The dawn of cinema in the late 1890s and early 1900s was a brief, electric moment of experimentation and accessibility. Early filmmakers like the Lumière brothers, Thomas Edison, and Georges Méliès were inventors and showmen, creating short actualities, magic tricks, and fantastical narratives with hand-built cameras. Films were exhibited in fairgrounds, penny arcades, and vaudeville houses, and soon in the tiny nickelodeon theaters that appeared around 1905. At this stage, filmmaking was a low-barrier pursuit—almost anyone with a camera, some ingenuity, and a place to project could participate in the new medium. It was a chaotic, playful period when cinema was more like a public toy than an industrial art.

But the gates began to close quickly. By 1908, Thomas Edison and several major companies formed the Motion Picture Patents Company (the Edison Trust) to monopolize film production and exhibition in the United States by controlling camera and projector patents. Independent filmmakers often fled west to California, partly to escape lawsuits and seize new opportunities, seeding the rise of Hollywood. Through the 1910s and 1920s, the industry consolidated into vertically integrated studios that controlled production, distribution, and theaters, effectively locking out small creators. By the 1930s, moral and cultural gatekeeping joined the economic barriers, with censorship boards and the Hays Code dictating which stories could be told. In just a few decades, cinema had transformed from a wild, open frontier into a tightly controlled industry.

The studio era was powerful, polished, and painfully inaccessible. Only the chosen ones told stories on a large scale. If you didn’t have a studio deal or an agent, you didn’t have a shot. Still, those early years saw renegade filmmakers breaking free from the confines of that Hollywood system built for a select few to control. Growing up, I admired a slew of filmmakers who broke through not just the system, but shattered the mold of boring and overdramatic storytelling that plagued the silver screen.

It was George Lucas’s American Graffiti that seemed to draw a line in the sand. Spielberg, Coppola, Milius, Scorsese, and De Palma didn’t just cross it—they charged past, pulling Lucas along with them. Almost overnight, the kinds of stories Hollywood once swore no one wanted became the stories everyone wanted, the new blueprint for how films should be told. And yet, the heavy thumb of the studio system still pressed down on them.

Film2 was supposed to be the revolution and the internet held so much promise in its early years too. When the digital wave hit—DSLRs, YouTube, Vimeo, crowdfunding— it finally felt like the tools were in our hands. We all have our own memories of picking up a camera for the first time, finding community and crew members in our friends and neighbors or online, as we begged, borrowed and stole our way through sloppy scripts, excited to tell our stories. It was thrilling. Platforms gave us access and scale, but they also took a toll.

Soon after, algorithms decided what got seen. Revenue was dictated by ad models and backend deals that favored platforms, not artists. The gatekeepers didn’t disappear; they just swapped suits for hoodies and ran social media companies.

Enter Film3: a long-awaited structural shift that finally allows us to tell stories on our own terms. This includes blockchain powered tools to streamline processes, decentralized systems and platforms for distribution and financing, and a collective of disruptive, deeply driven and creative filmmakers working to push the boundaries of what can be done.

Over the years, we’ve learned one essential truth—nothing outweighs the power of story and audience. In Film3, story takes the driver’s seat, while the audience evolves into a die-hard community, eager for what comes next.

Film3 is powered by the ethos of Web3:

• Decentralization: No single company decides your fate.

• Tokenization: Ownership and access can be represented in digital assets.

• Community Governance: Audiences become participants, not just viewers.

• Transparency: Everything from financing to royalties can be visible and fair.

And for filmmakers, this means:

• Smart contracts split payments automatically.

• NFTs can fund your film, license rights, and connect fans in meaningful ways.

• DAOs can back entire projects, enabling real creative democracy.

• On-chain distribution breaks free from gatekeeping and censorship.

This isn’t hypothetical. People working within film3 are actively using tools and systems to tell their stories on the big screen, and they're transforming audience into a community of supporters.

I came into Film3 not because I was chasing tech, but because I was chasing freedom. I’m a filmmaker who wanted to tell stories my way—without compromise, without dilution. I wanted to make films with people, not just for them.

The first time I minted a piece of work onchain, it was terrifying. But then it sold. And then someone else collected it—not because of hype, but because the story meant something to them. Suddenly, I wasn’t pitching to people who wanted to own my IP. I was building with a community that wanted to elevate it.

I became a die-hard fan of Film3 not as a reaction to broken systems, but as a commitment to building better ones. I’ve partnered with other creators and supporters and started a DAO to explore how we can tell stories differently—more transparently, more collaboratively, and more sustainably.

Film3 couldn’t have happened ten years ago. But now, the timing is undeniable:

• The economics are broken. Even with success, creators are often last in line to get paid.

• The platforms are tired. We give them our work; they give us metrics that don’t pay rent.

• The tools are here. From onchain royalty splits to creator coins, we finally have the infrastructure to go indie in the truest sense.

• The audience is ready. People want to back creators, not just binge content. They want to belong.

Film3 redefines the relationship between filmmakers and audiences. It lets us break the glass wall and invite people inside the process—from funding to development to premiere.

In Film3, your success doesn’t depend on being “discovered.” It depends on being supported. And that support comes not just from fans, but from collaborators who share ownership and vision.

I’m part of this movement because I believe stories matter most when they’re told by those closest to them—and owned by the communities that care.

We’re not just uploading films to the blockchain. We’re building a new kind of cinema—one that doesn’t ask for permission, and doesn’t apologize for being small, scrappy, personal, or weird.

This is Film3 DAO:
A place where your story doesn’t have to fit a mold to be funded.
A place where your audience helps shape production.
A place where the next generation of filmmakers doesn’t need a gatekeeper—just a wallet and a will.

We're not waiting for the industry to change anymore.
We're building the version that should’ve existed all along.

Join us: film3dao.xyz

by Kristen Kingsbury - Film3 DAO / Flannel Donut / Pattern Integrity Films