Navigating the Realities of Film Festivals and Why We Persist

Making it all make sense.

So, you’ve just finished your film and it’s ready for the world—what’s the first step? Typically, it’s submitting to a film festival.

However, much like the latest blockbuster films, these festivals often fail to deliver on their promises.

The Venice Film Festival, the world’s first, started in 1932 by Count Giuseppe Volpi di Misurata, sculptor Antonio Maraini, and Luciano De Feo. It became an annual event in 1935 and remains one of the most prestigious gatherings in the film industry, breaking world-class talents like Akira Kurosawa, Ang Lee, and Todd Haynes. Its blend of glamour and artistic excellence sets a high standard that few others have matched.

Yet, it stands as an exception in a sea of festivals that seem to have lost their way. Many of today’s festivals resemble fundraisers more than platforms for filmmakers, appearing designed to line the pockets of their organizers rather than to support the artists who endure the creative process.

Consider festivals dedicated to Black narratives. Little of their benefits seem to reach the creatives themselves. Filmmakers face submission fees, travel costs, marketing expenses, and the pressure to host parties—all for what? A hollow nomination or a mere ticket to watch their own film.

In 2019, after premiering King Ester, I noticed a stark contrast: numerous white-owned festivals not only covered my attendance but also offered additional perks like more screening tickets and access to exclusive events. This level of hospitality was conspicuously absent at Black film festivals, even those I was invited to.

This isn’t just a critique—it’s reality.

Many Black film festivals, while well-intentioned, fail to properly serve their mission. They seem designed more to fund their founders through advertising revenues than to showcase the filmmakers' works. The content becomes a product used to attract sponsors, not the festival’s true purpose.

Moreover, these festivals often pack their schedules to the brim, sacrificing the quality of presentation and diminishing the platform’s ability to elevate the art form. Even the awards can seem more about celebrity or visibility than actual merit—sometimes it feels as though the judges haven’t even watched the submissions.

This is a matter of respect as it relates to the work. Rarely are festival organizers artists themselves, well-positioned to delineate between artistic perspectives, rather than just how good the film “looks.”

I fully recognize the complexities film festivals face, and their significance is not lost on me. However, anything with purpose must evolve. Where are the paths of development? Where is the presence of film executives at the screenings? Where’s the investment into the experience of the filmmakers?

But this isn’t a consultation for them; it’s a reflection for us: why do we remain in what amounts to a cycle of exploitation?

Because of us.

Without question, the next time I wrap a film, I’ll still consult the festival calendar, pay my fees, and hope for the best. Why? Because the true value of film festivals lies in the people you meet—the other creatives who understand the grind and share the dream. They’re the ones who make it all worthwhile.

I love us, for real.