The Price of Prestige

On bespoke distribution, awards campaigns, and the value of an audience

Image credit: Thomas Fall

It’s the end of September, and in doc world ‘tis the season filmmakers are submitting their projects to Sundance 2027, while those with films that hit the festival circuit earlier this year are gearing up to mount awards campaigns. These were two hot topics at the Camden International Film Festival earlier this month, where most conversations eventually featured the question, “Are you going to Boulder?” Also at CIFF I had the pleasure of attending Episode Four of Keith Wilson’s latest live performance, Pleased to Announce, a hilarious and poignant examination of the Academy Award’s history, the bloated economy that now feeds it, and the effects (and absurdity) of injecting competition into a creative field. At a Forum session earlier that morning, it was revealed¹ that $45 million exited the US documentary ecosystem this year due to the funding rescission and subsequent shuttering of the Corporation for Public Broadcasting. It’s a devastating number, putting key ecosystem organizations in peril; not to mention the loss of promised, and future, production funds for independent, public-interest storytelling.

Prestige, and its costs, has been on my mind a lot this year.

Over the spring and summer, I received a number of emails on behalf of Sundance 2026 docs seeking additional funding for distribution. They’d won a golden ticket of a premiere, found themselves with disappointing, or no, acquisition offers halfway through the year, and were pivoting. The messages and subsequent conversations opened up the world of “bespoke distribution” to me: new companies founded by people with great taste and excellent track records offering soup-to-nuts documentary release strategy and execution, including – if you so choose – an awards campaign. The price tags for these services ranged from $200,000 to $450,000, the bulk of which paid the agency retainer and fees to other service providers such as publicists and theatrical bookers. These plans built in no expectation of revenue; except, as a side note, maybe a few hundred dollars split with theaters during a brief theatrical run.

The highest priced pitch hit my inbox the day I attended a presentation at IND/EX by the executive director of the Chicago Film Society. Julian Antos shared the organization’s rich history of screening only celluloid in venues around town since 2011. It “promotes the exhibition and preservation of film in context. CFS screenings provide access to the restoration efforts of archives, studios, and private collectors, the work of artists exploring the film medium today, and the experience of seeing film projected live in a theater, with an audience.” I was moved by stories of a group of people with a deep passion for film, lugging equipment from venue to venue if need be to share that passion with audiences for the past fifteen years. Their annual budget: $30,000. I don’t present this as an ideal; I suspect the Chicago Film Society could make a compelling case that the work would benefit from more resources. But it maybe helps explain why I was enraged when I saw the price tag for the doc distribution proposal later that day. $450,000 pays for fifteen years of Chicago Film Society activities. That’s bananas. What are we doing??

My dad was fond of saying “one-percenter problems” after telling a story about a delayed NetJets flight or maintenance issue with his Honolulu beachfront property. It was funny because he was a one-percenter, and it was his shorthand way of acknowledging his immense privilege and that he knew he sounded like an ass. As an homage to him, I call this high-priced distribution trend “one-percenter distribution.” It’s an elite pathway available to a small fraction of films in any given year; those that already have, or can access, deep-pocketed executive producers for whom a five or six figure check is no big deal.

“Not long ago,” a deeply experienced industry veteran friend of mine said to me recently, “distribution was how films made their money!” I get it. Formerly reliable income streams from territory sales and DVDs are a thing of the past, and the replacement pathways are confusing on a good day. It’s hard, and requires the learning of a whole new suite of skills. But I am not ready to forgo revenue as a goal and lean on people sitting on vast personal fortunes to subsidize our future. It’s elitist, and unsustainable.

I know this is an oversimplification of economic theory, especially during these profoundly unaffordable and unequal times, but I tend to evaluate the cost of a thing vs another thing based on some sense that one is more valuable than the other. Or actually more, quantifiably. A first class seat costs more because it’s a more comfortable ride than in economy; a 5-star hotel room costs more than those at a budget motel because the decor is finer, walls thicker, pillows fluffier, and, you know, room service. How much better and how much more expensive is relative and subjective, but the basic premise stands. Two dozen eggs costs more than one dozen eggs because there are quantifiably more eggs.

Does $450,000 buy your film a better audience? What does that even mean? Does it pay for more audience? I’m no economist but $250,000 plus to promote a film to the 736 members of the Academy Doc Branch just does not strike me as a compelling ROI. All due respect to all the wonderful branch members, of course.

I draw the line at philanthropy paying for prestige. As a grantmaker, I chafe at the notion that a grant contribution to a bespoke distribution campaign largely pays for-profit agency staff and publicist fees. Selfishly, ok sure, I can get a tax deduction. But if my stance is that I am a steward of taxpayer-subsidized resources, can I really argue that those funds are being spent to benefit the public? Theoretically, at least, philanthropy exists to address market and systems-based inequities, not reinforce them. I have no idea how much of a thing this is, the taking of a tax break to pay for single-film distribution and awards campaigns, but let’s just say it’s not on the menu for me.

Many smarter people than I have been beating this drum for years, but the message doesn’t seem to be penetrating so I’ll repeat it here. To those teams that bring their films into the world in Boulder next January, articulate your distribution strategies YESTERDAY. Figure out who needs to see your movie and how to ensure they know it exists. Learn the new platforms, tools, and marketing tricks available now that didn’t exist twenty years ago that enable you to have a powerful and direct relationship with your fans. And, whatever you do, please don’t send your mid-year fancypants distribution budget to me.

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Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest…

In a mashup spirit of The New York Times Opinions podcast² and The Book of Delights³, I am launching a new feature with this post: One Recommendation. Something I’ve seen, heard or experienced recently that delighted me and I think it would delight you, too. Moments of transcendence can be hard to find in today’s political and media climate, so when it happens to me I have the immediate impulse to share it. I hope it brings you a reminder of the beauty that us humans create. I don’t know about you, but I really need that right now.

I first encountered The Last Description, an essay read by its author, Alfred Jung Lee, while driving on a hot desert highway between Los Angeles and Idyllwild. I had an NPR “driveway moment,” pausing in a McDonald’s parking lot to finish listening to the This American Life segment before heading inside for my medium iced tea. I don’t want to ruin it by saying too much; simply that I want to write this beautifully when I grow up. If you’re more of a text-based person than an audio-oriented one, you’ll find it at The Believer, where it first appeared.

1. Thanks to research commissioned by the Ford Foundation and conducted by Maggie Bowman.

2. Which, if you don’t know, ends with either the panel members sharing a recommendation or a moment of joy.

3. By Ross Gay.