So how does one cope? How do you keep your spirits up, maintain a positive attitude, and simply keep going? Let’s focus on scripts in this post.

One of the first keys is to gauge the lay of the land.

What is the reality of the business, the people you’re approaching, and what you’re presenting? What gets a “yes”? And when do “yes” and “no” actually mean “maybe” (and vice versa)? Because just as discouraging as hearing “no” is hearing “maybe,” and being falsely encouraged when you should instead be cautious and strategic.

Look at what is getting made. Understand why it’s getting made. Is it the genre? The cost? The package? The existing relationships? What is the gating DNA to at least having a shot?

It’s not always the case, but movies or shows that can be concisely and compellingly pitched often have a better chance of at least cracking open the door.

Most Hollywood executives are overloaded, short on attention span, concerned about making a mistake and/or looking foolish. Most of these same people are relentlessly approached with ideas, so they need reliable filters, generally counting on trusted sources to submit material: established agents, writers, directors, or producers they know. It’s also worth appreciating that most submissions are read by someone else first.

If you’re not established, how can you further pry open the door beyond a clever log line? Credibility is key.

It’s one of the most valuable assets in Hollywood (any business, really). It can come in the form of a trusted colleague’s opinion, a referral, or a stamp of approval. Credibility can be conferred on a project by third-party validation — winning a prestigious screenplay contest, making the Black List, being selected for a Sundance (or similar) lab, or having an actor, director, or producer attached.

You have to appreciate that every day, hundreds of people are trying to convince hundreds of other people, with varying degrees of power, to take their projects seriously. Anything that helps establish credibility can make a meaningful difference.

Bear in mind, reading a screenplay is often a 90-100 minute proposition.

I’ve always envied songwriters who can conjure a song in a few hours, lay down a track in a few more, and then only request 3-5 minutes of other people’s time to consider it. If you write a weak song, you’ve maybe lost a few hours, a day, a week. It can take months to write a bad script and years to make a bad movie.

Pressure test your screenplay idea in the very early going.

If you have an idea for a movie (or a play or a TV show), can it be conveyed compellingly in an elevator pitch? Can you capture someone’s interest in a paragraph? A page? A (concise/easy-to-read) deck? Run it by people you trust with more experience than you. Can it be compared favorably to successful projects (while still having its own unique approach)? If you’re going to write it, understand that you’ll probably need to hook or lose your reader in the first few pages. As a reader, I want to know that I trust the driver of the story in the first few minutes, or I’m bailing and cranky that I’ve wasted my time. Follow the format. Keep it brisk and easy to read. Beware long-winded descriptions. Make the dialogue true. No typos.

Write, learn, and adapt.

Personally, I have great respect for writers who keep writing and are open to collaborating and improving their work through notes that make sense. I also respect writers with a real knowledge of film and film history. Writing irresistible parts for actors doesn’t hurt, either.

It certainly helps to understand industry trends and needs — but not to be held captive by them. Imagine if the Coen Brothers, Charlie Kaufman, or Jordan Peele had trapped themselves in a formula. For newer writers, however, it may be useful to engage with a formula and see if you can bring a unique flair to it. May I also suggest reading a few dozen good screenplays (and a few bad ones), so you’ll know what to do — and what not to do. Courage!

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From July 30–August 2, I got to see what the fuss was all about. Curated by Artistic Director Jeremy Cohen and a small, dedicated staff, a couple hundred theatre professionals and enthusiasts joined 100 theatre artists in the mid-summer warmth of Ojai. The temperature was formidable, but the heat coming off the stage at the Thacher School campus was even more astonishing. For nearly two weeks before we arrived, writers, directors, dramaturgs, and actors shaped new works. On Thursday night, the audience was captivated by brand new five-minute pieces from surprisingly talented high school students and college interns, as well as short excerpts from three seasoned playwrights-in-residence. That was followed by staged readings of five new plays (selected from 1,000 submissions) over the next three nights, interspersed with a panel discussion and meals with the playwrights.

The plays ranged from existential to heartbreaking to hilarious, sometimes capturing all three sentiments in the same work. Not only did the words sparkle, but the performances by (mostly LA-based) professional actors were riveting. Audiences were inspired, provoked, and moved, transported to worlds and situations they had likely never explored or even contemplated. We met a troubled couple visiting a nun-run monastery, a diverse group of young people searching for identity in Jackson, Mississippi, a riotous LGBTQ-inflected lampooning of LA’s absurd real estate world, old college friends sorting through their past and present while opening a restaurant, and a poignant look at dementia and caregiving. From belly laughs to tears, the weekend had it all.

As a producer of (commercial, I hope) theatre, my mind bounced from getting lost in these penetrating tales to wondering which of these plays could work for different types of audiences. Some were for brave audiences, some were for mature theatre-goers, while others spoke to universally relatable relationships. There was truly something for everyone.

My takeaway was that the beauty of theatre is its communal experience. There are words, actors, and audiences, and they all need each other to be realized. And in a world increasingly subject to AI, I felt relieved that the essence of theatre is largely immune to machine thinking. It has to be live, and it must be experienced together.

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When I first broke into Hollywood, it was through a few connections, some phone calls, and a lot of letters sent through the U.S. Mail. Between years at business school, a friend had a sister who worked at Showtime, so I was able to finagle a job covering scripts (on a manual typewriter) for $50 a script. Apparently that fee hasn’t gone up much. Another woman I met was an assistant at Johnny Carson’s company, and she took pity on me by getting me into the coverage rotation. I’d drive all the way to their offices, pick up two scripts, then drive the coverage back two days later to pick up two more.

But my best connection from college was my friend John Goldwyn. When I finally came to Hollywood in 1986 — five years after knowing John in school — he kindly introduced me to an array of executives and producers I still know to this day. Those introductions and the courtesy meetings they led to were invaluable. I don’t think it would have been the same over Zoom.

My letter-writing campaign also got me a summer internship (which I probably should have done between years of business school, not after) at TriStar Pictures, where fellow MBA Jeff Sagansky offered me a summer gig that I was able to turn into a full-time job at TriStar Television. Was it aggravating answering the phone for a former CAA assistant who was a year younger than me? You bet. But the connections I made and the exposure I got to the business during that one year at TriStar were significant, and eventually led to a producing deal with a TriStar-based company called Trilogy Entertainment (Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves).

That inspired me to go back to my business school classmates and raise a tiny fund that kept me afloat for three years. And when that deal ended, John Goldwyn introduced me to John Davis, who was mentoring young producers in exchange for a first look at their projects. The next thing I knew, I was in the Die Hard building next to the Fox lot, meeting tons of people at the commissary and beyond.

