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The current state of the movie business isn’t a surprise. I’m not the first one to point out its trajectory toward an untenable working environment. In 2013, producer Ted Hope said, “Filmmaking is not currently a sustainable occupation for any but the very rare. It is not enough to be very good at what you do if you want to survive by doing what you love.”
In the past two years since this statement, the middle space of the profession of filmmaking has been steadily shrinking.
It’s as though it’s not considered work; I don’t know about you other directors, but how was that dream vacation you called your last gig? How much sleep did you get and how many months did it last? However, the fact is that there are plenty of directors willing to take the opportunity — it’s a shot, it’s a break, and there’s no shame in opening that door and walking through it. That the one percent takes advantage of this wealth of cheap talent is neither surprising, nor morally corrupt. It just is.
A few of the directors who came out of the program were Orson Welles, Nicholas Ray and Sidney Lumet.
When the prospect of the UKFC being abolished went public in 2010, the decision was met with such an uproar that director Mike Leigh likened it to abolishing the National Health Service, England’s publically funded healthcare system. Clint Eastwood, an American citizen and active member of the Republican Party, wrote in a letter to the British government at the time: “I cannot stress how important the Film Council is to me. The prospect of losing such a valuable resource is of great concern as we contemplate future projects.”
Government funding for film is commonplace in numerous other countries. Most Canadian films are made with a portion of government funding and incentives, and more indie fare is shepherded into production with the help of government arts councils and film collectives. 25 to 30 percent of feature films that Australia produces are funded through government resources.
The studios are making fewer movies and putting much more money into them. They’re taking huge gambles financially, and the way to offset that gamble is to ensure that the entertainment they’re selling appeals to as many people as possible. The smaller niche films are smaller than they’ve ever been, and if the budgets are micro, that director’s salary is accordingly micro — if they have a salary at all. The potential payoff rests on the distribution of the film, but getting your indie distributed through conventional channels may not lead to much of a payoff for the filmmaker.
There will always be new blood willing to take the low, or no, budget job, but the blood inevitably flows to other parts of their bodies. After they’ve grown as professionals, and their rent increases, they start families, maybe buy a house and then they’re cut out of the filmmaking business entirely, because studios and production companies opt for cheaper labor. They are replaced; time and time again.
This model, while seemingly profitable in the short term, spells disaster for the long term. It does not allow for careers, therefore no one grows, or gets better at their craft — the art of filmmaking ceases to advance. This model promotes stagnancy, it promotes fear; it encourages the envelope not to be pushed, and cinema is the ultimate casualty.
READ MORE: Why TV is not the Answer for the Middle-Class Filmmaker
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