Amy Northup is an actor, director, Intimacy Coordinator, and a trained victims advocate with the Crime Victims Treatment Center. Amy has dedicated her career to advocating for sexual assault victims, which led to her recent directorial debut in the film ‘What She Said.’ This film follows Sam, a sexual assault survivor, as she deals with the trauma of the assault and the process of convicting her attacker. Sam has a strong community of friends and family who want to help her heal from this experience, but she ultimately feels frustrated with herself and others as she tries to build back her autonomy. In this interview, Amy eloquently answers all of our questions regarding the film, the production process, and how she is advocating for sexual assault victims in all aspects of her career.

Where are you based?
Brooklyn, NY! I live with my fiance, Jesse, and our 2 year old pup, Sebastian. Jesse and I actually met on the set of this movie — she was on the crew!

How did you first get into acting and film?
I truly don’t know. I feel like most performers have this great story about seeing a play for the first time, or the tv show they fell in love with as a kid. I grew up in the absolute middle of nowhere — no theatres, we only sometimes had cable. But, I was an insatiable reader, and I played pretend a lot. I think the books did it. I would get so lost in stories and so obsessed with characters — I don’t think I knew it then, but that was my gateway drug to the power of human stories.

Also looking back, once I got it in my head that I wanted to be an actor, I now realize the ones I looked up to were the ones attending marches, using their Oscar speeches as a platform for something. I wanted to act, but I now realize a huge part of what was appealing about it was the possibility for impact.

Jejune was blown away by What She Said, which is your directorial debut. What about this project inspired you to make this your first directing credit?
Thank you so much! It truly means so much to hear that. Jenny, Julie, and I were talking one night at a party, they had this idea they were throwing around for a script. Nothing was written yet, but the idea was everything I am and stand for. The parts of survivor-hood nobody talks about, the aftermath, and the co-survivors. I have no idea what got into me but I blurted out “Do you have a director? I want to direct this.”

I didn’t go to film school, I trained as an actor. But this subject has been my life’s work for a really long time, and it was a perfect transition for me. I had a ton to learn about filmmaking (God bless our DP, Alexa Wolf, she taught me so much!). But from both lived experience as a survivor and my various forms of work in sexual violence prevention and crisis response, I was really lucky to be able to jump in on a subject that I felt like I deeply knew.

This film covers the aftermath of sexual assault, showing how the victim is far from finished with what happened long after the assault. What inspired you to share this story in particular?
I recently wrote an article for Talkhouse that gets into this a little bit. There seems to be a new willingness to make media about sexual assault, or social justice centered stories in general — but they can be very specifically and neatly packaged. They tend to center cops as heroes. They can tend towards trauma porn. And the end of the story is often a verdict. The actual impacts can be very impossible to define in a court or criminal justice setting, and in reality there is very, very rarely accountability there. And of course, most survivors don’t report at all.

Survivorship in reality is really messy, and confusing, and often exists in a really gray area. A survivor’s experience in “the after” lives much more in interactions with our families, our friends, passions, careers- and with our body, our sexuality, ourselves. It’s not easily definable, it’s not linear, and a lot of times it makes no sense and it’s extraordinarily hard to put language to.

I want to tell stories about that gray area. I believe that’s what we need to see reflected in order to begin to validate sexual violence outside of the criminal justice system. To see it and validate it in our own communities, to grasp that people we love are capable of committing harm, and believing people when they say they have been harmed. When we only see it happening *over there*, it’s harder to notice it where it actually is happening — which is everywhere, all around us.

A lot of rape victims never charge their attackers. Can you expand on this issue?
There are just... so many crippling answers to this. To me this was one of the most powerful parts of the most recent iteration of the #metoo movement — the #whyididn’treport hashtag. If you never have, spend some time there. This is a question that deserves nuance and a much longer answer, and there is a lot of really brilliant writing out there about this. To touch on some of it:

Charging someone means interacting with the police and justice system, which is a very unsafe and deeply traumatizing place for a lot of people. (We should note that sexual misconduct is the second-leading complaint against law enforcement officers. Who do you report to if your assault was perpetrated by the people you’re meant to report to?)

Even if you do have support within the justice system of a lawyer, advocate, or Olivia Benson, victim blaming is rampant in the criminal process, and survivors know they will be put through a litany of questioning, their pasts dug into and weaponized, their shame wielded to turn the blame on them. It’s often a deeply humiliating experience, and for most people not at all empowering, but incredibly re-traumatizing. This already devastating process intersects with all of the ways that the justice system is often violent towards any survivor that lies anywhere outside the accepted identities of “rape victim” (female/white/straight/cisgendered/able bodied/american citizen).