The point is, we have to work at it to get ahead. Very little comes to those who wait in Hollywood. I’ve probably had 250 interns over the past 35 years, many of whom have gone on to greater glory, and nearly all of whom I was happy to help whenever I could. Hollywood is most definitely a team sport — more than almost any other creative pursuit, with the possible exception of theater. Who you know matters, and how you treat people matters. Find a mentor (or two). Be nice to assistants — they’re tomorrow’s vice presidents. What goes around...

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We all know the landscape is more challenging than ever for getting films made. Personally, I’ve been awash in lower-budget movies, some well under $1M. The reason is simple: all the market pressure on budgets is downward and — logically — it’s often (though not always) easier to raise $500K than $5M. The question is, how do you separate yourself from the rabid pack of thousands of movies trying to get made?

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The majority of my 60+ films have relied on private investors.

Over the past three years, we have provided late-stage financing for more than 15 features. The “we,” in this case, is a group of individuals in my circle who have been eager to participate in the movie world for a variety of reasons. Some are opportunistic and able to help films in tight spots with debt, senior equity, or gap financing. Others are attracted to star-driven movies where they can visit sets, meet stars, and attend festivals and premieres. Still others seek a combination of opportunity and prestige while gaining experience and building their own careers.

The results have ranged from exhilarating to vexing.

There’s no clear formula. There have been times when equity transactions were emotionally based or ego-driven and had great results. Other instances have entailed deep due diligence leading to collateralized loans, and the outcomes have been, shall we say, sub-optimal. Sometimes things look great on paper, but the final product disappoints. Other times, principals have been less than honest, creating a shit-show and bringing the rest of us down with the ship. Vetting not only the script and talent, but also the financing structure, estimates, deals, and the people behind the enterprise is critical.

A couple of success stories:

I can’t remember how the producers of The Kids Are All Right found me, but they were close to making the movie and short of funds. I had an actor acquaintance eager to get screen time with a cast of this caliber, so their investment got them a role. I received a small fee and an executive producer credit. The film was accepted to Sundance, bought by Focus Features, and everyone made their investment back (plus 40%). Oscar attention followed, and everyone was very happy.

Believe it or not, I first heard The Trial of the Chicago 7 was seeking last-minute financing through a Facebook post. An Aaron Sorkin and Sacha Baron Cohen film needed money? I couldn’t believe it. But it was true, and someone I had recently met clearly had both the means and the desire to participate. I wound up splitting my fee with the Facebook friend who brought the opportunity to my attention and sharing a co-executive producer credit with my investor. When the $37 million Paramount film was ready for release, it was the height of COVID, so — miraculously — Netflix bought it for $56 million. While there was no fancy premiere (a disappointment to investors and crew), the film was nominated for multiple Academy Awards. Needless to say, it was a happy outcome for all concerned. All of this to say:

There’s a Legitimate Role for “Middlemen”

While I’ve been the lead producer on many films (and have the battle scars to prove it), I’ve also played a strategic role — often sourcing funds that weren’t my own — on a couple dozen others. Instead of putting together the entire enterprise, managing every negotiation, mediating between creatives, keeping investors apprised, and shepherding a film from post through festivals, marketing, and distribution, I’m able to provide vital capital and earn a modest fee and credit. I’m always available to offer guidance, or I can simply show up at the premiere and bask in the success of a project in which I played a strategic role.

Most Middlemen Create Their Own Problems

We all know situations where “a guy knows a guy who knows a guy who might have money.” That’s where things can get complicated. I’ve seen middlemen maneuver themselves out of deals by creating elaborate, suffocating NDAs. They’re so worried about being “cut out” that they create a too-cumbersome situation. I’m not saying you should simply trust everyone, but very simple agreements can often be reached — before expensive lawyers get involved — that are both clear and protective. I never engage an attorney until the other party and I have agreed to something in plain Brooklyn English (and in writing, even if it’s just an email).

What’s important is to be clear with everyone up front.

Most people understand that I’m not personally writing the check and that, if I deliver financing, there will likely need to be a credit for both the investor and me, along with my fee — generally 5% of the equity raised (less for expensive debt). It’s important to position yourself as an executive producer earning a fee, not as a broker-dealer (which you aren’t) earning a commission. If I have to split a fee with another middleman, that can work. I generally haven’t been a profit participant, though that can vary (and may be offered by a generous investor from their end). Personally, I like to think I have more to offer than just access to funds, given my years in the trenches with production, agents, distributors, and more.

Clearly, less traditional financing has led to a lot of “producing” credits, as more and more, it takes a village. Sometimes a damn city. My advice? Suck it up and get it made.

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A note: I’ll soon be adding paid posts (in addition to my free posts) for those who want a more focused look at the craft and business of producing, including the nuts and bolts of financing, packaging, deal-making, production, and getting a project across the finish line.

To join Producers United, you need to be a “career producer:” a producer who makes their living producing (which seems to get harder every day). Producers United is just three years old, and I was asked to join about a year and a half ago. Every time I’ve been to an event, it feels like I’m with kindred spirits — not to mention a who’s who of Hollywood producers. Humbling to be there, honestly.

The event was at Sherry Lansing’s lovely Bel-Air home. Larry was introduced by Frank Marshall and Kathleen Kennedy, themselves Hollywood legends. That was followed by a five-minute highlight reel of Larry’s unbelievable career (Die Hard, Field of Dreams, 48 Hrs., Predator, Boogie Nights, and about a hundred other titles). Larry’s 20-minute speech (“the Oscar speech I’ll never get to give,” he quipped) was funny, touching, and inspirational. While I can’t share the video, I do hope my friends and colleagues will get to see it someday. At 90 years old (looking great and sharp as a tack), he’s seen it all and worked with almost every star you can think of from the past half century. Some of it was glorious and some of it was horrible. But it all added up to an amazing journey that — for me — crystallized the essence of producing. Never give up. Don’t take no for an answer, no matter how many times you hear it. Eyes on the prize. I wore a smile the entire time and was filled with pride as I listened.

Producers United is about protecting and advocating for career producers. Fees, profits, credits, rights, insurance, and all things that strengthen the profession are the organization’s purview.

I hope to continue sharing my experiences with my colleagues, as well as any expertise I’ve accumulated over these last few (many) years. If you haven’t already, please subscribe below to follow along.

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On my first night in the city, I snuck in dinner and a show with new partners on a few projects. Fear of 13, starring Adrian Brody and Tessa Thompson, is very dramatic and runs long — two hours, no intermission.

