Stop Trying to Save Hollywood

Or: How I Stopped Worrying and Let Hollywood Burn

Ever since the woke mind virus took over Hollywood—and the entertainment industry at large—there’s been a steady rise in pop culture criticism. You can find it primarily on YouTube, TikTok, and Rumble, with accounts across other platforms as well. These critics have massive followings. They make money hand over fist, and they’re all about the same thing. So much so that they’re practically interchangeable. Their entire business model revolves around bashing whatever Hollywood puts out each week.

To be fair, the cultural establishment needs watchdogs. But what started as diligence has veered into a grift. These critics have gained so much influence that just earlier this month, MegaCon—one of the largest fan conventions in the world—featured a panel consisting entirely of online pop culture critics. This event, held in Orlando this year, drew over 200,000 attendees, making it a major event. The fact that these critics are now treated as industry voices says a lot about how much weight they carry.

I’ve been watching this phenomenon unfold since the beginning, and at the core of their message—whether they admit it or not—is a desperate attachment to the intellectual properties they cherish, and grew up with. They don’t want to see them fail. They treat their criticism as a wake-up call, as if Hollywood executives might stumble upon their videos, have an epiphany, and suddenly course-correct back to making high-quality entertainment.

Just look at their setups: their walls are covered in action figures, posters, and memorabilia from the very franchises they claim have been ruined. They don’t hate the IPs—they hate what’s been done to them. But they can’t quit them either. Their entire identity is wrapped around nostalgia.

Early on, I assumed they were just gullible—passionate fans who took up a mic and spoke out of anger and disappointment, which I felt too. But by now, if they were truly interested in how this industry works, they should understand what’s happening behind the scenes—specifically, the financials of film and television. And yet, they don’t. Or, more likely, they choose not to, because acknowledging the truth would kill their business model. There’s no money in saying, “Hollywood is broken by design, and nothing you do will change it.”

Because that’s the reality: the system isn’t failing by accident. It’s failing on purpose.

The industry is propped up by accounting tricks, overinflated expenses, backroom deals, and financial structures that ensure mediocrity is the default. Pop culture critics either refuse to acknowledge this or deliberately ignore it, because doing so would make their entire shtick pointless. They want Hollywood to be “fixed”, but if someone waved a magic wand and made it so, their entire enterprise would collapse. That’s why many of them now have developed their own brand, sell merchandise, accept sponsorships, and rake in ad revenue. Their “careers” now depend on Hollywood being a dumpster fire.

Hollywood isn’t what they think it is. It’s not just out of touch—it’s financially broken, creatively bankrupt, and running on a funding model that has nothing to do with making great films.

In this article, I’ll break down exactly how Hollywood finances its movies, why the system is rigged against both artists and audiences, and why so-called “alternatives” are just Hollywood Lite. If you’ve ever wondered why every big-budget film feels the same, why original ideas never get funded, or why even independent studios play by Hollywood’s rules—this will explain it all.

And if you’re an industry veteran, you already know most of this. But stick around—because the final part is for you.

By the end of this essay, I hope we can agree on one thing: it’s time to stop saving Hollywood. It’s time to let it burn.

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Part 1: The House Always Wins

You might think Hollywood studios operate like any other business—like companies that sell cars, cheese, or electronics. You’d be wrong.

Because unlike most industries, Hollywood doesn’t actually produce movies.

They incorporate them.

The Movie-as-a-Corporation Scam

Every time a studio “makes” a film, they don’t just produce it—they incorporate it. Each movie is spun off into its own separate legal entity, with its own financials, investors, and—most importantly—liabilities.

Why? Because if the movie bombs, the studio itself isn’t technically on the hook. The standalone corporation absorbs the losses, writes off expenses, and—if necessary—declares bankruptcy. Meanwhile, the parent studio walks away unscathed, free to rinse and repeat with the next project.

This isn’t just a safety net—it’s a built-in insurance policy that guarantees the studio always comes out ahead. It also gives them access to tax credits, government grants, and financial incentives that require a registered corporation. As a filmmaker, I’ve been through this myself, I know. This isn’t unique to Hollywood either—it’s the norm in Canada, the UK, and anywhere that offers film subsidies.

