Being a film student at the University of Texas at Austin is exhilarating and utterly exhausting. On any given day, I’m bouncing between early-morning classes, afternoon film shoots, and late-night editing sessions. We’re told to watch everything: every classic film, every hot new streaming series in order to hone our craft and stay culturally savvy. But honestly, who has time? Between crewing on classmates’ sets, writing my own scripts, and schmoozing at networking mixers, I barely manage to catch up on the week’s required viewing, let alone binge the Criterion Collection. The irony of film school is that you’re so busy making films (and building your resume) that you have no time left to actually watch films. It’s a running joke among my peers that our “Must Watch” list only grows longer the deeper we get into our program.
On top of that, we’re expected to “network” constantly: a word that looms as large as any course requirement. Guest speaker on campus this week? Better go introduce yourself. Alumni panel downtown? You should be there (business cards in hand). Industry happy hour at SXSW? Cancel your plans and go mingle. It’s as if being a film student is not one role but five: student, filmmaker, intern, social butterfly, and walking IMDb database. Balancing all these hats sometimes feels impossible: there simply aren’t enough hours in the day to be everywhere and watch everything. In the quest to become a great filmmaker or creative executive, you’re supposed to “consume all content and meet all people,” but that mission is, in a word, bonkers. The result? Perpetual FOMO and a nagging feeling that you’re always falling behind on something.
Networking: An Awkward Necessity
Let’s talk about the other big “education” I got outside class: networking. If filmmaking is an art, networking sometimes feels like a sport: one I wasn’t initially keen on playing. Early on, I viewed networking as superficial and transactional, basically the fine art of small talk over cheap wine and cheese cubes. I’m not alone in that feeling; as one Hollywood writer confessed, “I used to see networking as something superficial, vapid – the art of small talk at a mixer [and] the ability to wax poetic about your own accomplishments.” Exactly! It often seems like everyone at these mixers has an agenda: find someone who can help your career, exchange info, lather, rinse, repeat. As a student, you worry that if you’re not constantly meeting people, you’ll miss the one connection that could jumpstart your post-grad life. It’s exhausting. Networking in Hollywood can devolve into a kind of speed-dating for career climbers – “I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine.” No wonder it can feel icky and fake.
And yet, here’s the catch: it’s undeniably important. The saying “it’s not what you know, it’s who you know” rings in our ears for a reason. Doors often open based on personal referrals and relationships. I’ve seen classmates land opportunities simply because an alum remembered them from a mixer or because a professor recommended them to a colleague. You never know when the person sitting next to you in a Q&A or standing with you in the taco line at a festival might be a future collaborator or mentor. So, as awkward as it can be, I’ve learned to treat networking not as a cynical business card swap, but as genuine relationship-building (with a healthy dose of patience). Sure, many conversations won’t lead to immediate offers, sometimes it does feel like you’re just collecting LinkedIn connections, but over time those ties form a support web. I’ve actually started to enjoy some networking events once I reframed them: instead of “who can help me,” I think “what interesting stories can I hear tonight?” It’s less pressure and more fun that way. Still, it remains a grind. The truth is, networking is practically a class unto itself in film school, even if it’s not on the syllabus.
The Business Side: From Script to Screen (and Everything in Between)
One area where film school curriculums are catching up (but still have a long way to go) is teaching the business side of entertainment. For the first few years, we focus on craft (writing, directing, cinematography, editing) the creative stuff we all came here for. That’s great, but as seniors we’re suddenly confronted with a sobering fact: the film industry is also a business, and if you don’t understand how deals are made, projects are financed, or content is distributed, you might get left behind. I’m currently in a “Script to Screen” class that finally peels back the curtain on how the industry actually operates. We dissect how a script gets optioned by a producer or studio, what a development executive does, how distribution deals work, and the myriad roles in the process beyond the director and actors. It’s like a light bulb clicking on – oh, so this is why projects die in “development hell” or how a streaming platform decides what shows to greenlight.
Frankly, I wish we’d learned some of this stuff sooner. There are so many overlooked careers in entertainment that typical film programs barely mention. For example, who teaches you about being a content strategist for Netflix or Hulu? In class we learn how to make films, but not how to decide which films (or series) get made from a market perspective. Most of the people curating what ends up on your screen, the content strategists, development analysts, studio executives, didn’t necessarily go to film school. They often come from business, marketing, consulting, or data analytics backgrounds. Scanning a job listing for a Content Strategy role at a streaming company is illuminating: one posting sought candidates with a “strong analytical background [with] experience operating with large data sets to identify trends…” and skills to provide “market landscape insights to inform greenlight decisions” In other words, Excel and algorithms, not Expressive Art of Cinema 101. It’s a totally different skill set that we as traditional film students haven’t been formally trained in.
To be clear, I’m not saying I want my program to suddenly require Advanced Excel for Producers. But an awareness of these business and strategy roles is crucial. There’s a whole ecosystem of careers in entertainment beyond the director/cinematographer/writer track that film school tends to emphasize. Content marketing, acquisitions, distribution, festival programming, talent management, entertainment law, even things like UI design for streaming platforms: these are all parts of the industry machine. In my case, it took an elective class and an internship to discover how intriguing the development and strategy side can be.
The Assistant Ladder and Other Paths
Another reality check: entering the industry often means starting at the bottom and staying there for a while. Professors casually mention the classic “assistant route” as if it’s a given: you graduate, move to LA, become someone’s assistant (at an agency, a studio, a producer’s office, wherever you can), and pay your dues for years until you climb into a creative role. It’s practically an unspoken curriculum. One USC alum described it as being an apprentice: you spend four years in film school dreaming of writing or directing, but then graduate and find you “HAVE to go the assistant route – at least at first.” Work your way up, prove yourself, and eventually you might get to pitch your own ideas. This is sometimes jokingly referred to as a “10-year overnight success” plan, because the journey from assistant to executive (or from PA to director) can easily take a decade. It’s a tried-and-true path, but not the only one.
What film school doesn’t always highlight are alternative or parallel paths. Today, some grads bypass the traditional ladder by creating their own content on YouTube or TikTok and building a following, or by joining indie game studios, or working in emerging fields like VR storytelling. Others leverage business skills to join the strategy side of a streaming service (as mentioned earlier), or go into content acquisitions, where they decide what films a platform should buy. Many of these roles aren’t even on the radar for film students until we stumble across them ourselves. I remember when I first heard that “content strategy” was even a job, I pictured some Hollywood guru deciding what you binge next. It sounded powerful and oddly exciting (who doesn’t want to shape culture?). But nowhere in my degree plan did it mention how to pursue that. The same goes for roles like script supervisor, line producer, VFX producer – crucial positions that keep the wheels turning, yet they get glossed over compared to the glam of directing or cinematography.
To UT’s credit, we do have resources to explore these areas: if you seek them out. Our alumni network, for one, is an amazing resource for learning about different careers. Still, I sometimes wish the core curriculum acknowledged these paths more openly. Not to steer us away from our dreams, but to show that the film world is bigger and more varied than the roles on a movie poster.
Embracing the Chaos
As I approach graduation, I’ve made peace with the fact that film school is a whirlwind of opportunities and challenges that can never be fully balanced. There will always be one more film I “should” watch, one more person I “should” meet, one more skill I “should” learn. Part of growing up (or at least, growing into this industry) has been accepting that I can’t do it all. The modern film student’s dilemma – too much to do, not enough time – is a real problem, but it’s also a testament to the richness of this field. We wear many hats because filmmaking itself requires a little bit of everything: art, business, technology, psychology, hustle.
Yes, it often feels like there aren’t enough hours in the day to become the cinematic encyclopedias and networking ninjas we’re told to be. But here’s the silver lining: we learn to prioritize and multitask like champions, focusing on what truly matters to us. I’ve learned to carve out time for what I love (writing scenes in the quiet hours) while still showing up for the grind (hello, 7 a.m. call times and Friday night mixers). I’ve realized that sometimes stepping away from campus. whether for an internship or just a breather, can supercharge your growth. I’ve also realized that the relationships we build (even the casual “let’s get coffee” ones) are what sustain us during the craziness.
Most importantly, I’ve learned that my path doesn’t have to look exactly like anyone else’s. Maybe I’ll do the assistant thing for a while, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll pitch a show straight out of college, or maybe I’ll work in development analyzing other people’s shows. Film school has shown me the canvas; it’s up to me to paint the career I want, mixing those creative and practical colors. And despite all my gripes about the lack of time and the transactional nature of things, I’m leaving with a deep appreciation for this chaotic, wonderful process.
In the end, I might not have watched every movie or met every exec, but I’ve gained something better: a clear sense that learning is lifelong in this industry. Film school wasn’t a one-stop shop that taught me everything: it was the launchpad. The real learning happens continuously, on set, in meetings, at midnight brainstorming sessions, and yes, sometimes when you’re far from the comfort of campus figuring things out on your own. I’m excited – and a little scared – for what’s next, but at least I know I’m not alone. I’ve got my fellow creatives, my Longhorn alumni family, and the lessons I’ve picked up along the way. With those in my toolkit, I’m ready to face the real hustle that’s yet to come. Hook ’em.
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