Raindance

Good morning everyone. When I was invited to speak today, I was asked a deceptively simple question: "How are you creative?" The longer I thought about it, the more I realised I'd been asking the wrong question for most of my life. People often think creativity is something you have. I think creativity is something you do. It isn't a personality trait. It isn't talent. It isn't inspiration. It's a habit. And habits can be learned. I wasn't born into a creative environment.

I have always struggled with the way films are usually planned. When I start one, I almost never start at the beginning. Sometimes I can see the ending clearly but not how it opens. Sometimes I know the first scene and then I am holding five versions of what could come next, all at once. I will know the look before I know the story. The thing is, almost every tool we plan with is built for a straight line.

Every independent film is a small business that runs for exactly one production cycle. And like any business, the two questions that determine whether it survives are: how do you reduce costs, and how does the money come back? For indie producers, film tax incentives and the recoupment waterfall are the two financial structures that answer those questions. Incentives reduce the effective cost of production by returning a percentage of what you spend in a given state or territory.

The connection between human and machine lies at the heart of riding a motorcycle. The machine brings you places, physically, and emotionally that you alone could never reach alone. The same is true for independent filmmakers. The machines (cameras, recorders, computers) allow us to capture a vision, shape a story, and, if we're lucky, move someone. But harmony between humans and machines is what gives each their power.

If there is one documentary at the 34th Raindance Film Festival that feels less like entertainment and more like an alarm bell, it is Ghost in the Machine. Following its world premiere in the NEXT section at Sundance Film Festival, Valerie Veatch's documentary arrives at Raindance carrying exactly the kind of conversation independent cinema was built for: urgent, uncomfortable, political, technological, and deeply human. This is not simply a documentary about artificial intelligence.

Photo Credit: Bertie Watson I founded Raindance Film Festival in 1993 because the British film industry was closed, polite, and congratulating itself while shutting new filmmakers out. I co-founded the British Independent Film Awards in 1998 because British indie film deserved more than a shrug, a pat on the head, and a Tuesday night screening. Raindance didn't start as a brand.

Independent horror has always been one of the most dangerous and exciting places in cinema. Not because of the blood. Not because of jump scares. But because horror filmmakers are often the first people willing to confront the fears everyone else avoids. Technology. Loneliness. Surveillance. Identity. Isolation. The collapse of trust. The things we carry around in our pockets every day.

Seven is a useful number for horror. Seven days trapped somewhere you should never have gone. Seven bad decisions. Seven bodies. Seven secrets nobody talks about until it is too late. And perhaps that is why Australian horror often feels so primal. It strips cinema back to instinct. Survival. Fear. Isolation. Emotional collapse. Films like Bloodlust remind us that horror does not need giant budgets, polished superheroes, or endless exposition to leave scars on audiences.

Independent cinema does not survive by accident. Every breakthrough filmmaker, every daring first feature, every unforgettable screening experience exists because somewhere, someone decided that new voices matter. Independent film has always depended on communities of artists, audiences, mentors, donors and believers willing to support storytelling before the rest of the world catches up.

A lot of short-form strategy advice still sounds like it came from people studying dashboards instead of watching actual viewers behave. You notice the disconnect pretty quickly once you spend enough time inside edit reviews. Everybody wants the answer to be structure. Hook placement. Caption size. Retention percentages. Posting cadence. There's comfort in that because it makes short-form feel controllable.