By FIW staff

Film Industry Watch recently received an email from an anonymous industry source about Next Step Studio Indonesia, the new initiative tied to La Semaine de la Critique in Cannes. The source did not want to be identified. The reason was blunt:

“I am not writing this to be published as I am scared for my life and my career.”

FIW cannot independently verify the source’s personal fears. But the message captures something many filmmakers describe privately and almost never publicly: a system so small, so networked, and so punitive that even asking basic questions about favoritism can feel dangerous.

On paper, Next Step Studio Indonesia sounds like an admirable initiative. Critics’ Week says the program brings together eight emerging directors, four local and four international, to co-write and co-direct four short films in Indonesia. Those films are then presented in world premiere at Critics’ Week in Cannes as part of a dedicated “Next Step Presents” screening. The directors also pitch their first or second features to buyers, broadcasters, distributors and co-producers. Critics’ Week adds that the films are produced and financed locally, and that the 2026 Indonesia edition is co-produced by Yulia Evina Bhara and Dominique Welinski, funded by local institutions and the Jakarta government, in partnership with the French Embassy and the Institut Français in Indonesia. In other words, this is not a casual workshop. It is a publicly backed access platform with obvious market value.

That is exactly why the selection process matters. And that is exactly where the official material becomes strangely quiet. In the Critics’ Week announcement and the public Next Step materials reviewed by FIW, the institution explains what the program offers, how prestigious it is, and how it can launch careers. What FIW could not locate in those public-facing materials was a clearly stated application route, selection criteria, or recusal policy for this Indonesia edition. The announcement even notes that some of the international filmmakers involved in Next Step Studio come from the wider Next Step workshops orbit, which only deepens the sense of an already circulating pipeline rather than a clearly open field.

That absence would already be a problem. It becomes a much bigger one when one looks at the participants and the professional ties surrounding them.

In the official social-media announcement shared with FIW, Critics’ Week named the four Indonesian directors as Shelby Kho, Khozy Rizal, Reza Rahadian and Reza Fahriansyah, paired respectively with Sein Lyan Tun, Lam Li Shuen, Sam Manacsa and Ananth Subramaniam. The question FIW then asked was simple: how many of these names are already professionally connected to Yulia Evina Bhara, one of the co-producers of the program?

The answer is: enough to make this impossible to dismiss as bad optics alone.

Reza Fahriansyah has a publicly listed project, (Un)Holy, with Yulia Evina Bhara named as one of the producers, and KawanKawan Media listed as the production company. That is not a vague industry adjacency. That is a direct producing relationship.

Sein Lyan Tun also has a direct public project connection. Berlinale Talents lists The Beer Girl in Yangon with Yulia Evina Bhara as producer and Kawankawan Media among the production companies. Again, not rumor. Not gossip. A documented professional tie.

Sam Manacsa has likewise been publicly linked to a project involving Yulia. Variety reported that The Void is Immense in Idle Hours, directed by Sam Manacsa, is a Filipino-Indonesian co-production involving Yulia Evina Bhara.

The Shelby Kho connection is one step removed, but still revealing. Red Sea’s 2024 project materials list Shelby Kho’s Terbakar with Si En Tan as producer. Separately, official market and festival materials for Don’t Cry, Butterfly list Tan Si En and Yulia Evina Bhara together as producers on the same film. So even where the tie is not directly between the selected director and Yulia, it still runs through the same professional cluster.

This is where defenders of the system always reach for the same line: maybe these filmmakers are simply talented. Maybe the producer knows them because good producers work with strong people. Maybe there is nothing improper here.

That is not an answer. It is an evasion.

The issue is not whether these filmmakers have talent. The issue is whether a Cannes-linked, publicly backed, career-accelerating platform should be allowed to operate without clearly disclosed public safeguards while multiple selected participants already have direct professional ties to one of its co-producers. In any serious system, that is exactly when transparency should increase, not disappear.

And the incentives here are not abstract. Critics’ Week itself says these films get a Cannes premiere, professional events, unique visibility, meetings with international buyers and co-producers, and a possible trajectory beyond Cannes through festivals such as Sundance, Toronto and Clermont-Ferrand, with films often acquired by international television channels and platforms. This is not only cultural capital. It is economic capital. It creates future deal flow. It shapes who gets financed, who gets invited into the next lab, who gets introduced to sales agents, and who gets positioned as an “emerging voice” worth betting on.

