Women Leading the Industry: Sarah Ivy

What are you most excited about in your work right now, and where do you see your focus evolving?

I spent years working in traditional production and development — independent films, network television, international shoots. I loved it. I loved the freedom that I had moving between the different sides of filmmaking. And then, three years ago, AI entered my world and everything shifted again.

Right now, what feels most meaningful to me is the work I'm doing at the intersection of independent filmmaking and artificial intelligence.  Honestly, I never could have predicted I'd be here.

What I'm most excited about right now is building workflows that actually work: hybrid systems where generative AI and live action don't compete, they collaborate. A lot of the conversation around AI in filmmaking is still very theoretical or very fearful. I'm in the lab, so to speak, figuring out what's genuinely useful, what's creatively exciting, and how to make it all client-ready and scalable. That practical bridge between innovation and execution is where I feel most alive creatively.

The insight I keep coming back to is this: the technology is a tool, but the storytelling is still everything. The filmmakers who will thrive are the ones who stay curious without losing their voice. I've seen so many talented people feel intimidated by AI — and I get it. But when I'm working with fellow creatives and something clicks for them, when they see how this can expand rather than replace what they do, that's deeply rewarding.

I came up through USC's School of Cinematic Arts believing that film could change how people think and feel. That belief hasn't changed at all. What's changed is just how many remarkable new ways there are to tell those stories.

What first drew you to the film and television industry, and what continues to bring you the most joy and motivation in your work today?

I think film chose me before I fully chose it.

I've always been drawn to people and to the way we connect, communicate, and find each other through shared experience. Storytelling felt like the most direct line to all of that. There's something almost paradoxical about film and television that I fell in love with early on and have never gotten over: the more specific and personal a story is, the more universally it lands. A deeply particular moment of grief or joy or humor somehow reaches everyone. I find that endlessly fascinating.

What fuels me, at its core, is that cinema can take you somewhere you would never go in your day-to-day life. It can introduce you to a world, a perspective, an experience completely outside your own and ask you to sit with it, feel it, maybe even be changed by it. That's not a small thing. That's actually extraordinary.

The part of the work that brings me the most joy is the collaboration. There is nothing quite like a set or production where people are genuinely building something together. The exchange of ideas, the creative friction, the moment when something clicks and everyone feels it at once. I live for that. Production, at its best, is a kind of organized chaos held together by trust and shared vision, and I find that energizing.

Even as my work has evolved into more experimental territory, that core belief hasn't changed. I'm still chasing connections. I'm still most motivated by stories that invite people to consider a different way of seeing the world. The tools have grown, but the why is exactly what it always was.

What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned from setbacks in your career, and what advice would you pass on to the next generation of women entering the industry?

Like so many women, I grew up believing that perfection was the price of admission. Don't make a mistake. Don't show your work until it's absolutely, unimpeachably ready. Wait until everything is just so, and then, maybe, you can share it with the world.

What I didn't see for a long time was how much that belief was costing me. All that waiting, all that hiding, it wasn't protecting my work. It was keeping me from it. From evolving, from experimenting, from being truly seen.

The most unexpected lesson I've learned is that inspired beats perfect every single time. The most alive, resonant work rarely comes from a place of control. It comes from risk. From being willing to put something out into the world before you're entirely sure it's ready, and trusting that the process of sharing and iterating is where the real growth happens.

I think about entrepreneurs. Often the greatest founders have a string of failures before they build the thing. That's not despite the failures. It's because of them. Creatives deserve to hold that same permission for ourselves, and I think women especially have been conditioned to believe we don't.

My biggest lesson has been learning to allow myself to be seen. To take bigger swings. To release the need to be perfect and replace it with the commitment to be genuine. That shift has been one of the greatest gifts of my career.

So, if there's advice I'd pass on, it's this: don't wait until it's perfect. Share the inspired work. Then keep going.

Looking back on your career, what advice would you give your younger self, and when have you felt most proud to be a woman working in this industry?

The advice I'd give my younger self is simple: surround yourself with people who genuinely want to see you shine.

Not just colleagues who tolerate your ambition, but people who believe in you as a creative, as a collaborator, as a whole person.  Those will be the supporters who celebrate when you take a big swing. Your career path might wind a little more and be non-linear, but if you're in rooms with people who have your back, you'll have more fun, more courage, and so much more support when the moment comes to take a real risk. That winding road means you're on the right track.