Once you understand this, you’ll see why studios aren’t actually taking financial risks. They’ve structured the system so they never have to.

The Illusion of Competition

By now, every major studio has been absorbed by larger corporate giants. The only exceptions are Netflix and Amazon, which operate under their own structures—but even they play by the same rules.

You might think, “Well, at least these companies are competing.”

No, they’re not.

Hollywood isn’t a battlefield. It’s a poker table.

Sometimes one player wins, sometimes another loses—but it’s all part of the same game. There’s no real competition because the same people run the entire system.

Look at the LinkedIn profiles of studio executives. They hop from one company to another like it’s a game of musical chairs. Today, they’re at Warner Bros. Tomorrow, they’re at Disney. Next year, they’re heading Paramount streaming division.

And when you follow the money, the illusion of competition falls apart completely.

Hollywood Is a Cartel

The Motion Picture Association of America (MPA) isn’t a collection of competitors—it’s a club. Its purpose isn’t to foster competition but to protect its members and maintain control over the industry. That’s why no real alternatives ever emerge. The barriers to entry are so high that no outside competition is allowed.

Major studios control:

• Theaters – Thanks to exclusive contracts and long-standing distribution deals, theater chains prioritize studio releases. Even when a major film flops, it still takes up screens that could have gone to a successful independent film. Box office rankings don’t reflect demand—they reflect access.

• Festivals & Awards – Film festivals and award shows aren’t about talent or quality; they’re about influence. No “indie darling” breaks through unless a studio is backing them, whether through direct funding, distribution rights, or behind-the-scenes deals. The Oscars, Golden Globes, and Cannes are all battlegrounds where studios push their own projects, not platforms for discovering true outsiders.

• Streaming Services – Streaming was supposed to be the great equalizer, but the major players made sure that never happened. Disney+, Paramount, and Max only exist to serve their parent companies, ensuring their content gets priority. Even Netflix and Amazon, which started as disruptors, play by the same rules, cutting deals with major studios to stay in the game.

This is why Hollywood remains a closed system. The studios may pretend to compete, but in reality, they’ve rigged every aspect of the industry in their favor. You’re not watching a free market at work—you’re watching a monopoly with different brand names.

Follow the Money

If you dig into Paramount’s SEC filings, you’ll find something interesting:

Fox Corporation owns a chunk of it across two types of shares.

Let that sink in. The companies that are supposed to be competing are literally funding each other.

And they’re not the only ones. Every major bank, investment firm, and Big Tech giant has its hands in Hollywood. Apple, Google, Meta (Facebook), and every private equity firm you can think of have a stake in the game.

That’s why when a studio’s stock dips, it doesn’t actually matter.

You see YouTubers and critics celebrating every time Disney, Warner Bros., or Paramount takes a financial hit—but in the grand scheme of things, it’s insignificant. Their real value isn’t in their quarterly earnings. It’s in their libraries.

Disney’s catalog spans nearly a century. Whether you like their latest garbage fire or not, the fact that they released it means their library just got bigger. And that makes them more valuable.

On top of that, studios rake in money from:

• Box office receipts (even if they flop, tax incentives soften the blow)

• Ad revenue & subscriptions (streaming, licensing, syndication)

• Merchandising (which often dwarfs movie profits)

• Distribution deals (Warner Bros. doesn’t just make movies—they distribute independent films too)

• Government tax incentives & currency exchange tricks

And that’s just scratching the surface.

Part 2: The Profit Waterfall

Pop critics love to pounce on a movie’s bad opening weekend. Heck, they don’t even wait for actual numbers anymore—just a weak prediction is enough to declare a film dead. But here’s the thing: opening weekend is just one step in a much larger system called the profit waterfall (or just "waterfall" in industry terms).

If you want to see what that looks like, here it is:

The profit waterfall describes how a film (or even a TV series) generates revenue across its entire lifespan. Not over a weekend, not over a month—but over years, even decades.