The main attraction for the Branded Pictures Entertainment crew, all in the same place only a few times a year, was the premiere of first-time writer/director Alex Vlack’s The Revisionist, starring Alison Brie, Dustin Hoffman, Andre Holland and Tom Sturridge. Our Notorious Film Fund became an executive producer of the film through a late-stage investment, and the premiere saw an enthusiastic response to this smart, character-driven psychological drama. I especially enjoyed Dustin Hoffman getting his crass curmudgeon on. Following the premiere, our team attended a lively reception at the Soho Diner with the cast and crew of the film. On the way back uptown, the streets were teaming with Knicks fans.

Saturday took me to the Public Theater to see the Miranda Family Fellowship showcase featuring this year’s fellows. The Miranda Fellowship and Partners in Kind are important collaborators on our Maya Angelou play, which we are workshopping next month at Arena Stage in Washington, DC. I also finally got to meet Lin-Manuel Miranda (and his very committed father). Afterwards, we swung by the annual AKA Tony party atop the Empire Hotel — this media marketing company is doing every third show on Broadway. Did I say it was warm in New York?

Sunday featured a well-attended Tribeca panel on adaptations. Branded VP Tom Pettinelli and I joined fellow panelists Broadway producer Ken Davenport and literary agent Alexander Slater for an hour-long discussion moderated by Erroll Bennett. The conversation focused on adapting IP across mediums — primarily books into films and plays, and films into other formats. The audience was deeply engaged, with thoughtful questions and lively discussion. After that, it was off to Alchemation’s Tony party for investors in (and friends of) Two Strangers Carry a Cake Across New York. And I have to say, it was the best Tony Awards opening number I can remember, featuring P!nk (and everyone else).

Meetings with producers, writers, agents, line producers, investors, collaborators, and more were wedged into the schedule, making for a productive four days in a city that already feels deep into summertime. Now I’m back home in LA, helping launch four movies — in Upstate New York, Malta, North Carolina, and Aspen—while sorting out the rest of the summer, which I hope will include a little downtime. More substantive topics ahead.

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In 2026, I consider anything made for $1 million or less to be a micro-budget film.

As noted in an earlier post, my first film. Denise Calls Up, was made for 600K and financed by the cast and the director’s father-in-law. We nearly tripled everyone’s money, and came out of it thinking we were geniuses. If only.

The recent wave of micro-budget breakouts and festival darlings — especially Obsession, the debut feature from young filmmaker Curry Barker, made for under $1 million — are beacons of light in an otherwise cloudy sky. Of course, every few years we see a handful of low-budget horror success stories, from The Blair Witch Project and Paranormal Activity to Terrifier and its sequels. If I were placing a bet on a truly tiny film, it would probably be in the horror genre. That’s not to say I wouldn’t love to have made classics like Sex, Lies, and Videotape, Clerks, Pi, or the kind of independent gems that regularly contend for Independent Spirit Awards. But horror remains one of the few genres that doesn’t depend on star power to find an audience. If you can break through with a clever, well-executed horror film, you’ve got a real shot at making your next movie.

I’m currently involved with three films being made for around—or under—$1 million.

Obviously, I’m not getting rich upfront from any of them, but I believe in the filmmakers and the material. More importantly, I think each has a legitimate chance of finding an audience and turning a profit if executed to its full potential.

• One is an adaptation of a celebrated playwright’s work, with experienced producers, a strong screenplay, and highly recognizable talent attached. It’s thoughtful, funny, prestige-minded material — the kind of film that reminds you why you got into this business in the first place (or, at least, why I did).

• Another is a creepy thriller set in the theater world, blending psychological tension with horror elements and offering rich opportunities for standout performances. We believe we have at least one recognizable actor attached, which should help elevate its profile.

• The third is a coming-of-age story being made for under $500,000 by filmmakers in their twenties, alongside a rising television star who also wrote the script. It has an authenticity and energy that can only come from young artists telling a story close to their own experience.

All three are very different films, but each has festival potential in its own way. More importantly, each represents the kind of ambitious, filmmaker-driven work that can still be made without a massive budget.

What I would advise to those making (super) independent films is the following:

• Work from a strong script. Get several bona fide opinions while still trusting your instincts — especially if those instincts have a track record.

• Build credibility as you assemble your package. What are the critical elements that will telegraph legitimacy to investors, talent, and fellow artists?

• Your film doesn’t have to be “mass market,” but it does need to have a clearly identifiable market — and some real sense of how you plan to reach it.

• Research how little you can realistically make it for. Contemporary settings, smaller casts, and fewer locations are all your friends. Be honest with yourself about what the budget truly requires.

• Understand how you will raise the money: smaller investments from friends and family, private equity, donations, tax credits, 181/168 schemes, in-kind contributions — whatever mix makes sense.

• Raise a little more than your production budget — ideally an extra $50K–$250K — for festival strategy, marketing materials, promotion, and potential indie release needs.

• If you can raise seed capital — even $10K–$20K (better yet $25K–$50K) — the simple act of wisely deploying early money can separate your project from the herd.

• Get expert advice. Find a consigliere, mentor, Yoda, or advisor who takes a real interest in helping you—and who can also add credibility.

At the risk of self-promotion (hey, it’s Hollywood), I’ve consulted on several dozen films, many of which led to executive producing roles. Obviously, it helps when I like both the material and the people involved. Sometimes people take my four-hour seminar on producing soup-to-nuts at jtoddharris.com and then reach out. I’m not hard to find.

Regardless, I urge anyone who’s been waiting to gut-check how badly they want to make their film—and whether they truly have the confidence to pull it together.

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I work on many projects because, ultimately, I love writers and their stories.

Creative concepts and human stories interest me, and great writing thrills me. Do I get interested in material that will likely never make money? Sometimes. But when a film or play moves me and I feel I can add value, I can’t help but get involved — even if, at times, the “compensation” is only psychic.

My love of stories and storytelling has me like a dog in the city, sniffing every hydrant. And while I don’t always “mark the spot”, I do consider a lot of things. Of the 5–10 scripts we receive a week, all of them get covered, and even then I feel bad when I’ve had something for 3–4 weeks without responding.

At the root of all this sniffing is curiosity. Take this past weekend:

I flew to Phoenix to see the musical version of Ever After, whose songwriters and producer are partners on Stage Mother, a musical adaptation of a film I produced that is currently in development and scheduled to play in that same Phoenix theater in a year.

