The Shifting Frame: Rethinking Viability in the Film and TV Industry
TL;DR: The film and TV industry is no longer a guaranteed path to creative success—it’s shaped by privilege, race, and economic instability. Traditional ladders are gone, and survival depends on owning your voice, adapting to new tech, and building outside old systems. AI and the creator economy are transforming the rules, but equity still demands intentional authorship and infrastructure. The future belongs to those who stop waiting for permission and start designing their own lane.
For generations, the film and television industry has been mythologized as the pinnacle of creative expression—a place where passion meets prestige, and stories have the power to shape culture. But beneath the glamour lies a stark reality: this industry, while still filled with moments of brilliance, is structurally flawed, economically precarious, and increasingly unsustainable for those without privilege.
As the terrain continues to shift under the weight of technological disruption and cultural reckoning, it's time to reconsider what "making it" even means. Viability in film and TV is no longer guaranteed by talent, education, or persistence alone. It is shaped by class, race, access, digital fluency, and the ability to navigate and subvert an ever-changing system.
This essay is a reflection on that system—its current state, its myths, and the possible futures that may emerge from its fractures.
“Viability in film and TV is no longer guaranteed by talent, education, or persistence alone. It is shaped by class, race, access, digital fluency, and the ability to navigate and subvert an ever-changing system.”
Myth vs. Reality: What Viability Really Means
The idea of the film industry as a meritocratic playground—where brilliant ideas and hard work are eventually rewarded—is deeply misleading. Yes, there are success stories. Yes, some people get discovered and catapult into careers that resemble the fantasy. But for most, especially those who aren’t already connected, well-funded, or socially aligned with industry gatekeepers, the reality is grueling.
Viability, in its truest form, means being able to sustain yourself while making creative work. That includes:
Paying rent
Accessing healthcare
Taking risks without financial ruin
Having time to create without sacrificing your wellbeing
In the film and TV world, those conditions are rare. Instead, many workers—especially early- and mid-career creatives—float between underpaid contracts, freelance burnout, and the emotional toll of chronic uncertainty. The industry is structured to extract labor while offering prestige as a proxy for stability.
The old ladder is gone. The new terrain is nonlinear, fragmented, and often indifferent to the creative’s need for rest, safety, and belonging.
Time, Money, and the Privilege to Create
One of the least talked about—yet most consequential—forms of privilege in the film industry is the ability to forfeit immediate income for long-term possibility.
If you come from wealth, you can intern for free, work on spec, assist a director for exposure, or live in expensive cities like Los Angeles or New York while building your reel. You can take the unpaid writer’s room gig. You can submit to 30 festivals and wait two years for your feature to be distributed.
But for those of us without that financial cushion, the equation is brutal. We can’t afford to wait. Rent is due now. Kids need care now. Medical bills don’t pause for passion projects. And so, many creatives burn out or shift gears—not because they lacked vision or drive, but because the industry assumes expendability is a given.
This is how privilege operates quietly: it doesn’t just provide more opportunities—it buys time, forgives failure, and rewards patience.
“Sustainability for creatives of color requires not just visibility, but autonomy, ownership, and infrastructure. It requires disrupting the narrative that access is enough, when in fact access without power is just proximity to exploitation.”
Race Isn’t a Footnote—It’s the Framework
Race isn’t just one factor among many in the struggle for sustainability—it is the structuring force that determines who gets seen, heard, trusted, and elevated.
BIPOC creatives often face:
Typecasting (as talent or as storytellers)
Expectations to “speak for” their communities
Cultural gatekeeping that penalizes non-white aesthetics, language, or tone
A single-opportunity pipeline where success must be instant, or you’re cast aside
Even with the rise of DEI initiatives post-2020, decision-making power—especially at the executive and financier levels—remains disproportionately white and male. In this landscape, BIPOC artists are often invited to the table only to find that the menu is pre-selected and the terms of their participation are conditional.
Sustainability for creatives of color requires not just visibility, but autonomy, ownership, and infrastructure. It requires disrupting the narrative that access is enough, when in fact access without power is just proximity to exploitation.
The Creator Economy: A Parallel Path, Not a Panacea
The rise of the creator economy has been heralded as a democratizing force—a way for filmmakers, musicians, and storytellers to bypass gatekeepers and speak directly to their audiences. In theory, it offers freedom. In practice, it also introduces new burdens.
To survive here, you must become your own production studio, marketer, strategist, and distributor. You must engage constantly, feed algorithms, and stay visible in a landscape that values output over depth.
For some, it’s empowering. For others, it’s exhausting.
And still, the economics are skewed. Platforms take a cut. Algorithms favor the already-popular. And those who can afford to scale quickly—by hiring teams, buying ads, producing high-quality content—win out. The same privilege that shaped traditional film systems now amplifies disparities in digital spaces too.
The creator economy offers potential—but without collective strategy and equitable infrastructure, it risks replicating the very exclusion it sought to transcend.
AI Is the Earthquake—Voice Is the Ground You Stand On
AI is not coming for the film industry—it’s already here. It can write scripts, generate visual concepts, replicate voices, edit videos, and simulate performances. Entire aspects of the production pipeline are being redefined.
This isn’t science fiction—it’s a labor shift. Entry-level and support positions are under threat. Traditional pathways into the industry are shrinking further.
But amid that threat, a new truth is emerging:
The only thing AI cannot replicate is a uniquely human voice.
AI cannot feel grief. It cannot recount childhood joy or diasporic memory. It cannot channel inherited trauma or cultural nuance with lived truth. What it can do is imitate. What it can’t do is experience.
In a sea of sameness, your voice becomes your IP. It becomes the reason someone follows you, funds you, or waits years to see what you’ll do next. And as automation floods the creative space, originality becomes the last authentic currency.
Redefining Creative Viability
So what does a viable career in the arts look like now?
It’s not tied to a studio system. It’s not contingent on virality. It’s not about chasing awards or validation.
Instead, viability is:
Building sustainable practices around your work
Cultivating an audience that sees your value beyond a single project
Leveraging tools (including AI) to amplify your voice—not replace it
Forming collectives, co-ops, or ecosystems that share resources and distribute power
Owning your process, your IP, and your platform
We must shift our metrics of success away from traditional benchmarks and toward longevity, integrity, and purpose.
“The future belongs to those who refuse to beg for permission. Those who see storytelling not just as art, but as cultural resistance, economic strategy, and collective memory.”
Final Thought: The Industry Isn’t Dead—It’s Transforming
The old version of the film and television industry is crumbling. But from that collapse, something more just, more inclusive, and more visionary can emerge—if we build it.
The future belongs to those who refuse to beg for permission. Those who see storytelling not just as art, but as cultural resistance, economic strategy, and collective memory.
This moment doesn’t call for passive creatives waiting to be chosen. It calls for bold architects ready to design new systems, protect their voices, and shape the future of narrative on their own terms.
If you’re a filmmaker today, you’re not just a director or a writer. You’re a visionary in an ecosystem that is ripe for reconstruction.
The frame has shifted. The question is: Will you still center yourself in it?