Phase 1: Theatrical Release (Primary Market)

• Domestic box office (USA & Canada)

• International box office (rest of the world)

Theaters don’t just hand over 100% of ticket sales to studios. In North America, studios take 50-60% of the box office. Internationally, it’s 40% or less—sometimes much less. China, for example, keeps up to 75% for itself.

But box office is just the first step. The real money comes later.

Phase 2: Post-Theatrical Markets

• Pay-per-view & Video-on-Demand (VOD)

• Subscription-based streaming (Netflix, Prime, etc.)

• Physical media (DVD/Blu-ray/4K)

• Merchandising

Movies don’t just “disappear” after leaving theaters—they move to new revenue streams. Studios sell digital rentals and negotiate licensing deals with Netflix, Amazon, and Disney+.

Even physical media—yes, it still exists—is pre-paid by retailers. When you see a movie in the bargain bin, the studio already got paid. If Walmart marks it down, that’s their loss, not the studio’s.

Then there’s merchandising—toys, posters, collectibles. If a pop critic has shelves full of action figures in their videos, guess what? They’ve already given their money to the studio.

Phase 3: Tertiary & Long-Term Revenue

• Airlines, hotels, and cruise ships

• Licensing to international broadcasters

• Syndication for TV networks

• Foreign dubbing & distribution

This is where revenue keeps flowing for years. Airlines, hotels, and cruise ships pay for content. Foreign TV networks license films for syndication. Even bad movies get resold as part of bulk content deals.

Ever see a flop playing on a plane or in a hotel room years later? That’s because someone paid to put it there. And as long as a film sits in a studio’s library, it’s an asset—one that can be resold, repackaged, or re-licensed indefinitely.

The Bottom Line

A film’s success isn’t decided on opening weekend. Studios have spent decades engineering a system where profits flow across multiple markets.

So next time a pop critic screams about a "box office bomb," ask yourself: Who benefits from that narrative? Because I guarantee you—Hollywood isn’t losing sleep over it.

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PART 3 – THE TRUE COST OF A FILM

Suppose you’re on a Wikipedia page—let’s say for The Predator (not the real Predator movie, but that pseudo-reboot from 2018). You see a budget of $88 million and a box office of about $160 million. Now, do you believe that budget number?

If the answer is yes, I’m telling you right now—you shouldn’t. In fact, you shouldn’t believe any budget numbers coming out of Hollywood. Let’s unpack why.

Even if (and that’s a big if) The Predator's budget was truly $88 million, that doesn’t mean that’s what it cost. The actual cost of a studio film is usually a lot lower than the budget figure. But Hollywood thrives on the illusion of value—higher reported budgets make a film seem bigger and more impressive. It’s all about perception.

THE TAX CREDIT GAME

Here’s the reality: The Predator was shot entirely in Canada, with a good chunk of post-production and VFX work done here as well. That means it qualified for the British Columbia tax credit—which, as of today, is 36% of qualified B.C. labor expenditures.

Let’s break that down.

The term “tax credit” is a bit misleading—it’s not about taxes on goods and services, but on expenditures. Everyone hired below the line (crew members, technicians, background artists—basically everyone who’s not the main cast or heads of departments) counts as qualified labor expenditure. That means up to 36% of their wages were refunded through the tax credit. That alone knocks millions off the actual cost of the film.

That’s just one tax credit, had the production shot more than 50% of the film outside of the Vancouver area, it would have qualified for the regional credit. That’s an additional 6%, and yes, both can be stacked.

Then there’s currency exchange—American productions paying Canadian wages get an automatic discount thanks to the weaker Canadian dollar. On top of that, part of The Predator's VFX was done in Sweden, which also offers tax credits for film production. So the studio was collecting savings from multiple governments.

THE BACKROOM DEALS

But that’s just one part of the cost-cutting. Hollywood productions operate on long-term deals and shared resources that aren’t reflected in the reported budget.