Back in LA on Saturday night, at the suggestion of a friend, I caught the next-to-last performance of a play called Guac. The one-man show is an homage to the playwright’s teenage son, who was killed in the Parkland shooting on Valentine’s Day 2018 — a subject that is personal to me. It also got me thinking about Parents in Chains, our new show, which I hope will enjoy an open run at the 300-seat Kirk Douglas Theatre.

On Sunday night, I attended a “salon” at a home on the Venice canals for a new show called Particle Fever. It explores the scientists and the massive machine behind the discovery of the Higgs boson — the particle associated with the field that gives many fundamental particles their mass (known as the “God” particle) — and the curiosity that drove researchers to spend decades and billions of dollars pursuing a question that might never have yielded an answer. In fact, repeated failure as a by-product of curiosity is somehow honored in this show.

It’s these themes of curiosity and long shots that inspired this post.

I’m not entirely sure what drives other producers, but I know that curiosity is a major factor for me. When it comes down to it, while I’m curious about how a 1M genre movie can make 100M, I’m more curious about investing my resources in stories I feel explore the complexity of the human condition — the good, the bad, the ugly. How can creatures capable of such love and caring also have such darkness in them? How can such resilient beings succumb to temptation and weakness? The best stories and movies depict characters who pique our curiosity and then take us on a moving journey. We live to be moved, and when someone sincerely tells me that my movie or play gave them great joy, insight, or deep emotional response — well, that’s when I feel like it’s all worth it and I’ve done my job.

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Selecting a screenplay to produce is a steady mix of passion and opportunism.

I really have to love a script and/or see a clear path to getting it made (or helping get it made, depending on the status) to get involved.

Finding a brand-new script that you love and seeing it before most anyone else is—for me—exciting and scary all at once. Do I really have the bandwidth to take this from square one and make something of it? How many directors and actors will I have to approach to get financial traction? Do I dare try to share it with “the usual (financing) suspects” without any talent attached? That seems to work so rarely these days. I have scripts I’ve loved at first sight that I read over five years ago that still aren’t made. Hell, I have scripts I’ve commissioned well over five years ago that haven’t found a way. And it chaps your hide a lot more when you actually paid for a script and it sits on the digital shelf.

This weekend I read a romantic comedy and thought to myself, “This is what the market is crying out for.”

Yes, low-budget horror will always have a shot. Action movies featuring yesterday’s stars can make a dent with pre-sales. And, as a producer, it makes sense to be agile because we do have to make a living. But when I read something with a clever concept that makes me smile (and even laugh out loud a few times)—well, that appeals to me.

What made me open the script?

Well, first of all, the coverage was good. Secondly, it came from two writers I know (but didn’t realize were collaborating). Not only do I know them, but I actually like them, and they’ve both had a few movies made, so they’re not green to Hollywood reality.

What kept me reading?

I was engaged in the first 5–10 pages. I liked the characters immediately and sensed that they would appeal to comic talents. And it was professionally rendered. I felt like I was in the hands of veteran writers who understand both writing and Hollywood. And it didn’t read expensively.

I read half of it at Peet’s (a coffee shop on Larchmont), then came home to finish it. That’s the way a script truly should be digested—in one (pretty much) fell swoop. “Coming back” to scripts you read part of a while ago can sacrifice the flow that a movie wants to create.

So now what?

I immediately wrote to the writers and told them how much I liked it. And, considering I’d only had the script a little over two weeks, that’s actually moving pretty quickly. Assuming they’ll allow me to take the lead on this (and making the easy assumption that their agents—if they even have them—won’t have the time), I’ll put together a list of directors (paying close attention to rom-coms that have worked on Netflix in recent years) and actors who are relevant but realistic—and, hopefully, people audiences want to see in a romantic comedy.

Then I’ll prioritize based on accessibility (those with agents or managers I have “relationships” with). I might even run the concept by folks like Netflix (or similar) to see if they have a director they’re trying to find something for. But this isn’t the type of movie I run out and try to finance with independent funds—there’s no cause or affinity group; it’s just plain fun, and I need the “system” to pay for it. Not friends, family, tech bros, private equity types, etc.

And thus begins a process that could take a few months, a few years, or forever.

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Such is the lot of filmmakers who must often move heaven and earth just to get something made, and then the dice are rolled on its critical and popular reception. Even masters of the art can endure the same challenges; I’m sure Francis Ford Coppola was crushed to spend his own $120M on Megalopolis, only to see it barely released, met with tepid reviews, and a worldwide gross of $14M.

There are many steps to getting one’s movie distributed and monetized, but the first is to get noticed and seen by the right audience under the best circumstances.

Knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.

Every year, hundreds of films premiere at Sundance, Toronto, Cannes, and Berlin with the highest of hopes. A handful of films leave these festivals with distribution deals, while the rest are left to fight for less-than-perfect deals in the months that follow. And that’s not even taking into account the films that didn’t get into top-tier festivals, whose only option now is to conjure some kind of marketplace excitement. We’ll be involved in no less than six films facing this gauntlet in 2026.

I’m regularly approached by filmmakers with quality films that didn’t sell at a top festival or weren’t accepted.

Frankly, I’ve made many films that fit that description. Of the seven films I’ve had at Sundance, only one or two immediately walked away with strong deals. The Kids Are All Right was purchased by Focus Films and went on to have a celebrated and profitable run. However, one of my “best” films, Bottle Shock, left Sundance empty-handed. The film had 24 investors, and we were fortunate enough that one particular investor had the enthusiasm and means to finance Bottle Shock’s distribution through the service company Freestyle. The conundrum? We could have had a direct-to-DVD (back in the day) deal that would have returned our investors 25–35% of their investment. Instead, we chose the risky route of spending $5M on prints and advertising (P&A) for a 400-screen release. The result of our theatrical ambition was a film that a lot more people know and love, but a zero-dollar return for investors — we’re still paying off the P&A. Sigh.

We recently finished a film for under $2M called Bolio: Spirit of the Mustang, and I’m on the tip of the spear to sell it. The good news: it’s funny, moving, well-made, and has Tony Shalhoub in a supporting role (and as an EP), with the Broken Lizard team (Super Troopers) also executive producing. The challenge is that it’s not typical A-level festival fare.

