In an industry where opportunity is often gatekept, smaller festivals give emerging creatives something priceless: visibility.
When the Vancouver Horror Show (VHS) launched eight years ago, it wasn’t designed to compete with the star-studded red carpets of massive international festivals. It was built for people who rarely get access to rooms where decisions are made: emerging filmmakers, actors starting their careers, screenwriters learning to self-produce, and horror fans who want to peek behind the industry curtain instead of staying on the outside looking in.
Major festivals often create a barrier around their celebrities, premieres, and financier-focused events. Tickets are expensive, access is tiered, and the audiences are filtered by power, reputation, and credit lists. Smaller festivals like VHS flip that dynamic upside down. They are deliberately built for accessibility, for people without agents, without name recognition, without the budget to make a $10M feature film. That’s why the festival matters. It gives talented people a runway to participate, learn, network, and get noticed.
“These are the film festivals that are most accessible for people who really want to focus in these spaces. It’s such a great opportunity to see panels and meet filmmakers.” – Meghan Hemingway, Vancouver Horror Show Festival Artistic Director
In an industry where opportunity is often gatekept, smaller festivals give emerging creatives something priceless: visibility. A room with 100 attentive people and a handful of industry guests is more powerful than watching a Q&A from the back of a packed 2,000-seat venue. You’re not the audience, you’re part of the conversation.

This year, VHS hosted directors from Final Destination: Bloodlines’s Zach Lipovsky and Clown in a Cornfield’s Eli Craig, and writers like Dennis Heaton and Karen Lam. They didn’t just show up for applause, they showed up to teach. Every session was hands-on: clips played, techniques were broken down, panels turned into workshops, and attendees asked real questions.
One of the industry’s biggest frustrations is that educational panels at major festivals can be high-level, overly polished, or geared toward seasoned professionals. VHS solves that gap by making panels honest, tactical, and personal.
“We brought in a lot of incredible guests – directors, writers, showrunners – and these are intimate events where actors and writers can come and learn from the panels and ask questions and be involved and meet these people.”
Distributors were just as accessible. Executives like Anelle Dehghani from The Coven and Kirk Cooper from Raven Banner offered insight into how films are actually sold, something most creatives never learn until their third or fourth project, or too late to fix mistakes.
“What to do, what not to do, how to position your film in the market… practical things that are immediately beneficial.”
For actors, this matters. For filmmakers, it’s essential. For writers, it can change the trajectory of an entire script.

Big festivals are aspirational but small festivals are career-building.
Actors at a massive festival often feel like spectators. The casts are established, the press is focused on stars, and networking can be intimidating or inaccessible. Smaller festivals remove that hierarchy. When a director is sitting next to you at a screening or a writer stays after a panel to talk through your idea, the wall between emerging talent and established professionals disappears.
VHS operates like a training ground where actors can learn how to network, ask smart questions, and understand how the industry works beyond auditioning.
For many actors, especially those in Vancouver, this type of community infrastructure didn’t exist before. That’s why the festival places equal weight on screenings, education, networking, and celebration.

One of the festival’s most innovative features is its B.C. Screenwriters Development Program, a competitive table read series. Three scripts are selected from a large submission pool. Professional actors perform the roles, and award-winning writers give live feedback in front of an audience.
This isn’t just for writers, it’s a breakthrough opportunity for actors, too.
“For actors it’s a great opportunity. It’s paid work, and they get to read and showcase their talents in front of some pretty big names in the industry – showrunners, producers and directors who could potentially cast them one day.”
In Vancouver, a city filled with working actors auditioning for the same episodic roles, direct exposure to hiring creatives is rare. A table read brings recognition, trust, and memory. Being the actor a showrunner remembers can be the difference between endless auditions and a booking.
Small festivals make that exposure possible. Large festivals rarely offer it.
One of the biggest themes of the festival, and the broader industry in 2025 is that horror has become one of the most strategic entry points for filmmakers and actors.
Hollywood is risk-averse. Major studio projects often require recognizable stars, large budgets, and commercial safety. Horror flips that model. Many high-earning horror films are low-budget, new-IP projects without celebrity casts.
“The horror audience is so baked in – it’s one of the only genres that sells tickets to feature films in theatres regardless of whether or not there is a big-name actor attached.”
For filmmakers, this means they can make a film with limited resources and still find distribution. For actors, this means landing a lead role in a feature film is legitimately possible, something nearly unheard of in most genres without representation or a résumé full of credits.
Hemingway puts it bluntly: horror is where breakthroughs happen.
“If you have a good script and a smart and capable creative team, you don’t need to have a huge budget. You can make a good film, and you can make a name for yourself.”
This is why smaller festivals are vital. They are where those films get discovered, sold, and championed.

A surprising message for actors unsure about horror: it may be the smartest acting decision you can make.
“There’s no better workout for an actor than being in a horror film… that is good training for anywhere you want to go in your career.”
Horror demands emotional range, physical stamina, real-time listening, and technical precision. For comedic actors, the crossover is even more natural:
Where major festivals often reinforce the idea that only prestige drama leads to industry success, smaller horror festivals actually launch careers.
VHS isn’t a one-week event that disappears when the credits roll. The organization stays active all year with screenings, workshops, and networking events hosted alongside partners like Elevation.
Emerging actors and filmmakers often underestimate how important simple consistency is. Being seen, being present, being a name people remember.
“Go to the website and get on the mailing list. We do special screenings year round, often with special guests and Q&As where you’ll get to meet the directors and producers and other people that worked on these films.”
There’s also a screenplay competition with feedback, something most emerging writers can’t get unless they know someone inside a writers’ room or agency. Smaller festivals create momentum. They keep talent moving forward instead of waiting for the “big break.”
Vancouver is overflowing with on-screen production work but Hemingway feels many actors focus only on auditions without embedding themselves in the creative ecosystem.
“It’s not just about doing your work in a silo and waiting for the phone to ring. It’s about being an active member of a community.”
That’s where smaller festivals shift culture. They give actors a chance to be seen again and again, not just by casting directors, but by filmmakers, writers, producers, and showrunners who hire long-term.
“Agents get you auditions, but a lot ends up happening because you know that person or they remember you from last time. It’s a big industry, but it’s a small town – and that can be a huge advantage.”
Big festivals produce headlines. Small festivals produce careers.

The festival also speaks to the true believers, the fans who live and breathe horror. These aren’t casual moviegoers; they are the heartbeat of the genre.
For fans, VHS is a rare experience. They get to see how films are built, meet childhood heroes, and watch practical effects legends bring monsters to life inches away. The 30th anniversary reunion of Tales From the Crypt: Demon Knight, complete with the original demon suit on the red carpet wasn’t just nostalgia. It was a community ritual.
This is another reason small festivals matter: they turn fans into participants, not observers. That passion fuels ticket sales, word-of-mouth, and new talent entering the industry.
VHS is doing more than showcasing films. It’s building infrastructure for Vancouver creatives to stay in Vancouver, to develop, to collaborate, and to be recognized at home rather than feeling they must leave for L.A. or Toronto.
“We’re really invested in bolstering local creatives and offering tools to our community to help strengthen their work. We want everyone here to make great work and be Canada proud.”
Small festivals create ecosystems where emerging filmmakers gain confidence, actors gain credits and connections, and fans learn the craft behind what they love. They democratize filmmaking in a way major festivals rarely can.
That’s why they matter, and if the first eight years of VHS are a preview, Vancouver may be on the brink of becoming one of North America’s most important homes for horror.