Take Paramount, for example. They rented out Pinewood Studios here in Toronto for five years to film Star Trek: Discovery. Now, a single season doesn’t take a full year to shoot. So what did they do the rest of the time? They either lent the studio to other Paramount productions or, better yet, leased it to other studios. But here’s the trick: in the original budget for Discovery, it’s entirely likely that the full rental cost for five years was included in the budget of the first season—even though that cost was being offset by other productions using the space.

Another example is The Passion of the Christ. Martin Scorsese had just finished Gangs of New York when Mel Gibson was preparing to shoot his film. Instead of building everything from scratch, Gibson and his production designers reused part of Scorsese’s sets, saving both time and money. This is a common tactic in Hollywood—sets, costumes, and even props are frequently repurposed across productions, significantly reducing costs.

THE DISTRIBUTION MYTH

Another major misconception critics push is the idea that marketing costs are added to the production budget. This is just wrong.

Movies have distributors—and the distributor (not the production company) is responsible for marketing the film. The distributor doesn’t take money from the production company to market the movie—they front the costs, take their cut from the gross revenue, and move on.

When pop critics claim, “Oh, the marketing cost was as much as the production budget, so the movie needs to make double to break even,” they’re just exposing their ignorance. Marketing is not an expense the film itself has to recoup—it’s a distributor’s business cost.

Now, in Disney’s case, they distribute their own films, so the money just moves from one department to another. And in Amazon’s case, they don’t distribute films physically, but they do have to pay for bandwidth to stream them. But here’s the thing—Amazon owns its cloud service. They’re not paying themselves a markup. Meanwhile, every other company using Amazon Web Services is paying a premium. So whatever distribution costs Amazon has, they’re minimal compared to an independent studio using their service, which likely gives up around 40% of all purchases as a distribution cost.

STAR PAYCHECKS—MORE SMOKE AND MIRRORS

Yes, big stars take big paychecks. But most of them don’t take their full salary upfront—they negotiate profit participation deals.

Tom Cruise is one of the last actors who still dominates this system. Normally, he’d take $20-25 million per film. But instead of taking that upfront, he structures his deal to take a cut of the gross revenue. The key word here is gross, because in the film industry, there’s a world of difference between gross profit and net profit.

Tom Cruise isn’t just an actor—he’s also credited as an executive producer (EP) on most of his films. In Hollywood, “executive producer” can mean different things. Sometimes, it’s an honorary title for a financier or someone who helped get the film made. But in Cruise’s case, it means he has a direct financial stake in the movie.

As an EP, Cruise has more control over the production, including creative decisions and budget allocation. More importantly, his EP status allows him to negotiate a share of the film’s gross revenue instead of just taking a salary. This is how he made upwards of $100 million from Top Gun: Maverick—he took a lower upfront fee (if none at all), but secured a percentage of the global box office. Unlike most actors who get paid from the “net profits” (which studios manipulate to show losses), Cruise gets his cut from the top-line revenue before Hollywood accounting kicks in.

But even all this financial trickery is just the surface. The real game is in how studios fund their films without spending their own money, structure slate deals, and use their cultural dominance to maintain power. That’s what I’ll break down next.

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Part 4: The Money Flow

Hollywood isn’t in the business of making profits—at least, not on paper. Instead, it’s about keeping money in motion, creating the illusion of losses while raking in billions.

A perfect example of this is Return of the Jedi.

The film grossed nearly $500 million worldwide in 1983—a staggering amount, especially when adjusted for inflation. Its reported budget? Just $32.5 million. Yet, despite this massive success, Return of the Jedi was declared “unprofitable”.

How does this happen? Hollywood accounting.

Studios use a playbook of accounting tricks to guarantee losses—even on billion-dollar hits like Return of the Jedi.

• Inflated Expenses: A studio charges itself massive "distribution fees" by funneling money through a subsidiary—essentially paying itself.

• Overstated Marketing Costs: A brand might sponsor a film's marketing campaign, covering millions in expenses, but the studio still writes them off.

• Artificially Shifted Costs: A big-budget flop's expenses might quietly be reassigned to a blockbuster, making the failure look cheaper and the hit look less profitable.

