After 30 years of film policy, what does Manitoba actually own?

A property listing from Niverville is worth a close look. It covers 25,000 square feet, has a 40-foot clear-span ceiling rated at 36 tons, 2,400 amps of power, radiant heat in the concrete, pre-cast walls, and four acres situated at the intersection of Wallace Road and Provincial Road 311. The advertisement states that it’s brand new and asks $9.5 million.

This is Jette Studios, and it has never hosted a single production.

Three years ago Julijette and Volume Global announced a private investment of $30 million aimed at setting up a studio village in phases, which was to create as many as 300 jobs. The local member of the legislative assembly referred to Niverville as the Hollywood of the north. The province had already committed $40.6 million to infrastructure in and around the town and then, in April, pledged an additional $10 million for road work on the grounds that it would lead to a smoother drive to the studio. The building opened in the spring and was put up for sale on August 16.

It has not been made public why the property is for sale, and it would be unfair to speculate about the finances of a private company from outside. However, there is a reasonable question underlying this situation, and it goes beyond just one building: given all the public money that has been spent, what does Manitoba actually own?

The answer: A road.

That particular situation wasn’t an isolated incident. On June 10, Ubisoft closed its studio in Winnipeg and dismissed about 65 employees. The company had moved into the Exchange District in 2019 with a public pledge to provide $264 million and 300 jobs by the year 2030, and it departed as a result of a restructuring carried out by its parent company.

Left behind were some leasehold improvements and 65 excellent resumes.

We need to face what we have actually created here in Manitoba. The Manitoba Film and Video Production Tax Credit offers up to 65 per cent on eligible Manitoba labour or 38 per cent on all eligible Manitoba spending, and it is the most competitive credit in the country. Last fiscal year, it issued 140 certificates. That is the reason why production volume in the region was forecast at $424.2 million for 2024–25; it’s why film crews in this city can double Winnipeg for Chicago on a Tuesday, and why a graduate from Red River Polytech could build a career without having to leave the area. Nothing about it is minor.

But a tax credit buys activity. It does not buy assets. When the activity stops, we keep the people, which matters enormously, and nothing else, which matters too.

The province does own a tool that ends differently. Through its two production funds, Manitoba Film and Music takes an actual equity position in a project, recouping alongside the other investors and sharing in revenue for seven years. It has worked this way for decades. It requires proof that somebody here owns the thing being made. On June 4, both funds closed to new applications until April 1, 2027, citing unprecedented demand. It was the second year in a row.

Read those two facts together and the shape of our policy is clear enough. The instrument that leaves us owning nothing has no ceiling. The instrument that leaves us owning something ran out in the spring.

This is the year to notice and pay attention to all of this, because the federal backstop for Canadian content is currently falling apart. In May, the CRTC required the big streaming services to spend 15 per cent of their Canadian revenues on Canadian programming. Two weeks later, however, Ottawa asked the regulator to reconsider after Washington listed the Online Streaming Act as a trade irritant and offered $600 million from public funds as an alternative. The foreign streamers have been challenging the original requirement in court since 2024 and have not paid a single cent. Then the trade negotiations broke down in August, and the tariffs were imposed anyway.

So, as it seems, our film industry has now become a bargaining chip in a game we are not playing, held by a government that cannot decide whether to defend it. Waiting to see how this turns out is not in Manitoba’s best interest; so we believe the time to act is now.

For the people working in this industry, ownership is no abstract concept. Copyright provides payments for many decades. A Manitoba-based company that owns the copyright has a balance sheet rather than a cash-flow cycle, which lets it carry out projects during months when no filming is taking place, keep a producer on the payroll, and have a crew available between contracts.

Service companies cannot do this. They exist only on someone else’s approval and vanish when someone else decides to reorganize. Because of this, the most reliable employers of crews in Manitoba will be the Manitoba companies that own rights.

So we believe the province should fund the side of the ledger that leaves something behind by appropriating enough money to keep the equity funds open 12 months a year rather than three, and let what the province recoups flow back into the fund so a success enlarges the next investment.

We can reward Manitoba-held copyright inside the credit the same way we already reward rural shooting and frequent filming. We also need to put money towards building local audiences, since right now we will pay 65 per cent to make a film and nothing at all to help a single person find it. Lastly, we need to make sure that when public money pays for a road to a private studio, that we take a stake or a right of first refusal in exchange for that funding, so that the next sale is a conversation we are part of.

Here in Manitoba, we are in a better position on this front than almost anywhere else. APTN is based in Winnipeg and operates its own streaming service. This year, Manitoba Film and Music set up a fund for Indigenous short films in cooperation with the Indigenous Screen Office. Indigenous producers in this province have advocated for ownership for many years, long before the rest of the industry, and the province should support this position rather than simply adopt terminology used by others.

That brings us back to Niverville. The advertisement states that the seller will be open to entering into a partnership with a buyer in order to complete the launch of the studio, including the LED wall, which was meant to give it advanced production capabilities.

This is a window of opportunity, and windows have to close. Someone is going to purchase that building, and it will then either become a sound stage or a warehouse, but only after a fire sale that benefits the purchaser.

Here in Manitoba, we have gotten very good at making other people’s things. Thirty years from now, it would be nice to own one of them to help pay the bills.

Hersh Seth is a Winnipeg resident and community organizer.