Comment: Dear filmmakers, stop waiting for permission (a polite British reminder)By Ben Charles Edwards, co-founder of DREAMTOWN and Cine International Film Festival
Let’s be clear: British indie cinema didn’t arrive at where it is today through polite emails and cautious planning. It grew teeth in tower blocks, council flats, and borrowed garages. It shouted when it couldn’t afford to whisper. And yet somehow, amidst a sea of submission portals, film funds, and Instagram trailers, a strange thing has happened: we’ve started asking for permission.
And with the utmost British courtesy, I must say – stop it.
Filmmaking isn’t about getting invited. It’s about turning up anyway. The greatest British films – the ones that grabbed us by the collar – didn’t begin in a boardroom. They began with obsession. With someone who couldn’t not make a film, even if they had nothing but a script and a shaky camera.
Julien Temple’s The Great Rock ‘n’ Roll Swindle didn’t wait for funding. It kicked the door down and lit a fire. It was wild, ragged, and gloriously rough around the edges – but it had power. Today, we’ve got 4K phones in our pockets and editing apps that fit on a train ride home. So why does so much “indie” cinema feel… anaemic? Polished, yes. But passionless.
We’ve become cautious. Civilised. There’s a generation of filmmakers who spend more time applying to schemes than actually making anything. A whole crowd camped outside the gate, waiting to be let in – when they should be scaling the fence.
Sure, equipment costs money. Sure, London rent is absurd. But here’s the uncomfortable truth: those constraints have always been there. And great filmmakers never waited for the stars to align. They aligned themselves and dared the world to ignore them.
Take The Blair Witch Project. A scrappy, chaotic fever dream shot on a shoestring. Over 20 years on, it still punches harder than half the algorithm-curated content being served up on streaming platforms today. Why? Because it wasn’t crafted to impress; it was created to disturb, to unsettle, to matter.
Closer to home, think of Sally Potter’s Orlando or Derek Jarman’s The Garden. These weren’t built to chase trends or tick boxes. They were declarations. Loud, unapologetic, impossible to ignore. Jarman, in particular, didn’t wait to be noticed – he made his voice inescapable. In an era where “visibility” has become a buzzword, his films stood defiantly visible even when it was dangerous to be so.
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I’ve made entire features with nothing more than passion, favours, and sheer audacity. Shot through the night in East London, edited in friends’ flats, soundtracked in bedrooms. Not for money. Not for accolades. But because not making the film would’ve hurt more than failing.
Indie isn’t a rung on the ladder to Hollywood. It’s not the polished CV piece before you “make it.” Indie is the point. It’s where truth lives. It’s rebellion, refusal, urgency. It’s saying, “I’m here” when no one’s listening.
So, if you’re sitting on a script, waiting for a reply to that funding email – consider this your green light. No one’s coming to give it to you. Make it anyway. Borrow a light. Write with what you have. Steal locations. Shoot in your mum’s garden. Beg forgiveness, not permission.
Cinema isn’t about safety. It’s about saying something. And if British indie wants to reclaim its roar, it needs to stop whispering.
You don’t need permission. You need nerve.
And from where I’m standing – it’s high time we found ours again.