And Return of the Jedi isn’t alone.

The Lord of the Rings: A $3 Billion Franchise That “Didn’t Make Money”

Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy grossed nearly $3 billion, yet New Line Cinema claimed they hadn’t made a profit. Jackson and his team sued after discovering the studio had underreported revenue and used questionable accounting tactics, including:

• Selling distribution rights at artificially low prices to subsidiaries, ensuring reported earnings stayed low.

• Claiming expenses that were already paid for by product placement and merchandising deals.

• Hiding revenue streams that weren’t included in the profit-sharing agreement.

Jackson eventually settled for an undisclosed sum, but the case exposed just how deeply ingrained these practices are in Hollywood.

Harry Potter: A Billion-Dollar Franchise That “Lost Money”

If you thought Lord of the Rings was bad, Warner Bros. took things even further with Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. The film grossed $942 million, yet Warner Bros. reported it as a $167 million loss.

How?

• Internal distribution deals ensured revenue was “paid” to Warner Bros. subsidiaries instead of showing up as studio profit.

• Expenses were inflated to offset revenue, even though many of those costs were pre-financed through sponsorships and licensing.

• Revenue from merchandise, theme parks, and DVD sales was kept separate, ensuring the film itself “lost money” while the studio raked in billions elsewhere.

And this is why most actors who sign net profit participation deals never see a dime.

Studios Don’t Use Their Own Money

Here’s the next big revelation: Studios don’t finance their own movies.

Instead, they rely on debt financing—borrowing money from investment firms, hedge funds, and private equity groups. Why?

• Risk-Free Investment: If the film flops, the losses fall on the lenders, not the studio. The studio collects distribution fees and other guaranteed revenue streams regardless of box office performance.

• Tax Benefits: Interest payments on these loans are tax-deductible, reducing the studio’s overall tax burden and ensuring a financial advantage even if a film underperforms.

• Endless Cash Flow: By continuously borrowing instead of using their own capital, studios keep money moving in and out, maintaining liquidity and leveraging outside funds to sustain operations.

At this point, Hollywood isn’t about making profitable movies—it’s about moving money around.

Slate Financing

Another sign that Hollywood is more corporate racket than film industry is the rise of slate financing.

Instead of funding individual films, studios secure hundreds of millions from outside investors to bankroll an entire slate. The catch? As long as one movie turns a profit, the deal is a success—so studios always include a sure bet. This eliminates financial risk while guaranteeing a steady cash flow from external sources.

But here’s where it gets darker: Hollywood isn’t just playing financial shell games—it’s actively partnering with foreign powers. The biggest investor? China.

Take the 2015 TSG Entertainment & Bona Film Group deal. TSG secured $235 million from Bona, a Chinese corporation once part of the China Poly Group—the world’s largest state-owned enterprise, directly linked to the CCP. This money financed films for 20th Century Fox, starting with The Martian (2015). Given the timeline, some of it likely funded The Predator (2018), which conveniently performed very well in China.

What does this mean? Hollywood is now an economic engine for the CCP. Profits from Hollywood investments flow back to CCP-linked companies, boosting China’s local industries and influence.

And this is just one example.

According to Hollywood insiders, China now finances roughly 30% of major studio films.

Let that sink in.

Hollywood, the so-called beacon of Western entertainment, is financially dependent on a foreign authoritarian regime. And it wasn’t forced into this—it sought it out.

At this point, Hollywood isn’t just selling out. It’s being bought outright.

Geez, talk about subversion.

Cultural Power: The True Prize

If studios aren’t trying to make a profit, why do mega-corporations like AT&T, Comcast, and Disney own them?

Because cultural power is more valuable than money.

Owning a movie studio gives a corporation global influence over culture, narratives, and public perception. That influence can’t be bought—it has to be controlled from the inside.

Hollywood’s real currency isn’t money—it’s control.

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Part 5: Hollywood Is a Cesspool of Vipers

The entertainment industry was never really about creativity—it was always about control. Hollywood has long been a business of financial manipulation disguised as art, where studios prioritize accounting tricks over storytelling and corporate interests over culture. And at this stage, it has fully degenerated into a den of corruption—a system run by people who don’t create, don’t innovate, and don’t even care if their products are good, or well-crafted.