So here’s my strategy:

• Take every festival we can (and not wait another six months for Toronto)

• Lean heavily on Tony and Broken Lizard to galvanize their reps (no guarantees)

• Set crowded, friendly, in-person screenings in NY and LA

• Cut a rocking trailer (with the biggest names front and center)

• Create a fun, clear poster that signals the market approach

• Because buyers are hard to get in a room, consider two screenings a week apart in each city—the hope being decision-makers come after hearing from their teams

• Do informal market testing (questionnaires, audience reaction videos)

• If needed, send a link—but package it with maximum fanfare (audience reactions, test scores, testimonials)

If, after all this, there are still no bona fide offers of distribution, one is faced with DIY distribution (which can suck up 6–12 months of your life and a fair amount of money), or bringing the film to a rep (or sales company) that is clever about getting films up on TVOD and AVOD platforms.

At the very least, it ensures people can find your movie. Hopefully, that same company builds a little momentum for foreign sales, and you still have the latitude to do a platform (2–5-city) release if you can find the funding.

Of course, there are other grassroots approaches to distributing your film, and a lot of this planning is worth considering before one makes the movie. But more on those — and other approaches to getting your movie to market — in a future post.

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The novel is based on the true story of music professor Adam Ockelford’s 40-year mentorship of the blind and autistic piano savant Derek Paravicini, and has been adapted by Daniel Persitz, with revisions by David Seidler (The King’s Speech).

Our team (writer/director Daniel Persitz, NY producers David Treatman and Max Johnson, and me) has been embraced by an extraordinary team in London, who put together two extremely well-attended fundraisers on Monday night and Tuesday morning for over 80 potential investors and donors. The aim is a £4M+ budget, financed one-third by tax credits, with the remaining two-thirds consisting of equity, philanthropy, and possibly a few key pre-sales. The hope is to be financed going into the summer (hopefully casting 1–2 leads along the way), shooting late summer/fall, delivering in the winter, and ready for festivals and sales during the first half of 2027, with a release later in the year. Here’s a 2-minute Key of Genius proof of concept based on the Daniel-directed short film.

Of course, when in London, there is plenty of other business to tend to.

Following is a brief overview of the trip and projects that we were, hopefully, able to advance:

Friday, after arriving in an overpriced Uber at the NoMad Hotel in Covent Garden, I joined That Bastard Puccini producer Rebecca Gwyther to see Todrick Hall’s workshop of his new musical Midnight, which has great promise. I’m hoping also to help find a US life for That Bastard Puccini, which we co-produced last summer in London at the Park Theatre.

Saturday was back-to-back meetings at the lovely NoMad Hotel, starting with Death at a Funeral partners, writer Dean Craig and producer Neil Gooding. After nearly seven years of gestating, we now have real hope for either a mid-2026 or early 2027 production in Britain and/or Australia. That was followed by a meeting with Bear Season’s director Simon Aboud and casting director Cassandra Han — another project that has been in the works for over seven years, and that is also hoping for a summer/fall production. That night, I grabbed the last available ticket to Ryan Craig’s new play, The Holy Rosenbergs, at the Menier Chocolate Factory. Smart, timely, and for a more erudite audience.

Sunday began with morning coffee with director Iain Softley and his producing wife Sarah Curtis about a new project called Dead Spit Kelly, with Jason Isaacs and Thomasin McKenzie attached for a summer shoot in Ireland. I had lunch with old friends Nick Racz (writer and director for The Burial Society, a film we made together 20 years ago in Vancouver) and Stanford classmate and musician Lyle Zimmerman. Later in the afternoon, I had two meetings with writers Sasha Reid and Janet Dulin-Jones, and the rest of the day was spent over-caffeinated and prepping for the week, and a late drink with David and Max, who arrived around 10.

On Monday I had a meeting with an attorney about a new documentary we’re putting together called Conquering Dreams, about double amputee Hari Budha Magar’s ascent of the world’s highest Seven Summits (including Everest). In the mid-afternoon, a meeting with writer/director Stephen Cookson, who is scrambling for the last bit of financing for his film, Hooray for Hollywood (with Susan Sarandon), and upcoming British writer Alison Egan, who overheard me in the NoMad Library the day before. At 5 PM, we did a walk-through for the evening Key of Genius event and then presented the movie to 60 engaged guests, who enjoyed hearing Derek play piano (including a duet with director — and violinist! — Daniel Persitz).

Tuesday morning, we gathered at 8 AM for Fortnum & Mason for a second fundraising event with 20 guests who also enjoyed a brief presentation and performance from Derek. That was followed by a meeting with Hari’s manager, Ryan Sosna Bowman, to hash out a gameplan for the doc. Later that afternoon, I got to meet with old friend, MTI’s Sean Gray (who is in charge of licensing the musical Dr. Zhivago we co-produced on Broadway 11 years ago and are trying to revive). We got to exchange plenty of intel about current and pending theatre in London and New York. That night, I took the Key of Genius team to see a revival of American Psycho: The Musical at the Almeida Theatre, where it’s enjoying a new production 10 years after its debut. It remains a compelling dark piece that excavates the primordial ooze from which our present dire political landscape was birthed.

Happy to be on my way home, and feeling I squeezed almost as many meetings as possible.

I didn’t get to see a handful of agents or sales companies I would have liked to visit. Certainly, there were many more shows I wanted to take in. Hopefully, we’ll return in the summer for a new production of Zhivago in Gloucester.

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I still have a film or two to see, but I think Jennifer Venditti, who cast Marty Supreme (as well as The Smashing Machine and Bugonia, among many others) is my front-runner. Once that film had Timothée Chalamet, the rest of the casting landscape was the shared oyster between Jennifer and director Josh Safdie. It’s a beautiful thing when a creative team is unshackled from the straitjacket of talent’s perceived “value” for sales, and pure art can prevail.

For most of us, finding that one actor (or two) who “matters” to either foreign or domestic distributors is the gauntlet we navigate with every project.

It’s a vexing exercise, especially when so many foreign pre-sales calculations are stuck in the past. Most sales companies would rather cast someone who meant something a few years ago than bet on a rising star. And while I don’t blame them, I’ve lost count of how many times our creative team has identified an emerging actor, only to be told the market won’t support them — then watched that same actor become virtually unattainable a year later, just when our film would have hit the market.

This conundrum doesn’t even begin to account for the Kabuki dance required to get talent reps to pay attention — particularly when a film isn’t yet financed. It’s hard to blame agents for being weary of the endless “fishing expeditions” attached to unfinanced projects. Put yourself in their shoes: a producer or casting director stakes their reputation on a “great” script, persuades the agent to read it, and convinces them to share it with their client — only for the project not to materialize. The fallout can range from an actor feeling rejected to an agent absorbing their client’s frustration for “wasting their time.”

