Locked Out of Film: How Unpaid Work Blocks Talent
10/September/2025
The film industry loves to talk about passion. We’re told it’s a venture of love, a sacrifice worth making: work for free now, and the rewards will come later! For young filmmakers desperate to get a foot in the door, that message is seductive. You imagine the credit on IMDb, the networking opportunity, the chance to finally say you’ve been on set.
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But beneath the rhetoric lies a harder truth: the expectation of free labour locks out countless talented people from low-income backgrounds.
This isn’t just a personal inconvenience, it's an industry-wide problem that shapes who gets to tell stories and whose voices are silenced. Furthermore, it is often those voices who have the most compelling stories to tell.
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Yes, working on small or no-budget sets can be thrilling. You’re part of a team, learning on the job, picking up experience you’ll never get from textbooks. The atmosphere can be electric. For someone starting out, the idea of being involved even in the smallest capacity feels like validation. It’s a feeling I have felt myself on many occasions in the past, and to be completely honest I will probably feel it again as I try to navigate myself towards more regular and long-term paid work as a writer and director.
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In the absence of widespread trainee programmes, unpaid work often feels like the only way to learn the ropes. (I explored the urgent need for such opportunities in The Need for Trainee Programmes.) You tell yourself that you’re investing in your future, that you’re proving your passion.
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But unpaid work isn’t equally accessible. Long days on set, unpaid travel, the cost of equipment, or even the price of lunch these add up. If you’re supporting yourself through part-time jobs, helping your family, or simply trying to pay rent, “volunteering” becomes a luxury you cannot afford.
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So the industry’s cherished pathway into film doesn’t reward talent alone. It rewards financial security, and that makes it less about passion and more about privilege.
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This reliance on unpaid labour creates a two-tiered system:
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Those who can afford it: Often supported by family or savings, they can say yes to unpaid work, rack up credits, and build the networks that open future doors.
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Those who can’t: Equally talented, equally passionate, but forced to prioritise paid work in other industries. They lose out on credits, connections, and the chance to prove themselves.
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This isn’t about effort… It’s about access! When access is dictated by income, the result is a film industry that doesn’t reflect the full diversity of society. This will then only weaken the stories we tell, as the ones that do get produced are only told by those who had the means to “wait it out and get a foot in the door.”
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Romanticising unpaid work allows the industry to look away from its inequities. It paints free labour as a rite of passage, as though sacrifice is the price of legitimacy. You’re made to feel that if you truly care, you’ll do it for nothing. This is inherently wrong!
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​Passion should not be measured by who can afford to work for free. Passion should be measured in creativity, resilience, and the commitment to craft qualities that exist across all backgrounds. Because it is those qualities that create filmmakers who really believe in cinema, who really love the art of filmmaking, because they are truly dedicated to it.
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If we continue to uphold this model, we entrench the very inequalities we claim to challenge. We close the door on voices we need most: working-class storytellers, underrepresented communities, and people whose perspectives would enrich the screen.
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And, as I argued in The Problem with “Who You Know” Industries, this culture dovetails with the industry’s overreliance on personal connections. When unpaid labour and nepotism combine, the barrier to entry becomes almost insurmountable for those without financial or social capital.
​The consequences of this go far beyond individual careers. Film is not just entertainment it is culture, commentary, and reflection. It created impact and change, it is a powerful medium. Who gets to tell stories shapes which stories get told, and therefore the impact they can have.
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When we exclude filmmakers from less privileged backgrounds, we narrow the lens through which society sees itself. Important stories are lost, and audiences are denied the richness that comes from true diversity of perspective.
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An industry that prides itself on creativity cannot afford to keep reproducing the same narrow set of voices. Yet that is precisely what happens when unpaid labour becomes the gateway to opportunity.
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However, it doesn’t have to be this way. If we truly want a more inclusive film industry, we must stop pretending that unpaid work is a harmless tradition. Here’s what would make a difference:
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Structured trainee programmes: More widespread paid, accessible schemes that provide on-set experience without financial exclusion. These exist in some corners of the industry, but are too few. Scaling them up would provide genuine entry routes for all.
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Mandatory expense coverage: At the very least, no one should be out of pocket for contributing their time. Travel, food, and accommodation costs should be covered as a baseline expectation.
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Funding and budgets: Filmmakers must be equipped to secure funding that allows them to pay their teams. Understanding how to finance a short film or independent project isn’t just a skill for producers; it should be part of every filmmaker’s education. If budgets are handled responsibly, it becomes possible to value people’s time fairly.
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Cultural shift: Producers and industry bodies must recognise that “who can afford to work for free” is not the same as “who is most passionate or skilled.” Until this mindset changes, the problem will persist.
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Peer responsibility: Those of us who can volunteer should share contacts, recommend peers who can’t, and call out exploitative practices when we see them. Change won’t happen unless we make it a collective responsibility.
Working for free can feel like a rite of passage. For some, it opens doors. But for many others, it slams them shut before they’ve even had a chance to prove themselves.
The industry must stop pretending that unpaid labour is a fair or sustainable route into filmmaking. If we want to nurture real talent, not just privileged talent we need accessible, structured and fairly paid opportunities for all.
Until then, calling unpaid work a “venture of love” is little more than a polite way of saying: this industry is for those who can afford it.
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The challenge is not simply about money, it's about fairness, sustainability, and the health of the industry itself. We cannot claim to value diversity while clinging to practices that exclude those without financial safety nets. We cannot keep telling new generations of filmmakers that their labour is worth nothing until proven otherwise.
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Every time a young filmmaker is forced out because they cannot afford to work for free, the industry loses. It loses their perspective, their originality, their contribution. And it loses credibility when it claims to be inclusive and progressive while quietly sustaining a system built on inequality.
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Film is, at its heart, about telling human stories. But how human can those stories be if only certain humans are allowed to tell them?
The future of film should not be determined by who can afford unpaid work. It should be determined by talent, creativity, and the ability to move audiences. If the industry wants to survive and thrive, it must start living up to its own ideals.
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That means moving beyond the “venture of love” rhetoric and creating genuine, accessible pathways for everyone, no matter their financial background. Because love of the craft should never come at the cost of excluding voices who can’t afford to be heard.
