"the indie mindset: creative, tough, resilient, innovative, scrappy. And never waiting for permission."

Open Gardens' Ben Odell's TAKEOVER of HopeForFilm

Intro:

I write a Substack called Open Gardens. The name comes from something a professor said during a course I took at Berkeley a few years ago. He asked what worried us about AI and our industries. I told him I was a film and TV producer, and my concern was this: social media already delivers content straight to the audience—AI will only amplify the volume and quality, making the battle for attention even more brutal.

He nodded and said, “Hollywood is a walled garden. And when a walled garden is breached, it falls. Yours has been breached.” Like Uber with taxis. Netflix with linear TV. Airbnb with hotels.

Our walls had been breached by social media.

Then, with a twinkle in his eye—like a WWE heel called The Disruptor—he hit his signature move: The Market Correction:

“You guys are fucked.”

I didn’t recover for a week. Not because he said something I didn’t know—but because he said something I absolutely knew and had refused to acknowledge.

As the fog in my brain cleared, as the fear dissipated, I questioned his logic. The walls have been breached. But the talent behind those walls, built on a 100 years of craft and creativity, perhaps they’d been freed.

And Open Gardens was born—my attempt to understand the creator economy and the white space between their world and ours. It’s been wild to see how, in just six months since launching the Stack, this conversation has gone from a whisper to a shout. All of a sudden, it feels like the only thing anyone in legacy media is talking about.

But if anything defines the indie filmmaker ethos—and I consider myself one to the core—it’s this: we always get back up. So when Ted Hope asked me to write a guest Stack, that’s where my head went. It’s not about indie films, exactly. It’s about the indie mindset: creative, tough, resilient, innovative, scrappy. And never waiting for permission.

If you take away the 90-to-120-minute format and look at what’s underneath, the truth is: the closest cousin to a digital creator in the legacy world is the independent filmmaker.

But the Berkeley class wasn’t my only rude awakening. And it’s worth going back—because, ironically, the first one involved Ted Hope.

Like a lot of my generation, I grew up on ‘90s indie films. I was a fanboy for Tarantino, Robert Rodriguez, Allison Anders, the Coens, Soderbergh. All Sundance grads. All heroes.

On my second feature, I reached out to Ted and his then-partner Anne Carey at This Is That to come on as EPs. They passed—not because they didn’t like the project but because they were slammed. They could’ve taken the easy EP credit and skimmed off the upside. But that’s not how they rolled.

The film went on to win the Grand Jury Prize at Sundance in 2007. And it made no money. Maybe they dodged a bullet. Maybe their guidance would’ve helped it break through. Doesn’t matter. It was what happened next.

At the time, Sundance was my North Star. I couldn’t dream beyond that award—and we’d won it. There’s a photo that ran in newspapers around the world when those still existed: the director, Chris Zalla giving his speech, and me, along with some of our team in a blur behind him. But if you squint you can see that I have my hand on my chin. And I know exactly what I was thinking at that moment— how is my life going to change.

And the answer was… not at all.

Six months later, we’d sold a half dozen foreign territories for a few hundred thousand. IFC gave us a zero-dollar advance gross corridor deal. The print was “bicycled” to 50 art house theaters (if you don't know what bicycling means you missed the end of celluloid era). We made $75K in the U.S. We didn't break even. I made zero dollars. Literally. No salary in the budget for me. None for the director either.

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1

That was shift #1.

Diversify.

I still loved indie films. But I realized I didn’t always have to make them to love them.

So I pivoted to another passion: serving U.S. Hispanic and Latin American audiences— I had spent my 20s writing Spanish language TV shows and movies in Colombia and saw enormous opportunity in focusing on making commercial Spanish language movies for that market. That led to running production at Lionsgate’s Pantelion Films and eventually partnering with Eugenio Derbez.

Looking back, working with Eugenio was like producing for MrBeast or Zach King—before we knew what creators were. Leading up to the launch of our company, Eugenio had built a pan-Latin audience via Televisa in Mexico, Univision in the U.S., and TV in Central and South America. When we started 3Pas Studios, he had 6 million followers. Today, he has 90 million.

We began with movies, then expanded into English and Spanish-language scripted, unscripted, docu-series, animation, etc. Some starred Eugenio, others didn’t. But they all shared one core principle: his community. We built a flywheel—and let it spin.