Yet the reality is that only a tiny percentage of actors actually move the needle when it comes to financing

And without a “relevant” name attached it can be nearly impossible for a film to attract financing. This chicken-and-egg quandary is by no means new, but I would say it has become more fraught in recent years. For newer producers, the hard truth is that threading the needle, reaching actors without already having financing in place, almost always comes down to relationships, and those relationships take years to build. It’s also about credibility. I’ve spent 30+ years earning the community’s trust to successfully bring a project to talent — actors, directors, writers. After producing or executive producing more than 60 films, agents at least have reason to believe that what I’m sharing meets a certain standard and stands a reasonable chance of actually getting made.

So what is a newer producer to do?

In a word: build your project’s credibility. That credibility can take many forms: a seasoned producing partner, an established director, a veteran casting director, even respected (if less “valuable”) talent already attached. As with any new business, you’re only as strong as the company you keep.

Another strategy I often consider is whether an actor actually “needs” the part. If you’re thoughtful about it, you can sometimes identify someone with "residual value (from a hit film or TV show five or ten years ago) who, for whatever reason, might welcome the right role at a reasonable price. Maybe it’s a former Gilmore Girl, someone from Modern Family, or a movie star due for a comeback (paging John Cusack, Charlie Sheen, Mark Hamill).

Another approach is targeting actors who have an inclination to produce

I’ve tried this “backdoor” strategy many times, and occasionally succeeded. Managers, in particular, can be more receptive to strong material, since they’re focused as much on building a long-term career as they are on closing the next transaction (which understandably drives many agents).

That said, caution is essential when approaching talent. You have to ask yourself whether the strategy truly makes a lick of sense. The “what can it hurt to try?” mindset is often misguided, especially for someone like me, who can call in a favor from certain reps only once or twice a year. You don’t want to waste your shot.

Ultimately, producers need to evaluate their project from everyone else’s perspective, not just their own.

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Chasing Summer: World Premiere at Sundance

Such were often the competing thoughts as I made my way to the last festival in Park City, where Chasing Summer was having its world premiere. As we have managed to do with a dozen films over the past two years, our investor group came through with late-stage financing to help complete the film. I had seen the nearly completed film at UTA in December, so I already knew it was strong. But seeing it with 1,200+ people in the Eccles Theatre was a special treat. Its screenwriter and star Iliza Shlesinger is the real deal — beyond stand-up comedy. It’s a crowd-pleaser. So I wait with bated breath on this final day of the festival (happily home in 70+ degree weather by the pool) for its distribution fate to be decided and announced.

I guess it was Robert Redford’s idea to hold a 10-day festival in the bitter cold mountains of Utah in January.

Well, god bless him — it’s been the launching pad for so many careers and so much celebration of independent film, battered as it may be a quarter of the way through the 21st century. This year in Park City also marked the first year without Redford, who died in September. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is a seminal movie for me, making this final festival a particularly bittersweet affair.

The People Who Make Independent Film Possible

Jaded as I’ve become, there was a quiet joy for me in bringing my small staff to Sundance, one for the first time ever. Every time I would groan about the cold or crowds, they would look at me as if to say “what’s your problem? We’re at Sundance!” And, of course, they were right. The atmosphere was electric, the mood celebratory, and the movies — I’m told, since I only saw Chasing Summer in the three days I was there — were strong. It was also satisfying to bring several of our financiers to the festival so they could experience the legendary event.

Private investors have long been the lifeblood of independent cinema. Now more than ever, I would say. And, as we know, most people don’t invest in independent films to get rich. If they can make something special and memorable and get a look behind the curtain at the process and excitement of a festival premiere, it almost makes up for the risky proposition of independent film investing. Of course, if they actually make their money back and — heaven forbid — a modest profit, it’s a double mitzvah.

A Final Note of Thanks

So I thank all the investors who have supported the dozens of films we’ve made. I thank Sundance for the seven films of mine it’s embraced (Lewis & Clark & George, Digging to China, Urbania, Bottle Shock, The Kids Are All Right, Speak, and Chasing Summer). And I’m grateful to everyone who still gets off their ass to see a movie in a theatre — whether at a festival or their local cinema. It’s how movies were meant to be consumed. Next year in Boulder?

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Having spent a lot more time in the late-stage financing world over the past two years, I can say that many, if not most, independent films don’t start with all the money they need. And even when they think they do, surprises inevitably emerge.

So how much is enough?

When do you reach the tipping point (i.e. the point of no return)? At that moment, how confident are you that you can actually make the film happen — that you have a real safety-valve plan? A lot of it comes down to:

• how much cash you have on hand,

• how much more you can reliably count on in the near term,

• how many viable prospects are still out there,

• how quickly you can secure those funds, and

• what debt options are available to you.

You do this knowing you can defer this, delay that, and not worry about post for the moment — focusing instead on what it takes to emerge from production without your ass on fire. Maybe a little singed, but not aflame. It’s not a path I recommend, but when it comes down to “now or never” for a film (for whatever reason, usually talent availability), it’s the thought of “never” that makes me choose “now.”

But you have to be clear-eyed about that decision

Having a movie that threatens to go off the rails (and I speak from experience) can be extremely stressful, particularly for the producer. If you’re not confident you can get through production, you shouldn’t start. Raising money during production just to stay ahead of payroll can seriously diminish the joy of making a movie. Yes, producing is problem-solving, but problem-averting is a better way to go.

One recurring theme is investors or funders not delivering on time

Which usually means they’re not going to deliver at all. Honing your instincts about who you trust to deliver when they say they will is critical. Doing diligence, when you can, on any potential partners (in any setting and in any part of the equation) makes sense. Obviously, working with well-established lenders is helpful, and the right lawyer makes much of this work flow more smoothly. But despite taking the necessary precautions, it’s important to anticipate things will go wrong. Of the dozen or so late-stage investments or loans we’ve done over the past couple of years, about 25% involved an investor who “fell out” at the last second.

Again, it’s always nice to have seed capital so you can properly set the table:

A real budget with a line producer you trust; a strong attorney who provides solid investment documentation; a vetted finance plan; and veteran partners in sales and lending. And, of course, those all-important tentpole investors — the rock-solid ones, the ones who might be there for a little more in a pinch. Without that base, you can easily find yourself on very thin ice.

More on adventures in film financing in future installments.

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Ah, but here we are — 2026.

How will we approach projects afresh? With renewed vigor and vision? How will we prioritize? What can we monetize? What will bring us the most joy? The most worth? Do you add to your legacy or just pay the bills? Hopefully both. And maybe you aren’t thinking about your legacy yet, but you might want to consider it. You might as well strategize and take notes along the way. I wish I’d done more of it. As I reviewed my goals for the new year, I considered them against where I am in my career:

I have to admit — at this point — I’m less enthusiastic about projects that look like they’ll take five or more years to realize.