Hollywood Films Are Just Corporate Products Now

Once upon a time, studios took creative risks because they had to. There was no global franchise formula, no streaming services ensuring passive revenue, no corporate umbrella protecting them from financial failure. If a movie flopped, a studio actually suffered for it. That forced them to at least pretend to care about quality.

Now? That incentive is gone.

Hollywood doesn’t care about original ideas, new stories, or artistic risks because it doesn’t need them. Everything is a remake, a reboot, a sequel, or a re-skinned version of the same corporate slop. Movies aren’t stories anymore—they’re pre-approved intellectual property extensions.

The best proof of this? Look at how they produce these “films.”

The Marvel Parliament

The so-called Marvel Parliament is the perfect case study. This is the group (or “brain trust") of long-time executives who help to elevate each other's projects where possible.

How many of them are actual creatives?

One.

Out of an entire panel of executives overseeing a multi-billion-dollar IP, only one person has a real creative background. The rest are suits, mostly former assistants to CEO’s who taught them the trade, which they now perpetuate. Their job isn’t to make great movies—it’s to ensure every product aligns with the corporate strategy.

This is why everything feels so lifeless and formulaic. The people in charge don’t think like artists. They think like brand managers. Every script is written to fit “four-quadrant appeal.” Every character is focus-tested to maximize demographic reach. Every decision, from casting to cinematography, is data-driven, ensuring the end result is as bland, safe, and inoffensive as possible.

It’s the death of cinema by a thousand boardroom (Zoom) meetings.

“Saving Hollywood" Means Defending the Insanity

Some people still believe Hollywood can be “saved.” That if we just get rid of the right people or push for the right policies, things will go back to the way they were.

That’s a fantasy.

By now, Hollywood is fundamentally rotten. It isn’t just a few bad executives or a misguided creative direction—it’s the entire industry structure. Every major studio is run by corporate elites who have zero interest in art. They care about three things:

1. Controlling the narrative (because cultural power matters more than money).

2. Maintaining financial dominance (through deceptive accounting).

3. Feeding the machine (because the machine exists to serve itself).

This is why they treat their own artists, and the audience with contempt.

The average company needs profit to survive. Thus, it prioritize products that people actually want. It listens to its customers, course-correct when things fail, and trim the fat when things go south.

But Hollywood doesn’t do that.

Instead, it actively alienates its audience, doubles down on failed strategies, and gaslights you into thinking you're the problem. They don’t care if you hate what they produce—as long as they maintain control.

How do they pull this off? Hollywood Accounting.

This is why billion-dollar franchises like Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings were declared “unprofitable” on paper. It’s why Peter Jackson had to sue New Line Cinema just to get paid properly for The Lord of the Rings. It’s why even massive box office hits are often reported as financial disappointments.

Hollywood doesn’t operate under normal economic rules—it creates its own.

And this is what people want to “save”?

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Part 6: Where Do We Go From Here?

By now, I hope I’ve made one thing clear: Hollywood isn’t worth saving.

If you still had any lingering fantasies about "taking it back" or "reforming it from within," forget it. Hollywood isn’t broken—it’s functioning exactly as designed. It’s a corporate money-laundering operation, a propaganda machine, and a snake pit that doesn’t even finance its own films anymore.

So where do we go from here?

Hollywood Lite Won’t Save You

Lately, we’ve seen the rise of so-called “alternatives” like The Daily Wire and Angel Studios. But let’s be real—these aren’t true alternatives. They’re just Hollywood Lite.

Both companies were founded by Hollywood expats, and both still play by the industry's rules. Angel Studios, despite its independent branding, sold The Chosen to Disney for distribution. If they were serious about building a new system, why hand their biggest success over to the very industry they claim to oppose? Meanwhile, The Daily Wire has the money and infrastructure to take real risks, yet instead of breaking new ground, they churn out forgettable, formulaic movies that feel like reheated Hollywood leftovers.

