The Film School Mutiny: How I Forced Change at Tel Aviv University’s Film Program

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In 2018, I was two semesters away from finishing my degree in Film Studies at Tel Aviv University.

 

I wasn’t in the prestigious Production track. I had applied three times, and three times I was rejected. I had never directed a thesis film. And yet, it was obvious to me that the program wasn’t working — not for me, and not for many others.

 

The department had three tracks: Film Studies (theory-heavy), Production, and Screenwriting. At the end of the first year, students took an exam that decided their path.

 

During my years there, the school quietly tripled its intake of first-year students. But the number of places in Production and Screenwriting stayed exactly the same. The overflow all landed in Film Studies. It was a deliberate move. The administration knew Film Studies was the least practical track, the one least likely to give graduates any portfolio or career opportunities — and yet they stuffed it with paying students.

 

To me, it was obvious: this wasn’t about education. It was about money.

 

 

The Post

 

I had more than a year left, but I already knew the degree, in practical terms, was worthless. And since I was planning to move to Berlin after graduating, I figured: if the degree doesn’t mean much, I might as well try to change something for those who will come after me.

 

Before posting publicly, I’d spoken to classmates in private. In those closed-door conversations, everyone agreed something was wrong. People told me, “If you speak up, I’ll stand with you.” They promised support.

 

But promises in private are easy.

 

I finally wrote a long post in our closed Facebook group. I spelled out what everyone had been whispering:

 

• The system favored a small percentage of students in Production.

• The rest were locked into writing papers instead of creating moving images.

• A film school that doesn’t let most of its students make films is broken.

• And worst of all, the school had deliberately inflated Film Studies for profit.

 

The post exploded overnight. Dozens of comments and private messages came in. And within just a few hours, someone had added the head of the department to the group.

 

 

A Month of Tension

 

That one click changed everything. The safe, student-only space was now under faculty eyes. And almost instantly, the tone shifted. Many of the same people who had encouraged me in private now went silent.

 

They still supported me — quietly. But when it came to standing up publicly, they melted away. I became the face of the mutiny, the only one holding the sword.

 

And yet, for the next month, the tension didn’t die. The whole school knew something was brewing. Students stopped me in hallways to offer whispered encouragement. Faculty members avoided eye contact. Everyone was waiting to see what would happen in the meeting.

 

 

Room 213

 

When the day came, I expected a conversation with the department head. Instead, I walked into the entire faculty.

 

They had had weeks to prepare. They had read my posts. And they looked worried.

 

Before I could even open my mouth, they started ticking off the list of demands — most of them already approved:

 

• More practical assignments for Film Studies students.

• Permission to submit video essays in courses that previously accepted only written papers.

• Clearer information about how the Production and Screenwriting tracks operated.

 

The one demand they refused was moving the track-selection exam to before the first year. They wanted to keep it at the end.

 

Still, it was a decisive win. The changes were immediate, and — most importantly — they stuck. To this day, Film Studies students can leave with creative work instead of just theory.

 

 

Aftermath

 

A month later, I sat down with the head of the department for a private meeting. I told him I planned to leave for Berlin and might not finish my degree.

 

He surprised me. He said he usually didn’t care when students dropped out — but in my case, he did. He wanted me to finish the B.A. so he could invite me back to teach. The school couldn’t hire anyone without at least a bachelor’s degree.

 

I postponed my move by six months, finished the degree, and then left.

 

 

Why It Worked

 

This wasn’t a protest in the streets. No megaphones. No banners. Just a post that hit a nerve, a month of tension, and a meeting the faculty couldn’t ignore.

 

It worked because the demands were specific, reasonable, and impossible to refute. And it worked because I didn’t back down when everyone else went quiet.

 

If you’re in film school now and you feel the system is broken, here’s my advice:

 

• Write it down publicly.

• Call the meeting.

• Ask for changes that let students make work.

 

I didn’t risk my degree because I was fearless. I did it because, without real creative work, the degree wasn’t worth much. Now, thanks to that mutiny, students leave with more than a diploma — they leave with films.

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Written by Matan Tal