Aspiring and newly emerging independent filmmakers need to know where their content is going to live before manifesting their idea.

Gone are the days of relying solely on traditional processes to obtain distribution for independent cinema.

For decades, the model has remained largely the same: generate intellectual property (IP), develop it through attachments and financing, take it through the festival circuit, and hope for acquisition or distribution — either through theatrical release or major streaming platforms with marketing support to generate ROI.

This model still works — for those already inside the system.

But for newly established filmmakers, it is no longer a reliable path forward.

A shift has occurred.

Not entirely new — but a necessary evolution.

And let’s be clear: this shift in the filmmaking process I am referring to is not the same as what is known as Non-Dependent Filmmaking.

If you’re unfamiliar, Non-Dependent Filmmaking operates outside the major studio system, often utilizing extremely low budgets and non-formulaic storytelling — what I simply describe as a modern-day “French New Wave,” era of filmmaking.

Non-Dependent Filmmaking is efficient as it offers undeniable advantages such as creative control, flexibility in team-building, and artistic freedom.

However, its limitation lies in sustainability.

While a project may secure a niche VOD release or limited arthouse exhibition — and in rare cases breakeven — it rarely generates the consistent returns needed to support a long-term filmmaking career. Without backend profitability, filmmakers are often reset to zero with each new project.

So if the goal of the aspiring and newly emerging independent filmmaker is to build a sustainable career — not just complete one feature film and go into dentistry — another approach must and or should be considered in my opinion.

The Shift I am referring to is what I call Reverse Engineer Thinking (RET).

The traditional model starts with creation and hopes for distribution whereas RET starts with distribution and generates creation.

So, what is RET?

Reverse Engineer Thinking is a filmmaking which breakdown strategy that begins with understanding distribution, audience, and monetization — then builds the story backwards to ensure market viability.

It is, at its core, a business plan for narrative development with one goal in mind — monetization.

You have an idea. Great.

But filmmakers need to stop viewing their ideas solely as passion projects — and start viewing them as marketable, necessary products.

Because time invested does not equal market relevance.

That is what RET is designed to evaluate.

The RET steps are found below — I how they help you reframe your thinking in the best way possible:

1. GOAL — Define the Outcome

Do you want profit or impact?

Imagine your IP is manifested and one the platform of your dreams and people are consuming it — as a result, what do you truly want?

Profit or Impact / an ROI or Walk the Red Carpet / Money or the Spotlight?

You can only choose one. Now choose and stick with it.

The GOAL of the filmmaker is the anchor point of RET as it determines the definition of success before anything is created.

Whether the film is profit-driven or impact-driven will directly influence every downstream decision, from who the audience is to how the film is funded and ultimately distributed.

A profit-driven goal requires scalable audiences, repeatable concepts, and clear monetization pathways, which will shape the HOUSE and LANE toward efficiency and volume.

An impact-driven goal, on the other hand, will refine the AUDIENCE into specific communities or institutions and align the MISSION toward measurable change.

Without clarity at the goal level, every other category becomes guesswork, and the system collapses into the very uncertainty RET is designed to eliminate.

The trick here is when the filmmaker is aware of their true goal and they use it as a compass during the development of their IP which goes something like this, “Does this little or big decision I have to make getting me closer or further way from my true goal?” They will end up with a result which yields both profit and impact.

2. HOUSE — Define the Destination

Where does your IP live?

Imagine your IP is manifested and one the platform of your dreams and people are consuming it — where do you go to find it?

At Regal Cinemas / On DramaBox / Disney+ / the list goes on.

You can only choose one. Now choose and stick with it.

The HOUSE defines where the film will ultimately live, making it the first real-world constraint that shapes the project.

By identifying a specific distribution endpoint — whether streaming, theatrical, YouTube, or institutional networks — you immediately begin refining the AUDIENCE and narrowing the LANE.

For example, a film intended for a niche streaming platform will require different pacing, runtime, and production scale than one designed for theatrical release.

The HOUSE also informs FUNDING, because investors and partners need clarity on where the project will generate returns or impact. In this way, the HOUSE transforms distribution from a hopeful outcome into a fixed target, forcing every creative and logistical decision to align with its requirements.

3. LANE — Define the Production Strategy

What is the execution model?

Imagine your IP is manifested and one the platform of your dreams and people are consuming it — who built it?

A24 / Warner Bros / Pixie USA / the list goes on.

You can only choose one. Now choose and stick with it.

The LANE determines how the film is physically built, but more importantly, it ensures that execution aligns with both the HOUSE and the GOAL.

A mismatch here is where many independent films fail — overbuilding for a distribution platform that cannot support the budget, or underbuilding for an audience that expects higher production value.

The LANE refines FUNDING by establishing realistic capital requirements and shapes the NARRATIVE by defining what is achievable within those constraints. It also reinforces the AUDIENCE, as production style, casting, and scale must resonate with the expectations of that specific group.

In RET, the LANE is not about creative limitation — it is about strategic precision.

HOUSE determines where it goes.
LANE determines how it’s built.

4. AUDIENCE — Define Who It Serves

Who is this for?

Imagine your IP is manifested and one the platform of your dreams and people are consuming it — who is your audience demographic?

Children (ages 8–12) / African American Women (ages 40–60) / Veterans from World War II / the list goes on.

You can only choose one. Now choose and stick with it.

The AUDIENCE is the bridge between the business and the story, transforming the project from a general idea into a targeted product.

By clearly defining demographics, psychographics, and cultural alignment, the filmmaker creates a direct pathway to monetization and engagement.

The AUDIENCE sharpens the MISSION by clarifying what emotional or intellectual need is being fulfilled, and it influences the THEME by determining how that message should be communicated. It also directly impacts FUNDING, as investors and partners are far more likely to support a project with a clearly identifiable and reachable market.

Without a defined audience, the HOUSE has no target, the LANE has no direction, and the film has no market relevance.

If you cannot define the audience, the market cannot find the film.

5. MISSION — Define the Intended Effect

What is the audience meant to do after watching?

Imagine your IP is manifested and one the platform of your dreams and people have consumed it — what does your audience do next?

Storm the Capital / Give a Stranger a Hug / Fund the Sequel / the list goes on.

You can only choose one. Now choose and stick with it.

The MISSION articulates what the film is meant to do to the audience after they experience it — whether that is to fix, avoid, or create.

This is where intention becomes measurable, turning storytelling into a functional tool rather than a passive experience.

The MISSION refines the AUDIENCE by ensuring that the intended effect matches the needs of that group, and it shapes the THEME by determining whether the story should inform, challenge, or entertain. It also strengthens CORE DNA alignment, as organizations and partners are drawn to projects that clearly reflect their own objectives.

When the MISSION is clear, the film becomes actionable, which is essential for both impact and monetization.

6. THEME — Define the Core Message

How is the MISSION felt by the audience through the narrative?

Imagine your IP is manifested and one the platform of your dreams and people are consuming it — is it escapist, educational, or pondering?

Escapist: Entertaining with Spectacle / Educational: Informative with Statistics / Pondering: Questioning the Facts

You can only choose one. Now choose and stick with it.

Your THEME determines how your IP communicates positioning.

By deciding whether the film will entertain, inform, or interrogate, the filmmaker ensures that the message aligns with both the MISSION and the AUDIENCE.

The THEME influences the NARRATIVE by guiding tone, character arcs, and dialogue, while also reinforcing CORE DNA partnerships by signaling what the film stands for. A clearly defined theme also ensures consistency across all aspects of the project, making it easier to market, fund, and distribute.

Without thematic clarity, the film risks becoming fragmented, weakening its ability to connect with its intended audience.

Theme is not just storytelling — it is what the filmmaker is trying to say about the discovery of themselves, their perspective on the experience of life or their understanding of their influence on the world or lack thereof.

7. NARRATIVE — Build the Story Engine

Now — and only now — do you create the IP.

Imagine your IP is manifested and one the platform of your dreams and people are consuming it — this is the first step of manifestation.

A Novel / A Movie / An in-person experience / the list goes on.

You can only choose one. Now choose and stick with it.

Only after the previous elements are defined does the NARRATIVE come into play, ensuring that the story is not just creatively compelling but strategically aligned.

The narrative must embody the AUDIENCE, execute the MISSION, and communicate the THEME, all while fitting within the constraints of the LANE and the expectations of the HOUSE.

This alignment transforms the script into a functional asset rather than a speculative one. The NARRATIVE also impacts FUNDING, as a well-aligned story is easier to pitch and justify, and it lays the groundwork for FRANCHISE potential by establishing a world and concept that can expand beyond a single film.

This ensures alignment between story and strategy.

8. FUNDING — Secure Strategic Capital

Who is paying to develop your IP?

Imagine your IP is manifested and one the platform of your dreams and people are consuming it — who gets the check?

Chick-fil-A / Plan B Entertainment / Non-Profit Fiscal Sponsorship / the list goes on.

You can only choose one. Now choose and stick with it.

In RET, funding is no longer a blind pursuit — it is a direct extension of the previous decisions.

Because the GOAL, HOUSE, AUDIENCE, and MISSION are clearly defined, the filmmaker can identify funding sources that are naturally aligned with the project.

For example, investors seek profit-driven scalability, while grants, non-profits, and institutions support impact-driven initiatives.

This clarity increases efficiency and reduces wasted effort. FUNDING also reinforces the LANE by setting realistic production boundaries and strengthens CORE DNA by attracting partners who see the film as an extension of their own objectives.

In this system, money follows clarity.

9. CORE DNA — Align with Support Systems

Organizations are shifting from “seen” marketing to “felt” alignment.

Imagine your IP is manifested and one the platform of your dreams and people are consuming it — How is the MISSION of the IP aligned with the mission of the organization supplying your funding?

Chicken Sandwich Purchase = Togetherness / Brad Pitt = Supporting Unique Voices / Tax Deductions = Community Improvement

You can only choose one. Now choose and stick with it.

The CORE DNA represents the alignment between the film and external entities that can amplify its reach and impact.

When a film’s GOAL, MISSION, and THEME are clearly defined, it becomes easier for organizations — whether corporate, non-profit, or political — to see themselves within the project.

This alignment creates built-in marketing, distribution pathways, and credibility.

CORE DNA strengthens the HOUSE by expanding distribution opportunities and enhances FUNDING by attracting strategic partners rather than passive investors. It also reinforces the AUDIENCE, as these organizations often bring their own communities into the ecosystem.

Alignment creates amplification. Amplification creates awareness. Awareness creates value.

10. FRANCHISE — Build for Expansion

How is your IP designed to become more than what it currently designed as?

Imagine your IP is manifested and one the platform of your dreams and people are consuming it — what other mediums can we experience it through?

As a graphic novel / As a videogame / As a theme park ride / the list goes on.

You can only choose one — for the time being. Now choose and stick with it.

The FRANCHISE component ensures that the film is not treated as a one-time product but as the foundation of a larger ecosystem.

By considering expansion from the outset, the filmmaker creates additional revenue streams and long-term sustainability.

This step is informed by the AUDIENCE, the NARRATIVE and the GOAL.

A strong franchise strategy also makes the project more attractive during FUNDING and CORE DNA alignment, as partners are more likely to invest in something with long-term potential.

In RET, the film is not the end — it is the beginning.

Closing Note — The RET Loop

Reverse Engineer Thinking is not a linear checklist — it is a closed-loop system designed for continuous refinement.

At its core, RET operates as an iterative cycle:

GOAL → HOUSE → LANE → AUDIENCE → MISSION → THEME → NARRATIVE → FUNDING → CORE DNA → FRANCHISE → Back to GOAL refinement

Each step does not simply lead to the next — it informs, challenges, and sharpens the ones before and after it.

As new information is introduced — whether through audience feedback, funding realities, or distribution shifts — the system loops back on itself, forcing recalibration.

A change in GOAL may redefine the AUDIENCE. A constraint in FUNDING may reshape the LANE. A discovery in CORE DNA alignment may expand the HOUSE.

This is where RET separates itself from traditional filmmaking models.

Traditional models move forward and hope for alignment at the end whereas RET builds alignment from the beginning — and continuously pressure-tests it.

The loop ensures that nothing exists in isolation. Every decision must justify itself within the ecosystem:

• If the AUDIENCE shifts, does the MISSION still hold?

• If the HOUSE changes, does the LANE still make sense?

• If the NARRATIVE evolves, does it still serve the GOAL?

This constant recalibration is what transforms filmmaking from a one-time creative act into a sustainable system.

Because in today’s landscape, success is not just about making a film — it’s about building a repeatable process that consistently lands.

RET is that process.

The creative economy is not collapsing. It is splitting.

Make no mistake, we are in the middle of a crisis – one that has pushed the creative economy into historic uncertainty.

A year ago, the industry mantra circulating social media was “Survive till ’25.” Today, a more accurate phrase might be: “If you survived ’25, don’t let go.” Sure, it may lack a catchy rhyme but still captures the moment we are currently experiencing.

The industry is navigating a storm of disruption and for those hoping to secure long-term survival in this environment, the first step is not reaction but deduction. We must attempt to understand how the creative economy will function once the storm passes and then rediscover our place within it.

This question of deduction has occupied my thinking for quite some time and though I can now articulate the system I believe is emerging, but I must admit, I do not particularly like what I see coming.

And that is not because it will fail economically… In many ways, the model is extremely efficient.

What concerns me about what I see is the cultural consequence it may produce.

For most of modern film history, cinema functioned as a shared cultural space. People from vastly different backgrounds could sit in the same theater, watch the same story, and walk away with different interpretations while still participating in a common cultural experience.

That shared space is beginning to fracture.

As the creative economy restructures itself, entertainment is increasingly being designed for specific identity-driven audiences rather than the public perception. When that happens, consuming a story could become a risk as an act of curiosity will be interpreted as an act of allegiance.

What I envision is a bifurcation of the creative economy: a two-branch system that mirrors the broader polarization taking place across society.

Imagine two trees standing side by side, each leaning sharply away from the other.

One represents what I call the Commercial Branch. The other represents the Independent Branch.

The future of creativity will increasingly consolidate within this dual structure.

And if this proves accurate, the implications extend far beyond the economics of filmmaking. Creators, investors, distributors, and institutions will be forced to rethink where and why they allocate resources. At the same time, the content emerging from these branches may deepen cultural divisions by aligning stories with increasingly specific communities.

Fundamentally, both branches will be optimized to produce content designed for audiences organized around mission-oriented ecosystems. These ecosystems may be defined by shared political values, spiritual beliefs, subcultural identities, or ideological frameworks.

In this environment, traditional demographic categories such as age and gender will become less relevant. Instead, audiences will increasingly be grouped according to cultural affiliation.

When this happens, entertainment stops functioning as neutral territory.

Watching a particular film or series may begin to signal membership within a cultural group or at least be interpreted that way by others.

This is the part of the system that concerns me most.

When cultural consumption becomes associated with identity groups, curiosity can easily be mistaken for allegiance.

The Commercial Branch will be optimized around risk mitigation, capital preservation, and scalable efficiency.

Content produced within this branch will typically operate within budgets ranging from $100 million to $300 million or more. Financing and distribution will remain controlled by consolidated conglomerates and their affiliated entities.

Narratively, these projects will be franchise-first, sequel-optimized, and transmedia-ready. Intellectual property will function as the central engine of economic continuity, with story worlds designed to expand across multiple platforms and mediums.

Everything developed under this branch will serve a metric-driven flywheel designed to maximize brand continuity, audience familiarity, and global scalability.

From a narrative standpoint, commercial storytelling will emphasize single-genre clarity, streamlined plotting, and character arcs that remain largely static or minimally transformative. Maintaining narrative continuity across multiple installments reduces friction within franchise development and preserves brand identity.

In this model, emotional immediacy and brand familiarity take precedence over thematic ambiguity or psychological complexity.

The objective is not radical innovation. It is operational stability and predictable market performance.