This is the problem: These companies aren’t building a real alternative—they’re just mimicking Hollywood while marketing themselves as different. They still operate with the same corporate risk aversion, the same business mindset, and, in many cases, the same ex-Hollywood executives running the show.

If you’re looking for something truly outside the system, you need to look elsewhere.

If You’re a Consumer, Here’s What You Can Do

You have two main weapons: exposure and economic pressure.

1. Expose the Controlled Opposition

If I’ve convinced you that pop culture critics are part of the racket, then don’t just agree—take action.

• Use this article. Reply to them, screenshot it, paraphrase it, copy and paste it—I don’t care.

• Call them out wherever they operate—YouTube, Twitter, here on Substack, anywhere.

• The goal isn’t to convince them. They don’t care. They’re too entrenched.

• The goal is to reach their audience—the silent readers who never reply but see everything.

• Apply pressure. Constantly. Relentlessly. They’ve gone too far, and it’s time to push back.

2. Champion Non-Hollywood Creators

If you’re tired of Hollywood, stop funding it.

• Support culture that isn’t part of the machine.

• It doesn’t have to be movies—books, music, video games, fine art—it all matters.

• But if you’re looking for visual entertainment, check out Loor.tv—a viewer-funded platform built outside Hollywood’s control. Even if you don’t love everything they produce, support them anyway—they’re growing and worth a shot.

Or find any filmmaker or artist who actually has a solid plan and sticks to their principles.

For Investors: Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is

If you’re one of those individuals with disposable income, let me be blunt: it’s time to put your money where your mouth is. If you have the means to invest, ask yourself: what kind of cultural legacy do you want to leave for future generations? The crisis in Western culture isn’t just some abstract debate—it’s shaping the world your children and grandchildren will inherit.

Do you want them to grow up bombarded by messages that tell them they are the oppressors or that they have no agency over their own lives? Or do you want to help create a new cultural paradigm—one that values truth, beauty, freedom, and merit?

It doesn’t have to be movies. It could be books, music, local theater—whatever speaks to you. But you need to be discerning. Don’t rush into the first project that comes your way. Treat every investment like a rigorous startup evaluation. Do your due diligence. If you find a project with solid potential, chances are the demand for it is immense, and your return could be substantial.

For inspiration, look at my own project, Severance Day, which I detailed in a manifesto and have developed to the point where it’s ready for principal funding. It’s built outside Hollywood’s influence—not just in its bold, uncompromising storytelling, but in how it will be distributed, marketed, and even presold. Every aspect of this project is designed to defy industry norms and give the establishment the finger. This isn’t just about making a film—it’s about proving there’s an untapped audience for fearless, independent storytelling. If you have the resources to invest, now is the time to back projects that will make a real impact—both culturally and financially. (See the footnote for a link to the manifesto.)

To My Fellow Artists, Creators, and Especially Filmmakers

No More Fence-Sitting

I’ve had this conversation too many times. People won’t name names, won’t ‘go there,’ won’t take a real stand—because deep down, they’re hedging their bets. They don’t want to fully commit in case Hollywood course-corrects and they can slip back in. But here’s the truth: if you’re silent, you’re complicit. If you’re doing nothing, you’re part of the problem.

This isn’t about blind rage or setting fire to bridges—it’s about recognizing that these people are not your allies. Stop protecting them. Stop making excuses for them. If they cared about building something new, they’d already be here. Let them make their choice. Meanwhile, we move forward, we take the risks, and we build without them.

Utilize Hollywood’s Tools—Responsibly

Independent cinema has always thrived by bending the system’s tools to its advantage—whether it was New Hollywood filmmakers gaming studio resources in the ’70s or indie pioneers in the ’90s leveraging studio distribution while keeping creative control. The tax credit system is flawed, but until it collapses, it can be weaponized against the very industry that relies on it.

There are investors who put money into tax credits not because they care about your film or your message, but because they want a near-guaranteed return—so long as the film gets made and distributed. Hollywood exploits this. Why shouldn’t we?