There are several projects in my world that are closing in on ten years of gestation: Soul Train: The Musical; Phenomenal Woman: Maya Angelou (a stage play); the stage adaptation of Death at a Funeral; a film adaptation of Dance Dance Revolution, and one of Danny and the Dinosaur.

But maybe that’s just showbiz. Lilly took 15 years (only five of them on my watch). Soul on Fire took seven to eight years. Buena Vista Social Club took six years on my calendar — and a few more before that. Even the $1M indie Bolio, completed last year, started (and stopped) a few times over the past eight to nine years.

This may be one of the motivations behind our investor group exploring late-stage investments in films that are about to go, going, or already in post. In 2024 and 2025, we participated in about a dozen films, some of them quite prestigious. And while not quite as “satisfying” (or remunerative) as projects we actually initiate, this approach has opened doors to artists and opportunities we might not otherwise have had.

And when stacked up on an hourly basis, it’s quite possibly more lucrative. From a credit point of view, it’s a dozen executive producer credits I would not otherwise have had. Realizing you don’t have to “be in charge,” but can instead be a strategic player, can be unexpectedly liberating.

As you consider your slate for the coming year, I would encourage you to view each project through the lens of its critical path.

What will it take to advance the project materially closer to production? What will provide it with the credibility to move forward? Usually it’s some combination of talent and money — but not always. Sometimes it’s relevance, urgency, or opportunity.

I always try to look at the films and plays I’m working on to see how they can create mutually beneficial opportunities for potential partners and myself. In fact, if you’re not considering what’s in it for your partners, you’re missing a big part of the equation.

Looking ahead to 2026, I’d urge producers and artists to maintain a mix of projects:

Some that rely on you to spearhead, and others — hopefully more immediately realizable — where you can play a strategic role and still take real satisfaction.

I’m excited to have my seventh film at Sundance this year: Chasing Summer, starring comedian Iliza Schlesinger. Honestly, I wasn’t even 100% sold on the script when I first read it, but my team was. And now, having seen a rough cut with Iliza and director Josephine Decker just a few weeks ago, I’m glad to have been wrong. Everyone knew Iliza was funny. Very few knew she could act. I think a star is born, and I’m happy to have played a small part.

On a final note, cranking out a Substack every week was a little more than I bargained for in 2025. In 2026, we’re going to try the twice-a-month variation.

Happy New Year, and happy planning.

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My to-do list (actually a “don’t forget” list) is the stuff of legend. I’m of the belief that if you don’t write it down, it’s a lot less likely to happen.

My master project list is frequently updated and sorted based on passion, money, and reality. It’s a daily balance of vision and opportunism. Then, with priority projects, I list out the critical path to get them to the next level. What’s it going to take? Money, a rewrite, talent, a director, an LLC, a casting director, a budget, a deck, a sizzle reel, a sales partner, a producing partner. What can I realistically achieve on that project today, this week, this month, this quarter, this year?

For newer producers looking at their goals for the next year:

It’s important to gauge the real timeline and likelihood of making tangible progress on a project. Get a second (or third), more learned opinion on your evaluation, then look at a weekly or monthly critical path — in what order do things need to happen? What is the most effective path of least resistance? What’s the next piece of the puzzle that is going to undergird your project with the credibility that’s going to take it to the next level?

To my mind, credibility is everything.

Ask yourself: Is this a credible idea? Do you have a credible script? Director? Actor? Producer? Budget? Financing? Sales partner? Pitch deck? What’s the element that’s going to get your project taken more seriously than others? Probably the most accessible form of credibility will be finding a more experienced partner — someone who knows more than you do but is still willing to act like your partner rather than your boss.

When I try to get an agent to share an unfinanced script with a director or actor, I rely on the script’s concept and pedigree. I rely on demonstrating a reliable path to getting the movie made. If I have some funding, I find a diplomatic way to say as much. And after 35 years and 60+ movies, I’d like to think my endorsement carries some weight. But it’s worth remembering how many projects, producers, and clients are competing for a representative’s bandwidth. How can you present something that feels legit — and shows you’re not wasting someone’s time or chasing the unrealistic (“Can Tom Hanks read my unfinanced comedy script?”)?

So set your professional (and personal) goals for 2026.

Think through the practical and realistic path — and the connections you have or need to make to get it done. Be methodical and elegantly relentless. And if you want an overview of the full producing process for an independent film, consider taking my 16-part seminar, available for a very reasonable price at www.jtoddharris.com (he said, shamelessly promoting himself).

This is our last post for the year. I hope some of what I’ve shared has been helpful. Feel free to reach out. But mostly, have a safe and happy holiday.

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Catching Up on Industry Trades (and Industry Contacts)

Another thing I did over the holiday was catch up on about six weeks of trades — Variety and The Hollywood Reporter. Even though, like with the New York Times and Los Angeles Times, I can get most of this material online, I always come across things I would otherwise miss when I flip through the hard copies. Sometimes it’s as simple as seeing photographs of people I’ve heard of but wouldn’t recognize on sight. Other times it’s noticing lists of award-worthy films and series I might have overlooked. And occasionally it’s an article featuring people I know and have worked with.

Awards, features, nominations, promotions, and job changes are all great opportunities to reach out with a congratulatory note. Sometimes I have the person’s email or phone number; other times I track them down on social media. And if all else fails, a positive message sent through an agent or manager usually finds its way to the intended recipient. I’ve never had anyone respond negatively to this kind of outreach. Sometimes you hear nothing, of course, but more often than not I’m met with genuine gratitude — and occasionally, the exchange even opens a door.

Some Examples:

• This week in Variety, I came across an awards feature highlighting actors who may not be in the brightest spotlight at the moment, but consistently deliver terrific work: Russell Crowe, Kate Hudson, William H. Macy, and Lucy Liu. Having worked with Lucy and Bill, it was easy to send them a short note along with the link to the piece. (You’d be surprised how often people have no idea they’ve received positive press.)

• Every year, the Academy announces (and the trades publish) a list of newly elected members. Inevitably, I know a dozen or so of them, and they’re always grateful to be recognized for the honor.

  

I find that notes of appreciation are especially meaningful to the behind-the-scenes executives at studios, agencies, and management companies — sometimes even the lawyers. Acknowledging a promotion, a move to a new company, a personal milestone, or even a client’s success almost always earns a warm response.

