EXCLUSIVE: With the fall festivals upon us, 1IN4 is presenting some food for thought.
A coalition of disabled Hollywood creatives on a mission to reframe the experience and understanding of disability, they’ve unveiled a reference guide for film fests worldwide, speaking to best practices when it comes to accessibility.
1IN4 takes its name from the fact that more than 1 in 4 adults in the United States has a disability. You can read their findings here.
1IN4’s 15-page report emerged from an assessment conducted at the Toronto Film Festival, with organizers’ full support, in 2023. A team of nine took part, with disabilities including blind/low vision, Deaf, mobility, neurodivergence, dwarfism, and limb difference, along with intersectional identities. During their time at the festival, the group evaluated accessibility across all aspects of the festival, covering elements such as online/web, travel, buildings and facilities, film screenings, panels, workshops, and networking and socializing events, communication, hospitality and customer services, sensory environment, and health and safety. The goal: to formulate actionable solutions.
The advocacy org chose TIFF as a jumping off point for this conversation after taking notice of their recent work to make their festival more accessible, via a comprehensive four-year plan. Eryn Brown, a co-founder of I1N4 and partner at Entertainment 360, explained: “We partnered with TIFF because they have demonstrated such a strong commitment to creating a festival that is accessible to all.”
Far from scrutinizing their conduct in particular, the 1IN4 team wants to acknowledge and honor the festival for the openness toward change they’ve demonstrated, and the commitment they displayed in their willingness to be transparent about where they themselves could still make improvements.
1IN4 also saluted the Cannes and Sundance film festivals for making great recent strides toward improvements in accessibility.
1IN4’s report is timely, dropping days out from the world premiere of Being Heumann, an Apple drama from CODA‘s Sian Heder that celebrates the historic contributions of disability rights activist Judith Heumann and is expected to be an awards contender this fall season.
Along with the document itself, the group provided testimonials from seven members of the disabled community, most of whom are entertainment industry vets and part of the 1IN4 cohort. Each speaks to the way they’ve been affected, positively or negatively, by practices at film festivals, which they collectively described as having an enormous world impact as “an epicenter” of talent with the power to shift culture.
Among them is Jim Lebrecht, an executive producer on Being Heumann and one of the filmmakers behind the documentary Crip Camp, who despite being a Sundance darling in 2020 and going on to an Academy Award nomination, acknowledged issues faced at the formerly Utah-based festival.
“When festivals fail to plan for access,” Lebrecht said, “the result can be dehumanizing.”
Brown, the 360 partner who reps stars such as Julianne Moore alongside a roster of top filmmakers, described a long-ago experience at Cannes that she found “crushing.” And on the flip side, VFX Supervisor Kaitlyn Yang shared how the contributions of just festival access coordinator made a world of a difference in her experience as a speaker at Slamdance.
You can read the full statements, casting a human light on matters of accessibility, below.
As a talent manager, I have been going to film festivals since my first time at TIFF in 2002, largely as a scout for new clients. My first time at the Cannes Film Festival was in 2008. It was so crushing that I considered leaving the business. I couldn’t see a path to representing directors if, every year, I would have to face an environment so physically unsafe and emotionally inhospitable. But, championing the work of filmmakers from around the world is one of my passions, so I have continued to return.
At one of the fall festivals I attended in 2023, there was a classic Iranian film I wanted to see in connection with an Iranian client I was representing at the time. It was the only known surviving print, screening at just one time during the entire festival.
That screening happened to be in one of the festival’s theatres with no elevator and no accessible bathroom, something you would never know from the festival’s website, because there’s no accessibility information listed anywhere. You only find out the hard way, in the moment, when it’s too late to plan around it. My choices were simple: don’t go, and fail my client. Or go, and subject myself to whatever came with it. I chose the latter.
Getting up those stairs was physically grueling on its own, made worse by my lung condition at altitude. And because I was moving slowly and, in someone’s eyes, “taking up space,” another patron shoved past me and insulted me for “stretching” on the stairs. By the time I reached my seat, I was in no state, physically or mentally, to actually watch the film I had fought so hard to see.
Here’s the part that stays with me. These venues are allowed to skip elevators under a “grandfather clause” that protects them as historic sites. When I asked festival staff why they were using a theater with no accessible entrance, the answer was “tradition.”
Tradition. That word has a long history of being used to justify excluding people. And the truth is simpler than tradition: the festival had other, accessible theaters available. This wasn’t a lack of options. It was a lack of will.
Choosing an inaccessible venue when accessible ones exist is an ableist practice. And it’s not a minor inconvenience. It directly impacts my ability to do my job and serve my clients.
GRISHMA SHAH, Festival Advisor, Psychologist, Producer
I went to a film festival’s welcome reception the day before it started. With a drink in hand, I struck up a conversation with someone I didn’t know. They went for a handshake to introduce themselves, and I didn’t reciprocate. I couldn’t because I wear an arm prosthesis. It’s not always obvious, and the person apparently did not realize why I could not shake their hand. There were no tables or stands close by, so I took a few steps away to find somewhere to put my drink down. I came right back but, they’d left to talk with someone else. Later that night, when I found an opportunity to speak with them again, they resisted. We saw each other a few times throughout the weekend, but the moment of connection had passed. Maya Angelou said, “people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel”. Networking events are a crucial part of an artist’s life but, more often than not, I opt out because I fear they won’t provide something as basic as tables.