Consider also the utter banality of sexual violence. A lot of people don’t realize they’ve even experienced sexual violence, because it’s so “normal.” Or they do, but they don’t think it’s “bad enough to count” (again, perhaps because it doesn’t look like the version of it they’ve seen on TV.) Or perhaps it lies outside of the generally accepted understanding of what rape IS. As in, Sam’s assault was digital penetration, not penile. Or, what if you’re a woman assaulted by another woman? Or are a man that’s been assaulted, but grew up in a culture that told you you should be grateful for sex in all forms, and your consent is never even considered? (Note, these are not just culturally accepted definitions; many states have legal definitions of rape that would render these examples unprosecutable.)

Additionally, most people are assaulted by someone they know, which means other people they know, love, and depend on know their perpetrator. Or their perpetrator is someone they know, love, and depend on. And to get really into the grey area, I think a lot of survivors experience harm at the hands of someone that they know may not have meant to commit it. I think a lot of people experience a version of harm that they don’t feel judicial or carceral punishment would be actually healing for them, but that doesn’t mean nothing happened to them. And that’s the choice we’ve given survivors. Your attacker needs to be evil enough to, without the shadow of a doubt, belong in jail, be a person we can exile, be a monster; or nothing happened to you. A lot of people won’t engage in that because they know their experience lies somewhere else, somewhere in between. We have nothing in between — say nothing, swallow it, and it is yours and yours alone to handle or charge, convict, punish.

Near the climax of the film, Sam, the main character played by Jenny Lester, escapes her friends and family and heads to her local pub where she has a heart to heart with the bartender that ultimately changes her perspective. This scene was very special to watch, how was this essential to Sam’s character development and healing journey?
I’m not sure it changes her perspective so much as it gently gives her space to find what her perspective actually is. And in Sam’s case, I think it’s been extraordinarily difficult to hear her own voice amidst the din of being so loved.

I think it's a really understandable and common mistake we make when someone we love is hurting. We want so desperately to reach into the well of their trauma and pull them out, and we have so much to offer them to bring their light back. But ultimately, sexual assault is an act of taking away someone’s autonomy. And one of the most healing things we can do for someone is to over and over and over again, give them space to find their autonomy again. Help them trust themselves again. This is the only scene where someone is not telling Sam what to do.

I would be remiss to not also mention that I think that scene is as impactful as it is because actor Vaishnavi Sharma’s work is truly beautiful. She and Jenny have a beautiful friendship, and I think it showed up in such magical ways in this scene.

Sam is often frustrated with the amount of people willing to help her. In your opinion, do all these people forcing her to deal with what happens help her or hurt her?
Yes, and I think that’s the point. It is an impossible task that, not only is a survivor given, to move through the aftermath of violence, but that their entire community is given too.

Sam is not only frustrated with everyone trying to help her, she’s also deeply frustrated with herself that it doesn’t help. I think she wishes it would, but when it’s not safe to live inside your own body anymore it can be really painful to be seen. Your family loving you and your friends supporting you are supposed to make you feel better, and sometimes it just… doesn’t. That’s so painful. The way that they start to resent you for not being able to take in their love the way they need you to, that would be healing to their own incredibly valid grief and rearranging. The way you get blisteringly irritated with them for the fact they keep trying. It’s jarring to realize they don’t really know you anymore; to sit with the fact that you don’t either. You all have to rewrite everything.

Could you explain the importance of community in relation to healing from a traumatic event?
Community is the thing that looks back at you and says YES that happened. That anchors you in the reality that you still exist, that you did before and you do right now and you will continue you to, outside of the things that are not yours, that you did not ask for, that you did not do anything to deserve.

Community can be your friends and family just being there, spending time with you, cooking with you, or talking with you, ebbing and flowing between talking about *the thing* and talking about *anything other than the thing*.

Community can be the strangers you find that have been through it too. The ones that didn’t know you yesterday that today know you better than anyone.

Community can also be culture. Culture looks around and says no, we communally decide we share an ethic that we as a group don’t accept this behavior, and that this is how we will deal with this. Or, we communally enable this, we perpetuate systems that allow this to continue. (I think when we look at restorative justice practices, we see powerful and healing community.)

Although an intense and heartbreaking film, there is still humor and community at the heart of it. How were you able to keep it lighthearted?
This was so, so important to us. Humor can certainly be a coping mechanism, and we see that with Sam for sure. Jenny has talked about the Jewishness of this at length, and I love it so much. But also importantly to me: lightness, laughter, joy, silliness; these are things that we are allowed to feel while also feeling wrecked, WHILE feeling broken. And they are things that are weaponized against survivors. If we see someone being “ok” , then they must be lying. They must not be as impacted as they say. It puts pressure on survivors to clutch to their pain and their pain only, in order to have it validated. I really wanted the humor to challenge us. Do you believe her less cause she’s snarky? Do you care less because you see her have moments of joy? We are still whole people outside of this experience. I was raped, but I never stopped being fucking funny.