The resulting audience experience resembles stepping off a rollercoaster ride. It may not provoke deep reflection, but it delivers spectacle and excitement at scale.

Yet even this branch carries a cultural implication.

Because mass entertainment often reflects the prevailing norms of dominant audience groups, large-scale storytelling can begin to function as a form of cultural signaling.

With this, viewership becomes less about curiosity and more about alignment.

The Independent Branch will operate under a different logic entirely.

Instead of prioritizing scalability, it will be optimized for cultural impact, authenticity, and artistic risk.

Production budgets will typically range from $50,000 to $10 million depending on scope, financing structures, and distribution strategies. Rather than centralized conglomerates, projects will emerge from decentralized networks of independent companies, boutique studios, nonprofit organizations, and mission-driven creative teams.

These works will function less as entertainment commodities and more as acts of human inquiry.

Stories will interrogate identity, meaning, and lived experience. Genre hybridity, formal experimentation, and moral ambiguity will be common features.

Character arcs may remain unresolved or morally complex in order to challenge cultural assumptions rather than reinforce them.

Experiencing these films often resembles leaving a doctor’s office. It may be uncomfortable, but it leaves the viewer with something to reflect on.

Yet the same mechanism that enables deep cultural exploration also introduces a risk.

When stories are designed for tightly defined communities, audiences outside those communities may be interpreted as either allies or adversaries simply for engaging with the work.

Curiosity, once again, can be mistaken for allegiance.

As the two primary branches expand, new forms of creative fragmentation will inevitably emerge.

Sub-branches will develop organically within each ecosystem. These sub-branches are not anomalies but natural expressions of structural evolution.

Just as the two primary branches reflect different economic and philosophical frameworks, their sub-branches will represent specialized production models operating within those frameworks.

These sub-branches will function both as innovation chambers and pressure valves, allowing experimentation without destabilizing the larger economic architecture of each branch.

However, their emergence also reinforces a broader trend: the creative economy is becoming an ecosystem composed of increasingly specialized cultural habitats.

As these habitats evolve, audiences may gradually cluster within them.

When that clustering occurs, cultural consumption can begin to mirror ideological affiliation.

Historically, competition in the entertainment industry resembled what strategists call a red ocean – a saturated environment where companies fought aggressively for the same audiences and distribution channels.

However, the disruption currently reshaping the industry is pushing the system toward something different.

The emerging two-branch model creates separate value spaces – what strategists describe as blue oceans.

Within the Commercial Branch, blue oceans are constructed through scale: global franchises, interconnected story universes, and intellectual property ecosystems that stretch across platforms.

Within the Independent Branch, blue oceans emerge through specificity: stories designed not for mass audiences, but for communities defined by shared experiences, values, or cultural conversations.

Economically, this system is efficient.

Culturally, however, it carries a consequence. When entertainment ecosystems align with identity-based audiences, participation in culture risks becoming interpreted as a declaration of belonging.

For creators, this bifurcated system demands clarity.

Career paths will increasingly diverge between Commercial and Independent ecosystems, each governed by distinct incentives and definitions of success.

In the Commercial Branch, success is measured through scale: franchise longevity, global distribution reach, and intellectual property expansion whereas in the Independent Branch, success is measured through resonance: cultural impact, community engagement, and long-term intellectual relevance.

Attempting to fully operate within both systems will become increasingly difficult, if not impossible as each branch is optimized around fundamentally different assumptions about risk, capital, and audience behavior.

For investors, the divergence is even more pronounced.

Commercial investments increasingly resemble infrastructure projects – large pools of capital deployed across portfolios of intellectual property designed to generate predictable global returns.

Independent financing, by contrast, is gradually shifting toward mission-aligned capital structures – grants, nonprofit sponsorships, and philanthropic funding models are becoming increasingly common.

In this configuration, investors often function less as equity partners and more as patrons supporting cultural works aligned with social or humanitarian objectives.

For institutions, bifurcation expands rather than diminishes influence.

Festivals, film schools, and cultural organizations increasingly serve as arbiters of legitimacy within a fragmented creative landscape.

Additionally, as new forms of storytelling emerge from AI-assisted filmmaking to digitally native micro-content, institutions will play a critical role in organizing innovation while preserving the intellectual traditions of cinema.

What appears to some as decline is, in structural terms, a reorganization of the creative economy into two distinct cultural engines.

One branch is built for scale, spectacle, and global continuity while the other is built for inquiry, experimentation, and cultural reflection.

The Commercial Branch optimizes reach, and the Independent Branch optimizes resonance.

Both are necessary.

But something else may be disappearing in the process.

Again, cinema once functioned as common ground. A place where people from different backgrounds could encounter the same story and walk away from it without being judged.

However, the question now is whether that shared cultural space will continue to exist…

Or whether the movies we watch will increasingly become signals of the groups we belong to.

There is a particular kind of success in the creative economy that deserves closer examination right now. Not because it should make aspiring filmmakers cynical, and not because it should discourage anyone from picking up a camera, writing a script, or pursuing the project they feel born to make. It deserves attention because inspiration becomes dangerous when it is detached from context.

The particular kind of success in the creative economy that deserves closer examination is in regards to the three recent ultra-low budget horror films breaking box office records.

We are living in an era where success can appear to arrive overnight. A filmmaker emerges from the internet. A low-budget horror film breaks through. A niche concept finds a massive audience. Suddenly, everyone looks at the result and says, “See? That could be me.”

And maybe it can be...

But only if we understand what “that” actually is.

Look at the recent conversation surrounding films like Iron Lung, Obsession, and Backrooms. They represent a fascinating lane in the current marketplace: low-budget or ultra-low-budget horror, built around strong concepts, controlled execution, and preexisting audience awareness. They may differ in subgenre. One may lean more psychological. Another may operate closer to nightmare logic, thriller tension, or contained horror. But they all exist inside the same broad commercial truth: horror remains one of the few genres where a distinct vision, a disciplined budget, and a committed audience can still create disproportionate impact.

That alone is worth studying.

But the more important similarity is authorship.

These projects are not merely products of the traditional system. They are not films where an anonymous writer hands off a script to a director, who then waits for a package, a star, a sales estimate, and a financing structure. These films are shaped by creators who come out of online culture, particularly YouTube and digital content ecosystems.

They are writer-producer-director-performer figures. They are not just making a movie. They are extending a body of work, a relationship with an audience, and a creative identity they have already been developing in public.

In that sense, they are modern auteurs.

The word “auteur” can sound inflated, but in this case it is useful. It evokes the tradition of filmmakers whose personal authorship defines the work, the way certain French New Wave directors wrote, directed, appeared in, and shaped their films out of both artistic conviction and practical necessity. Sometimes they did it because they had a singular vision. Sometimes they did it because they could not afford to hire everyone else. Often, it was both.

That same tension exists here.

The creator-auteur is not simply trying to control everything out of ego. At least, not necessarily. The creator-auteur often becomes the center of gravity because they understand the material more intimately than anyone else. They know the world. They know the tone. They know the audience. They know the mythology, the joke, the fear, the rhythm, the emotional contract. They have spent years teaching people how to watch them.

That is not a shortcut. That is infrastructure.

This is the part aspiring filmmakers must keep in perspective. These success stories may look sudden from the outside, but they are rarely sudden from the inside. The breakthrough may happen quickly, but the conditions that made the breakthrough possible were built slowly.

Years of videos. Years of experiments. Years of technical improvement. Years of audience-building. Years of failed attempts. Years of figuring out what people respond to and what they ignore. Years of learning how to make something with limited resources. Years of asking favors, building relationships, solving problems, and making work before anyone in the industry was paying attention.

The visible success is the flash. The invisible foundation is the storm system that made the flash possible.

That distinction matters because a lot of young filmmakers look at these moments and extract the wrong lesson. They think the lesson is: “Make a cheap horror film and you can break through.”

That is not quite right.

The better lesson is: “Build a voice so specific, a skill set so disciplined, and a relationship with an audience so real that when you finally make the right project, the marketplace has a reason to care.”

That is a very different assignment.

It is also a more empowering one.

Because it means the real work is not waiting for permission. It is not waiting for a financier, a manager, a star, or some miraculous industry validation. The real work is daily. It is accumulative. It is craft, output, failure, revision, audience, discipline, and persistence. It is making enough work to become undeniable, or at least specific enough that people know what they are responding to.

There is a useful comparison in Pablo Picasso.

When people hear Picasso’s name, they usually think of Cubism: fractured faces, distorted bodies, impossible angles, and paintings that seem to dismantle reality and reassemble it according to some deeper emotional logic. That is the Picasso most people recognize because that is the Picasso who changed art history.

But Picasso did not begin by painting that way.

Before he could distort the human form, he learned to render it. Before he could break perspective, he studied perspective. Before he could challenge realism, he understood realism. His early work shows an artist with serious command of traditional technique. He could paint within the rules. He understood anatomy, proportion, light, composition, and representation. He did not reject the rules because he was incapable of following them. He bent them because he had absorbed them deeply enough to know what bending them could reveal.

That is the key.

Picasso’s rebellion was not ignorance. It was mastery under pressure.

The same is true for filmmakers. The boldest voices are often not the ones who skipped the fundamentals. They are the ones who internalized them, wrestled with them, failed inside them, and eventually discovered where their own instincts demanded a different shape. Voice is not usually born from avoiding discipline. Voice is what remains after discipline becomes personal.

That is why the journey matters.

The first film is rarely the one that changes everything. The first script is rarely the one that defines the artist. The first attempt is usually awkward, derivative, overextended, underfunded, and full of lessons the filmmaker could not have learned any other way. Then comes the next one. And the next one. And the next one. Shorts. Proofs of concept. Micro-features. Web videos. Sketches. Failed pilots. Abandoned drafts. Bad edits. Better edits. Notes that sting. Problems that force invention. Collaborators who elevate the work. Collaborators who teach you what never to do again.

All of that becomes part of the eventual breakthrough.

So when we look at these YouTube-born horror auteurs, we should absolutely be inspired. We should be excited by the fact that the gates are not as fixed as they once seemed. We should be energized by the possibility that a filmmaker can build an audience outside the traditional system and bring that audience into a theatrical or commercial context. We should be paying attention to how horror continues to reward clarity of concept, tone, and execution. We should study how these creators package themselves, not merely their films.

But we should not confuse the breakthrough with the beginning.

That is the trap.

The film that suddenly appears to explode is often not the first film. The creator who seems to come out of nowhere did not come out of nowhere. The audience that appears to materialize overnight was likely cultivated over years. The confidence to write, direct, produce, and perform did not emerge in a vacuum. It came from repetition. It came from necessity. It came from doing the work long before the work looked glamorous.

That is the real lesson for aspiring filmmakers.

Make the film. Absolutely. Make the strange thing, the scary thing, the personal thing, the thing that will not leave you alone. Use what you have. Build with the people around you. Learn the tools. Study the market. Respect the genre. Understand why the rules exist. Then, once you understand them, bend them toward your own voice.

But do not expect the world to change because you made one project.

Expect the project to change you.

That is how artists are formed. The journey creates the voice. The voice creates the work. The work creates the opportunity. And only then, under the right conditions, does lightning have somewhere to strike.

Unless you are the grandson of Tarkovsky, stumble across a bag of unclaimed money, or meet the exact right person at the exact right bar and buy them the exact right cocktail, this is probably going to be a long road.

But that should not discourage anyone.

It should clarify the mission.

The road is not the obstacle. The road is the apprenticeship. The road is where the artist becomes precise. The road is where imitation burns away. The road is where taste becomes technique, technique becomes confidence, and confidence becomes authorship.

The flash is visible.

The foundation is not.

Build the foundation anyway.

Before his sudden death, my last conversation with Peter Werner was one for the books. If you are unfamiliar, Peter Werner was an Oscar-winning film and television director who worked on shows like Moonlighting, Law & Order: SVU, and Justified. To me, however, he was my mentor during my two-year stint in grad school at the University of North Carolina School of the Arts. Peter was a man of many dimensions — he practiced Buddhism, kept fresh flowers on his coffee table, enjoyed rye whiskey, and in his signature humility, kept his Oscar in its box… until the day he invited me to hold it.

As part of my UNCSA class schedule, I met Peter weekly to discuss topics like the future of cinema, career strategies, and obtain notes on my feature screenplay capstone project. These Wednesday meetings between mentor and mentee grew into a friendship, but I think that was largely due to me bringing him a blueberry muffin every week.

Peter passed away a month before my graduation and grieving the loss of my friend took months, but his wisdom continues to resonate. One piece of advice he shared shifted my perspective on the film industry entirely: he spoke about the awareness of the writer.

During one of our sessions, Peter leaned back in his chair and asked, “Neil, I know you understand pitching, but do you know what you’re actually pitching in a pitch?” His Socratic teaching style was always intriguing. I hesitated before answering, “No, Peter. I do not.” He leaned forward with a knowing smile and said, “Everyone thinks it is the script. But it is actually the writer.”

Let us unpack that for a moment –

What does it mean to pitch? Beyond its acoustic qualities or baseball connotations, pitching in the business world is about persuasion — convincing someone to invest in, trade for, or buy what you are offering. At its core, pitching is an art, and your script, no matter how deeply personal or symbolic, will be evaluated by power players — producers, investors, and executives — as a product designed to generate profit. This realization underscores a truth that the creative economy revolves around financial viability. So, when pitching, your job is to provide evidence of potential profitability and here is how Peter outlined it to me:

You must structure your pitch to answer the three key questions on every power player’s mind:

1. Why this? — Producers wonder, “Out of all the scripts in the world, what makes this one unique and compelling?”

2. Why you? — Investors ask, “Out of all the writers in the world, what makes you the right person to bring this story to life?”

3. Why now? — Executives ponder, “Out of all the stories being told, why is this one timely and relevant?”

Mastering these questions can capture attention of the power players, but the deal hinges on more than just your script. As Peter said, the pitch is about you — the writer wh they truly care about buying. As much as the power players are evaluating the cosmetics and marketability of the script, they are assessing the brand behind the writer. This is true whether you are an established name or an emerging talent. Therefore, your unique voice and perspective of the world become part of the pitch.

To be perfectly honest, it took a while for me to grasp Peter’s wisdom, but when the lightbulb flickered on — it brightened the entire space. In essence, my lightbulb moment was in the reformatting of the same three questions above, but with the writer as the subject instead of the script.

For instance, when you structure your pitch, the three questions on every power player’s mind is:

• Why this? — “What makes this writer stand out among their peers?”

• Why you? — “What unique perspective does this writer bring to the table?”

• Why now? — “What lived experiences inspire this writer to share their voice?”

As much as these questions are as much about your script, they also act as unit of validity for the writer which earns the interest of the power players.

Reflecting on Peter’s last piece of advice, I realize that pitching is more than a transaction — it is a conversation about vision, authenticity, and identity. As writers, we are not just selling stories, we are offering ourselves as storytellers with the ability to connect and resonate. Peter’s legacy reminds me that the most compelling pitches are the ones where the writer’s passion shines through, bridging the gap between commerce and art and while Peter may no longer be here to share his insights, his lessons remain the North star for me and, I hope for others pursuing their dreams.

At its core, an artist is an individual who aspires with great ambition to be successful at their given craft, but I believe the irony lies in that the industry which they work so diligently within does not support their pursuit. It is funny how this feild of artisty incourages the development both the form and practice of art, yet the business aspect discourages the uplifting of the artist.

The industry of art is ruthlessly competitive, highly unpredictable, and promisingly unfair — It is a jungle. So, the million-dollar question I would like to strive to shed some light on is: How does an artist obtain success in an environment built to chew them up and spit them out?

Based off personal experience, I would suggest the artist behave like an animal. I have behaved like an animal for the last seven years in this field and my present status as a working screenwriter is a direct result of it — Now, let me be clear on what I mean by ‘behave like an animal.’

