, she constantly nags her daughter about how to behave with boys and how to improve her appearance. Lynne’s acceptance of her daughter’s porn career occurs at the end of the film, when she gives Alice a full makeover. Lynne understands the power of femininity as a means of personal and professional gain, which may be a factor in her ultimate acceptance of Alice’s career.

When Alice runs into her old friend Katie in the grocery store, a third category of femininity and women’s work is presented. As Alice impulsively throws items into her cart for a show later that night, she encounters Katie, dressed in her work uniform and cleaning something off the floor. Upon reconnecting, Katie expresses simultaneous jealousy and insecurity at Alice’s higher financial and cosmetic status. Later in the film, right before Alice’s real career is exposed, Katie asks Alice to take a picture of her for social media. Katie promptly scrutinizes the photo and alters her image with an editing app. In both of these scenes, she shows her insecurity in being less conventionally attractive, and thus less feminine, than Alice. When Alice’s porn career is revealed, however, Katie can’t help but smirk with satisfaction. In Katie’s eyes, this realization lowers Alice’s social level. Yes, Alice may be wealthier and more attractive than Katie, but at least Katie earns her money in a culturally accepted way. The view is that, through porn, Alice is cheaply exploiting herself, thus negating her achievements.

In her new memoir Camgirl, Mazzei hopes to continue her project of normalizing sex work. Working collaboratively with Goldhaber, Mazzei has also written an episode for the new Quibi horror anthology series Fifty States of Fright. Premiering in 2020, each episode will focus on the urban legends different American states. Mazzei’s episode will focus on a legend from her home state of Colorado. She hopes to continue her career as an artist not tied to a specific medium, continuing to write for screen, page, and beyond. Cam presents an informed and accurate view of sex work, showing the opportunities and oppressions present in the contemporary porn industry.

Notes:

1.  Unless otherwise specified, all quotes in this piece are from an interview with Isa Mazzei.

Charlotte Scurlock is a senior at the University of Pittsburgh majoring in Film and Media Studies, Gender Studies, and Urban Studies. Her research focuses on cultural production through digital media. She is the intern for Cut-Throat Women and the Editor In-Chief of The Fourth Wave, a student-run intersectional feminist publication through the University of Pittsburgh.

Additional Resources on Isa Mazzei:

Bibliography of Further Reading:

Cam. Daniel Goldhaber and Isa Mazzei, Blumhouse Productions, 2018.

Engen, Jessica. “Meet The Colorado Woman Who Made a Thriller Inspired by Her Life as a Cam Girl.” 303 Magazine. 1 Dec. 2018.

Mazzei, Isa. Personal interview. 16 October 2019.

Porter, Rick. “Rachel Brosnahan, Christina Ricci to Star in Quibi Horror Anthology.” The Hollywood Reporter. 3 Oct. 2019.

Filmography:

Cam. Daniel Goldhaber and Isa Mazzei, Blumhouse Productions, 2018.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.