Everyone in this film deals with the aftermath of Sam’s assault differently. Why was it important to highlight the reactions of Sam’s family and friends?
Co-survivorship is real, and it’s brutal. Trauma is absolutely co-experienced; people close to a survivor are deeply impacted by the violence. Of course that impact is filtered through the lens of the characters own lived experience and history, and relationship with Sam.

I suspect many of our characters have their own varying experiences with consent violations, on all sides. It leads them to go in certain directions, to take on certain roles with her. It asks them to reflect on their own relationships, to dig into (or turn away from) the way they have to be with one another now.

Again, in the context of a courtroom or a criminal investigation, we may meet some co-survivors. But we don’t see the minutiae of the ways in snakes into everyone’s lives. I also think it’s important because it asks us to humanize everyone around us in the film. We can definitely see the ways that Sam’s friends and family screw this up, get it wrong. And when we add the lens of their co-survivorship, maybe we can see ourselves a little more in all of them, maybe we are less likely to send them *over there* to the place that has nothing to do with us.

For this movie you worked with almost an entire female crew. How did that impact the production?
This crew was really special — the women, the non-binary folks, and the men. We bonded, big time. Many of us are still really dear friends (did I mention I’m marrying one of them?!).

I am always a bit hesitant to go hard on this question because I don’t believe that women hold a monopoly on empathy, men don’t hold a monopoly on being assholes, and enby people exist and they are capable of being empathetic assholes just like the rest of us. And saying that a mostly female crew made things gentler because it was mostly female is a disservice to the entirety of all the humanity that we had on that set. People were assholes some days. People were under-slept and overworked and we snapped at each other. Egos showed up. But people also held each other when we got tired, or triggered, or just needed a good snuggle. And when we snapped or weren’t kind, we tried to talk it out. There was an extraordinarily abnormal amount of gentleness, patience, humor and grace on this set. And a mind boggling amount of talent. There were a lot of survivors, across the gender spectrum, and I hope that showed up powerfully in the way we took care of each other during difficult scenes, or on our recovery days. Of everything I’m walking away from on this movie, the crew is the dearest part. I’m so grateful.

There are a variety of different characters in this film with unique perspectives and personalities. As a director, how did you manage each character differently?
These characters all have this mammoth common experience that the movie is centered around. And they have the various shared experiences of their college years, childhoods, and relationships to Sam. Then you go deeply into the entirely different identities and lived experiences through which they experience these shared experiences. It was a lot of: who was this person before, who was this person during. Because of that, who is this person now? Shared event, deeply different lenses. I think you see this a lot in the moments where they challenge each other, where they don’t quite align, but they try to.

Our actors brought incredible stuff to this. And so did Jorie, our costume designer. I still watch scenes and am blown away by the way she spoke such a language with all of them, but they’re so unique.

Do you relate to a certain character in particular?
A lot of my experience as a survivor is in Sam. A lot of my experience as a co-survivor is in Meghan. A lot of my confusion is in Aaron. A lot of my being a pain in the ass in Becca.

Did you personally take anything away from this film or the characters?
My relationship to the justice system, how it’s changed, why we included it (to include what it is actually like) vs where I am now as an abolitionist.

What do you want your audience to take away from this film?
Grey area. This story is one of many we need to be taking in, to help us acclimate to the fact that sexual violence is not something that happens somewhere else. A carceral only approach has left us with the choices of silence or punitive justice, which has led to a culture of silence. We have to take this on, as communities. We have to help each other figure this out, because we are all grappling with it and it affects all of us.

Along with raising awareness through film, you are also take part in initiatives to support sexual assault victims. Can you tell us what initiatives you support and how you are involved?
I’m the Nightlife Community Liaison and a facilitator with an organization called OutSmartNYC, a partnership between service providers and the nightlife community dedicated to sexual violence prevention working the nightlife industry. With OutSmart, I also sit on the Manhattan Sexual Assault Task Force.

I’m also a trained victims advocate with the Crime Victims Treatment Center. Volunteer rape crisis and domestic violence advocates provide crisis counseling, emotional support and advocacy to survivors of sexual and intimate partner violence who seek treatment in CVTC affiliated emergency rooms.

How do you plan to campaign for these initiatives in your upcoming projects?
This stuff is truly central to everything that I do. I don’t go anywhere without my lived experience as a survivor, and of course as an IC I am bringing this work to everything that I do. I am always looking for projects to direct or to IC that allow me to pair impact with artistry, that use storytelling as a way of expanding how we understand and respond to sexual violence.

