𝗔𝗡 𝗢𝗣𝗘𝗡 𝗟𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗢 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗠𝗨𝗡𝗜𝗧𝗬 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗨𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗬 𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥𝗦
by filmmaker Matthew Holmes
(The Legend of Ben Hall, The Cost)
This letter is not meant as a complaint, but a stark and sobering reality check on what it truly means to be an Australian filmmaker today. I want to pull back the curtain on the perceived glamour surrounding people like myself who work in the country’s film and television sector. My hope is that by sharing my story, I will highlight a problem that is not unique to me and — just maybe, somehow — help spark a change.
First, let me be clear: I never expected filmmaking to be easy. I never believed success would come on a silver platter. From the outset, I knew I would have to “white-knuckle” it for decades and climb the ladder slowly. But filmmaking was my path, and I have never once given up on that dream. But I genuinely believed that the longer I held on, the better I became as a filmmaker, the more experience I gained, and the more connections I made — eventually, my persistence and hard work would pay off.
But sadly, it hasn’t really.
I’m almost 48 years old. I have been making movies since I was 12 — that’s 36 years of relentless pursuit. Straight out of high school, I started as a model maker for a local animation company. My foot was in the door. Since then, I have worked harder at filmmaking than anything else in my life. Yet 90% of the work I’ve done on my own films has been unpaid. The only exception was my last production, ‘Fear Below’, but even then, the pay was modest at best, and I worked far more hours than I was compensated for. Not to mention, I received nothing for the two years of development and writing that led to the film being greenlit in the first place.
To chase my dream of being a film director, I’ve made enormous personal sacrifices. I chose not to have children. I avoided full-time, stable employment in favour of casual or part-time work so I could dedicate time to scriptwriting and project development, endlessly chasing film finance. I worked night shifts at a servo in a country town so I could write scripts during the day. I delayed home ownership to remain financially flexible in this unpredictable industry, waiting for my career to take off.
Over the years, I have animated countless TV commercials; I’ve directed, storyboarded, and edited many more. I’ve had the privilege of being mentored by award-winning filmmakers such as Rolf de Heer, Greg McLean and Michael Cusack. I’ve written over fifteen feature screenplays and developed a full TV series — all on spec. Only once have I received a grant to develop one of these scripts.
Four of these scripts have been turned into feature films, but only one was properly financed from the outset. The others were self-funded or crowdfunded. Two films attracted a small amount of private investment, but all were made on shoestring budgets, with cast and crew working for vastly reduced fees — or nothing at all. Even so, that places me in a small 4% minority of Australian film directors who direct a fourth feature, according to a recent Screen Australia survey. One could argue that, by most measures, I am now a competent and experienced director.
All my films have won awards at film festivals and received fair to excellent critical praise. They have been sold and distributed worldwide to Showtime, HBO, Stan, Prime Video, Apple TV+, SBS, Vudu, Tubi, Peacock, 9GEM, and Foxtel and they’ve been released on DVD and Blu-Ray. Yet, the financial return I’ve seen personally from all four films combined would barely amount to $6,000. My film ‘The Legend of Ben Hall’ was released in over 22 countries and 5 languages, yet in the eight years since its release I have never — and likely will never — see a single dollar from it, despite working on it for a pittance for two years and developing the script unpaid for a decade prior.
Yet despite my films being locally and internationally released, I have never been approached to direct a single episode of Australian television. Every agent I’ve contacted has declined to represent me as a director. No Australian distributor or streamer will commit to any new script I’ve written, regardless of its genre — horror, action, historical, sci-fi, western or war. I never received a cent of Screen Australia funding until 2022 — and only because the producer bypassed their initial rejection, citing the fact that ‘Fear Below’ had secured $1.3 million in market pre-sales, which swayed Screen Australia (quite reluctantly I sensed) to finally back it.
‘Fear Below’ releases in 30 days on major streaming services and cinemas worldwide. Yet right now, I am unemployed and living off my dwindling savings. My only recent employment has been as a Unit Assistant on film and commercial sets — amounting to about nine weeks work over the past year. I have no idea when or where my next dollar will come from. Soon, I’ll be looking for a job anywhere I can get it.
Because of Australia’s housing crisis, my wife and I are now living with my father, unable to secure a rental property. I am back to writing scripts and chasing finance in the very same room where I once planned short films as a teenager. Sure, I have 30 years more experience than that bright-eyed kid, but my financial situation is only marginally better. I own more furniture now, but it all sits in a dusty shed at my in-law’s house because I can’t afford a rental without proof of a stable income.
Yet, ironically, I am considered a success story in many ways. I get radio interviews, I’m asked to speak on panels and I attend screenings of my work to give talks. I’ve been told I’m an inspiration to younger filmmakers — many of whom genuinely believe I’ve “broken into the industry” and regularly contact me for advice on how they can do the same. I hear in their voices the same naïve optimism I once possessed. If I was to give them my honest advice, I’d say: “Forget filmmaking. Do anything else — because it’s just too damn hard.”
Twenty years ago, I asked Rolf de Heer how to succeed as a director; he gave me a wry smile and said, “You need to be a little bit insane.” The truth of that statement has finally dawned on me: one really does have to be insane to stay in this business.
The plain truth is, I have not broken into the film industry. I don’t actually believe there is an industry here, to be honest. I’ve been fortunate enough to make some movies and have them released, which I’m proud of and very grateful for — but I don’t consider myself a success, at least not if success is measured by financial stability and future opportunities. I see myself as someone who fails over and over again, but like some punch-drunk boxer keeps getting back up for another round.
Now I’m barely hanging on, to be honest. I’m closing in on 50, I have no immediate job prospects and there’s little else I’m qualified to do. I have a rare skill set that’s taken me over 30 years to acquire, yet very few people are willing to pay for those skills. I’m now preparing another indie feature to be made with a volunteer crew on a tiny budget — like I’m a 20-year old filmmaker again. This could be the last film I ever make, because I can’t keep doing this indefinitely. Or maybe — just maybe — it could be the one that finally tips the scales and causes my phone to ring with a golden opportunity on the other end. Who knows?
Sadly, my story is not unique. Many Australian filmmakers are facing this grim reality. For every David Michôd or Leigh Whannell who lands a Netflix deal or breaks into Hollywood, there are dozens of equally hard-working filmmakers with their movies appearing on your streaming services that are barely scraping by. Many of my contemporaries — talented, experienced producers, directors, technicians, editors, and writers — are leaving the industry. Some have permanently left Australia because they can’t get films funded or even afford to live here. Others work as landscapers, Uber drivers, cleaners, teachers and shop attendants to survive between gigs.
Private investment in Australian films is nearly impossible to secure. The financial risk is too high and there’s no real tax benefits. Cinemas are dying, physical media is a niche market and streamers pay very little for content while offering no residuals.
Clearly, the system is broken. Government film funding agencies can’t fix it, despite their earnest efforts over the past decades. I have my opinions on how things could improve, and I’ll be sharing them with my local and federal MP before this year’s election — but I know any attempt to sway policy will likely be futile.
If Australia truly values its filmmakers and screen creatives, then now is the time to prove it. I don’t have the answers. I know many good people are trying to find one. But what I do know is this: there is an ocean of wasted talent out there, stories waiting to be told, and those of us who have dedicated their lives to this profession are barely hanging on. And unless something changes, the next generation of filmmakers will find it even harder than I have to survive.
– Matthew Holmes
The Legend of Ben Hall, trailer for SBS on Demand
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