For young filmmakers, this isn’t glamorous, but it can mean the difference between your project collecting dust or going into production. Imagine cutting 30% of your budget burden by securing investors who only care about the tax credit return. The tools exist. We just need to use them—let’s subvert the subverters.

Success Stories Over Fancy Projects

I’m an artist, too, and I have my share of artistic projects. But right now, we need success stories, not fancy art projects. We need products, yes, products, that will have mass appeal. Successes—big or small—add up, creates momentum, and that’s what we need right now. So, whatever medium you use to tell your story, if you have the skills to create something, take your passion project—the one that's too artsy for the general public—put it on the back burner, and focus on creating culture that speaks to the masses. We need all hands on deck to create those success stories. That’s the only way we’re going to build momentum and launch a new cultural paradigm.

Transparency and Accountability

Finally, this goes to all creators, but especially my fellow filmmakers—since the financial stakes are much higher. Be as rigorous as you can with your offers. Don’t promise the moon. Be realistic. Lay everything on the table. Imagine if you’d invested in Return of the Jedi for $1,000. Given how this story rolled out, and how you were treated by the production, would you have invested in movies again? Of course, you wouldn’t.

We cannot build a new culture using the same framework as Hollywood. What we need to offer first are complete accountability and transparency. One way to ensure this is by using an escrow company. It would oversee revenues, prevent accounting tricks, and distribute profits according to contracts. Imagine if Return of the Jedi had used such a framework—your $1,000 investment would have turned into a 1500% return. Now, would you have invested in another film after that? Most likely.

The escrow model isn’t just a way to counter Hollywood’s financial games—it’s a power move. It builds investor trust, ensures accountability, and forces a level of transparency the industry avoids at all costs. More than that, it benefits us directly. A clean, reliable financial structure means repeat investors, sustainable careers, and a real alternative to the broken system. You want a thriving new industry? This is how you build it.

Sure, this kind of structure on that scale might reduce short-term profits, but it’s a small price to pay for creating trust with your stakeholders. Trust means no more scrambling for funds—you just propose your next project, and the investors who trust you back it up.

The other side has nearly unlimited funding—we can’t compete with that.

So, it’s time to build trust. It’s time to create a new cultural ecosystem that values and rewards patronage. And the only way to do that is through full transparency and accountability.

Conclusion

We are living in a unique moment in history—one where we have the opportunity to build a new culture. The conditions are ripe: millions of people are eager to abandon Hollywood, artists of every discipline are ready to create, and distribution has been democratized like never before. The only thing left is for consumers, investors, and artists to connect and make it happen.

But this won’t happen on its own. Consumers must break their habits, make conscious choices about the culture they support, and stop wasting energy on outrage that changes nothing. Investors—especially those with the means to influence the future—must recognize what’s at stake and put their money behind bold, visionary creators. And for artists? It’s not enough to offer a Hollywood knockoff with a fresh coat of paint. We have to rethink everything—how we create, how we distribute, and how we build resilience against an industry that will fight to maintain its grip.

Because make no mistake—Hollywood won’t go down without a fight. If it were in a truly competitive market, it would have collapsed long ago. But it isn’t. The industry functions as a single, self-sustaining ecosystem designed to eliminate competition, or buy it out, before it can ever take root. That’s why half-measures won’t cut it. True alternatives must rise, and they must be structured for long-term survival.

So let go. Let go of the nostalgia. Let go of the belief that Hollywood can be saved. Let go of the hope that your favorite franchises will somehow be redeemed. They won’t be. And that’s okay—because what comes next will be far better.

While we build, while we create, while we forge something new together—grab a chair. Sit next to me. And as Hollywood burns, let’s roast some marshmallows over the bonfire.

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Like-minded Substackers worthy of your follow

Marcus Pittman

; visionary, trailblazer, and founder of Loor.tv

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Comrade

Yuri Bezmenov

; someone who thinks on the highest level, not just in culture, but at large.

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Rambo Van Halen

; an awesome dude, who has been inside Hollywood for a while, and tells it like it is.