This is also why FIW keeps returning to the same larger argument. The film industry’s deepest corruption problem is often not a suitcase of cash. It is network conversion: turning public credibility, institutional branding, taxpayer-backed prestige, and festival platforms into private career acceleration for the same recurring circles. The names change a little. The country changes. The language changes. The mechanism remains remarkably familiar.

FIW has documented versions of this pattern before. In Kosovo, we described an ecosystem in which the same people appeared to train, curate, judge and win within a publicly funded circuit. In previous reporting on Dominique Welinski, FIW examined how one person could simultaneously occupy influential roles around talent programs, curation and production. Critics’ Week itself now describes Welinski as the creator and curator of Next Step Studio, while FIW has previously raised questions about how such overlapping positions can distort fair access. This Indonesia edition does not appear from nowhere. It fits a pattern FIW has already been tracking across territories and institutions.

The concentration of influence around repeating names looks even more troubling when viewed in a broader gatekeeping context. Yulia Evina Bhara was a member of the Critics’ Week jury in 2025, and later served on the Busan International Film Festival competition jury. None of that proves wrongdoing in Next Step Studio Indonesia. But it does show how quickly festival power, producer status, jury visibility and career-launch infrastructure can accumulate around the same figures. The issue FIW keeps highlighting is not that successful people exist. It is that the same people keep appearing across selection, endorsement, production, mentoring and market access, while institutions provide too little public information for outsiders to assess where merit ends and network privilege begins.

The anonymous source who wrote to FIW described “blatant nepotism & favouritism” and a system in which many filmmakers are left “huffing and puffing trying to have a ‘shot’ or just get a tiny bit of ‘support’.” Those are allegations, not proven facts. But the documented overlaps are facts. The public funding is a fact. The Cannes exposure is a fact. The market benefits are a fact. The lack of clearly published selection safeguards in the materials FIW reviewed is also a fact. Put together, they are more than enough to justify public scrutiny.

So the answer from Critics’ Week should be simple.

Was there an open call?

If there was no open call, how were candidates identified?

Who made the final selections?

What recusal rules applied?

Were recent collaborators of the co-producers considered, and if so, under what safeguards?

What exactly were the public institutions funding: a transparent talent platform, or a relationship-driven pipeline whose key decisions remain largely invisible?

Until those questions are answered, Next Step Studio Indonesia looks less like a discovery platform than a familiar industry machine: publicly celebrated, softly defended, privately networked, and structured in a way that once again risks converting institutional legitimacy into insider advantage.

The film industry loves the word discovery.

Too often, what it actually means is internal promotion inside a closed loop.

Same logic. Same incentives. Same names.

New country. Same machine.

The post “I Am Scared for My Life and My Career”: Cannes Critics’ Week’s Next Step Studio Indonesia and the Same Closed Loop FIW Has Been Talking About first appeared on Film Industry Watch.

This article was prompted by yet another recent anonymous email from Indonesia. Please keep contacting us with information.

Conflicts of Interest and Festival Credibility: The Case of Hot Docs 2025

The 32nd edition of Toronto’s Hot Docs festival closed last month with its usual flourish of sold-out screenings and late-night panels, but one question refuses to fade: how did two films produced by Gugi Gumilang, who also sits on the festival’s international programming team, end up in this year’s official selection?

Based between Jakarta and Berlin, he runs Indonesia’s non-profit In-Docs and its talent lab Docs by the Sea, joined Hot Docs as an international programmer in 2023, and was elected to the executive board of the Documentary Association of Europe in 2022. That combination of jobs grants him unusual reach: he can shepherd a project from early-stage mentoring in Southeast Asia straight onto North America’s largest documentary stage.

The potential conflict crystallized in April when Always—a feature on Taiwanese–Chinese family estrangement, crediting Gumilang as executive producer—bowed in Hot Docs’ World Showcase strand. Days later, My Therapist Said, I Am Full of Sadness, a Berlin-shot short that lists him as producer, screened in the Learning to Fly programme. Both entries were publicly promoted by the festival while the programmer behind them retained his seat on the selection committee. Hot Docs confirms that staff must declare conflicts internally, yet it offers no public recusal rule nor does it disclose which programmers vote on which titles.

Gumilang’s reach extends beyond Toronto. His next project, Oma, was pitched this spring at Cannes Docs within the Docs by the Sea showcase—another platform he helps to steer through In-Docs. The optics are blunt: a single individual can influence a film’s trajectory from rough-cut pitch to A-list festival slot while retaining a financial or creative stake in the outcome.