I am not suggesting an artist behave aggressively, vindictively, or viciously toward others while shooting for the stars — I mean just the opposite. The artist who behaves like an animal is one who has the capability of properly evaluating their current situation to effectively make adequate decisions to promote their life/career. Basically, an artist should behave with the upmost care of oneself, their community, and their environment.

When you study any animal long enough you will find it only has one goal. All it desires is to live without conflict. Another interpretation of what I would like to call ‘animalist behavior’ is to operate with the hope of obtaining harmony.

However, the consept of harmony does not retain people’s attention. Society seems to only be interested in the moment when an animal shows its teeth and unleashes its claws. This is known as the ‘fight response’ outlined by the psychology article, Verywell Mind. Thing is, this incident only occurs after an animal is backed into a corner with no escape. According to The Guest House article outlining the correlation between human trauma and instinct, “Most often, animals will choose flight over fight.” So, if the animalistic behavior is designed to avoid conflict and the goal of an amimal is to obtain harmony, why is the label of an animal perceived through a negative lens?

For some reason, being labeled an animal is a common euphemism which highlights a person’s flawed behavior. The Simon Fraser University blog states, “You can insult a person by calling them an animal name, [thus] putting them in a position inferior to human.” For example, a ‘wolf’ is a person who is territorial, a ‘snake’ is someone who cheats, and a ‘chicken’ is a coward — The list goes on, but I would entertain the notion of shifting that perception and look at it through a realistic lens.

If you strip away the entertaining factor from societie’s perspective of animals, we find wolves kill to protect their territory, snakes slip through cracks to eat vermin, and chickens flee the coup when a predator enters because it is simply in their nature to do so. According to the article, Understanding Animal Behaviour, an animal’s actions can be categorized in four different methods: instinct, imprinting, conditioning, and imitation, but without delving further into the weeds of zoology, in a Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs point of view, the basic motive for every action an animal makes, which defines its behavior, is designed to do one thing — ENSURE SURVIVAL.

To survive is an animal’s only objective and they will do everything in their power to achieve that goal of harmony. So, how does animalistic behavor help the artist? Well, look no further than this screenplay excerpt of Mel Brook’s The Producers (1967):

For context, in the film, co-lead Max Bialystock is a washed up, dishonest Broadway producer trying to cheat success alongside his spineless business partner, Leo Bloom, a savvy, yet naïve accountant. Their scheme is simple. Put on a sure-fire flop, designed to close in one night, so they can rake in the box-office proceeds, and escape to Rio without paying back the investors. To their surprise though, the show turns out to be a hit!

Here is the trailer:

Soon after, the IRS comes to collect, and as one last endeavor to clear out, Max gives Franz Liebkind, the German actor who plays Hitler in the stage play, a gun with the instruction to shoot all the actors! Leo, being the moral compass character in the narrative, leaps in, takes the gun, and makes a point of correcting Max’s perception of artists. Max takes Leo’s comment into consideration, but quickly retorts with a funny comment inferring that his business partner has a lot to learn about the entertainment industry.

Now, the scene is comical due to the ridiculous high-stake scenario poking fun at the ‘starving artist’ bit, and the film itself is a hysterical riot, but if you ponder Max’s line of thinking when it comes to associating the animal label to artists, I do not think he is too far off… In fact, I think his play was a hit because he mistakenly hired animals to put it on.

When an animal is hired to do a job, something amazing happens. They put everything they have into whatever it is they are working on because if the product becomes a hit, they will be able to survive a little while longer — Cause and effect. However, this is the application of many years of decisions made by the artist which are outside of the norm.

Artists are unique people when it comes to the practice of decision-making. They spend years finding ways to finetune their craft even though there is no guarantee of success, but the beautiful aspect regarding this lifestyle is every choice they make is designed to support their dream — The teenager working at a fast-food joint to collect enough money to buy a camera is an animal. The woman paying a babysitter to look after her child so she can sing the blues on a streetcorner is an animal. The middle aged man who drives an hour to volunteer his time teaching a first level sculpting class to practice his craft is an animal. This lifestyle is sacrificial, but when one is given the opportunity to obtain success, the sacrifice is not considered a detriment.

But what is success, really? I find if you ask five different people this question, you will get five different answers. This tells me no one truly understands what success is thus making it what I call, ‘specifically vague.’ Meaning, it is intentionally void of direction and clarity.

I find being vague is dangerous when it comes to the idealization of success. It can lead to misdirection, frustration, and potential failure. The same thing can be said about the use of other words such as, “love,” and “hate.” An artist wants to be successful, but if they do not have a spesific understanding of what success is, then they are digging their own grave.

On this topic, I would like to think of success differently than you are used to conceptualizing it. Most people think of success as an ideal, a status of life, or a feeling of prosperity which is great. However, I find flaw in this line of thinking because all those elements are intangible. So, before the artist becomes an animal, they must think like one and redefine the concept of success in a tangible form.

An animal understands everything in physical terms — a comprehensible goal measured in procedural steps which outlines a road map of some design to achieve a term. For example, in The Producers, Max wants to be successful which is technically intangible, but he declares it by becoming rich and then outlines a road map to Leo on how to achieve it! — Step 1: Find the worst play ever written. Step 2: Find the worst director in town. Step 3: Find the worst actors in town. Step 4: Open on Broadway, “And before you can say Step 5, we close on Broadway, take our two million, and go to Rio!” He may not know it, but Max is an animal.

So, instead of the artist saying they want to be successful, I think they should say, “I want to make an ‘X’ amount of money this month,” or “I want this job with this company,” or “I want to make this product for this particular group of people on this particular set date.” The list goes on, but the more tangible and precisely defined success is to an artist — the more efficient they can make efficient decisions to survive the jungle.

Dealing with frustration is practically a guarantee when pursuing a goal.

There is no way around it — you will become disheartened by the process and attracted by the notion of quitting… and sometimes throwing in the towel is necessary, but for those goals you truly believe in — the ones you will never give up on (or better yet, never give up on you), it would be in your best interest to devise a way to arm yourself against the future blockades plotting against you.

Those blockades could be a manifestation of several reasons things:

• You probably do not have the proper knowledge to go forward

• You may be living in the wrong location

• The goal itself could be impossible to achieve at this point in your life

— The list goes on.

Whatever the reason, one way to keep yourself from getting discouraged with the uphill journey is to write yourself a contract.

A contract defined by JURO is “a legally binding agreement between two or more parties. Once signed, this contractual agreement creates a promise that certain rights and obligations will be fulfilled by each party.” Again, it is a promise.

A sacred element which establishes trust and reliability…

But what happens when you make a promise to yourself? Do you write yourself a contract to obligate yourself to keep it?

My answer would be an astounding yes!

An example of what I call a ‘self-promise’ can be something as small as losing weight or as important as prepping for the SAT test, but it should be valued the same way a traditional agreement made between two people.

However, the chances of a self-promise being broken is high.

Why is that — why do we seemingly uphold promises made to others higher than the ones we make to ourselves?

One reason could be that we want to retain a good reputation to the recipient or we let fear motivate us to avoid being sued for everything we have…

Again, whatever the reason, I think this is the case because there is no tangible element such as a contract holding us to our own goal.

Plus, there is no form of punishment either.

We let our momentary goals die so easily only to be filled with regret later in life. So, if you make a self-promise then go-ahead and write yourself a contract:

• Set your goal

• Give it a deadline

• State the punishment if breached

• And sign the dotted line!

My first contract was a verbal one given to me in 2017 by my Mother, Vora Davenport.

The year prior, I graduated from Augusta University in Augusta Georgia with my Bachelors in Communication (emphasis in film) and had high hopes of smoothly transitioning to FSU for grad school which is a totally separate story, but alas, God had different plans.

As soon as it was clear I was not accepted, I found myself at a fork in the road;

• To the left, move to Atlanta Georgia and hunt for a job in the industry on a wing and a prayer or to the right, move to Oklahoma where my family lived at the time and figure things out.

My thinking at the time was if I moved to the Hollywood of the South without any leads or money, I and my dream would quickly dry up, so I chose the less risky route. The path to the right.

When I moved to Stillwater, my plan was to figure out how to establish my career in the film biz, but that is much easier said than done. I quickly discovered unless you are legacy, or knew someone, or networked during undergrad, the chances of you landing a job in the industry of your study is slim to none.

That is what nobody in academia tells you.

So, why Stillwater? Well, my family moved there to support my younger brother in the pursuit of his undergrad engineering degree at OSU and rented a two-bedroom apartment. Here’s a fun fact, the unit they rented was the one right above the unit which the 9/11 Twin Towers suicide pilot rented…

So, when I moved to the state where the wind never stops blowing, I slept on my parent’s couch and my plan went down the drain. And what followed was not pretty.

Basically, a wave of depression hit me. I became passive and floundered. This resulted in manifested series of frustration and angry outbursts simply because I was embarrassed.

In my mind, I failed and inadequately set myself up for success during undergrad because I was so focused on being a student… It was not a good time in my life to say the least, but my family loved me through it.

Then something amazing happened — my Mother laid down the law.

She lit a fire under my ass and made me a deal, “Neil, your father and I will float you for six months to allow you to find a job in your industry, but after that time if you don’t land something, you WILL get a 9 to 5.” That was the contract.

So, I proceeded to Google local film production companies in the area, made cold-calls, scheduled meetings, passed my resume and met with producers like the late Godfather movie producer, Grey Frederickson.

Now, I did obtain a part-time job as a bartender to have spending money, but because I acted in a few projects in school and had a demo reel to my name, I got signed on to Magna Talent Acting Agency in Oklahoma City.

One other individual I got connected to (again, thanks to Mom) was Producer Jason Brown. At the time, he was developing a lucha libre TV show titled Aro Lucha and needed a writer. Though I did not see myself as such at that time, I had one original feature screenplay to my name from an AU class taught by Professor Matthew Buzzell, and sent it to Mr. Brown. He took a chance and hired me to develop an idea of his titled, The Desvalido. This turned out to be my steppingstone into my true career.

Fast forward four years, I continued this practice after I was accepted into grad school at the University of North Carolina School of the Arts. Given that I had more experience in the field at this point, my perception of grad school changed and saw how it could amplify my career instead of the thing to do after undergrad — that is another thing academia does not tell you.

So, out of fear of failing, I wrote myself a contract as seen below:

As you can see, I did not accomplish everything I set out for, but what is important here is not what I accomplished or how, but that this practice works.

So, if you feel this tactic of keeping yourself focused during the journey of promised frustration would help you, here are a few key elements to be aware of:

1. Be Realistic

It is wonderful that you want to reach for the stars, but striving for the impossible could set yourself up for failure. For example, if you look at bullet point number three in my contract, note that it does not say “Oscar,” or “Obtain Oscar.” I read a joke that a non-legacy aspiring filmmaker has a higher probability of getting struck by lightning than winning one of the most prestigious awards in the world. So, I wrote “Path to Oscar” instead because what I know is within my grasp is obtaining the knowledge on how to properly go about accomplishing the award.

2. Set a Deadline

It is great that you are putting in the hours toward completing a project, but if you do not set a timer, you could be spending your entire life on finishing it. Bullet point number one in my contract states, “No Debt.” I did not want to have any student loans by the time I graduated so I had to work to avodi the accumilation of interest. Knowing that the interest clock would start to tick in July, two months after I graduate, I did everything I could to both lower my loan and make payments accordingly.

3. Let Fear be Fuel

Fear is a useful tool when it comes to motivation. When a realistic and measurable goal with a hard deadline is set, there should be an established reasonable consequence if you fail. Look at bullet point number four. It reads, “Lit. Manager or Agent” which means I will have representation as a screenwriter by the time I graduate. Unfortunately, this was the only unchecked box and my punishment was to try and network with one representative a day for the following month. Thing is, with this goal, I set my aspirations too high and did not look at it realistically.

4. Sign & Date

What are the first two things you do with a money check before depositing it? You confirm payment is correct and then you sign the back. Why — because your signature authenticates it. Signing your contract may seem like a silly thing to do, but it, in you mind authenticates it and in order for this practice to work, it needs this to feel real to you.

5. Read it Every Morning

To keep that flame within you burning, I would advise you read the contract every day — preferably in the morning. During grad school, I pinned my contract to the wall opposite of my bed so it would be the first thing I saw the next day. Doing this reminded me of what I need to get done, focus on and work towards.

So write that contract to yourself.

Make it real. Give it shape with specific terms, deadlines, and consequences. Sign it with intention. Let it be something you see every morning to remind you what you’re choosing, what you’re working toward, and who you’re becoming in the process.

The promise you make to yourself has power and when you honor it, you light a path through the frustration, through the “maybe tomorrow,” through all the doubts.

You owe it to yourself to keep your self-promise.

The first date is going well; You had a wonderful dinner, saw a terrific movie and now you both are on a lovely stroll through the city, but the cliché date does not end there. It ends after you walk this person you wish to have a relationship with to their front door.

This walk is maybe ten steps in length, but it is one of the most anxiety driven moments of a person’s life because every step gets you to closer and closer to being either rejected or accepted. Your heart pounds, sweat seeps from your armpits, your hands shake and a million questions race through your mind because you are worried about the outcome of your future.

At the end of this moment, all you want is the allowance to proceed to the next stage of development, but despite how diligently you have worked to influence this opportunity to go in your favor, you know you have absolutely no control over that decision. You will either be accepted or rejected and that decision is ultimately in the hands of an outside entity.

This utterly helpless front door feeling is exactly what a filmmaker experiences when they await the decision of whether their film is accepted into a festival or not!

All we want as filmmakers is a premier of our work… and recognition and praise and potential resources to either make another (better) film and to get a paid gig on a real filmset as a result — the list is endless. However, for those things to happen, you must first go through the evaluation process and the sad truth is there is a higher chance of rejection than acceptance when it comes to film festivals. That said, even though we know the competion is fearce, aspiring filmmakers from all over world hand over the outcome of their future to these organizations. Why is that?

Well, film festivals offer a streamlined unit of distribution to the public with the potential of a marketed artistic accolade of awareness — and the higher tiered the festival, the wider the outreach in comparison to online hosts such as YouTube, Vimeo, or other social media platforms. Now, should the filmmaker use these online platforms to host their work? Absolutely — most of them are free and are wonderful spaces to let an independent film live after the festival run is over, but if the filmmaker is looking to broaden the awareness of their brand, it is good to know that these platforms are limited to the number of social media followers garnered prior.

So, there is a value with a film being associated with a festival. Given that, here is a realization I had after working for three different film festivals over the last seven years: Presently, there are two surpluses within our current culture when it pertains to the demonstration of artistry:

1. There is a surplus of the wannabe artist — everyone and their grandmother is told they have a voice and need to share it.

2. There is a surplus of technology — affordable, easy-to-use, and conveniently accessible gadgets which everyone’s grandmother can learn how to operate through DYI tactics.

Put these two surpluses together and what do you get? A sea of mediocre media which floods the market and here is another hard truth: This flood is what every filmmaker longing for the chance to be seen as a professional must swim above… and one way to avoid drowning is to be accepted by a film festival. So, how does a filmmaker become accepted by a festival?

No clue — There is not a secret formula to follow when it comes to application process of submitting a film and every festival is different when it comes to the qualifications. Thing is, you can make the most beautifully shot, heart wrenching, Oscar-worthy film and still be rejected for numerous reasons… and it is nothing personal, it is just business.

On the surface, festivals have the perseption of only celebrating an artist’s voice, but it is important to note that they are also a business — Technically most are a 501(c)(3), a nonprofit which Investopedia describes a as “an organization or enterprising entity engaged in commercial, industrial, or professional activities… to organize some sort of economic production of goods or services.” A film festival is an organized entity which engages with the public to promote the efforts and activities of artists within the medium of filmmaking. So, given what is understood of a business is and what it does, the filmmaker needs to understand it also has an agenda.

