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What Self-Funding a Feature Taught Me About Independent Filmmaking
This isn’t another eulogy — it’s a question about what we’re actually pursuing when we decide to make a film outside the system.
Five years ago, I created a web series, my first self-funded venture. I thought it might hit 1,000 views per episode at best. I didn’t break even, but I was okay with that because I was in it to learn as a filmmaker. To my surprise, it found an audience, crossed 7 million views, and played at SXSW.
Now, as I slog through post-production on my first feature, every other day I wake up around 2 a.m., and I can’t help but wonder: Have I made the most significant financial mistake of my life? (Most likely, yes.) Will this film be a disappointment? (Possibly.) And, perhaps more unsettling, What am I really chasing as a filmmaker?
The Tubi Deep End
During this grueling post-production phase, I started losing track of why I was doing this. In search of solace, I turned to other filmmakers, watching three vastly different films: one that premiered at Sundance, another on a major streaming platform, and a third buried in the depths of Tubi.
Oddly enough, it was the Tubi film that stayed with me — not for its execution, but for what it represented: an irrational labor of love. I couldn’t stop thinking about the filmmaker behind it. How much effort had they poured into this project, only to see it land into the deep end of Tubi? Did they still believe it was worth it?
The questions haunted me because they weren’t just about them — they were about me too. Would I still think my own film was worth it if it ended up in the same place?
I didn’t start to figure out the answer until after a mental breakdown.
The Breaking Point
One month after wrap, the endless decisions, mounting debt, sleepless nights, and fear of failure finally caught up with me. As my neighbor drove me to the ER, my chest was tight, my heart racing, and I remember thinking, “I can’t believe this movie is going to kill me before I finish it.”
It’s not fair to blame the panic attack on the film, though. I wasn’t working in a sustainable way. After an exhausting pre-production and grueling production phase, I plunged straight into a relentless schedule: waking up at 4:30 a.m. and dedicating every spare moment outside my full-time job to the film. It was a recipe for burnout.
It took months of habit changes and hours on Headspace (shoutout to my 1% listener badge) to regain stability.
Slowly, I started to find my footing again. For me, finding sustainability meant setting clear boundaries, celebrating small wins, and focusing on why I started making films in the first place.
And through this process, I realized the core question wasn’t about the film itself. It was about us — independent filmmakers. What about this work pulls us in so deeply despite its challenging constraints?
When Life Gives You Lemons, Shoot a Film
When we look at accomplished indie filmmakers, we might have a hint at why. For those who know the hardship of making a film with all the constraints indie filmmaking demands, success like Tangerine and Wendy and Lucy feels almost miraculous.
Sean Baker’s Tangerine turned limitations into an aesthetic strength. Shot entirely on iPhones equipped with anamorphic lens adapters, the film wasn’t just a budget-friendly solution — it was a deliberate choice that added immediacy and vibrancy to the story.
Similarly, Kelly Reichardt worked within a micro-budget that demanded remarkable creativity in Wendy and Lucy. She shot the film in sequence to save on continuity costs, used natural light, and worked with a skeletal crew. The grainy 16mm texture became part of the film’s DNA, reinforcing its raw, intimate style. These constraints didn’t hinder their creativity; they shaped it and elevated their storytelling through inventive choices.
Success Isn’t a Stable Anchor
It’s hard to imagine that what drove these filmmakers through the finish line was the hope of massive success. More likely, it was their connection to the act of filmmaking — the singular focus on telling the story they felt compelled to tell.
And yet, it’s seductive to anchor your drive on the dream of becoming a festival darling, hoping for the kind of recognition that might validate the sacrifices made along the way. But what if, instead of Tangerine or Wendy and Lucy, the outcome is a film overlooked and forgotten, buried in the depths of Tubi? Would it still have been worth making?
That’s the question every independent filmmaker must grapple with — because, for every Tangerine or Wendy and Lucy, countless indie films vanish into obscurity, lost in an increasingly crowded and unforgiving marketplace.
Meaning in Ambiguity
After my breakdown, something shifted in how I viewed this whole endeavor. Indie filmmakers live in a state of uncertainty. We spend years crafting stories, knowing they might never find an audience — or, if they do, might not land. We gamble our savings, our sanity, our time. Is it worth it? I still don’t know. The ambiguity never goes away, but maybe that’s the point.
Accepting the unpredictable nature of this craft is part of loving it.
Surprisingly, I don’t see this as pessimistic — I see it as a grounding. In letting go of the need for guarantees, I rediscovered what I felt when I made my web series: a sense of purpose that comes from the work, not the outcome.
It became less about why I am doing this and more about honoring the drive to create — even when the odds are stacked against you. And yes, you need to keep a full-time job or find a reliable source of income while pursuing this (but that’s probably a topic for its own anxiety-inducing article).
Grievances? Concerns? Praise? Bring on your brilliance below. Follow for more of my rambling.