Context matters. Hot Docs has been fighting a credibility fire since March 2024, when ten programmers resigned en masse, calling the workplace “chaotic, unprofessional, [and] discriminatory.” The departures exposed governance gaps just as the festival was preparing its 2024 edition and left lingering doubts about internal oversight. Against that backdrop, the sight of a current programmer’s own films sailing through the 2025 line-up was always going to land badly.

The problem is not unique to Toronto. We recently reported about a similar case in Hungary. In 2022 TIFF weathered its own nepotism row after chief programmer Anita Lee appeared as executive producer on three Canadian documentaries in competition. The same year, Glasgow Short Film Festival faced scrutiny when programme director Sanne Jehoul’s distribution outfit Square Eyes accounted for seven of the festival’s selected shorts. And, of course, there is the case of Cannes 2019 short Palme d’Or handed to a friend of a jury member, whose producer produced the winning film. Each incident sparked brief outrage and then drifted off the news cycle, but none produced the industry-wide code of conduct many insiders say is overdue.

Why does any of this matter to audiences who simply want good films? Because the perception that insider projects receive preferential treatment chills the wider field. Independent filmmakers, particularly those outside Western funding hubs, say they already face long odds; add the suspicion that juries are judging their own work and the odds look stacked. Transparency International’s 2024 Corruption Perceptions Index gives Indonesia a score of 37/100, a reminder that robust guardrails are not a luxury in cultural industries that trade on soft power and public funding.

THE WAY BACK TO CREDIBILITY

No-one has accused Gumilang of strong-arming colleagues, and by most accounts both Always and My Therapist Said… found warm receptions on merit. But festivals live on trust. When the gatekeeper’s name appears in the opening credits, every filmmaker left on the cutting-room floor is entitled to ask who, exactly, made the call.

Festivals have ready-made tools to address the doubt. Publicly list staff conflicts. Publish a binding recusal protocol. Rotate selection committees so no single programmer can dominate a strand. Appoint an independent ombudsperson to field complaints. None of these fixes ban working producers from holding programming posts; they simply force sunlight onto the areas where money, mentorship and curatorial power overlap.

Hot Docs’ 2026 call for entries opens in September. If the festival wants filmmakers, and its own audience, to believe the playing field is level, it still has a short summer to put new rules on paper. Credibility is cheaper to keep than to buy back once it’s gone.

NOTE TO READER:

Please note that this article is not meant to be an ad hominem attack on any specific person. The individuals mentioned and their positions in various organizations are used as examples for the way that the film industry operates. The positions, roles and professional relationship between individuals are public information. Sources are provided throughout the website. If you would like to report any inaccuracy please do not hesitate to contact us. Our aim is to improve and democratize the film industry by analyzing the way its institutions are set-up. In order to do so, we must list those organizations and the people who work for them or with them, and their relationship with each other.

SOURCES:

https://hotdocs.ca/whats-on/hot-docs-festival/films/2025/always
https://hotdocs.ca/whats-on/hot-docs-festival/films/2025/my-therapist-said-i-am-full-of-sadness
https://in-docs.org/our-team/
https://www.aidc.com.au/whos-coming/gugi-gumilang/
https://povmagazine.com/hot-docs-programmers-resign-en-masse/
https://www.screendaily.com/news/hot-docs-programmers-explain-mass-resignation-festival-responds/5191928.article
https://breachmedia.ca/hot-docs-corporate-failed/
https://www.marchedufilm.com/programs/cannes-docs/docs-in-progress/docs-by-the-sea-showcase/
https://www.marchedufilm.com/projects/oma/
https://www.transparency.org/en/countries/indonesia
https://filmindustrywatch.org/nepotism-at-tiff-anita-lee-chief-programmer-executive-producer-on-three-of-five-tiff-selected-features/
https://filmindustrywatch.org/sanne-jehoul-conflict-of-interest-glasgow-short-film-festival-programmer-short-films-distribution-role-at-square-eyes/

The post Hot Docs 2025 — When a Programmer’s Credits Creep onto The Screen first appeared on Film Industry Watch.

In response to one of our latest articles, an anonymous filmmaker from Indonesia has stepped forward with a harrowing account of how nepotism, intimidation, and “feudalistic” power structures dominate her local film industry. In a candid letter sent to Film Industry Watch, this award-winning director (who cannot publicly reveal her identity or film titles due to safety concerns) describes an industry where “meritocracy barely stands a chance.” Her testimony echoes patterns of insider favoritism and conflicts of interest that we have reported in global festival circuits and paints a troubling picture of a creative field in which success often depends more on “kissing the ring” than on talent or integrity.