Eventually, that gave us the freedom to return to our indie roots.

We produced a lovely little movie called Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, which went to Toronto and barely registered in theaters. Then we made Radical, starring Eugenio and directed once again by Chris Zalla. Radical won the Audience Award at Sundance, became one of the highest-grossing indies of the year in the U.S. and the highest-grossing Mexican drama of all time.

Not a humblebrag. A data point.

I had to let go of the dream version of my career to build the real one. And weirdly, that brought me full circle—this time with clarity on how to actually pull it off.

And yeah, to release Radical in the U.S., I had to reassemble the disbanded Pantelion team. Long story why but it was the only way to get a theatrical release. It was as indie and scrappy as it gets.

I’ve never lost the indie ethos I learned when my first partner, Jon Stern, and I had offices at Green Street Films. John Penotti was down the hall. Ed Saxon next door. We met up with all the NY indie producers—including This Is That. We talked shop. We exchanged ideas. Because the indie ethos was always: us against the world. Share what you learn. Build together.

Cut back to the Berkeley class—and finding the energy to get up and start all over again. Just like we do every time we finish a movie. The worst business model ever: build the business, run it for two years, shut it down, then start from scratch.

So the second rude awakening led me to a new commitment:

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2

Keep your eyes open, even when it hurts.

I read all the obvious books—

● 1000 True Fans by Kevin Kelly —A foundational idea for creators—don’t chase mass appeal; focus on building deep relationships with a small, loyal audience who will sustain your work.

● The Passion Economy by Adam Davidson — A guide to thriving in niche markets by offering unique, personalized products and services.

● The Wealth of Networks by Yochai Benkler — An exploration of how peer production, collaboration, and shared knowledge reshape economies.

I started listening to podcasts:

● The Colin & Samir Show — A sharp breakdown of the creator economy, revenue models, and audience-building. Essential listening for legacy producers moving into the digital space.

● Masters of Scale hosted by Reid Hoffman and Jeff Berman — Thoughtful, strategic stories about how businesses grow. Helps creators think bigger about team-building, risk, and long-term vision.

I took free online courses—like the Mighty Networks starter course by Gina Bianchini. Gina is a Silicon Valley tech entrepreneur and community-building expert and she launched a platform that helps you build communities behind a paywall. But her course teaches you how to build communities from ideas. It got me thinking about how perhaps you could build an audience before you make a movie.

And of course, the Substacks.

Some of my favorites:

● Reel AI by Erik Barmack – does AI analysis from a former Netflix exec turned producer who analyzes from our POV

● The Business of TV by Jen Topping – UK-based but globally relevant, with sharp insights on the future of television and the convergence of social media. She’s pinpoints the new business forming around this intersection.

● Like & Subscribe by Natalie Jarvey which illuminates the creator economy without falling prey to the kind of insider jargon that makes it impossible for neophytes to understand.

And then there’s the Grand Daddy of Substacks —

● The Mediator by Doug Shapiro — the oracle. A former media analyst who sees around corners four blocks away. If you read only one Substack, make it his—and don’t just skim, go into the archives and study everything. Quoting him will make you sound like the smartest person in the room. Sometimes it’s a bitter pill but gotta pinch your nose and swallow…

I started talking to anyone who would meet with me. A social media wunderkind who reps five of the biggest creators in the world and has launched a handful of picks-and-axes businesses in the creator economy. A French entrepreneur who used to run YouTube’s creator space in Paris. A former music exec now building an AI-powered platform for creators. A former biz dev lead at one of the big three agencies who was betting on digital way back when the rest of us were busy making movies and rolling our eyes at internet content.

I stopped asking: How do I keep doing what I’ve always done? And started asking: How do I build something bigger and more sustainable in this new world?

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3

The challenge? The innovator’s dilemma.

I still have projects in production—new seasons of shows, a first-look deal, a dozen movies in development. It’s not a dead business, just a limping one. But it still pays the bills. And I still love the legacy business. Almost as much as my kids. And as long as they let me, I’ll never stop.

So how do I build the next thing without abandoning this one?

I launched Open Gardens to force myself to pay attention. To explore new models. To connect with the digital side.

I recruited Mitch—a music events promoter turned filmmaker. And Fernando—a former Wall Street analyst turned film exec. Both took my class called “Innovation and Resilience in a Changing Media Landscape” at Columbia U Film School. Both drank the Kool Aid.