Let’s start with ‘why does a business provide goods/services?’ Well, quite simply to earn a profit. Despite the type of business and its good/service, its goal is to make money and if history has proven anything, businesses will do just about anything to accomplish this goal. Some even go so far to invest in an operation to decrease their risk of failure. This is what executives call, Risk Mitigation.

To provide clarity, an article by ZenGRC describes risk mitigation as “the process a business undertakes to reduce its exposure to the various risks it might face… [such as]… severe disruption or financial loss.” For example, suits will meticulously measure and assess everything they can put their hands on before a venture is pursued to have the chance to obtain the highest monetary gain with the least amount of exposure — ‘How do we get more by using less?’ Sure, this way of working is more on the left brain in comparison to being artistic and introspective, but to increase the chances of being accepted and having that stepping stone towards professionalism, risk mitigation is something, I believe, every filmmaker should utilize.

Personally, I believe this operation is owed to the film itself well before it is submitted for evaluation by a film festival. The filmmaker should do this out of respect to the cast and crew’s investment of time, energy, and efforts making the film a reality. Here is the thing — all those resources used over the course of making a film are at risk of being wasted if the film is blindly submitted to a festival. The risk of being rejected is high and sure, by some about of sheer luck, the film could be accepted, but if the filmmaker were to apply the tacktic of risk mitigation, that risk could be decreased.

So, how does a filmmaker apply this operation? Well, it all boils down to efficiently categorizing a film before it goes to market. The ways to categorize a film can be found below, but there are two things the filmmaker needs to acknowledge going forward: First, categorizing a film will transform the perspective of a creator’s art into a sellable product and second, categorizing a film does not guarantee acceptance from any festival. It simply lowers the rate of potential failure.

Now, here are the ways to mitigate the risk of rejection from film festivals: For context, let’s use a hypothetical short (7 min) horror film made in Augusta, Georgia by a female college student who is originally from Winston-Salem, North Carolina who just finished an internship with a festival in Austin, Texas.

To mitigate the risk of rejection a filmmaker should:

1. Submit to the City of Production:

The film above will have a higher chance at being accepted into a festival within Augusta in comparison to a festival within Atlanta, or a festival out-of-state because it was produced in the city of Augusta. Festivals love to support the city they reside for economic and cultural impact reasons — For a deeper dive, read The NGO IFF article.

2. Submit to the State of Production:

The film above will have a higher chance at being accepted into a festival outside the city of Augusta such as one in Atlanta if it is made aware that either the director or majority of its cast and crew are Georgia filmmakers. Festivals love to support their state for sponsorship and tax reasons. For a deeper dive, read the Jagran FF article.

3. Submit to the Filmmaker’s Hometown:

The film above will have a higher chance at being accepted into a festival within Winston-Salem, North Carolina due to the filmmaker originally being from there. Festivals love to support the connections of thier community for expansion purposes. For a deeper dive, watch the BAFTA video.

4. Submit to Other Associated Connections:

The film above will have a higher chance at being accepted into festivals which the filmmaker has additional connections to such as the Austin Film Festival because the director interned/worked for a AFF in the past. The same principle applies if a filmmaker won an award with a previous film/script submission and or knows someone who works within one. Festivals love to support their alumni for brand exposure purposes. For a deeper dive, read the Staffmeup blog.

5. Submit to Match the Genre:

The film above will have a higher chance at being accepted into a local or out-of-state festival which specifically showcases horror in comparison to one which showcases comedy. Festivals have a brand to uphold. For a deeper dive, read the Backstage article.

6. Submit to Match the Audience Demographic:

The film above will have a higher chance at being accepted into a local or out-of-state festival which caters to the female oriented voice in comparison to one which caters to the male oriented voice. Festivals have an audience to satisfy. For a deeper dive, read the Phys.org article.

7. Submit to Match the Group Demographic:

The film above will have a higher chance at being accepted into a local or out-of-state festival which caters to student-oriented work in comparison to one which caters to the work of independent contractors. Festivals have a reputation to uphold. For a deeper dive, read the Arts Management & Technology Laboratory article.

8. Think about Timeslots:

The film above will have a higher chance at being accepted into most festivals given that is within the 5-to-10-minute range in comparison to the 30-to-80-minute range. Festivals have a limited number of allocated slots to plug a film and each festival has more slots for short form content than long form. For a deep dive, watch the Film It Yourself video.

9. Increase the Chances of Opportunity:

In the duration it takes a filmmaker to develop a single 30-minute short film which is considered as one submission at a 50% approval-rejection rate, they could make three different 10-minute short films, apply them all to the same festival, and lower the rate to 30% being three different submissions. Festivals are all about the numbers. For a deeper dive, read the Musicbed article.

10. Think about Budget. Part 01 — Top Ten:

Though the cost of most submissions is reasonable, it can become pricy if the filmmaker sporadically purchases a large amount over time. One way to avoid breaking the bank is to create a list of festivals whose brand matches the film, cap it off at 10 festivals, and build a budget to hit those selected. For a deeper dive, watch the Standard Story Company video.

11. Think about Budget. Part 02 — Aim for Early Bird:

Every festival has different prices associated with submissions — Especially when it comes to deadlines. If the filmmaker has budget set aside for festival submissions, it would be in the filmmaker’s best interest to apply to festivals as soon as they open the gates due to the lower price point. Note: typically, the closer the submission deadline gets to the festival event, the higher the cost will become. Note: the higher the price of submission does not equate to a higher rate of acceptance — for a deeper dive, read the Film Festival Secrets article.

12. Be Aware of the Tier System:

The film above will have a higher chance at being accepted into a low tiered festival in comparison to a high tiered one given that is a student production. Most high tiered festivals have strict requirements when it comes to the film quality and additional packaged elements such as recognizable cast and crew members. The filmmaker looking to submit should evaluate their film and determine if their product holds up against these high tier standards. If it does, great — if not, allocate the funds for the high tiered festival to a low tiered submission. For a deeper dive, watch the In Depth Cine video.

13. Build Awareness:

The film above will have a higher chance at being accepted into a festival if the filmmaker, or the institution involved in production, markets the film prior to its submission. Some festivals find value this component especially if there is a notable cast or crew member attached. Festivals love to showcase similar branded material which could generate additional audience participation. For a deeper dive, read the Raindance article.

14. Premier (Evaluate the REAL Reason) Part 01 — A Film’s Purpose:

A short film is built to serve as a calling card, to promote the artist, to garner funding for a feature, to get more likes on social media… The reason behind making a film is endless — What can lower the rejection rate though is the filmmaker’s ability to recognize how a festival can support the film’s purpose. For a deeper dive, read Dowler’s Medium article.

15. Premier (Evaluate the REAL Reason) Part 02 — A Filmmaker’s Purpose:

A filmmaker can want notoriety within the community, an award of being the best, the ability to rub elbows with other more successful filmmakers… The motive behind a filmmaker is endless — What can lower the rejection rate though is the filmmaker’s ability to recognize what it is they want and apply to festivals which offer those opportunities — for a deeper dive, read the Academy of Cinematic Arts article.

These 15 applications of risk mitigation are simply a taste when it comes to other tactics. So, I would recommend the filmmaker dig further and learn how else they can use this good practice. Risk mitigation is an applicable to all sorts of pursuits when it comes to goal orientation. The underlining theme here though is that it is all about the practice of strategic thinking.

One last note when it comes to film festivals: They are not the end-all be all. Despite whether the film is accepted or not, at the end of the day, the true value of it lies in the team of people who built it. If the film is accepted, the filmmaker will go through all the processes of there being a premiere, the ability to network, and some news coverage, or podcast interviews could surface, but what does the filmmaker do after all that comes to a halt?

Well, they do the same thing that the filmmaker who was rejected would do: They post the short film online, splice it up for the cast and crew use build their demo reels and start on the next project.

I am such a fan of the show that I proudly own the full DVD box set (yes, even in the age of streaming). And while iconic episodes like Dinner Party, Business School, or Fun Run get most of the love, my personal favorite will always be Season 3, Episode 23: Beach Games.

That is right — the one where Michael Scott hosts a Survivor-style day of challenges at the beach to determine whose worthy of replacing him at Dunder Mifflin Scranton if he takes a corporate job. And in the middle of it all is Dwight Schrute, stomping barefoot across a bed of hot coals, stopping halfway to scream at his boss:

What unfolds is as cringey as it is heartbreaking. Dwight burns his feet. He lays his pride bare. He puts it all on the line for a dream and still does not get the job. Which to me, is exactly what it feels like to be an artist.

The Coal Walk as Creative Metaphor

Every emerging artist has had their “coal walk” moment — the audition, the pitch, the application, the submission. We’ve all been told, in some form, “if you want the job, you’ve got to walk across these coals.” So, what do we do?

We march out with blistering conviction. We step onto the fire. We shout into the void that we are ready… ready to be seen, to be chosen, to finally land the gig and yet… like Dwight, we often walk away burnt and empty-handed.

At first, it is easy to chalk it up to industry politics, egotistical bosses, bad timing, or a system stacked against us. But what if the answer is simpler and harder to hear? What if we did not get the job because we were not ready?

Passion Is not Qualification

Here is the tough truth: wanting something deeply does not mean you are prepared to have it.

Too often, we mistake passion for readiness. We think our willingness to suffer proves our worth. We confuse pain with progress. But experience, not ego is what builds trust in your craft.

In Beach Games, Dwight believes he deserves the job because he is loyal, committed, and wants it more than anyone else. But Michael sees through it because in that moment, Dwight has not grown. He is still seeking validation instead of embodying leadership and that is what a lot of us artists do. We believe the coal walk itself is the rite of passage, but forget that what matters is what we do after the walk and how we grow, how we refine, how we respond to the silence that follows rejection.

Earn the Title, do not Just Want It

If you fast-forward to the final season of The Office (do not skip ahead just yet), Dwight finally becomes manager. Not because someone hands it to him, but because he earns it.

By then, he is no longer the try-hard suck-up. He is grown into someone confident in his abilities. He is stopped trying to perform leadership and instead practices it. He even asks Jim to be his best man — a former rival turned confidant. It is one of the most satisfying arcs in the entire series and it mirrors the artist’s journey.

The goal is not just to be recognized. It is to be ready for recognition.

So, What Should Artists Do?

Keep walking. If you are submitting to festivals, auditioning for roles, pitching to execs, cold-emailing agents, or networking like your life depends on it — do not stop.

The secret to not getting burned is to keep moving forward, literally. Each coal walk matters, but none of them, not a single one, will define your career. Your creative path is built across a mile of invisible moments. Quiet rewrites. Late nights. Small wins. Hard feedback. It is built in the grind no one applauds.

Dwight did not become manager because he walked across coals — He became manager because he grew into the position. So, take a lesson from the book of Schrute: Do the work. Hone the craft. Trust the process and when it is your time, you will not have to scream that you are ready.

Everyone else will already know.

The thing is neither half works without the other.

So as a creative, as a writer in this case, my question to you is: Which Indiana Jones are you?

Before you roll your eyes, I am not asking if you would rather outrun a boulder or grade midterms. What I mean is when it comes to creating something from scratch which version of Indy shows up the most in you?

Personally, I think we all have these two archetypes living in us. Especially when we’re developing a new idea and nowhere do they show up more clearly than in the creative process.

Take writing, for example.

When I get hit with inspiration, I do not throw open the laptop and start flinging words around like I am in a literary food fight. I think, I pace, I sit with the idea and ask: What is the angle here? How does this make me feel? Am I even in the right season of life to chase this down?

Then if the answer is ‘yes,’ I start analyzing it from every direction like I am dissecting a frog in high school biology. This helps me write with intention. I waste less time and I create cleaner drafts in the end. In that sense, I am the Professor.

However, I have got a buddy who is the exact opposite. Great writer. Produced. Talented. But when an idea strikes him, he does not analyze it to death like me — he rides it like the coming wave. No research. No outlines. No structure. Just raw, instinctual momentum. He writes like the page is on fire and the words are the only water he has got. That is the Adventurer.

To make this a little more clear, I will rename them to be the Jumper and the Looker.

The Jumper is instinct-driven. The Looker is logic-driven. Both are valid and real, but most importantly, neither is one better than the other.

However, they do come with their own set of pros and cons.

The Jumper: The Intuitive Explorer

The Jumper is Indy swinging from a vine with no clear landing spot — he is making it up as he goes while relying on instinct and momentum. If you are a Jumper, when inspiration hits, you are off to the races. You trust the process will reveal itself on the page.

Pros:

• Creative Freedom: Your writing feels alive and unfiltered. There’s no ceiling on where the story can go.

• Dynamic Characters: Since you’re discovering them as you write, they often surprise you — and your readers.

• Rapid Output: You can churn out pages fast and catch lightning in a bottle when it strikes.

Cons:

• Structural Challenges: Without a plan, you might end up in narrative cul-de-sacs or create plot holes you didn’t anticipate.

• Burnout Potential: If inspiration fades, the whole engine stalls.

• Heavy Revisions: First drafts might need major surgery to make sense of the chaos.

The Looker: The Scholarly Strategist

The Looker is Indy in the classroom, pouring over dusty tomes and ancient maps. If you are a Looker, you spend a lot of time thinking before you ever write a word. Planning, outlining, researching — you want a clear blueprint before you build.

Pros:

• Comprehensive Planning: You know where the story’s headed and that gives your writing clarity as well as direction.

• Deep World-Building: All that research means your characters and settings feel fully lived-in.

• Efficient Rewrites: Because you laid a strong foundation, you save time in later drafts.

Cons:

• Delayed Start: You might plan so long that you never actually start.

• Paralysis by Analysis: Too much thinking can snuff out a spark before it lights.

• Overcomplication: Your structure might get so intricate, it boxes in the story.

But here is the kicker: knowing whether you are a Jumper or a Looker is not about choosing sides. It is about understanding your creative wiring.

When you know your default mode, you can start to fill in the gaps. Lookers? Try scheduling bursts of freewriting to shake loose the cobwebs. Jumpers? Outline just enough to give yourself a roadmap, even if you stray from it.

At the end of the day, your job is not to be the perfect writer… it is to be the most efficient type of writer you can be.

Whether you dive headfirst into chaos or slow-walk your way through a labyrinth of ideas, the goal is the same — to tell the story that only you can tell.

So, whether you are out there dodging boulders or decoding ancient runes, whichever Indy you are, you should honor the process as both are on the same quest.

Both are valid and both, in the end, make the adventure worthwhile.

Happy writing.

In 2020, after much research and thoughtful conversations with industry professionals, I came to an important realization: attending grad school would be the most effective path for me to grow as a screenwriter. While film school is not the answer for everyone, for me, at that specific point in my life, it was exactly what I needed. With that said, I set my sights on programs specifically focused on screenwriting, ultimately applying to three schools. Of those, I was accepted by the University of North Carolina School of the Arts (UNCSA).

Like any application process, getting into a competitive film program can be daunting and UNCSA’s writing program was no easy task as it required applicants to submit a 10-page research paper analyzing why a film of their choice was successful. The prompt was simple in theory but far more challenging in practice.

After much deliberation over potential films — including Drive (2011), The Producers (2005), and There Will Be Blood (2007) — none of them felt right. Ultimately, I chose to analyze The Passion of The Christ (2004). Why this film? To this day, I cannot pinpoint a single reason. I was not necessarily drawn to it because of my faith, nor was I particularly familiar with the film, having only seen it twice. Yet, something about it called to me, so I trusted my instincts.

I watched the movie three times in a row to get a good feel for the story as well the craftsmanship of the product and began breaking down the task at hand: Why was this film successful? To answer that, I first had to define success. For me, success in film is measured across three key metrics:

1. Economics — Did the film generate profit?

2. Artistic Engagement — How did audiences respond to the story and its execution?

3. Social Relevancy — What cultural impact did the film have, and how did it resonate with viewers?

In my paper, I analyzed The Passion of the Christ through these lenses. While my writing was not perfect — filled with the occasional grammatical error or awkward phrasing — the content spoke to my passion and perspective. That expression of my unique voice is what I believe ultimately earned me a place at one of the top ten film schools in the nation.

