$$$. Jake Remington. Single channel video. Black and white. 62 minutes. Sony RX10 III. Guerilla production. New York. 2026.
The world increasingly feels game-ified:
a Claude bot turns $100 into $200,000, a streamer risks $50,000 on a blackjack hand, a Russian stuntman destroys a Lamborghini for likes
— the rules are unclear, the rewards are arbitrary, and value has never been more subjective.
$$$ exists.
It's not currently accessible.
But 50 editions are available.
$5,000 each.
If all are taken:
The film is released, free for all.
We made a gambling film with no permits, no budget, minimal script and crew. It's called $$$.
It's 62 minutes long. Black and white. It features real gamblers and hustlers in a fictional narrative inspired by their lives — hybrid documentary vérité and fiction.
Every screening worked. It's a niche, underground film, but format-wise a tough fit for distributors / platforms.
Distributors offer a standard 5–15 year exclusive deal with zero guarantees — if no platform takes it, it remains locked on their shelf until the contract ends.
It's a tough bet for a film in this format. So we decided to make our own long shot.
A film about speculative desperation released through speculative value. Collectors become an essential part of the $$$ story and unlock the film for everybody else.
This campaign is directed towards the whales — it's their chance to bet on a filmmaker, to be able to say they brought an independent picture into the world. Scarcity with permanence, their name forever attached to a truly independent film.
Collectors receive:
All proceeds will fund the value study, support those involved with the film, and go towards future works.
*This is a conceptual artwork and not an investment or financial instrument. No ownership, profit participation, or financial return is offered or implied.
The value study aligns with the film's gambling themes and converts the issue of distribution into marketing. A film made with no money asking what money is worth, a film about gambling that gambles on its own release — seems coherent.
$5,000 is unattainable for some and a tax write off to others — this gap is uncomfortable. The irony of whales buying the editions in order to free a film for the masses seems equal parts generous and ironic, which feels about right.
Independent film is tough and often thankless. Does that make it more or less valuable? Should filmmakers be paid for their work or just give films to distributors who may or may not do anything with them?
Does a film exist if nobody sees it?
Does money confer existence? What is time and energy worth?