House of Whoreship: Holly Bates on Menstruation & Sex Work in Cinema
"We need the agency to talk about it and explore it authentically- digestible or not"
With a click, my Zoom screen splits into two and I am connected with filmmaker Holly Bates, who took time out of her Melbourne evening to chat to me on my Berlin morning. Several months ago, I was able to see Bates’ short House of Whoreship at a screening organised by Berlin film collective GRRL Haus Cinema, and we have now connected to discuss the film, which she describes as being “for sex workers, by a sex worker”.
The short, which was written and directed by Bates, tells the story of heartbroken Violet (Matisse Laida) and how she navigates being on the same shift as her recent ex-girlfriend Charlie (Izzy Ford) in the Melbourne brothel they both work at. Through a comedic yet emotionally resonant tone, the film explores the aftermath of a break-up while depicting the everyday, behind the scenes on-goings of a brothel.
Bates, a sex worker herself, sips a Red Bull in preparation for her own graveyard shift as she tells me about her transition from art to cinema. Having struggled with how large a role class plays in the art world, she finds cinema to be an “empathy machine” in contrast. “You sit down in a room, the lights go off, and all of a sudden everyone is on the same page…film helps us get inside the perspective of someone we might not meet in this lifetime”. The inspiration to return to filmmaking came when she began full service work, wanting better on-screen representation. “When I saw how much community there was in the brothel space through how warm and caring workers were with each other…every depiction on screen I’d seen before felt so deeply wrong in comparison. It ignited the desire to be seen.”
Bates discusses how harmful stereotypical, dehumanising depictions of sex workers can be, as they are often either glamorised or victimised in mainstream cinema. “Not only is it traumatic for us to see, and be dehumanised in front of an audience, but on a larger scale it also impacts us and our working conditions. When people see workers treated badly in film, it normalizes that behaviour through to real life. It can be largely an anonymous industry- for both workers and clients, so the general public tends to rely on the screen a lot for information.” Bates hopes that with better representation and awareness, sex workers will experience less harm.
While many films about sex work are told from the perspective of a client with a saviour complex, such as Richard Gere’s character in Pretty Woman (Gary Marshall, 1990), House of Whoreship lends its voice to sex workers. In fact, no clients appear in the short at all. Instead, we are privy to the spats between the receptionist and the workers, the cleaning Violet has to do between appointments, as well as the smoking area the women head to on their breaks. “The truly memorable part of any shift is the behind the scenes when I’m amongst other workers, the clients completely blur together” Bates tells me. She also mentions what great storytellers sex workers are. “You do a shift in the brothel, you already have so many stories- and a lot of those will come just from listening to other workers”. This is partially due to clients using sex workers for emotional labour as well as physical. “They will, you know, physically dispose themselves and then they emotionally let everything out as well”.
Bates clarifies that the film showcases the realities of the Melbourne/Victoria sex industry, where brothels are legal but sex workers can still be fired without reason by the owners. She asserts that it is the workers that make the job feel sustainable, feeling an incredible solidarity within her community despite being in a job that pits them against one another. It was important to Bates to showcase this in her film. Despite disagreements in the locker room, the workers in House of Whoreship look out for one another when someone leaks through their period sponge or needs a cigarette between clients. “We’re such a marginalised group…we really can only be free with each other, I don’t feel like myself if I’m away from the brothel for too long.”
Another uncommon element for a film about sex work is that it focuses on a queer romantic relationship, or at least the wake of one. Violet and Charlie’s dynamic depicts the pain many queer people experience when they cannot be friends with their ex despite being a part of a tightly intertwined community, as well as the nuances that come with being a queer sex worker. “Everything is like a code within a code” Bates says of her own experiences of being attracted to and dating other workers. “You are in your performative space where you are embodying your work persona…you might be checking other workers out or noticing things but it's masked and maybe only other queer sex workers can pick up on that”.
This is something prominent in House of Whoreship, as the camera captures the queer gaze through shots of lingering looks between the two main characters. The recognizable trope of a workplace romance/break-up is placed in the unconventional setting of a brothel, which effectively showcases how difficult Violet’s situation is: not only does she have to see her ex at work, she has to see her naked body. Bates muses that the film juxtaposes the stereotype of sex workers being “dick obsessed”. “Most of the time we’re indifferent to the clients because we’re too busy falling in love with each other.”