As for moments of pride, they seem to arrive in the quiet ones.  Usually right after I've chosen to be visible.

For much of my career, I was the only woman in the room.  On panels, on set in leadership roles, especially when I was directing. I was the token female, more times than I can count. But something remarkable happened, time and time again: after those panels, women would find me. They'd share their own stories, aspirations, and the doors they were trying to push open. Those conversations reminded me why representation isn't just symbolic. You cannot be what you cannot see. When the next generation spots someone who looks like them doing the job they dream about, something shifts.

That's stayed with me. Now, the crews I work with look different than the ones I came up on — far closer to 50/50. Now, I hire women and teach them along the way because someone did that for me, and it mattered more than I can say.

Who are some female role models who have inspired you?

I haven't worked under many women throughout my career. That's just the reality of where the industry was when I was coming up and, so, my role models were often men who were allies in pushing me forward.

My most formative role models weren't necessarily the most famous names. They were the people who, when they had power or knowledge or access, chose to share it.

The woman who comes to mind most vividly is someone I met very early on, back when I was still at USC and thought I wanted to be a cinematographer. Her name is Megan.  She was an assistant camera person on professional indie sets, and I was just a college student trying to find her footing on the camera crew. She didn't have to invest in me, but she made a consistent, deliberate choice to teach me. The right cable names, how to load 35mm camera rolls without flashing the film, how to call a slate correctly. The real, unglamorous, essential craft knowledge that nobody hands you in a classroom.

I worked incredibly hard for her. And that camera crew brought me onto other projects. It was, I think, the first time in my career I didn't feel like I had to fight my way onto a professional set. I just got to be there learning, contributing, belonging.

That experience quietly shaped everything that came after. It showed me what it felt like to be in an environment built on generosity rather than gatekeeping. And it became the standard I wanted to create for others.

The allies who choose to teach, to open doors, to bring people along may not always get the recognition of a household name, but their impact ripples outward in ways they may never fully see. Megan is the reason I know how much it matters to reach back.

What do you see as the biggest barriers facing women in our industry today, and what more can be done to support their advancement?

When I think about this, I keep coming back to how simple the answer actually is and how much harder it seems to be in practice.

The most significant barriers for women in this industry aren't mysterious. They're structural. Women are still too often passed over for hiring, overlooked for promotion, and left out of the informal mentorship networks that quietly shape careers. The men who got ahead didn't just work hard, they had people investing in them along the way. Bringing them onto projects, teaching them the ropes, advocating for them in rooms they weren't in yet.

We need to do that for women. Deliberately and consistently.

On-the-job mentorship is where it starts. Not formal programs that look good on paper, but real, everyday investment. The kind where someone with experience chooses to teach, to include, to explain. The kind I was lucky enough to receive early in my career, and that changed everything for me.

Beyond that, it really does come down to hiring and promotion. Hire women. Promote women. Not as a gesture, but as a practice. The crews I work with now look genuinely different than the ones I came up on, and that didn't happen by accident. It happened because someone made a choice.

The industry has made real progress, but progress isn't the finish line. As long as women are still the exception in certain roles rather than the expectation, there's more work to do. The good news is that the path forward isn't complicated. Mentor. Hire. Promote. Repeat.

What does International Women’s Day mean to you personally?

To me, International Women's Day is two things held together at once: celebration and accountability.

First, it's a chance to pause and truly honor the women I've had the privilege of working and collaborating with throughout my career. The ones who taught me, the ones who took risks alongside me, the ones who showed up with creativity and grit and generosity. There are so many. I don't say thank you enough, and this day is a reminder to do exactly that.

But celebration without reflection only goes so far. The second thing this day means to me is an honest reckoning.  Looking clearly at where women's equality actually stands right now and not where we hope it is or where we assumed it would be by now.

Then the question I try to turn back on myself: what can I do? Not just what can the industry do, or society at large, but what choices am I making, day to day, that either move things forward or don't. Who am I hiring, mentoring, amplifying? Where am I using my voice?

International Women's Day, for me, is the moment to recommit to both. To celebrate loudly and honestly… and then continue the work.

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