As spring unfurls across the Piedmont, the familiar hum of camera crews and the clatter of production trucks have returned to North Carolina’s streets with renewed vigor. It’s not just the dogwoods blooming — it’s the state’s film industry, stirring from a prolonged quiet and finding fresh momentum in the spotlight of the 28th RiverRun International Film Festival. Held annually in Winston-Salem, this year’s festival didn’t just celebrate cinema; it became a barometer for a broader resurgence, one where hometown stories are finally getting the chance to shine on screens both big and small.
What makes this moment significant isn’t merely the uptick in permits or the buzz around festival premieres — though both are real. It’s the convergence of renewed state incentives, a growing infrastructure of skilled crews and a deliberate push to elevate local voices that have long operated in the shadows of Hollywood’s gaze. For years, North Carolina has played host to major productions, from The Hunger Games to Iron Man 3, but the economic benefits often felt transient, with profits flowing out of state and local talent relegated to background roles. Now, a shift is underway — one that prioritizes sustainability, equity, and cultural authenticity over fleeting blockbuster rushes.
The RiverRun Festival, nestled in the heart of Winston-Salem’s revitalized downtown, has turn into an unlikely catalyst for this transformation. Over ten days each spring, the festival screens over 100 films from around the globe, but its soul lies in the “North Carolina Spotlight” section — a curated showcase of films made by, about, or deeply rooted in the state. This year, that section featured 18 projects, ranging from documentary portraits of Appalachian coal communities to narrative shorts exploring Lumbee identity in Robeson County. The presence of these stories isn’t symbolic; it’s indicative of a deeper investment in who gets to share North Carolina’s story.
Where Policy Meets Pavement: The Quiet Power of the Film Grant
Behind the scenes of this cultural renaissance lies a policy mechanism that flew under the radar for years: the North Carolina Film Grant. Unlike the state’s former tax incentive program — which offered refundable credits but expired in 2015 amid political controversy — the current grant is a discretionary fund administered by the North Carolina Film Office. Since its revival in 2022, it has awarded over $12 million to 87 projects, with a deliberate focus on in-state creators and stories that reflect the state’s diverse communities.
“We’re not just trying to attract Hollywood anymore,” said Guy Gaster, Director of the North Carolina Film Office, in a recent interview with WRAL. “We’re building an ecosystem where local filmmakers can thrive — where a director from Durham can get funding to shoot a feature in her hometown, hire her neighbors, and premiere it at RiverRun without leaving the state.” Read more about the state’s evolving film strategy.
This approach marks a deliberate departure from the past. During the tax incentive era (2005–2015), North Carolina ranked third in the nation for film production, but studies showed that over 60% of spending leaked out of state through non-resident labor and services. Today’s grant model, by contrast, requires that at least 60% of a project’s budget be spent on North Carolina goods and services — a provision designed to keep wealth circulating locally.
The results are already visible. In Wilmington, once the backbone of the state’s film boom, soundstages at EUE/Screen Gems are operating at 85% capacity — not just for episodic television, but for independent features and commercial shoots helmed by NC natives. In Asheville, the River Arts District has seen a surge in boutique production companies specializing in documentary and branded content, many launched by graduates of UNCSA’s School of Filmmaking. Even in rural counties like Halifax and Edgecombe, where poverty rates exceed the state average, mobile production labs funded by the Golden LEAF Foundation are teaching teens how to shoot, edit, and tell their own stories.
More Than Credits: How Film Is Becoming Infrastructure
What’s unfolding in North Carolina reflects a broader national reckoning with how states invest in creative economies. Unlike traditional economic development — which often chases smokestack industries or logistics hubs — film and media production offer something rarer: a blend of job creation, cultural preservation, and tourism potential. A 2023 study by the Motion Picture Association found that every dollar spent on film production in North Carolina generates $1.80 in ancillary economic activity, from hotel bookings to catering to equipment rentals.
But the impact goes beyond dollars. “When a film is made in a community, it doesn’t just employ people — it validates them,” said Dr. Monica Hill, Associate Professor of Media Studies at UNC-Chapel Hill, whose research focuses on rural representation in Southern cinema. “Seeing your town, your accent, your struggles on screen — that’s powerful. It changes how people see themselves and how outsiders see the place.” Learn more about Dr. Hill’s work on Southern media representation.
This sentiment echoes in the films premiering at RiverRun. Take “The Water Holders”, a documentary by Durham native Tanya Brooks that follows three generations of Black farmers in Northampton County resisting land loss through cooperative agriculture. Or “Lumbee Echoes”, a narrative short by Pembroke filmmaker Josh Maynor that weaves together oral history and magical realism to explore identity in the face of environmental change. These aren’t just festival entries — they’re acts of cultural reclamation, made possible by grants that prioritize authenticity over marketability.
And the audience is responding. RiverRun’s attendance has grown steadily since its pandemic nadir, hitting 32,000 in 2025 — its second-highest total in festival history. More telling, though, is the rise in local participation: over 40% of attendees this year were from Forsyth County or surrounding counties, a sharp increase from pre-pandemic levels. The festival has become less a destination for cinephiles from New York or LA and more a homecoming for North Carolinians eager to see their lives reflected.
The Long Game: Building a Sustainable Creative Economy
Skeptics remain, of course. Some point to the volatility of the film industry — how a single decision by a studio in Burbank can send ripples through a soundstage in Wilmington. Others warn against over-reliance on any single sector, no matter how culturally resonant. But what’s different now is the intentionality. State officials aren’t just chasing production; they’re investing in pipelines. The NC Film Office now partners with community colleges to offer certified grips, electricians, and digital imaging technicians — roles that pay union wages and offer pathways into the industry without requiring a four-year degree.
In Raleigh, the newly launched Creative Economies Initiative — a cross-agency effort involving Commerce, Natural and Cultural Resources, and Transportation — is mapping how film intersects with other sectors. Could a documentary about regenerative agriculture drive tourism to a family farm? Could a period drama set in 19th-century Charlotte boost interest in historic preservation grants? These are the kinds of questions being asked not in boardrooms, but in town halls from Boone to Burgaw.
The goal, as Gaster place it, isn’t to recreate Hollywood — it’s to build something better. “We want North Carolina to be known not just as a place where movies are made, but as a place where stories are born,” he said. “And if those stories can lift up communities, create fine jobs, and remind us who we are — then we’re doing something right.”
As the final credits rolled on this year’s RiverRun festival and the lights came up in the historic Benton Convention Center, there was a quiet sense of accomplishment in the air. Not because a blockbuster had wrapped, but because something quieter and more enduring had taken root: a belief that the stories worth telling don’t always approach from elsewhere. Sometimes, they’ve been here all along — waiting for the chance to be heard.
What does this mean for the future of storytelling in the American South? And how can other states learn from North Carolina’s quiet revolution in film? We’d love to hear your thoughts.