“Meritocracy Barely Stands a Chance”

New related post:

Hot Docs 2025 — When a Programmer’s Credits Creep onto The Screen

The Cost of Speaking Out – A Culture of Fear

One of the most disturbing aspects shared by our source’s letter and our ongoing investigations is the pervasive culture of fear that keeps this system running. People within the industry often know these injustices are happening. Filmmakers whisper privately about conflicts of interest, unfair jury decisions, or abusive gatekeepers. But few dare to speak openly. As our anonymous filmmaker explains, voicing criticism “even privately, can jeopardize careers, funding opportunities, and access to vital networks.” Careers can be destroyed on the basis of a rumor. A powerful insider need only brand someone a troublemaker or spread a defamatory story, and that person may quietly disappear from festival lineups or lose out on grants.

Indeed, our own reporting has encountered numerous individuals who insisted on anonymity for fear of retribution. Tips come in via private emails or off-the-record conversations, never publicly. In one striking anecdote, a Europe-based filmmaker told us how he greeted a well-connected producer at a Cannes party, a friend of Dominique Welinski, only to be met with a hostile snub: “She shot back, ‘I know who you are and I’ve heard everything about you!’ then turned on her heel and took off as if I were convicted of murder… I have no idea what made-up story was said about me, but considering who she’s close to, it seems like gossip was used as a weapon.” The implication was that he had been quietly blacklisted — maligned behind the scenes, possibly because he had been openly critical of the very network we’re discussing. “What are the implications of falling on the wrong side of someone as powerful as her… I can only guess,” he said. “It seems she uses gossip as a weapon.” This chilling story mirrors the “gossip, false accusations… used to silence people” that our Indonesian correspondent described. It shows how easily a career can be sabotaged by those who control the informal narratives in the film world.

The result is a widespread self-censorship. Many filmmakers and professionals feel they must publicly “play nice” — congratulating the winners, biting their tongue about unfair practices, perhaps hoping to be welcomed into the fold one day — or else risk being labeled as bitter or difficult, which would be career suicide. As our source observes, “politics – social alignment, affiliations, personal connections, and public signaling – carry more weight than talent, merit, or originality.”

In such an atmosphere, silence becomes the price of admission to an insider-dominated industry. This silence allows the misconduct to continue unchecked. It’s a vicious cycle: fear keeps people from calling out the problems, which in turn allows the problems to persist and the powerful to act with impunity.

Breaking the Silence

The anonymous Indonesian filmmaker concludes her letter with a mix of gratitude and resignation: “This is not a cry for help — it’s a thank you… Knowing that organizations like yours exist gives people like me a little more strength to keep going.” That gratitude is deeply humbling, but it also underscores how lonely and perilous it can be to challenge the status quo. For every one person who speaks up, there are dozens who feel they cannot.

Shining a light on these feudal dynamics is not about negativity or tearing down the film industry; it’s about saving it. Cinema, at its best, is an art form that should unite and inspire the world with fresh ideas and diverse voices. That cannot happen if the pipeline for new talent is clogged with gatekeepers playing favorites. It cannot happen if artists live in fear of offending power. It cannot happen if public resources meant for cultural development are siphoned off by nepotism.

Our source’s story, and the examples we’ve highlighted from Cannes to Jakarta, are calls to action. They tell us that transparency, accountability, and fairness must be more than slogans – they must be enforced through structural change. Festivals could start by adopting conflict-of-interest rules (for example, barring anyone who has a financial stake in a film from participating in its selection or awards). Funding bodies could implement blind evaluations to reduce favoritism. Whistleblower protections could be established in the arts sector to shield those who call out wrongdoing. These are just a few ideas, but the first step is acknowledging the problem openly, without fear.

Shattering a “closed circuit” culture will not be easy; those benefiting from it will resist. But the alternative is a world where “most voices are destroyed long before they are heard,” and that, to quote our letter writer, “should give us pause.” By amplifying testimonies like hers, we hope to chip away at the wall of silence. The future of film — the health of global cinema as an art and an industry — depends on breaking the feudal cycle and welcoming a new era where merit and integrity can truly shine.

Film Industry Watch remains committed to investigating these systemic issues. To our source in Indonesia: thank you for caring and for speaking out. Your voice has been heard, and it strengthens our resolve to bring about the change that so many in the filmmaking community desperately need. We encourage anyone with similar experiences or information to reach out (confidentially) and join this conversation. Only by working together can we ensure that the world of cinema lives up to its ideals of creativity, diversity, and fairness for all.

The post A Voice from Indonesia: A Filmmaker Exposes Feudalism and Fear in the Film Industry first appeared on Film Industry Watch.