If nothing else, the rant continues to be predictable: Small artists battle big corporations. Crass commercialism pitted against creative integrity. David and Goliath. Yadda yadda. When it comes to the institutional treatment of personal expression, money certainly equals power—but it also invites complaints. Since launching in 2002, the Tribeca Film Festival has never entirely deflected the animosity that resulted from questions about the nature of its existence. The festival’s perseverance in light of doggedly hostile reactions from the media and the international film community suggests that its confidence is cultivated, at least partially, by the sheer consistency of its existence.

While several acclaimed American festivals rose to popularity on the basis of their selections—from the nurturing treatment of ultra-low budget fare at Austin’s South by Southwest Film Festival to the auteur-rockets-to-fame legends that gave Sundance its luster—Tribeca made headlines from the moment of its inception. The high visibility came from two directions. First of all, the involvement of Robert De Niro—a quintessential movie face from the last quarter of the 20th century and a typically reclusive sort—created an immediate sense of legitimacy. As an essential addendum to the facile publicity of fame, the festival sported a teary 9/11 hook. De Niro, collaborating with producer Jane Rosenthal and local philanthropist Craig Hatkoff, started the gathering with the stated purpose of resurrecting the economic and cultural productivity of Lower Manhattan in the wake of its virtual abandonment after the fall of the World Trade Center towers.

“It’s just a way of helping, you know,” De Niro told The New York Times when the plans began taking shape in late 2001. Like most situations unfolding in the immediate aftermath of that historic American catastrophe, the wound of terrorism was still too fresh for anyone to take issue with the idea. But during the ensuing months, a clamor began, reaching a crescendo with the same steady decline out of favor that destroyed the reputation of the war in Iraq.

While the inaugural year launched with George Lucas’ deliriously overhyped Star Wars: Episode II—Attack of the Clones, the proximity to Ground Zero lent the event an immediate sentimentality (“Just North of Ground Zero, a Tribute in Light Sabers,” the Times declared). But last year’s awkward decision to open the festival with Paul Greengrass’ intrinsically depressing United 93 didn’t tug enough heartstrings to save the festival from delayed objections to its evolution. Screenings in the Upper West Side led some people to speculate about whether an expansion into other neighborhoods hinted at disingenuousness in its initial premise. This year’s alarming announcement that ticket prices were rising 50 percent from last year, costing $18 in most circumstances, put a coherent face on the developing frustrations. As a rebuttal to De Niro’s humble statement of intent over five years ago, inquiring minds wanted to know: Helping who?

Regardless of whether or not such dubiousness contains any semblance of validity, it wouldn’t be fair to ignore the impressively speedy achievement of the event, at least on paper: In essence, it looks like a bonafide film festival. Unlike the (impressive) recycling of acclaimed titles screened around the globe that fuels Lincoln Center’s annual New York Film Festival, Tribeca carries enough premieres and celebrity spectacle to offer plenty of options to its mainstream audiences (assuming they can afford the admission fee). More than anything else, the sheer glitziness of the assembly keeps the skepticism afloat.

“Is Tribeca Film Festival Too Much of a Good Thing?” the Boston Globe asked.

More substantially, is it too little? This year, the plans for a luxuriously packaged premiere of Spider-Man 3 guarantees further annoyance from the droves of New Yorkers whose brand of cinema cowers in the shadow of such an unapologetically massive blockbuster entity.

But none of the fundamental complaints leveled at the festival differ from general qualms about the current state of New York as a whole, with its ballooning real estate and increasingly claustrophobic space to accommodate the proverbial “starving artist.” The genuine argument, one of utmost importance, tends to get lost in the chaotic shuffle of tired art-versus-commerce squabbling: Do the movies have room to breathe? In fact, most filmmakers involved designate the festival as a veritable oxygen tank.

“I love the amazing generosity of the street fairs and the things they do for kids,” says Ken Jacobs, a seminal figure of New York’s experimental film scene since the 1960s. “I also think the choices they make in films are very gutsy.” No kidding: Jacobs contributes to this year’s festival with his abstract exploration of national turmoil, RAZZLE DAZZLE The Lost World. But speaking as a member of NYC film culture since before neighborhood titles like Tribeca existed, Jacobs believes that the festival does exactly what it claims to do. “I always thought of it as a cultural statement: ‘We’re going to live. We’re going to create,’” he says. “But it has been picking up business.”

The simple fact that avant-garde works—such as the sort that Jacobs helped pioneer—now have a place in a pricey gathering like Tribeca attests to its glaring creative elements. “Underground film is not the tiny little art that it was in the ’60s,” Jacobs adds. “It wasn’t conceivable to make films for an audience that didn’t exist.” Suggesting that the festival contains qualities reminiscent of experimental film clubs from several decades ago (particularly Amos Vogel’s Cinema 16), Jacobs claims that the growing prevalence of avant-garde films in New York attests to its bright future. “A huge number of people have joined with what was, at the time, a loose bunch of individuals who did not know each other and didn’t suspect each other existed,” he explains.