UNCSA: MFA Research Paper

An Analysis of Success from Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ (2004)

By C. Neil Davenport

02/20/2020

It has been over a decade since Mel Gibson’s prolific landmark, The Passion of The Christ (POC) debuted and yet it is still one of the most significant films on the market today. Timeless would be another way to describe it, but why is that? Whether the doctrine of Christianity is practiced by the audience or not, like most narrative protagonist hero-types showcased in the cinema, we all know the story of the Christ-figure’s life and with this brutally realistic narrative not being the first depiction the Christ’s crucifixion ever in cinematic history, how did POC accomplish this feat of success? I believe we must understand what success means to form an investigative starting point. As per Dictionary.com, the word is defined as “the prosperous termination of… endeavors [for the]… accomplishment of one’s goal.” Now, I cannot speak on Gibson’s behalf of the director’s intention or to the film’s obligation to its audience nor will I assume any objectives of the either the director or the film itself, but I can examine POC from a business and artistic perspective to find the answer of how it has become timeless.

Let us begin with a business point of view and look at the result of success first. The ultimate result in business would be considered as profit, the financial gain from a good or service rendered and what an excellent starting point for the dissection of POC’s success. Profit, as simplified in Stephen C. Harper’s book, The McGraw-Hill Guide to Starting Your Own Business, compares profit as the award for beating the odds. Let me be clear and say profit is not the only factor to a film’s status of success. Numerous elements within each stage of production can cause a film to become timeless, but Matt London’s Fox News article, ‘The Passion of The Christ’ Actor: Painful Movie ‘Mistakes’ Made Hit Film ‘More Beautiful’ states this film, “…earned [a box office gross of] $612 million worldwide on a $30 million dollar budget… making it the most successful independent film ever.” Impressive, but the profit generated did not stop at the cinema. An article by the NBC Today Associated Press, ‘Passion’ DVD Sells 4.1 Million in One Day shares the profit category of merchandise where, “The… biblical epic sold 4.1 million DVD copies… after only one day in stores …Fox Home Entertainment said [the film] did inaugurate several… industry records. In terms of one-day sales, Fox is describing the movie as the best-selling R-rated film of all time… ‘The Passion’ DVD is on track to sell as well as Hollywood blockbusters such as ‘Spider-Man’ and ‘The Lord of the Rings’ …which topped out between 15 million and 18 million total disc sales.” Along with the past profit in perspective, we can assume the film continues to generate revenue with the current increase of Blu-ray disc development and Video on Demand (VOD) streaming accessibility — not to mention, book sales, church informational kits and other mainstream products. Money alone is a good starting point to examine POC’s success, but again the monetary aspect is only a piece of the puzzle. How POC was able to get to that point is a deeper dive in the business sector in showcasing how this film was able to produce on such a tight budget in comparison to other blockbusters.

Before production began and the cameras were turned on, a marketing plan was developed to maximize POC’s potential profit. As a business model (a revenue generating operational production of supply-and-demand) the film was then strategized with monetary decisions. Given the aftermath, it can be appropriately assumed that POC’s marketing plan was both triumphantly designed and beautifully executed, but it seemed to have exceeded its expected result. Numerous distribution companies use all types of marketing plans to advertise their films, but the one used by POC seemed to be a culmination of all the right people making all the right decisions, but where the key lies is in the plan is utilizing the right audience. The film not only influenced multitudes of people to become campaigners, but was made an overnight sensation because of them.

Now, it certainly helped publicize the marketing plan to have an A-lister’s name like Gibson’s attached to the film and Icon Productions associated as the sole financial backer, but a marketing plan is useless if it has no one to market to. POC’s financial enterprise was tailored to the audience which consisted of those who occupied the church pews. Jeff Gomez, CEO of Starlight Runner Entertainment said, “Christian audiences were primed and prepared for the film through a campaign of direct outreach between the movie’s production company [by] Newmarket Films and evangelical churches across the United States.” Another source which supports the targeting of a particular audience is found in Rachel Zoll’s article, Marketing Mel Gibson’s ‘Passion’ stating that “Gibson’s team fueled the fervor by teaming up with evangelical marketing firms which provided free promotional kits, movie-related sermons, and tips on how pastors can buy out an entire theater. The personal publicist for Rev. Billy Graham [was]… hired to help.” It almost sounds like a simple math equation: First, advertise the right product to the right people. Second, release the product to the market and third, watch the numbers rise. POC proved marketing is a key to success, but this film was more than a billboard based on the aftermath of the increased aim audience. It was a communitive unit of religious connection.

Yes, POC’s marketing plan was designed to impact its audience with the use of religious solicitors, precise analytics, and transmedia merchandise, but really this film, for a lot of people was something more than a popcorn flick. It resonated with them to the point where it even helped rekindle some with their religious faith. One example of this impact on the audience can be found in Angie Ward’s article, Impact: The Passion of the Christ where a Southern Baptist insurance executive named, “Arch Bonnema was so moved by [the] preview of ‘The Passion’, he purchased 6,000 tickets — $42,000 worth — to give away on the film’s opening day.” Another source from The Barna Research Group, Ltd. article, New Survey Examines the Impact of Gibson’s “Passion” Movie provides a more analytical side to the film’s societal impact by stating, “Nearly one out of every three adults in the country (31%) claim to have seen the movie… [and] two out of every three adults (67%) said it was “excellent… Evangelicals were the most enthusiastic about the movie (89% said the movie was excellent).” Ultimately, it can be discerned that a skyrocketing affect will occur when the right group of people relate to the right product, but what caused this audience to engage the way they did to this film?

In an artistic perspective, what I believe brought it home and caused the audience’s communitive movement on a national level was through Gibson’s brutal depiction of the Christ-story. No other faith-based film (if we can even label it that) before its release was built to feel secular. Gibson’s story shed raw light, unapologetic imagery, and naturalistic acting throughout the film of where most saw holy blood draining down a splintering cross. For example, take the scene where the character of Christ is in fact nailed to the cross. The narrative does not shy away from the viciousness of reality which caused the audience to be enthralled with its spectacle. No matter how violent it got, most did not blink their eyes fearful of missing something important. From the heightened sound of the nails punched through flesh to the eerie score behind an elongated edit, the film makes the audience feel as if they are in fact there on the mountain and almost forced to embrace the pain along with the protagonist. However, the emotional connection is not found in the torcher of Christ, but in the meaning underneath the cracking of the whip.

For example, when Christ wearing the bloody crown of thorns looks down at his mother, Mary and he says, “Mother, behold your son. The will of God be done.” In a directorial sense, he is asking her to trust in Him during this moment of utter peril and though we can effectively decipher the subliminal message of being grief stricken, the audience is vicariously asked to do the same. In a symbolic sense, we are not only no different than Mary, we are Mary.

Though the story revolves around the experiences of Christ, I would say it is not He who we are supposed to find common ground with. It is instead through the other characters within narrative the audience finds a connection. Gomez states POC is an “epic, billed… to audiences [and] were told that this was going to be an ordeal, a virtual rite of passage, forged from the language and culture of the people of the time, created to convey the true horror of Christ’s anguish and depth of sacrifice Jesus made on behalf of humanity.” The film is not about the tribulation of Christ. It is story about the onlooker during His tribulation and from a religious context, why He is being crucified in the first place. As the article, Rites of Passage and the Story of Our Times by Will Scott, states a Rites of Passage is a “mean[s] of accepting and finding meaning [with]in life changes… [when] the individual is able to confirm and complete his initiation through the support and witnessing of the community, in turn… transform… and [be] reborn.” Through Christ and the religious venture of being a sacrifice for the sins of all humanity, it is through the community of His passage we, as an audience are transformed by His rebirth. POC does not reinforce a connection to Christ through His turmoil. It is through the characters witnessing His horrific event we find the consideration of life alteration.

For instance, the character of Mary is one of many points of connection to the narrative. A vessel if you will where we as the mother we then understand the true value of what is happening in the narrative. None of us can relate to the Christ-figure for obvious reasons, so through Mary’s perspective when Christ is lashed, we see the beating of a son and not a Godly symbol. This vessel is what connects the audience to an emotion and carries the film’s theme. An article by Cory Milles, Discovering Your Theme Through Genre — Part 1, states, “[A] story’s theme should feel organic, a natural extension of the characters’ experiences in the narrative. The audience should be able to see and grasp it without realizing that they have done so. We know that the theme is crucial; it is the glue that holds the story together.” Another unit is basing the theme on the essence of being primal. Ideas such as love, death and as we find in POC, trust are primal and universally understood.

The theme of trust is demonstrated in the Gethsemane Garden scene within in the first few minutes of the story. The palette is mostly a variation of blues and blacks to embody a feeling of despair as Christ trembles on his knees, fearing what is soon to come. He freezes when spotting Satan, a pale ghost — the representation of all that is immoral — peering down at Him. With minimal and vague dialogue, the Devil asks the Son of God, “Do you really believe that one man can bear the full burden of sin?” Christ turns away and prays, “Shelter me, Oh Lord. I trust in you.” Following this scene where the theme of trust is showcased again, but in a more off-the-cuff manner is when He is restrained with chains by King Caiaphas’ soldiers. His disciples — Peter, in particular — commence an attack, but are told to stop by their leader now as a captive. Christ shows compassion by healing a soldier’s cut-off ear and tells Peter, “Those who live by the sword, die by it.” In essence, He tells the audience through Peter to trust Him.

Like the vessel of Mary, through Peter, we see the capturing of Christ as the torment of a friend and not as a figure who cannot be harmed. Making the witnesses of the protagonist, the viewpoint of the narrative drives the point of connection home between the audience and the theme. You see this exemplified through the iconic Last Supper scene when John is asked by Christ to make an agreement with the Lord using bread and wine. He says while breaking the bread, “This is my body, [and] this my blood.” John is being asked to trust Him. In retrospect, to have faith which is what the film asks the audience to invest in.

Here is the reason why the onlookers of Christ were the protagonist. The novel by Blake Synder, Save the Cat! The Last Book on Screenwriting You’ll Ever Need, states, similar to a caterpillar turning into a butterfly, “the protagonist is the one who dramatically transforms the most by the end of the story,” and if we look at Christ’s character arch, surprisingly we find he doesn’t change at all. He stays the same throughout. So, who changes? The audience does based upon the reaction of the onlookers of Christ’s death. For example, in the beginning we see Mary aiding her son as a child when he falls, but now as a parent watching her son stabbed in the ribs, she does not stop the soldier carrying the staff. Mary realizes her son is the Prophecy and mops up His blood with sheets. The same can be said about Simon, the man who was assigned to help carry the cross up the mountain. We relate to Simon as an innocent bystander when he declares he does not want to be associated with helping the Condemned by simply wanting to protect his daughter. However, after arriving to the destination, he finds himself crying and pulled away from the Messiah by soldiers. He did not want to leave after figuring out who he was with. The same can be said about the dread of Cassius, the disciples and roman emperors who fell on their knees. Gomez states “The Passion of the Christ powerfully inverted this creative approach, elevating the final moments of a single individual into an emotionally operatic and yet devastatingly real account. By doing so, any introduction of the miraculous or the Divine into this narrative strikes the audience as beyond question. To millions, The Passion of the Christ became and remains proof.” The audience can connect and understand the validity of this story through its use of character development and visuals, but there is another element involved. The theme of the film puts His death on us.

Through this series of painstakingly horrific events that lead to Christ’s inevitable death and resurrection, the story can be understood as a message to the audience about our responsibility to a higher power. We can decipher this message by analyzing the film’s visuals. Like most religious films, such as George Steven’s, The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965) or Martin Scorsese’s, The Last Temptation of Christ (1988), POC is an expressionistic story, but it uses symbolic tangibility as the mediator between the image on screen and the understanding of authenticity. Reverend Gary Shilling, a retired Jacksonville, Florida pastor who practiced the spreading of God’s word for over two decades explains this in an interview. He says, “It encapsulates a feeling of profoundness. We are God’s emotional creatures. It is the only way we know how to understand the world around us.” As a piece of cinema and like most art, the film implies emotion to then be honed as empathy and hopefully result to a positive personal alteration. Olafur Eliasson’s article, ‘Why Art has the Power to Change the World’ speaks on how art is the transition to connection. “Art… can make the world felt …This transformative experience is what art is constantly seeking… One of the major responsibilities of artists… is to help people not only get to know and understand something with their minds but also to feel it emotionally and physically.” In addition, the directional choices of production follow the unwritten rule of screenwriting ‘Show, Don’t Tell,’ stated in the novel, Save the Cat! The rule produces an accurate depiction of a grounded approach to the narrative, but nobody thinks that way when watching a movie. To elaborate on how the film followed the unwritten rule, Caviezel says in London’s article, ‘[I] was injured while filming … [I] carried a heavy wooden cross … and when [it] fell, the cross came down on top of [me]. As I went down, the cross … buried my head in the sand. I bit through my tongue, [and] … in the tape, you see streams of blood coming down from my lip. That’s actually my own blood. [My] shoulder was also badly hurt, but [I] worked through the pain and delivered [my] lines … At this time, [my] shoulder is out and I was trying everything I had to get my arm over [the cross] and it looks like it’s the most extraordinary take because it looks like I’m cherishing our cross, which is our faith, and hugging it but in the most beautiful way.” Through the actor’s involvement, the audience is able to interpret the story personally. Shilling also states that, “Similar to how Christ died and shed his blood for me, I left as though the film was made only for me,” while Zoll’s article shares why Bonnema bought tickets. As a Christian, you hear the term ‘Jesus sacrificed His life for us. We hear it so many times that it’s routine. I walked out… and thought, ‘…This really puts things in perspective.’” Additionally, Gomez says “the film did a superb job of authenticating what had always been communicated in abstract or relatively bloodless ways. In doing so, it helped make real what so many believed in their hearts.” This perspective helps us understand the film’s sense of reality on the human condition. Whether the audience consists of non-believers or devout Christians, people react to visuals. Shilling says, “I always tried using visuals to make the message memorable when preaching. It was Easter Sunday, I make a metal pronged whip and during my sermon, I tore up the pulpit’s carpet. To this day, they remind me of that particular sermon.” This personal touch of POC provides a concept of tangibility to a story of suffering, anguish, and triumph, but how? Shilling points out the editing process of the film. Intensity. Unlike most faith-based movies in how they ingeniously craft their stories, ‘The Passion’ does not let up on you. Scene after scene it builds upon the intensity until the very end. It is inescapable. Most other Christian movies hit you in one scene with a powerful emotion and then follow it with a funny scene to give us a sense of relief. ‘The Passion’ does not do that.

Another point of tangibly which gives the narrative further context of understood emotion is found in Zoll’s article stating that Gibson, “Sees the movie as a reflection on Christ’s sacrifice for the sin[s] of humanity,” and an IMDb Trivia shares that, “The hands which nail Christ to the cross are actually Gibson’s. [The director] is reported to say, ‘It was me that put Him on the cross. It was my sins that put Him there.’” In addition, The Barna Research Group, Ltd. Article shares that a personal touch was felt by the audience when “four out of ten adults (41%) said that within the past two years they had seen a movie that had caused them to think more seriously about their religious faith … [and] overall, six out of ten adults who had reflected on their faith in response to a movie (59%) identified The Passion as one of the movies that caused such reconsideration.” This film reminds us of not only our mortality and the everlasting place of paradise when saved under the Christian faith, but more importantly, it taps into our deepest vulnerability as human beings.