• On Friday, I was driving around LA listening to The Business on KCRW, where Kim Masters was interviewing Rian Johnson and Ram Bergman — the director–producer team behind the Knives Out films, Looper, and even a Star Wars installment. I’d made a pretty forgettable Rutger Hauer movie with Ram and his then-partner Dana Lustig (still a Facebook friend) about twenty years ago, and I was impressed — and a little jealous — to hear how Ram had “discovered” Rian on his first movie Brick, and how they had become one of the most prolific creative partnerships in Hollywood. It took no effort at all to send him a note saying how great it was to hear him on KCRW.

• I had a similar moment recently when an old friend, Jay Roach, sent me a lovely reply after I attended an Academy screening of his Benedict Cumberbatch and Olivia Colman film The Roses, where he did a Q&A.

And, of course, when people you know or admire are nominated — for an Oscar, Globe, Spirit, Emmy, Grammy, Tony, Gotham, or Critics Choice — it’s the perfect moment to send a congratulatory note.

Build Your Network One Genuine Note at a Time

Sure, there’s plenty to complain about in our increasingly challenging and consolidating business, but there’s nowhere near enough positive, person-to-person reinforcement. A simple personal note, email, or text goes a lot further than a “smiley face” emoji on social media.

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The American Film Market is back in Los Angeles after being moved to Vegas last year, and it was both enjoyable and genuinely insightful to visit for a few hours over two days. The AFM is located in Century City, where the Fairmont Plaza on Avenue of the Stars provides an accommodating hotel base and the AMC across the street offers high-quality screens.

We have several films on the floor this year — some completed, others in pre-sales. I haven’t gotten a comprehensive read from my sales friends yet, but the market definitely felt energized during the time I spent roaming the lobby and popping into suites. And, of course, after decades of attending markets in LA, I inevitably run into old colleagues and meet a few new faces.

This year, Radiant Films is selling our titles Lilly and Closure, while Bear Season and Too Many Crooks are out for pre-sales with Moonrise Pictures and Film Mode Entertainment, respectively.

I always encourage my interns and anyone newer to producing or to this side of the business to spend time at these markets (and at festivals like Berlin, Cannes, and Toronto), since they remain the industry’s primary film sales hubs.

Updates on Our Projects

Two films we executive produced were released this past week. Stone Cold Fox (starring Kiernan Shipka, Krysten Ritter, and Kiefer Sutherland) got a limited theatrical release alongside its VOD rollout.

Christmas Karma — from Bend It Like Beckham director Gurinder Chadha — was released widely in both the UK and the US.

Another highlight of the week was getting to see a 10-minute promo at CAA for The Housewife, a film we’re executive producing starring Naomi Watts, Tye Sheridan, Michael Imperioli, and Luke Evans. It’s absolutely riveting — Naomi fully disappears into a 1950s German immigrant Queens housewife whose past is catching up with her. The film is being held for next year’s festival and market circuit, with a potential fall 2026 release.

Screening Season Standouts

Screening season in LA delivered a cinematic whirlwind: Marty Supreme (followed by a Q&A with Timothée Chalamet, Gwyneth Paltrow, and director Josh Safdie); One Battle After Another (with Leonardo DiCaprio and Benicio Del Toro in the Q&A); and The Testament of Ann Lee (with Amanda Seyfried and director Mona Fastvold in attendance). All three are bold swings with major performances that will likely draw some Oscar attention. My personal favorite was Marty Supreme, which had a manic Coen Bros.–esque energy and a full-throttle performance from Chalamet.

The Rest

Other notable events included joining the board of a notable new playwrights’ organization (details to come); a first casting meeting with Giancarlo Esposito on his new film, alongside my longtime friends Deb Aquila (casting) and Josh Kesselman (co-producer); meeting potential investors for Too Many Crooks; and a full membership meeting of Producers United — an organization of career producers I joined last year.

The final highlight was learning that another film we executive produced has been accepted to Sundance. Details to follow!

Wishing you a great week.

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“Creators are the new Hollywood,” as YouTube’s chief executive, Neal Mohan, has said, echoing many other media prognosticators. Top personalities, they say, can reach more people through their TikTok accounts than studios can through the traditional box office or late-night television.

This past week, the New York Times business section had a compelling piece about the evolving methodology for approaching IP exploitation on multiple platforms with a much broader reach than the traditional silos.

While movies, television, and stage productions have long been adapted from books, comics, articles, and — more recently — video games, those developing material today have a wider array of lower-cost launch points and new destinations, including podcasts. For actors and creators, social media platforms like TikTok and YouTube have also become powerful launchpads. More often than one might expect, casting decisions now take into account a performer’s online following.

What Can Hollywood Learn From New Media? focused on Ilene Chaiken’s inspiration for creating the hit Showtime series The L Word, wherein she pitched the network a “lesbian MySpace” (very cutting edge at the time). But today, Ms. Chaiken and her new company Run-A-Muck no longer looks to networks for inspiration or innovation:

Ideally, every project in development will have a tandem nontraditional media sibling (or two or three): a podcast, newsletter, live show or social video series. Some big networks already release their own companion podcasts alongside television shows, like HBO’s “The White Lotus Official Podcast.” But Run-A-Muck wants to extend those efforts beyond watch-along podcasts, forming a suite of products that can potentially be wildly monetized.

Now we see studios buying robust Substacks and Netflix adding video podcasts to the platform. All parties — content creators and distributors — have a goal of stretching their intellectual properties as far as possible. For example, Run-A-Muck’s upcoming legal procedural “Consent”, a standard one-hour drama, is also being developed as a reality show and a true-crime podcast.

Other companies are mining sports, one of the few reliable ratings-generators for TV and streamers (Apple covering MLB, Amazon broadcasting NFL) for non-traditional content. Examples include the WNBA developing a non-scripted weekly sports podcast hosted by TikTok personality Jackie J. and Amazon launching a tailgating show that airs before its Thursday night football broadcasts.

But even the studios and record labels are catching on to the expansion of their brands with the likes of “Barbie,” “Game of Thrones,” “Stranger Things” and Beyoncé’s “Homecoming” — all “cultural moments” being exhaustively monetized across digital platforms and beyond, with books, toys, clothing, and albums.

The “eventization” of entertainment and content has also grown to epic proportions, as evidenced by the millions in advertising revenue that Vogue Magazine garnered by live-streaming the Met Gala red carpet arrivals.

The point — for better or worse — is that everything is content. And the clever producer will see beyond the primary medium to many other means of exploiting their IP in a rapidly fragmenting world of entertainment consumption.

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