Attending the European Film Market (EFM) in Berlin as part of the Berlinale Film Festival this month was an experience, to say the least. Even after making my rounds at the Cannes Film Market and the American Film Market, I was stepping into unfamiliar territory.
In the weeks leading up to my flight, I stressed myself out — not just with logistics but mentally too. I over prepared, overthought, and overbooked meet-and-greets, all while worrying about how it would pan out.
On my schedule: meetings with a few familiar buyers, a European film board I was hoping to impress, the Tuscany Film Commission, a potential co-producer, and a distributor who had just watched — then passed on — one of our films.
That was my six-day lineup. It felt like it wasn’t enough, but not for lack of trying. I spent two weeks relentlessly emailing distributors and buyers attending the Market. The result? Silence. No new meetings with buyers who might actually want to watch my films or discuss business.
A quick Google search told me that “successful” filmmakers at EFM should have at least four meetings per day. I showed up with a mental block in place, feeling like I had already failed. And then I met a producer who was, in fact, running four meetings a day. So, yeah — it wasn’t an exaggeration.
At €400 for a market badge, I started wondering if I had just wasted my company’s money. On top of that, the forecast — between -1 and 4 degrees, with snow — wasn’t exactly ideal for my health. But then something happened.
Jacob, an actor from our film After the Act, added me to a WhatsApp group of fellow filmmakers and writers. Instantly, I hit it off with three women, all incredibly impressive with their U.S. industry credentials. Scriptwriters, journalists — people whose day jobs made me feel, well, kind of amateur.
But as the days went on, I realized something: I was selling myself short. Comparing my journey to others was useless. And once I snapped out of that mindset, I was actually able to take in what EFM had to offer.
Here’s what I learnt.
Schedule And Location Matters
Lesson one: be organized, but also open to new encounters. Being at the Market is step one — opportunities don’t happen if you’re not there.
That said, I missed every single networking breakfast. These events — goldmines for meeting potential co-producers, crew, festival curators, or buyers — were casualties of my long commute and my need for alone time before facing the chaos.
Each morning involved a 30-minute trek, including 20 minutes of walking in snow, and often sliding along black ice. In hindsight? I should have stayed closer to Potsdamer Platz. Exhausting yourself before you even start the day isn’t a great strategy.
Talking The Talk
On day one, while walking the Market stalls with Jacob, I managed to land a meeting with a sales agent. Immediate morale boost. And funny enough, she confirmed something I’d suspected: their company only takes films in late post-production because they want to shape the release and festival strategy. I heard the same thing from another buyer later.
That small win taught me something crucial — how you present your film matters. Earlier that day, Jacob introduced After the Act to a different sales agent, calling it an “improvised feature.” The agent’s response? “No one buys those anymore.” Just like that. She mentioned two companies that might — but wouldn’t say who.
From that point on, I changed how I spoke about the film. Instead of “improvised feature,” I described it as an “arthouse slice-of-life drama.” Because it is. Marketing matters. First impressions matter.
At one point, I read an EFM bulletin about this year’s Berlinale film lineup. It confirmed a shift I’d already sensed — Berlinale, known for arthouse dramas, was leaning more toward mainstream appeal. Out of the entire lineup, only two films were arthouse dramas, one of which was an undisclosed Mike Leigh project. That says a lot.
Your Network Is Everything
Every night in Berlin, after the long days of meetings, wandering the Market, and battling the cold, I made time to catch up with filmmakers and actors I already knew in the city. Some were people I had worked with before, others were old acquaintances, but reconnecting with them became one of the best parts of the trip.
It’s easy to focus so much on new connections — chasing meetings, pitching to strangers — that you forget the value of the people already in your orbit. But in this industry, opportunities often don’t come from cold emails or formal meetings. They come from relationships. People recommend people they trust.
Yet maintaining these connections isn’t just about business. It’s about community. Filmmaking can be isolating, and events like EFM can feel overwhelming. But meeting up with familiar faces reminded me why I do this in the first place. And if an opportunity comes from it? Even better.
Owing Your Work
Before heading to Berlin, I voiced my concerns to Ivan. His advice? “Just go, have fun. Don’t pressure yourself to sell the films. Meet people, go to talks, experience it all, and you’ll have a better idea for next time.”
He was right.
Through the industry talks, I learned so much — what’s selling, why, at what budgets, and how these films are marketed. I met great people, ate some fantastic food at an exclusive party, watched intriguing Market films, and had two solid meetings — one of which felt promising.
By the end of my fifth day, it hit me: you have to own your work. Show up like a proud parent and say, “This is what I do. These are the stories I tell.” Not everyone will like your film. Some might even look at it with disdain. But that’s fine — because there’s an audience for everything. And a buyer for every film.
Would I Go Again?
Maybe. But next time, I’d do things differently. I’d approach the Market with a new mindset, dive into every opportunity, and take a more strategic approach.
Between Berlinale with the EFM and Cannes? I prefer the former. Cannes Film festival and the Market felt like a fashion show — expensive yachts, glitz, and glam. Berlin? It’s the real deal. Less flash, more substance. And a whole lot of snow-induced brain freeze.
Written by Sarah Jayne Portelli