We all have skeletons in our closet and capable of the same evil committed long ago, but still carry the ability of transformation. Another IMDb Trivia note shares along with the, “experiences during filming, Gibson had a Canadian priest, Fr. Stephan Somerville, celebrate the Traditional Roman Catholic Latin Mass of the Apostolic Rite for the film crew each day before production, many of the cast and crew converted to Catholicism after completion of the film. Among those who converted was an atheist [actor] who played Judas Iscariot.” The list goes on with people who were transformed due to the experience of this film. Roughly half of the people who saw the movie (53%) were born again Christians… [those] who had seen The Passion were asked if it affected their religious beliefs in any way. One out of every six viewers (16%) said it had. When pressed to describe the specific shifts in their spiritual perspectives, the most common changes were the perceived importance of how they treat other people, becoming more concerned about the effect of their life choices and personal behavior, and gaining a deeper understanding of, or appreciation for what Christ had done for them through His death and resurrection… Overall, one out of every ten viewers of The Passion (10%) indicated that they had changed some aspect of both their religious beliefs and practices in response to the movie. (Barna Research Group, Ltd.) Films have this impact on society. They can change and offer alternatives, but also inspire. Caviezel stated in the London article, “[We made] something… beautiful that will last forever… It’s amazing to me, after all these years …’The Passion of the Christ’ remains this force that people returned to year after year.” POC presented as series of events leading to the most monument moment of biblical history and unlike most other faith-based films depicting a symbolic version of an institutionalized moral and faithful Christ-like figure struggling to fit in with an immoral society, the film directly deals with a fresh depiction of the Son of God without a perceived political agenda or fraction of theological truth.

In conclusion, the reason why POC to this day has an 80% on Rotten Tomatoes is based on the primal fear of believing we are underserving of forgiveness. Shilling says, “As Christ lay barren on the cross, stripped of his dignity and humility, the movie reminds us of our own vulnerability, of our own sin. We put him on that cross, we stabbed him in the side, we tore him up with the cat-o’-nine-tales and yet he still forgave us.” However, though this film reminds us of our greatest flaw, it also reminds us of our ignorant capability in being godly. In the article, ‘The Passion of the Christ,’ a Decade Later by Eddie O’Neill states that, “Lives [were] changed beyond the numbers [from] the Mel Gibson production… A person who murdered someone and had gotten off scot-free… later turn himself in and face a life in prison after being convicted by the Holy Spirit from seeing The Passion of the Christ.” Take the scene when Christ carries the cross to the mountain for example. A flashback occurs where he remembers conducting a sermon to His congregation. He tells the people, “It is understood you should love your neighbor and hate your enemies. But I say unto you to love and pray for your enemy because if you only love your neighbor, what is the reward in that?” That single scene is why I believe this film is so successful. It speaks the absolute truth in why I believe we all connect to this story. “About 13 million adults changed some aspect of their typical religious behavior because of the movie and about 11 million people altered some pre-existing religious beliefs because of the content of that film. That is enormous influence and …more than any other movie in recent years, The Passion focused people on the person and purpose of Jesus Christ. In a society that revolves on relativism, spiritual diversity, tolerance, and independence, galvanizing such intense consideration of Jesus Christ is a major achievement in itself,” (Barna Research Group, Ltd.). It subliminally taps into the sociology of both the guilty believers alongside stagnate non-believers. We want to forgive and be forgiven. It is a story not just for the people, but of the people on individualistic capability, good and bad alike and sheds a pure light on our most shared, universal vulnerability of love, hope, life, and redemption.

With hindsight, I realize the paper’s purpose went far beyond demonstrating my industry knowledge or meeting an academic requirement. It was an opportunity to showcase my voice as a writer — a voice shaped by my experiences, beliefs, and aspirations.

Scribophile describes a writer’s voice as “a blend of personal style, tone, personality, vocabulary, syntax, and unique experiences.” In simpler terms, your voice is how you express your perspective and stand out as a creative individual. Writing that paper forced me to explore and articulate my voice in ways I had not done before, giving me a clearer sense of who I was as a writer and where I could go.

At the time, I was too focused on crafting a compelling argument to recognize the deeper significance of the task. However, a year after completing grad school, I see that paper as a reflection of my character, motivations, and passion. It serves as a reminder that being true to yourself is the key to making a meaningful impact — both in your art and in life.

As Stranger Things nears its final season, I decided to reacquaint myself with the terrifying yet mesmerizing franchise (for the third time over the last decade) and rewatched the entire four seasons — one episode per day and was left with a feeling I did not expect. I found that I was content with the Netflix science fiction, horror, mystery drama television series coming to an end.

Do not get me wrong, I have nothing but admiration for the Duffer Brothers and their groundbreaking creation, but this show had become somthing more to me than just entertainment. Like the Demogorgon lurking in the shadows behind Barabra, Stranger Things had followed me through the last ten years of my life and now, it is time to stop.

I feel like an old man smoking a pipe on his porch when I say that I remember when the show premiered in 2016. It was a cultural moment. Everything stopped. It became a phenomenon we did not know we needed until it arrived, and soon after, we could not get enough of the whole, “Friends don’t lie” catchphrase. I recall my friend, Drew Thomas, who was studying abroad in Paris at the time, telling me he barely left his dorm because he was too busy binge-watching it which in the early rise of Netflix was solidified by another inhouse production, House of Cards (2013–2018). It is certain that Stranger Things took full advantage of what they set in motion.

Set in small-town Indiana during the 1980s…

The show follows a group of nerdy kids searching for their missing friend while battling supernatural forces from the Upside Down — all with the help of a mysterious girl with telekinetic powers. It is a beautifully crafted underdog story wrapped in nostalgia, mystery, and adventure. And yet, beneath the Jaws like monsters and E.T. secret government conspiracies, the true heart of Stranger Things lies in its John Huge’s coming-of-age narrative — a theme that resonates deeply with me.

While the show presents itself as a Monster in the House story-type — akin to classic Stephen King horror — it is fundamentally a Rite of Passage narrative, as described in Blake Snyder’s novel, Save the Cat. This story-type follows characters struggling with a universal problem, making mistakes along the way, until they ultimately learn to accept their situation and move forward.

This is most evident in Season 4:

• While locked up in a Russian prison, Hopper accepts that he is not cursed, but rather accepts the notion that he is the curse.

• While testing Project Nina with Papa, Eleven reconciles with her identity as both the monster and the superhero.

• While piggybacking in a pizza dough refrigerator, Mike realizes his love for Eleven.

• While talking about Lego pieces getting stuck up his nose, Will finds peace with his trauma through the support of his brother.

• And well, Nancy — poor girl cannot seem to figure out which man she wants.

Each of these arcs embodies transformation and self-acceptance — hallmarking the Rite of Passage structure. Do not believe a monster can reside in a coming-of-age story? Well, look no further than Godzilla Minus One (2023). This monster movie resembles a different form of passage, but it is this depth that makes Stranger Things so compelling.

Rites of Passage stories are powerful tools of narrative because they are the truest depiction of life. Now, did a demodog eat my cat, or am I trying to break a secret Russian code behind an ice-cream shop? No, but what I believe makes the show so relatable to all of us is through its use of friendship.

We have all experienced young love like Mike and delt with its confusion. We all have had a devoted friend like Dustin and loved him despite his ego. We all have wanted to find our place in this world like Will and learned the value of self-acceptance. This the reason why we watch. Sure, the spectacle of how Henry goes through an Anakin Skywalker-like transformation into Vecna is entertaining, but the reason why we watch, the reason why we are so emotionally engaged with this show is through the complex relationships between the characters. But that is also the reason why it is time for me to say goodbye.

In many ways, the show represents a chapter of my own life. When it premiered, I was finishing my undergraduate degree — a pivotal time of mine — one filled with close friendships, creative freedom, and self-discovery. I was making short films, hosting movie nights, playing table tennis, and enjoying life with the kind of carefree spirit that only exists before adult responsibilities fully set in. While I do not let nostalgia hold me back, I have found myself grieving the loss of that period of my life as I no longer have the same expansive community of friends, the structure of academia, or the open-ended opportunities for creative experimentation. Instead, my life now revolves around career-building, networking, and financial sustainability — welcome to adulthood. And that is okay.

Like Eddie Munson, the leader of the Hellfire Club, being unfairly blamed for Chrissy’s death, I have unconsciously associated Stranger Things with that part of my past — the version of me that existed during my early 20s. But it is time to shift my perspective. It is time to move on. Instead of seeing my past as a reminder of what is lost, it is time to remember it as a formative experience that helped shape the person I am today.

I am unsure of what is coming next, but I feel hopeful that something big is on the horizon — something that will solidify my career in this crazy industry and/or someone pivotal who will help me grow as a person.

That said, when I inevitably rewatch Stranger Things in the future, I will not do so with longing. I will do so with gratitude and smile instead of grieve, knowing that the past is a beautiful stepping stone towards the future.

My Life Through the Lens of Stranger Things

• 2016: Season 1 Premiere — I was 23, finishing my undergraduate degree at Augusta University, producing my senior capstone project, and assistant directing Smokefall.

• 2017: Season 2 Premiere — At 24, I was traveling post-graduation, awaiting acceptance to grad school (FSU, which did not happen), and later moved to Oklahoma, where I landed my first acting agent and writing gig with Arolucha Inc.

• 2019: Season 3 Premiere — At 26, I was back in Georgia, managing a Regal Cinema, securing a second acting agent (thanks to Michael Fortino, who played Ricky in Stranger Things Season 3), and landing a feature film writing job for Camp Hideout.

• 2022: Season 4 Premiere — At 29, I was in grad school at UNCSA, studying under the late Academy Award-winning director Peter Werner, working at a historic B&B, co-writing Blind Drive Ahead, and adapting The Disappearance into a screenplay.

• 2025: Season 5 Premiere — Now 32, I am living in Atlanta Georgia, networking with Trilith Institute, awaiting feedback from Hallmark, striving to become an Austin Film Festival panelist, securing funding for two feature films, and writing an action-thriller.

So, to Stranger Things and its creators, thank you.

Thank you for the memories, for the inspiration, and for being a mirror to my own journey. But now, just as Mike, Dustin, Will, and Lucas are growing up, so am I. And it is time to step into the next chapter — DONG, DONG, DONG, DONG!

Crafting a cinematic narrative whether it is a short, feature-length, or a television pilot is a demanding creative endeavor, but developing a vertical micro-drama is uniquely, and arguably a far more challenging task in my opinion.

To borrow from the great Michael Caine’s insight regarding the operations of entertainment; theatre is like wielding a scalpel whereas film is done with a laser. To continue Caine’s philosophy, producing a micro-drama is like splitting an atom as the precision, brevity, and intensity required of these bite-sized narratives leaves no room for excess - making every second of screen time critical.

The essay below is intended as a practical guide and a thoughtful reflection for creators who seek to master the art of vertical micro-dramas, illuminating the complexities, and methodologies necessary to succeed in this intricate form.

*Note: This document is simply a culmination of the research I have done on my own time in regards to a recent vertical project I was on, but please know this medium is everchanging and there is more information out there on how this machine operates.

What is a Micro-Drama?

FORMAT:

• Episodic (aka: Mobisode)

• Serialized

• Time Duration per episode: 1-2 mins / 60 – 70 episodes per season (120 – 140 minutes of screentime in total)

• Shot: 9x16 aspect ratio for viewing consumption on smartphones

• As of 2025, currently caters to females (20 – 60 yo)

• Does not go near the rated R status. Stays at PG-13

STORY TYPE:

• Soap Opera – cliffhangers, plot twists, melodrama / telenovela

  • Comedy or Drama (pertains to aimed audience demographic and distribution platform)

  • Experimental / Fantasy (Vampire / Werewolf / Witchcraft)

TOP CURRENT COMPANIES (USED BY AMERICANS):

As of 2025, the companies below are the most prevalent as they provide production and distribution.

• Their content is viewed through an app – their app / website

• These companies hire independent production companies and/or freelance producers to develop their IP

• Most IP is adapted Eastern (Chinese) narratives for a Western (American) audience

SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORMS:

How Many People are Watching?

GRAPHS: REVENUE / USERS / DOWNLOADS

• MAF: Microdramas: Blending Drama and Rewarded Advertising (May 05, 2024)

• NAAVIK: Microdramas: China’s New Craze Goes Global (Sept. 08, 2024)

• WISE GUY REPORTS: Micro Short Drama Market Overview (Aug. 10, 2024)

• FOXDATA: The Secret Behind the Phenomenon of Micro-Dramas (Dec. 27, 2024)

• MRA: Paid Micro-Dramas in North America: Market Dynamics and Forecasts 2025-2033 (Apr. 9, 2025)

How is a Micro-Drama Produced in Pre, Pro, and Post?

OPTIMIZED ENGAGEMENT:

The vertical company hires local talent and or social media influencers with +1 million followers with added brand/product association. This establishs ‘Behind the Scenes’ content and additional transmedia outlets.

MONETIZATION:

• Freemium models (first 10 episodes are free – then pay to unlock remaining episodes)

• Ad Revenue

• Brand Partnerships / Social Media Influencers

BUDGET & OTHER PRODUCTION UNITS:

• Non-union

• Funding provided by production company

• Total budget ranges from >$30K to <$300K depending on scale of show

• Producer / Director Full Production Rate: $7K – $20K

• Actor Day Rate: $150.00 – $400.00 (depending on role)

• Locked to 1 – 3 locations

• +6 – 8 Actors

• No animals

• Skeleton crew – Producer wears many hats

• Night shoots to control light

• Fast-paced shooting schedule (No more than 2 weeks / Shoot 10 pages a day / No time for rehearsal or retakes)

• Episodes are digitally transferred to the editor right after they are shot

How does it Make Money?

COST STRUCTURE:

The first 5 – 10 episodes are free. After that, the user “unlocks” a single or bundle of episodes by spending a virtual currency system in the form of coins, diamonds, or tickets. [Usually ranges from $0.20 to $0.50 per episode / $15 to $50 for a season depending on platform and region] – Payment from Credit/Debit card, Apple Pay, Google Pay and/or PayPal (depending on platform and region)

• Coins can be obtained two ways:

  • 1. Directly purchasing Coins from the in-app store which offers different package rates i.e. starter packs range from $2 – $5 for a few episodes)

  • 2. Earning “Bonus / Reward Coins” by watching ‘Reward Ads” (mobile advertising that rewards users in exchange for their engagement) – Learn more: Rewarded Advertising: Key Benefits and Challenges

  • Other incentives are bonus bundles, discounted series passes, holiday promotions, and show launches

SUBSCRIPTIONS:

Some platforms offer optional monthly subscriptions which include the removal of ads, provide coins or unlocks, and offer early access to premium content (pricing roughly $5 to $10 a month)

EXAMPLE:

ReelShort: User buys 200 coins for $2. They spend 20 to 50 coins per episode of one season (depending on the episode). Full access to a show may require thousands of coins, translating to $20 to $50+ total cost for a premium show.

• Episodes priced in tiers:

  • Episodes 1 – 5: Free

  • Episodes 6 – 20: 20 coins each (total coins: 300)

  • Episodes 21 – 40: 30 coins each (total coins: 600)

  • Final episodes: 41 – 60: 40 coins each (total coins: 800)

  • Total Coins spend: 1,700 (USD: $15 to $25 depending on user strategy [bundle purchases vs ad-watching] x 100 people: $1,500 to $2,500)

  • Multiply that by a single user watching 2 shows at once…

How is a Micro-Drama Written?

NARRATIVE CORE VALUES:

• Resembled through the marketing of the production company – brand identity

• Presented through the theme of the narrative which is demonstrated by the plot points and actions/dialogue of characters

• Showcased through the overall tone, mode, and overall emotion of the narrative

SCRIPT FORMAT:

• Looks like a normal screenplay and follows the same rules of indention

• A full season consists of +110 pages (under the rule of thumb that 1 page equals 1 minute of screentime; a season is the length of a feature screenplay)

• One writer per script – can have additional writers

• Heavily utilizes AI generation and SEO

NARRATIVE FORMAT:

• Character driven – typically a young beautiful underdog female (an ignorant Cinderella type)

• 5 to 6 layered storylines

• Story: two conflicting worlds collide

• World: Escapism / Hyper or Reality based in fantasy (shirtless guys & girls in dresses)

• Story Types: Rites-of-Passage / Buddy-Love / Institutionalized

• Focused story type: Friends and Family Workplace Drama

CHARACTER FORMAT:

• 6 primaries [A, B, C, D, E, F] and 8 to 10 secondaries [G, H, I, J] / then extras

• Underdog Protagonist who represents Aud. Demographic

• Each character has their own storyline which weaves into other characters to layer conflict

• They never accomplish their goal or get what they want – always on the brink of it

• Stereotypical – easily understood / clear good guy and clear antagonist who typically show one emotion throughout

• Each character is: Relatable / Flawed / Struggling / Emotionally Complex / Has a clear and primal goal seen on the Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs / Stereotypically Depicted

STORY STRUCTURE:

• Nonlinear: Use transitions such as – memory hits / flashbacks / meanwhile back at the ranch

• Expectations: Fast Paced & Engaging / Authentic / Outlandish Plots & Unexpected Twists

• Uses: Voice Over of Protagonist to streamline narrative / and on-screen text reading characters names when introduced

THEMES: Romance / Betrayal / Revenge / Crime / or a blending of two

SEASON STRUCTURE:

• Rule for each episode: 3.7.21

  • By second 3: establish a visual hook which demonstrates the theme of the narrative

  • By second 7: establish a character verbally state the theme of the narrative

  • By second 21: establish a sense of emotional engagement which causes addition

How did Micro-Dramas Come to Be?

HISTORY

2000s – 2015:

Short-Form storytelling became popularized due to social media platforms such as YouTube in 2005 and Vine in 2013. This led to the emergence of web series and the establishment of K-dramas (Korea) alongside J-dramas (Japan) which introduced fast-paced, melodramatic narrative styles.

2018 – 2020:

This led to the rise of vertical content. Douyin/Kuaishou (TikTok’s Chinese version) allowed content creators to experiment and craft shorter stories with high-drama and the mass audience could not get enough – especially when Covid-19 hit. Early content was criticized as vulgar and lowbrow, but the money kept coming in.

2021 – 2023:

The Micro-Drama industry boomed in China and grew by over 300%, reaching hundreds of millions of viewers. Hit titles like The Killer Is Also Romantic (2022) and I May Love You (2023) gained international attention, sparking global interest.

2023 – 2024:

International Expansion hit when companies like ReelShort and DramaBox brought Chinese-style micro-dramas to U.S., Southeast Asia, and Latin America. ReelShort surpassed TikTok and Netflix in the App Store charts in 2024, the U.S. market generated 60% of the global micro-drama revenue outside China in 2024 (over $720 million) and Playlet launched domestically in the U.S., offering English-language micro-dramas produced with the same binge-worthy format.

2024 – 2025:

Units such as AI, monetization and mainstreaming allowed producers to quickly generate scripts, accelerating content creation. This allowed studios to hiring screenwriters to polish or rewrite AI-generated plots. This assisted the influx of monetization via freemium models, microtransactions, and ad revenue. Companies such as Netflix, TikTok, and Amazon are now experimenting with micro-episode testing, hinting at broader industry adoption.

The Future:

Micro-dramas are expected to surpass $14 billion globally by 2027. Their storytelling format may become a standard for engaging next-gen mobile users, especially in underserved markets. Additional crossovers between traditional screenwriters, influencers, and short-form platforms are expected.

Where are Micro-Dramas Going (in Neil’s opinion)?

PREDICTIONS & THOUGHTS:

Micro-dramas are not going to replace the traditional high dollar horizontal feature/episodic cinema, but the market will change accordingly and become a major player.

• A blending of social media and narrative design will allows the viewer to interact with the IP allowing the viewer to control the choices of the characters

• Further games, merch, BTS will be developed pushing the transmedia element

• Globally, as soon as micro-dramas are normalized, we will see an emergence of micro-drama affiliated companies emerge which offer both or either production and distribution services - The companies that will die will be the ones which continue to develop content only for women

• The next two genres to hit big will most likely be action and horror

• As soon as the big 5 studios begin to develop or sponsor the development of micro-dramas, production value in this space will rise

• Marketing will explode and find new ways to get people to buy IP and products

• When it comes to IP, there will be an influx of stories. Film festivals will open a category to verticals and this format will be taught in schools

• With the influx of IP, because the original model heavily utilizes Ai generation, legal issues will emerge regarding copyright / trademark law

• Companies will scout for original IP and pay high dollar amounts for new ideas

SOURCES

• China Seeks to Bring a Booming Micro-Drama Industry Under Tighter Control

• Micro Dramas Shake Up China’s Film Industry and Take Aim at Hollywood

• How ReelShort CEO Joey Jia Used Chinese Trend to Disrupt the U.S. Entertainment Industry

• After China, ‘Micro Dramas’ are Gaining Popularity in the US

• Two-minute TV Shows Have Taken Over China. Can They Take Over the World?

• 9 Must-watch Chinese Micro-Dramas to Binge-watch in Minutes

• Told One Minute at a Time, Micro Dramas are Soap Operas Designed to fit in your Hand

• Chinese Micro-Dramas Attract Global Audiences

• Chinese Micro Dramas Gain Popularity Overseas

• Tiny Screens, Big Dreams: Inside China’s Micro-Drama Industry

• Wikipedia: Duanju

• After TikTok, Micro Drama Could Be China’s Latest Disruptor to Global Entertainment

• I Went to Beijing for a Micro Drama Learning Trip, and Here’s What I Learnt

• Inside the Rise of Micro Dramas – and the Opportunities for Marketers

• Microdramas: Blending Drama and Rewarded Advertising

• There Are Movie Jobs in LA If You’re Prepared to Go Vertical

On the morning of June 26th, 2025, I did what I always do – wake up at 5am, pray, make the bed, brew the coffee, and pull up the trades. However, when I opened Variety that day, I spit half my coffee across the kitchen counter.

Why? Two reasons:

1.

I discovered FX and Hulu are developing a series titled Very Young Frankenstein – a modern continuation of Mel Brooks and Gene Wilder’s 1974 comedy classic Young Frankenstein potentially described as a procedural prequel in the tone of What We Do in the Shadows.

And 2. just like that, my latest screenplay concept - inspired by the making of the classic comedy… the one I had been quietly researching, outlining, and obsessing over for months – was suddenly happening. Just not by me.

But here is the funny thing - this is not the first time this has happened. This is not the first time someone else has had the same idea as me! Seriously, this has happened to me before with another idea. Coffee and all.

*Quick Disclaimer Before the Pitchforks Come Out: This essay is not a veiled accusation. No one stole anything from me nor am I suggesting foul play or creative theft. What I am doing presently is making the case that having a similar idea to a major studio or streamer – again – is actually a good happenstance.

Now, let us start with the “me” in this story. My name is C. Neil Davenport. I am an award-winning screenwriter and producer with credits on platforms such as Disney+ and Hulu. I have been in the industry for nearly a decade and when I am not developing content for clients, like any other writer, I am developing my own material. The key note about my material you should know is that it usually caters to character-driven stories grounded in reality, ambition, identity, and the high-wire act of chasing the American Dream. Otherwise known as the underdog narrative.

I am drawn to characters who have no business winning, but try anyway – Seemingly everyday people with grit, heart, and maybe just enough madness to attempt the impossible. Think Cinderella meets Rocky.

So, why am I attracted to this island of misfit toys? Well, frankly because I am one of them. I am underdog. I am not wealthy, a legacy nor impressive in stature. All I have is this fire inside of me that produces a stubborn love for the craft of storytelling and boy does it burn bright.

But Neil, why did you do a spit-take at the discovery of Very Young Frankenstein? Good question and thank you for asking.

About a year ago, I began outlining a fictional biopic I titled, The Spoof which was going to be a buddy-comedy centered on the real-life creative relationship between Mel Brooks and Gene Wilder during the making of Young Frankenstein. Can you imagine a madcap lovechild between The Producers and Ed Wood wrapped in themes of mentorship, ego clashes, and the chaotic alchemy of genius? It would be so much fun! In all honesty though, it was to be a love letter to creative friendship and the volatile brilliance it can spark, but alas, I was beat to the punch… again.

Around the same time I started developing the idea of The Spoof, I wrote an essay titled Someone Had the Same Idea As Me (And That’s a Good Thing) regarding a similar situation involving the discovery of The Apprentice, directed by Ali Abbasi because, funny enough, the year prior to that moment, I was developing a buddy-drama bio-pic about young Donald J. Trump set in 1970s Manhattan titled, HUGE.

In comparison to Abbasi’s film, my concept was far less political, and more psychological as an art-felt character study of our current president as a hungry, driven young man, striving to get out of his father’s shadow by tackling his first major real estate swing; the Commodore Hotel renovation under the mentorship of his attorney. Dispite how you feel about the man, I was attracted by the question, “How did Trump become Trump?” But I guess, someone else wondered the same thing.

With all this said, this is a good thing though. The fact that someone else had the same-ish idea as me again is fantastic! No, really, it is.

Here is why:

1. It proves the idea had legs:

One of the hardest things in storytelling is knowing which ideas deserve your time, energy, and sanity. So, when someone with more power, budget, and connections is developing a similar concept, that is proof the idea was not a waste of time. It was onto something real, something achievable. The developer of the idea was thinking like a pro which is proof of alignment.

2. It proves the developer is tuned into the zeitgeist:

The best stories often emerge from noticing cultural gaps – not trends – in the marketplace. Both The Spoof and HUGE came from noticing something missing in the market due to social relevancy or cultural influence. The fact that the developer noticed the same thing as executive professionals is incredible because it means their antenna is up. They are tuned into what currently matters and have a keen insight to where things in the biz.

3. It proves the developer knows their voice:

As it stands, the industry is shifting and what seems to be gaining a profound amount of attention is the unit of authenticity. Those higherups, those gatekeepers who are making the decisions of what stories may pass through, seem to be attracted to stories which do not reinvent the wheel. Instead, the stories which get greenlit are ones developed not out of originality, but are retold stories with a unique perspective – a unique voice. So, the fact that other storytellers are circling the same themes my voice caters to is proof who I am as a person and a storyteller is valuable.

So, now what? Where do I go from here? How will I move forward?

That is simple – keep moving forward.

Keep writing and start developing the next passion project on my slate. It is time to let The Spoof and HUGE die an honorable death despite out much I love the stories - not because they were bad ideas, but because of two reasons:

1. Through some divine intervention, these stories are not mine tell.

2. It is not my job as a storyteller to stay fixated on one idea.

Truth is, this is a common occurrence and though we all would love to develop a one-hit wonder, the job of a screenwriter, a producer, a storyteller is to consistency develop golden nuggets along the journey. Okay, so two of my ideas are dead. Pardon the boast, but last week Hallmark passed on six different concept pitches I delivered and invited me to develop six more in a different tonal direction. Now, would I have liked for them to pick up at least one of the original six? Sure! But again, I am in, as Erik Bork says in his book on screenwriting, “[The] idea business.” So, you want six more, okay, back to the drawing board I go.

I am here for the long game and ideas will be produced and declined left and right. However, knowing how to validate an idea is vital. So, to all the fellow writers and creators who have ever spit coffee across the room and have said, “Hey, I had that idea…” do not mourn. Celebrate and move on. You did not lose the race because you are still running.

Now get back to work.

-

Sources:

• Variety. “’Very Young Frankenstein’ Comedy Pilot in The Works.” Otterson. (2025)

• Deadline. “‘Very Young Frankenstein’ Series From Mel Brooks, ‘What We Do In The Shadows’ Team Nears FX Pilot Order. Cordero. (2025)

• Medium. “Someone Had The Same Idea As Me (And That Is A Good Thing).” Davenport. (2024)

• Medium. “The Rise of Non-Original Content: How Hollywood is Running Out of Ideas.” Stallworth. (2023)

• Google Books. “Kiss Me Like A Stranger: My Search for Love and Art.” Wilder. (2005)

• Book. “The Idea.” Bork. (2018)

• YouTube. “Spaceballs 2 Announcement.” (2025)

• Films on IMDb: “Young Frankenstein (1974)” / “What We Do In The Shadows (2019 - 2024)” / “The Apprentice (2024)” / “The Producers (2005)” / “Cinderella (1950)”/ “Rocky (1976)”/ “Ed Wood (1994)”

However, as we all hold out hope for the big five to return and twiddle our thumbs for the industry to return to the States, I find myself in conversations where this specific question pops up; “Should I go to film school?”

Now I am sorry to say, there is no clear ‘yes or no’ answer, but I understand the logic. Funny enough, young people asked a similar question during the Vietnam War.

Back then, if you could prove you were a student, you were able to dodge the draft, but this led to a spike in college enrollment and arguably, the inflation of the college degree… That said, it is human nature to pivot when crisis hits, but before you spend the application fee, consider the pros and cons of both choices.

There Are More Things in Heaven and Earth: No to Film School

We have all heard the stories of celebrity high school dropouts such as Quentin Tarantino, Tom Cruise, and Peter Bogdanovich who hit the big-time. So yeah, skipping a formal education is not necessarily a dealbreaker to breaking into your career. However, it is good for you to know that until you meet the ‘right person at the right time,’ you will be spending a lot of time, energy, and investment into making yourself ready to be a professional — just like every single dropout Hollywood A-lister.

But let’s say you do decide to skip school — You jump straight into the industry and work your ass off (because the industry will require nothing less) — The odds of you walking onto a set and landing the spotlight, or the director’s chair, or whatever is you want at the end of the day are slim.

Most likely, if you get hired at all, you will start as a PA or runner — which is basically an errand boy. Sorry, but it is true. Noting that, being a PA is not a bad thing starting out as it indicates that someone sees your passion and is willing to take a chance on you… but it is your job to step up to the plate.

But hey, stranger things have happened! High level gigs are given to greenhorns everyday. Thing is, these people who seem to have luck on their side usually name dropped and or brought in a big bag full of money.

Now, maybe you do not want to work in the studio system. Maybe you want to make your own stuff. Great, but the same rules apply.

Skipping school is not a fast track to success. It means you will have to work twice as hard as the person who attends school as you will have to teach yourself the ins and outs of the industry, build your own network, and rent equipment on your own dime — which is totally doable — look at those who make truck loads of money on YouTube… It still takes grit though.

Take my friend Van Emberger for example. He did not attend film school yet today, he travels the world producing content for Atlanta United. I met Van in 2018 while I was managing a Regal Cinemas in Atlanta. He worked the concession stand with a whole bunch of teenagers and between blockbuster rushes, we would talk movies, the industry, and our dreams. As a result a friendship formed. At one point, he asked me, “Should I go to film school?” My answer took weeks to layout, but ultimately, I saw that school was not in his heart. So, I gave him my honest take.

During high school and working at Regal, he would produce music videos for aspiring Atlanta musicians and read all the books about the craft I gifted him. Van jumped into the industry after graduating high school and over the time it would have taken him to earn a BA, Van produced award-winning short films, landed set work with Shaquille O’Neal, got promoted, and found an opprotunity to combine his love of film with his other passion for soccer.

Van skipped film school and it paid him dividends, but he still had to work his ass off to earn the position he is in currently.

Another element most wave off regarding film school is its cost. Learning how to turn on a camera is expensive. The American Film Institute (AFI), often ranked #1, has alumni like Darren Aronofsky, David Lynch, and Ari Aster — it has the reputation of developing successful artists, but its tuition is over $70K per year and does not include living expenses, insurance, car payments, and other costs while learning about the French New Wave.

That said, going the DIY route is not exactly cheap either. If you do not already live in a production hub like LA, New York, Atlanta — or the UK in this case, you will need to relocate to get a job and those costs pile up fast.

Here is what I have found to be true: unless you are extremely frugal and lucky, breaking into the industry whether it is through school or not — will cost you about the same in time and money.

So again, before you jump and pivot, you MUST understand the actual cost of whichever path you choose because money is always a factor.

If you skip school to pursue your dream, consider this:

• Get a full-time job to fund your dreams — dreams are expensive

• Get out of debt — debt kills dreams faster than failure

• LIVE WITHIN YOUR MEANS — play the “Will-I-Still-Need-This-In-Seven-Days?” game

• Rehome pets — I know it sounds harsh, but they are a financial responsibility

• Surround yourself with people who support your goals — the artist’s path is already full of doubt

• Be willing to eat chicken and rice for months — meal prep saves money

• Create your own material — without spending a fortune

• Study your craft daily — the internet is a goldmine of free knowledge

• Network like your life depends on it — because it does

• Help others build their projects — filmmaking is not a solo sport

This Be Madness, Yet There Is Method In’t: Yes to Film School

You know what Martin Scorsese, Wes Anderson, and Spike Lee have in common? They all went to film school. So yes, film school can be a powerful launching pad, but you still must network. You still must grind. You will still fetch coffee, offer your skills, and prove yourself in every room you enter, school helps streamline the process.

Film school gives you:

• Access to professional-grade equipment

• Exposure to roles you might not even know exist

• A structured environment with trusted mentors

• A built-in network of peers and future collaborators

Personally, I would not be where I am without my university mentors; Matthew Buzzell at Augusta University and the late Peter Werner at UNC School of the Arts. Their guidance shaped how I think, behave, and work in this business.

Let me be clear though… going to a good school does not guarantee you a seat at the table. It will not hand you a job or drop you into the director’s chair after you graduate. Unless you are a legacy, have rich parents, develop an Oscar-qualifying short, or score a killer internship at CAA.

Your first job out the gate will probably be the same as those who skipped school — a PA gig. I know because that was me.

I graduated in 2016 with a BA in Communications, focusing on TV and Cinema Studies, and a minor in Theatre. I had a 3.84 GPA, made a ton of short films, acted in plays, worked two jobs, and networked like crazy. My first job? A PA on a wrestling show in Tennessee!

The truth about academia is that it will not get you hired, but it will help you become hirable. Think of school as an investment in yourself and if you learn how to leverage that tool, it could allow you to be one step closer to your dream.

If you choose film school, consider this going forward:

• Reduce tuition — establish in-state residency, apply for scholarships, seek parental support, set up crowdfunding. There’s money out there

• Work during school — part-time or full-time. Build a safety net

• Use school services — counseling, tutoring, the gym. You are paying for it anyway

• Learn how tuition and interest work — financial literacy is key

• Drop unnecessary expenses — rehome pets (again), find free PDFs, meal prep, apply the “Seven-Day Rule”

• Create outside of class

• Study your craft daily

• Network hard

• Make friends, not enemies — avoid drama-starters. They will sink you

• Help others build their projects

To Thine Own Self Be True: Before You Decide

Regardless of what path you are leaning toward, start by asking: “Do I know who I am?”

It sounds silly, but it is vital. Knowing who you are and what is in your heart provides clarity in choosing the right path. Knowing what you want reveals what you value and understanding your values helps you define the kind of mark you want to leave on the world.

Which ever path you choose, it will come with risk. You could spend years and tens of thousands of dollars chasing a path that leads nowhere simply because you never stopped to ask who you were, what made you happy, or how you define success.

Do not skip that step.

Do the work now. Dig deep. Figure out what you want and why.

Words, Words, Words: Who Should (and Shouldn’t) Consider Film School?

Now, if I am to leave you with anything else it would be this hard truth:

Who should not consider film school:

• Artists (legacy or not) with connections and/or financial resources

• Self-driven creatives with business sense, clear goals, and discipline to self-educate

Who should consider film school:

• Aspiring artists without connections or financial support

• Artists who need structure, mentorship, and exposure to different roles

It all comes down to risk tolerance, clarity, and self-awareness.

Hope this helps.

The woke movement was one of the most recent collective narratives to impact American culture. Its influence was wide-reaching and its call-to-action reshaped discourse around identity, power, morality and cinema, giving us a divided yet shared purpose. However, as this cultural momentum begins to fade, I find us crossing a threshold into a new movement which gives us a new shared purpose.

But what will that new shared purpose look like and how will it reshape cinema?

*Note: This essay is not intended to be a political argument or agenda-driven. It is simply my inquiry into the coming cultural forces that will shape our methodology as a people and in turn the storytelling units which reinforces said methodology.

What is a collective narrative? Well, at its base, it is a shared story within a community which shapes identity, values, expectations, and moral frameworks. It also can influence behavior, reshape cultural norms, and foster a sense of unity. Whether it is a family expecting a new child or a nation responding to war, collective narratives provide frameworks for meaning. Additionally, when it comes to cinema, it can provide storymakers with a thematic contemporary template that resonates with the audience’s values and emotions. As a result, this type of cinema can help viewers process complex realities through a lens of shared myth and allegory.

For example, the 9/11 terrorist attacks of 2001 stand as a defining example of a modern collective narrative. Beyond the immediate tragedy and grief, post-9/11 generated a shared purpose of patriotism and unity across political and social divides. Cinema then absorbed this shared purpose of national togetherness and moral struggle.

For example, through the lens of Peter Jackson, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (2001) offered a mythic representation of this collective narrative where each character though were different, through unity, were able to face a greater evil. The theme was clear: despite our differences, unity can prevail.

Conversely, on the opposite side of that coin, Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight (2008) reflected the lingering anxiety and distrust that followed 9/11 depicting Joker as an allegory for post-attack chaos – unpredictable, nihilistic, and terroristic. Gotham's struggle with morality and justice mirrored real-world debates over surveillance, security, and ethics in a post-9/11 world.

Though both films are a contrast to the other, they succeeded because Jackson and Nolan tapped into the deep emotional undercurrents of the time, offering either solace or reflection - and audiences embraced these films not in spite of their connection to collective trauma, but because it helped us process our shared trauma.

Historically, the same thing can be said about Star Trek: The Original Series. The television show frequently told allegorical narratives set in spaceships and extraterrestrial plants to explore contemporary and controversial social issues prevalent in the 1960s. Something storymakers within the woke movement should have taken note.

From 2014 to the early 2020s, the collective narrative surrounding social injustice was known as the woke movement which was sparked by events like the Ferguson protests. Following this were amplified sub-movements such as BLM, #MeToo, and DEI initiatives causing our culture to shift toward moral urgency around representation, oppression, and equity.

This prioritized ideology was then reflected in a wave of cinema and television productions like The Witcher, The Boys, and Rings of Power, Moonlight, Star Wars: The Last Jedi, and Everything Everywhere All At Once. These productions explored themes of intersectionality, institutional harm, and the complexity of marginalized identities. They also reframed traditional heroism and highlighted trauma, agency, and microaggression. Whether celebrated or criticized, the woke movement changed the language of cinema as it pivoted narratives once on the margins into the mainstream. For a time, cinema adopted a new moral lens: one of confrontation and reform.

However, present signs suggests we are entering a new collective narrative called, “post-woke.” The sharp edges of ideological storytelling are now pivoting to narratives grounded in nuance, personal vulnerability, and complexity / younger audiences show fatigue with overt moralizing / and companies like Disney alongside McDonald's have begun scaling back DEI messaging.

As well, culturally, two groups seem to be emerging from this new collective narrative: one longing for a return to traditional values (often seen in the rise of Gen Z churchgoers), and another determined to preserve the momentum of the prior movement like those on national news networks bashing the new Superman movie. Ironically, both groups contribute to continued polarization within society which stalls the formation of a new unified cultural narrative.

And we see this influenced pivot within the cinema. For example, independent films like Neon’s Anora and A24’s The Smashing Machine alongside mainstream projects like Disney’s Lilo & Stitch and Apple’s F1, are focusing less on ideology and more on character-driven storytelling with a thematic emphasis on vulnerability while catering to broad representation instead of personal specificity.

Audiences seem to be hungry for meaning to be wrapped in metaphor again, not a monologue. It seems as though we want to see ourselves on the screen through escapism, but not be preached to or devoid of truth. In my opinion, we want our cake and eat it too, now.

Given this present shift in entertainment which reaffirms this threshold into the post-woke collective narrative, what will our new shared purpose be?

To be perfectly honest, further division. I believe we will not have a shared purpose of unity as a people, instead we will have unity within our own group. If the woke movement did anything, it prescribed the action of taking a side; Being on-the-fence was no longer permissible and if you look at the present market, you will find the space is dominated by polarization. We do not give attention to one valid source anymore, we divvy up our attention to numerous micro-communities. For example, if someone wants to learn about a particular topic, a quick Google search will deliver tons of outlets which are basically published opinions about other people’s opinions! We live in an algorithmic fragmented society which has created a disjointed cultural.

So how does that impact cinema?

Well, I think a divergence is likely on the horizon: one path driven by human specificity and craftsmanship and the other by commercialized, AI-generated media. Independent verses commercial storytelling - a cinematic civil war, if you will.

All in all, this fractured environment is ultimately nothing new as it echoes post-World War II France when the identity crisis birthed the French New Wave, but as similar as this coming new wave may be, something else will brew from it. Something we have never seen beofre and what frightens me is not the presence of conflict or division, but the possibility of complacency.

If we do not take hold of our coming collective narrative and set the pen down… someone else write our next chapter. We will at that point become passive observers of our own story and not in control of our coming shared purpose.

Why would we set the pen down? Well, because we are tired - Tired of yelling, and fighting, and arguing about everything over the last ten years. However, our tiredness is not an excuse to give up authorship. I find that we are in a very crucial moment of cultural confusion and need to be aware that the responsibility of crafting a future which best servies the community is more important than ever.

Land is up ahead, but we must first brace the coming storm.

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Sources:

· Science Fiction Classics. “The Influence of 1960s Culture on “Star Trek TOS.” Trekwell (2025)

· One Compass. “From cooperation to conflict: The role of collective narratives in shaping group behaviour.” Bliuc. (2022)

· CNBC. “Disney CEO Bob Iger says company’s movies have been too focused on messaging.” Sherman (2023)

· UnHerd. “The post-woke era is here. The ideologues are running out of road.” Ahmari (2022)

· The Screenwriting Life Podcast. Ep. 176, “Michael Arndt on Balancing Plot & Emotional Storytelling.” Lefauve & McKenna (2024)

· Pew Research Center. “Two Decades Later, the Enduring Legacy of 9/11.” Hartig & Doherty (2021)

· New York Post. “Woke is dead – let’s make sure it never comes back.” Shiver. (2024)

· Yahoo! News. “‘Superwoke’: Fox News rages that new Superman film has ‘pro-immigrant themes.” The Independent. (2025)

· Digital Trends. “Hobbits and the twin tower: how The Lord of the Rings helped us through 9/11.” Green. (2022)

· YouTube. “Creating The Ultimate Post-9/11 Allegory: The Dark Knight on Risk and Terror.” Like Stories of Old. (2017)

· CNN. “McDonald’s is ending some of its DEI practices.” Goldman. (2025)

· VOX. “Why is Gen Z getting more religious? We asked them.” Hill (2025)

· Listed Films (IMDb): Lord of the Rings: Fellowship / The Dark Knight / Star Trek / The Witcher / Lord of the Rings: Rings of Power / The Boys / Moonlight / Star Wars: The Last Jedi / Everything Everywhere All At Once / Superman / Anora / The Smashing Machine / F1 / Lilo & Stitch

I find there to be a present and growing buzz in the entertainment ecosystme about a new coming wave of cinema - one that is being informally dubbed “Film 2025 Ki.”

And as someone who is a futuristist of narrative development, I find myself torn and leaning more historical in my perspective when it comes to this topic.

On one hand, I am thrilled by the innovation of cinema on the horizon - especially when it comes to IP development and interwoven narrative construction, but on the other side of the coin, the reason I am a bit hesitation about embracing Film 2025 Ki is due to it not actually being anything new.

What is Film 2025 Ki? Well, when dissected, this coming wave is described as a boundary-pushing cinematic movement which will blend cutting-edge technology with timeless storytelling. As for its goal - it will optimize audience engagement through fast-paced, emotionally charged micro-narratives paired with stunning visuals, and low production costs. These pieces of narrative will be distributed across multiple platforms, through multiple channels of mediums, using artificial intelligence, and hyper-targeted brand marketing to connect directly with viewers.

Sounds exciting, but I would say that despite the futuristic branding and audience integration, this so-called ‘new’ movement has been seen under the sun before -

If you lift the hood and take apart the Film 2025 Ki engine, you will find it is less of an invention and more of a reincarnation which specifically echos the rebellious spirit of the French New Wave.

To understand this parallel, I think it would be helpful to give a quick history lesson.

The French New Wave emerged in post-WWII France during the late 1950s and early 1960s. It was seen as a cinematic rebellion led by directors such as Jean-Luc Godard (Breathless), François Truffaut (The 400 Blows), and Agnès Varda (Cléo from 5 to 7) who all rejected the polished, commercialized storytelling of Hollywood traditionalist titans like Hitchcock, Ford, and Capra.

They accomplished this rebellion by implimenting units of experimentation within their films such as establishing jump cuts, handheld camera movement, fourth-wall breaks, nonlinear plots, and the presenting of deeply personal themes.

These filmmakers were not just creating new visuals on screen though… They were articulating a cultural identity through a more honest and less formal approach to storytelling. Why did they rebel against those idealists who came before them? Well, similar to the root of all rebellion, the French New Wave was born out of the trauma of postwar, economic strain of rebuilding, and a widespread disillusionment with modernity. This then caused the youth to question the societal system of thier past and grow hungry for something real, something authentic. Thus the cinema became their outlet - their vehicle of exploring truth.

Boy does this sound familiar!

In my humble opinion, we are facing the same unit of trauma and reacting the same way as the youth of France from the 50s.

An artist you bump into along the sidewalk is facing similar societal pressures such as economic instability, cultural polarization, and massive technological disruption from the social reckonings of the last decade such as the COVID-19 pandemic and the Woke Movement which directs the American culture to once again search for identity, authenticity, and truth.

Film 2025 Ki is not just a tech-forward trend - It is a rebellion born of necessity.

Much like the French New Wave, this current cinematic shift is being driven by creators who are financially, politically, and culturally cornered as the old models; studio gatekeeping, theatrical dominance, and prestige feature films are proving to be no longer sustainable.

Creators now have less to lose and more to say. The result?

Bold experimentation in the form of short-form dramas, AI-assisted writing, and platform-native content are not gimmicks which are simply survival tactics. And may well define the next generation’s cinematic language.

Of course, there are differences between The French New Wave and Film 2025 Ki. One is analog and anti-commercial while the other is digital and hyper-commercial, but both spring from the same source of a cultural need to understand who we are as a culture.

Ultimately, what I believe these two movements share is the essence of artistic permission to become more risk adverse - a natural phase for individuals and societies recovering from catastrophe as they have grown more callus.

After the world changes, artists must reenter it, search for meaning, find solace, redefine identity, and know full well that nothing will ever be the same again.

So, is what we are seeing is unprecedented? I would say no, but we are certainly living in the spirit of revival. Additionally, I wonder if Godard, Truffaut, and Rohmer were alive today, would they embrace this coming movement and subscribe to platforms such as YouTube and TikTok? Who knows, but again, given our history… it would not surprise me if they said, “Oui.”

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Sources used to outline essay:

• MasterClass: French New Wave Guide

• StudioBinder: What Is French New Wave?

• KI Company: AI in the Film Industry

• Yahoo Finance: Disney Layoffs

• ZMLP: Film 2025 Ki Article

• StudioBinder: Italian Neorealism