Recently, I participated in a Sri Lankan Tamil cinema discussion. Around twenty people were present but only four were women, including me. Two of them were there for academic research on women’s portrayal in Sri Lankan cinema and we were presented there with a name of official visit but with an interest in cinema. Even before the discussion began, the imbalance was visible.

This discussion was organized as part of a film education initiative. People came with different intentions. Some came purely out of interest. Some came as facilitators. Some came professionally. All four women present also had different reasons to be there. And that itself revealed something important as women rarely enter such spaces just because they are interested. There must always be a reason that sounds acceptable, professional, or necessary. Interest alone is often not enough.

At one point, the conversation moved to women in Sri Lankan Tamil filmmaking. The facilitator mentioned early women filmmakers and made a statement I genuinely agree with: that a woman filmmaker should not be identified as a “woman filmmaker” but simply as a filmmaker. Equality, ideally, should look like that.

However, when a student questioned whether male dominance exists in the industry, the response was that numbers alone don’t define dominance. It was also said that if a woman could make films even in the 1980s, then anyone can do anything at any time.
That’s where something felt incomplete.

Just because something is possible does not mean it is accessible. One woman breaking through a system does not mean the system is open to all women. Sri Lanka had the world’s first female Prime Minister so that doesn’t automatically mean Sri Lankan politics is gender-equal. Breaking a door once does not guarantee the door remains open. right!

When the topic of female portrayal in cinema came up, many men in the audience loudly defended the industry by listing a handful of films. But the very fact that those examples were countable on fingers revealed the truth. They knew the scarcity yet the conclusion was still that there was no real problem.
So I spoke.

I said: If you say there is no male dominance here, I agree that no one inside this room is stopping women. But if my father or my brother does not allow me to step out, how do I reach this room in the first place?

The common justification for this restriction is safety. Women are not stopped because they lack ability, but because they are “protected.” And then came the most revealing suggestion: marry someone who supports your passion.
So I asked: Does that mean my freedom must still come through a man?

Silence followed.
This is where equality becomes complicated. Not because of the industry alone, and not because of individual men, but because women’s freedom is conditional. It must be negotiated through family approval, social respectability, safety concerns, marriage, and constant judgment.

Men can approach filmmaking as another profession, another task, another ambition. For women, it becomes an adventure, considered as risky, always questioned and monitored. Women are expected to balance passion, career, family, and social acceptance simultaneously. Men are allowed rest after work. This difference is subtle, normalized, and rarely acknowledged.

Another discussion reinforced this idea from a different angle. An eighteen-year-old boy spoke about his desire to pursue filmmaking. He was academically strong, but his family feared that focusing on cinema might weaken his studies. He explained that he had two sisters and felt responsible for their future.

The advice he received was about mindset – that passion and profession can be balanced if one truly wants it.

But what went unquestioned was the expectation itself.
Why must the role of breadwinner automatically fall on the son?
Why is financial responsibility assumed rather than discussed?

Men are allowed to struggle, but they are rarely allowed to question the roles assigned to them. Questioning responsibility can make them appear weak or less masculine. And as long as men carry silent pressure, women remain dependent and protected through sacrifice rather than empowered through independence.

If men were encouraged to question this burden, it would not weaken families. It would strengthen women’s autonomy. Instead of one person carrying responsibility for many, families could move toward shared independence where daughters are encouraged to be financially and emotionally self-reliant, not sheltered indefinitely.

Cinema reflects this imbalance too. Female-centric films often need to satisfy male audiences to achieve theatrical success. Women’s stories are considered niche unless men approve them. Many women watch such films quietly on OTT platforms because openly expressing interest still invites judgment. A woman liking a woman-centric film is often questioned her taste, her values, her character.

Women’s stories are frequently written by men, filtered through male comfort, and limited in emotional truth. If this continues, cinema will remain safe but unchanged. Real stories create discomfort. And discomfort is not danger; it is the beginning of reflection.

This is not about blaming men.
This is not about denying progress.
This is about recognizing patterns.

Women are not absent because they are uninterested or incapable. They are filtered through permission, justification, fear, and expectation.

The real question is not who is at fault, but what do we change while rebuilding this system?

Men and women do not need to stand against each other in cinema.
They need to stand among each other as a community, not one among all.