On top of that, you are an Intimacy Coordinator and facilitate classes on consent practices for filmmakers. Could you share more about this and why it is important on set?
This is a whole other interview in itself! Essentially, my job is to ensure that stories of Intimacy are being told with the consent of all parties, and with authenticity. On the practical side, it’s a role very similar to a stunt coordinator. Everything is choreographed, we’re all clear on how to execute that choreography of simulated sex acts within everyone's boundaries. We help with modesty garments and barriers, and act as a liaison between all the departments that play into the execution of an intimate scene. On the creative side, our job is to help bring more truth to sex, more nuance to consent, more storytelling to the physical expression of Intimacy. We help you avoid the trap of “just go at it, see what happens” — which often leads to, at best, awkwardly filmed sex scenes, and at worst, people going past their limits and experiencing consent violations.

In terms of consent work on set and in the acting classroom, we work to mitigate power dynamics to make the ability to say “no” more accessible to actors. For anyone familiar with actor training or set culture, actors are very much groomed to say yes to everything. They are the directors clay, and the further they are willing to go, the more committed they are to their art. This, of course, is bogus. Actors having boundaries is perfectly beautiful artistry, and often leads us to telling even better stories because we’re challenged to find a different, often more interesting way to tell the story.

Do you have any advice for someone who is recovering from a sexual assault and/or someone who is trying to help someone who was sexually assaulted?
Advice for survivors is so, so personal. You didn’t do anything to deserve this. This is not your fault. This should not have happened. Yes, it was that bad. You are not alone in any way, but you are unique in your experience of it, and that deserves to be honored. Take your time and work back into your body in a way that is safe. Find support in community, or in professional help. It’s ok to be frustrated in that support, and it’s ok to need to try a lot on to find the right thing. Healing doesn’t have to be the only goal. You don’t have to bypass your rage or your confusion or your numbness. Take all the time that you need. You are allowed to be all of the things that you are. You are loved.

In terms of support — ask what they need. Ask what support and accountability look like for them. When the time is right and they say they are ready, work with them to figure out what their justice actually looks like. Don’t assume you know. The best support is helping them rebuild autonomy. Watch for ways you are trying to fix or save, as these can often show up as painful continuations of autonomy stripping. Find the support YOU need to help you support them. Honor your own pain and grief. You are loved.

Domestic violence increased during shelter in place. Do you have any advice for anyone trapped in an unhealthy relationship?
Safety plan! Think through ways to minimize your risk of being harmed. This is a great tool (you can X out of it quickly if you need to, and it has tips for clearing browser history.)

I think one of the hardest things about a DV relationship is figuring out what is real. Your partner has a very specific idea of the truth, your friends and family have a different one, and you feel stuck in the middle. One of the most effective tools of abusers is isolation — removing you from the voices that challenge their version of reality, giving them less control. As much as you can safely do, maintain your outside relationships. And remember: this is not your fault. I don’t care if you have gone back, this is not your fault. This shit’s HARD. You DO deserve the life that’s still a little bit alive in that tiny corner of your brain. And it’s never ever ever as easy as “just leave.” (And, psst. friends of people in DV or toxic situations! They’re prone to being isolated from you! As is within the capacity of your own mental health and safety, don’t judge! Stay open so they keep talking to you. Try to understand. It can be really, REALLY hard to leave. It’s normal and valid to be frustrated with someone you see as repeating a bad pattern, abuse truly changes your brain. If you need to tap out, see if you can tap another friend or family member in, or you can set them up with some other resources.)

How are you staying positive during the current wave of the pandemic? Are you almost back to normal?
GUYS WHICH WAVE ARE WE EVEN IN. Omicron sounds like a transformer, which I guess is kind of appropriate. I’m considering finally, after many years of being a Capricorn, taking up…. a hobby. Word on the street is excel sheets don’t count. In anticipation of Omelette-trons impending shut down — should I decorate cookies? Learn to knit? Oil Paint? Embrace my grandma and learn to play bridge? Maybe I’ll just… make a quick excel that data validates the pros and cons of all options???

I truly have so much to be positive about. I wasn’t broken after all and fell in love and we get to plan a silly wedding! My partner is the coolest, cutest person. My apartment is so, so home-y and I love spending time in it. My movie premiered!! Intimacy Coordinating brings me incredible fulfillment. My dog got sprayed by a skunk last week and he smells atrocious but he’s very cute and gives great cuddles. I got to meet my best friend's sweet baby last week. For now, we still have seltzer.

Normal sucked anyway.

What is your motto in life?
A quote from Nayyirah Waheed’s poem Therapy: “Keep the rage tender.”

I am not so addicted to hope that I am willing to engage in positivity bypassing. And I am not so addicted to my rage that I see no reason to fight.

To see more from Amy Northup, please follow her via her instagram:
Instagram: @supnorthup

'What She Said': Amy Northup And The Unheard Voice