The supposed artist renaissance certainly has something to do with changes in the city’s economy. While unreasonably bloated rents sent numerous filmmakers fleeing to homes far from Manhattan, overall the city is much friendlier to a variety of productions.  “When I started acting in movies during the ’80s in New York, there was a lot of production, but not necessarily [independent film],” explains Mary Stuart Masterson, who has appeared in a variety of film and television work and makes her directorial debut with the family drama, The Cake Eaters, premiering at Tribeca. “Then, all of a sudden, all the work went to Canada.”

It wasn’t an illogical move. “In the early ’90s, the tax advantages were so obvious,” Masterson says. “In New York, they were so high that it was impossible to work here. In the past year, all the incentives that New York has provided filmmakers has made it change again.”

Younger filmmakers have witnessed a radical change in the city’s environment since the arrival of the festival. “When I got out of film school, it was a few months after September 11th,” recalls Jim Mickle, the director of festival entry Mulberry Street, a New York-centered horror film that recalls classics of the zombie genre. “It was next-to-impossible to find a way to stay in the film business. I couldn’t even intern on the shoots because so much of the culture came to a standstill. I’d wait for months just to get a day of humping standbags on an independent film for free. The new tax incentives and the creation of the festival create a boom where people can stay in the loop and do their own thing.”

Speaking of that loop, Tribeca does seem to support the existence of a posse. “The festival is such a great platform for young, truly independent filmmakers,” explains Michael Kang, whose Sundance-assisted debut, The Motel, is followed up this year with the gangster yarn, West 32nd Street. But the crucial potential contribution of the festival is its ability to function as a burgeoning marketplace.

Lisa Muskat, producer of the sentimental story of sibling rivalry, Shotgun Stories, considers market value to be the festival’s driving force. “Our director, Jeff Nichols, will have the opportunity to screen his film to a diverse and vibrant audience—not a typical festival audience, but one drawn from one of the most international cities in the word,” she explains. “The festival has become an essential part of the fabric that makes up the experience of showcasing and selling international films made in and outside of the studio system.” 

The location is key in several ways. “Unlike other festivals where the hoopla each year seems to be more about celebrity sightings and shwag, Tribeca avoids all of that superficiality by being in a city that is not impressed by such things,” Kang says. Meaning, the too-cool-for-school New Yorker attitude that adds to criticism of the festival also helps keep it alive—and grabs the attention of everyone else.

“The industry can’t help but notice the avid interest of the public to the great and innovative films offered and be influenced by it,” explains veteran animator John Canemaker, whose work will receive a retrospective during the festival.

But the largely local audience helps some people: Recent Columbia film school graduate Marshall Lewy will premiere his directorial debut, Blue State, about a liberal-minded sort who flees to Canada after the results of the 2004 presidential election. “The movie is about political involvement and trying to find your place,” Lewy says. “Obviously, New York is a friendly venue for it.”

All nitpicking aside, the dominant reason for the festival’s popularity stems from an awareness that the city itself continues to foster artistic sensibilities. Tribeca can be used—by both its supporters and detractors—as an indicator of the community’s ongoing lifespan. “It’s not like the only person who makes movies in New York is Woody Allen,” says Masterson. “Of course, he’s making them in London now.”

Visit www.tribecafilmfestival.org for more information.

The Animated World of John Canemaker

Directed by John Canemaker

The NY-based indie animator gets a retrospective of his work.

April 30, 6:15 p.m.; May 3, Midnight; May 6, 10:20 a.m.

Blue State

Directed by Marshall Lewy

Anna Paquin stars in this road trip film about an American looking to escape to Canada after the 2004 election.

April 27, 8:30 p.m.; April 29, 1 p.m.; April 30, 8 p.m.; May 6, 2:30 p.m.

The Cake Eaters

Directed by Mary Stuart Masterson

Directorial debut by Masterson focuses on three generations of two different families when a prodigal son returns home.

April 29, 6 p.m.; April 30, 6:30 p.m.; May 3, 4:30 p.m.; May 5, 8 p.m.

Mulberry Street

Directed by Jim Mickle

A NY-based horror flick about rat-borne virus infecting and turning NYorkers into rodent-like creatures.

April 27, 11:30 p.m.; April 28, 5 p.m.; May 1, 11 p.m.; May 4, 12:30 a.m.

RAZZLE DAZZLE The Lost World

Directed by Ken Jacobs

An experimental narrative opus by one of NYC’s avant-garde filmmakers.

April 26, 9:30 p.m.; April 28, Midnight; April 29, 4 p.m.; May 4, 2:30 p.m.

West 32nd Street

Directed by Michael Kang

A young lawyer infiltrates NY’s Korean underworld (in English and Korean).

April 28, 7:30 p.m.; April 29, 10 p.m.; May 1, p.m.; May 3, 3:30 pm.; May 4, 8:30 p.m.