KAITLYN YANG, Visual Effects SupervisorMy genuine moment of appreciation came from the 2025 Slamdance festival. I was invited as a speaker alongside Jim LeBrecht, Natasha Ofili and Marissa Bode.
The access coordinator (AC) they hired was literally waiting for me at the entrance. He made it so easy for me to check in and get the lay of the land. With his help, I found my people and easily transitioned into networking mode without having the accessibility woes hanging over me.My experience there, with the small addition of one access coordinator, made that one film festival day incomparable to any other instance where there wasn’t an AC.
VIOLET FERGUSON, Producer, Influencer, Accessibility Consultant
Last year, I attended my first major film festival with media accreditation, covering red carpets for a publication. After wrapping a midnight carpet for one of the festival’s premieres, I needed a ride back to my friend’s apartment, about a mile away, where I was staying. As someone with a physical disability, walking that far wasn’t an option. However, street closures had rerouted public transportation, and I didn’t know the new routes. I turned to Uber, but wait times were unusually high due to the festival and a concert in the city. I was stranded in the middle of downtown at 1am, with no festival attendees, security guards, or staff anywhere in sight to ask for help. I was so shaken that I left the festival the next day, giving up a career milestone that I was so excited to have achieved. The end of a festival event does not mean the end of the festival experience.
JIM LEBRECHT, Sound Designer, Director, Producer (Executive Producer of BEING HEUMANN)
Film festivals can be pivotal to a career: a conversation on a shuttle bus or a Q&A appearance can lead to future work. Networking is reciprocal, too. I may meet someone I hire someday, and after mixing more than 200 documentaries, I can offer valuable experience to others.
Across nearly 40 years in audio, directing, and producing, I’ve experienced everything from no support to being able to simply show up, work, and join my peers. When festivals fail to plan for access, the result can be dehumanizing.
My history with the Sundance Film Festival illustrates this. The first year I attended, the Filmmaker Lodge had recently moved from an accessible location to the third floor of the Elks Lodge on Main Street, with no elevator. For years, I pushed for a solution. One proposal was to rent a wheelchair stair lift, requiring advance arrangements and blocking the stairs while it operated. It was an overly complicated solution, denied me the spontaneity everyone else took for granted, and singled me out as someone requiring extraordinary measures just to enter the room. Having crawled up those stairs myself one year, I also could not imagine how safe the lift would be. Another suggestion was a remote video feed for panels—isolating me and overlooking the value of my being present in the room.
Change began when Nicole Newnham and I attended Sundance while working on Crip Camp. She told Sundance Executive Director Keri Putnam that I could not participate in many of the activities available to her. Apparently unaware of my earlier efforts, Putnam promptly moved many Lodge events to accessible venues.
When Crip Camp opened Sundance in 2020, Sundance had worked to get an elevator installed at the Elks Lodge. Ironically, after all that effort—and testing—the door would not open for Nicole’s and my inaugural ride upstairs. It did eventually open, but later that day I encountered another elevator and two lifts that also malfunctioned.
Sundance had made meaningful progress, but much of that commitment and implementation seemed to disappear after COVID paused in-person festivals for two years and festival leadership changed in 2022. Looking ahead to the 2027 festival in Boulder, I’m cautiously optimistic that discussions with the festival, the City of Boulder, and FWD-Doc.org, an organization that supports documentary filmmakers with disabilities, will benefit all participants.
Laura and Rachel Beattie are sisters and co-founders of Careaux, a disability- and women-owned innovative fashion brand committed to making a positive impact on both people and the environment. Careaux’s mission is to create an inclusive, diverse, equitable, and accessible fashion industry.
We are from Manchester, UK, and recently travelled to the United States to expand Careaux and build our network. During our visit, we wanted to experience a film festival firsthand and explore opportunities to increase the involvement of disabled designers within the entertainment industry. As I (Laura) have Cystic Fibrosis and use oxygen, we carefully planned our trip, including preparing for the festival’s high-altitude location. However, the accessibility information available in advance was extremely limited. We were told there would be public transport between venues, which was essential as we were not driving, but in reality the service was infrequent or unavailable, with little information about timetables. This resulted in significant walking between venues that were not clearly signposted, which adversely affected my health. When we asked organisers whether a wheelchair was available, what support was in place for disabled attendees, and how best to access other venues, we were offered little assistance and felt completely dismissed. We had no choice but to leave just 24 hours after arriving. This experience demonstrated that accessibility cannot be an afterthought; it must be embedded from the outset. It also highlighted that the high-altitude locations of several major U.S. film festivals can present additional barriers for people with respiratory conditions, making comprehensive accessibility planning and support even more essential.
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