By engaging in the changes, we took away the fear of what we were losing. And the conversations became enlightening.

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4

We started having fun exploring.

● The OG Approved by Mitch: Deep dives on new and interesting creators. The mandate — who are the storytellers out there doing it in this new form? Three of my favorites: an Inuit from Northern Canada dispelling myths and stereotypes with wit and humor while honoring the traditions of her ancestors; a watch salesman in Times Square with a gift for showmanship; and a platform of one-minute documentaries spotlighting niche cultures and unexpected curiosities.

● The Garden Harvest by Fernando: News analysis through the legacy creator lens—breaking down headlines with an eye toward how legacy creators intersect with today’s digital world. Like how Kai Cenat became Drake’s go-to partner in what feels more like a creative marriage than a one-off collab. Or how MLB bought a majority stake in a creator-led company built on baseball nostalgia and fandom,

I do most of the Deep Dives myself—driven by the questions I need answered to build my own company.

○ I wanted to understand how Night Media works—arguably the most fascinating company in creator land. (Highly recommend subscribing to CEO Reed Duchscher’s free LinkedIn newsletter for sharp insights.)

○ I was captivated by Creator Camp and their origin story—reinventing film school and distribution through community building. They’ve supercharged a movement with their Austin-based festival of brand-funded filmmakers.

○ I wanted to know why some creators were leaving YouTube for Patreon or bespoke subscription platforms. (Spoiler: the freedom they once found on YouTube started to feel like indentured servitude to the algorithm.)

○ I wanted to understand why Latin America’s creator economy had no shortage of big creators—but so few building digital studios or producing content at the scale of Michelle Khare or Corridor Digital.

○ And I wanted to figure out how legacy creators—our writers, directors, producers, and creative execs—could fund their first YouTube show, and what it would take for equity to start chasing digital content.

Out of all that, I started building a new mindset—one that takes our indie ethos and applies it to the digital world. And we’re putting it into practice in real time at our production company: digital-first content, social- and community-driven projects, live events, even commerce. We are diversifying the fly wheel beyond film and TV.

But always as a creative act.

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5

I see the white space everywhere.

Legacy and new media aren’t just colliding—they’re merging, like Neo becoming one with the Matrix. A singularity. No legacy, no “media.” Just storytelling, in whatever form it takes—shaped by technology, driven by changing habits, always evolving.

On the latest episode of Colin and Samir, they interviewed a creator named Anthpo — dubbed the “Dumb Internet Banksy,” a label he seems to enjoy. But in his world, dumb doesn’t mean shallow. It means unpretentious, unpolished, and joyfully human. He’s the guy behind the Timothy Chalamet look-alike contest — the one Chalamet actually showed up for.

Where Hollywood once shaped culture with big, bold ideas, younger generations now respond to tiny sparks—a meme, a challenge, a poster with a QR code. And from those sparks, culture ignites.

And yet, Anthpo feels familiar — like a young director in love with the medium itself. He’s playing with the form of internet connectivity the way early indie filmmakers played with film. Not to show off, but to connect. His work will deepen as he does.

It brings to mind the American indie scene of the ‘90s — Slacker with its shambolic charm, its refusal to be slick. I saw it at the Angelica Film Center. Four times. Years later, I watched Boyhood with my wife, our kids still toddlers at the time. When it ended, we were in tears. We’d just watched our children grow up and leave us in the blink of an eye. That’s what happens when creators live inside the form long enough to let it evolve with them.

There’s a quiet power in what Anthpo’s doing. And something very exciting about where he and all of it is heading

.A legacy-minded creator might feel the urge to capture him in a documentary. But that’s the wrong instinct. His work is the story. It doesn’t narrate culture — it creates it. It generates connection, community, and feeling not by declaring meaning, but by inviting us to make our own.

Somewhere in all that is a lesson.

Not one we can own—just one we can notice. The point isn’t to catch up. It’s to stay curious, stay open, and keep moving without asking permission.

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Ben Odell is an award-winning TV and movie producer and CEO of 3Pas Studios, which he co-founded with Eugenio Derbez. He began his career writing movies and TV in Colombia and has built a body of work that bridges Hollywood and Latin America. He is currently overseeing the launch of 3pas Digital— their full service digital studio based in Mexico City.

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Ted says: please subscribe to Ben’s FilmStack: