I thought I was pretty well-versed in NDAs. Not an expert by any means (that’s my sister’s job — she’s the lawyer in the family, after all), but I figured I was at least more knowledgeable than the average Joe. I spent my early 20s housesitting for one of the wealthiest families in the world and have worked as a journalist on the set of Marvel productions. I know firsthand that rich people and corporations like their secrets.
Turns out that, while I was familiar with the basics (it stands for non-disclosure agreement, breaking it can saddle you with hefty fines and serious legal trouble, etc.), there is a much more sinister side to them I knew nothing about. I was aware that NDAs could be tools. I had no clue how easily they could be turned into weapons — and how often those weapons were used to oppress and silence innocent, vulnerable parties to keep justice from being served.
‘My NDA’ Is Straightforward, but Not Without Style
During a Q&A after my screening of My NDA with directors Miriam Shor and Juliane Dressner (as well as subjects Ifeoma Ozoma and Ashley Kostial), Dressner opened up about how, when Shor originally approached her about collaborating on the project, she was hesitant. How does one possibly make NDAs interesting to sustain an entire documentary, especially when so much of it hinges on paperwork and legal jargon? It’s a fair question — one I’m sure some potential viewers will be asking themselves.
I’m pleased to assure you that Shor and Dressner did, in fact, find a way. By deftly interweaving three distinct but topically connected core narratives (more on that later), they’re smartly able to examine their subject from a trio of unique but complementary angles, giving the documentary necessary diversity and depth. Jennifer Fineran’s editing is also a massive strength. The decision to use redaction in multiple places in the film, including the credits, is clever — both visually interesting and thematically appropriate. The slew of news segments and even clips from popular shows like Succession show how ingrained NDAs are in our everyday lives without us even realizing it.
Still, as interesting as the presentation is, the filmmakers also show a deep respect for their subjects. The movie doesn’t pull any punches, starkly showing the harsh reality of how these NDAs can ruin people’s lives, but it never teeters into exploitative territory. Instead, the tough moments are handled with dignity and care.
‘My NDA’ Dissects the Political, Professional, and Personal Impact of Its Topic
My NDA centers around three main subjects: Ozoma, Kostial, and Lachlan Cartwright. While I found Cartwright’s segments the most difficult to get invested in, I recognize their undeniable merit, with the implications chilling. A reporter for the National Enquirer during the 2016 election, Cartwright was forced to participate in a number of “catch-and-kills” for Donald Trump — a technique in which a publication acquires the exclusive rights to a story and never runs it, keeping anyone else from reporting on it in the process. In the age of “fake news” and “alternative truths” — not to mention the rapidly rising use of AI and the fact that many media companies are being combined into one massive conglomerate — journalism is simultaneously crucial and under severe attack. Cartwright’s segment highlights just how important a commitment to objectivity and impartial reporting is. It’s not a stretch to say that buying off publications and burying stories directly contributed (and, in some cases, continues to contribute) to people like Trump, Harvey Weinstein, and Jeffrey Epstein staying in power. To think that the root of protecting so much evil is NDAs is sobering and stomach-turning.
As a queer woman who worked at a tech startup for several years and has felt undervalued at the majority of companies I’ve worked for, Ozoma’s story hit closest to home. After discovering she was being drastically underpaid at Pinterest as a Black woman, Ozoma was forced to sign an NDA to get her severance package at the beginning of the pandemic. For everyone who might be saying, “Why would you ever agree to the terms an NDA lays out?” this succinctly highlights how these predatory documents often take advantage of people in vulnerable positions, holding what they’ve rightfully earned and are clearly owed hostage until they agree to keep quiet. Sometimes, signing an NDA is the only real choice people feel they have.
Not only does Ozoma have a compelling origin story, but I found myself wanting to pump my fist at the screen when seeing how she channels her frustration into action. She proves to be a total badass, pivoting to try and make real legal change. Seeing her wins — like when she gets emotional at people’s support after she bravely breaches her agreement and shares her story on Twitter, as well as when she co-sponsors the groundbreaking Silenced No More Act in California — is truly incredible to witness.
Though perhaps the most beautiful moment comes when Ozoma and Kostial’s stories finally converge, with the two hopping on a Zoom call when Kostial decides that enough is enough. It’s hard to summarize just how much we see Kostial go through over the course of this film due to NDAs: from her workplace to cover up a sexual assault, her insurance company, and even the Gloria Allred law firm, which was supposed to advocate for her in the two other instances. It’s nightmarish to watch, and downright unimaginable to have gone through. Her video diaries and recorded meetings with investigative reporters are raw and heartbreaking, and her courage to share her darkest moments with the entire world so that we may understand the personal toll NDAs can take is unbelievably commendable.
Good documentaries teach you something. Great documentaries encourage you to take action. My NDA goes a step further than even that by also leaving the audience with a sense of optimism. Don’t get me wrong, this film will devastate and infuriate you. However, it will also give you hope that the future can be different. Because making change can be as simple as using your voice and ensuring that other people can use theirs, too.
— Taylor Gates