While discussing the shooting process, we stumble upon the topic of intimacy coordination. Slowly becoming standard practice in the film industry, an intimacy coordinator acts as a go-between for the actors and director, ensuring that the performers are comfortable and safe during intimate scenes. Despite House of Whoreship not containing any sex scenes, Bates had an intimacy coordinator on set as the film required the actors to wear lingerie for much for the shoot. It also depicts several intimate moments, including kissing. “It makes it a safer environment for crew and cast…actors are so generous and they will give you everything if you ask them to, so having a third person there to navigate boundaries and keep them safe is really good”. While the expense of an intimacy coordinator can be too great for low-budget productions, Bates is of the opinion that filmmakers should strive to at least have an alternative role in place. “Someone who can be calm and gentle but who also isn’t afraid to put you in your place on behalf of the actors”.
As Violet’s shift progresses in the film, things only become more difficult. The stakes are finally at their highest when her sponge, keeping her period from leaking, becomes stuck inside her just moments before she has a new client. As fate would have it, Charlie is the only one who can help, bringing the two characters into a moment Bates describes as one of “forced vulnerability”. Rather than having an erotic subtext, the scene leans into a funny, lighthearted awkwardness as the two exes find themselves in an uncomfortable yet familiar position. The incident is inspired by Bates’ own experience. When an IUD caused her to bleed uncontrollably, an ex of her’s was the only person who could drive her to hospital and the two ended up reconciling as friends.
When making the film, Bates had no idea how impactful including scenes depicting a period would be. She has had multiple people come up to her after screenings, thanking her for such an authentic representation of menstruation. “I’m so desensitised from it,” Bates laughs, “sometimes I forget. Cause you can be in this little safe sex work bubble with your co-workers and its like, oh right! People think periods are disgusting!”. When discussing famous on-screen depictions of periods, Bates notes cinema has come a long way. Arguably the most famous, or infamous, cinematic menstruation scene is the opening of Carrie (Brian De Palma, 1976), where the titular teenager crawls on the floor, believing she is dying when she gets her first period in a high school shower room. In contrast, contemporary pieces of film and television offer more real and nuanced depictions. In particular, Bates recalls an episode of Broad City (2014-2019) where one of the main characters wears her period stained trousers to the airport in order to avoid getting searched by security so she can smuggle her weed through.
Still, however, on-screen representation of menstruation is rare and more often than not used either as a punchline or in the context of a pregnancy scare rather than being shown as a part of daily life. Bates makes a link between menstruation and sex work in this context, as she notes that both are considered a “dirty” taboo in cinema and society. “We often have to make it seem like…there are no issues and like it's clean and sterile and prettily packaged for people so they can stomach it…we need the agency to talk about it and explore it authentically- digestible or not”. Bates’ next project also seeks to improve sex worker representation on screen, but this time the short will focus on workers' experiences with “civilians”, non-sex workers. Bates discusses how people “feel entitled to information or opinions about you as a sex worker and how there’s a confident disregard in how they communicate those things in relation to our feelings and our experiences…this next project will aim to capture the every day experience of how we deal with people outside of sex work and how it can go wrong but also maybe how it can go right”.
When watching House of Whoreship a word that was often mentioned in our interview comes to mind: vulnerability. While Bates’ characters both do their best to put on a strong front, their underlying emotions effectively seep through in both dramatic and comedic moments. She portrays the brothel as an imperfect yet intriguing workplace that is built upon a strong sense of community, a depiction that is all too rare in contemporary cinema. If this debut short is anything to go by, Bates’ next work is sure not to disappoint. House of Whoreship is available to rent online for just 6.50 euro, a link to which can be found below. It has previously screened at Inside Out Festival in Canada, Melbourne Queer Film Festival, Cornwall Film Festival and Porn Film Festival Berlin, among others.
Rent House of Whoreship online: https://houseofwhoreship.vhx.tv/