Public Access (David Shadrack Smith, 2026) 3 out of 5 stars
I believed I had a vague understanding of what public-access television was. Then I saw David Shadrack Smith’s documentary about it, and I realized I had no idea. Created at the beginning of the 1970s, public-access TV was mandated to ensure democratic ideals during the rise of cable. It is essentially just as its name suggests: media created by ordinary people, free from corporate oversight and broadcast across the airwaves for all to see. As you can imagine, this led to the wide publication of content that was completely new, sometimes daring, and often downright bizarre. Through archival footage, Public Access remembers New York’s Manhattan Cable Television’s Channel J, one such public-access channel that was a new frontier for the city, opening up a whole new avenue for free speech and becoming a cornerstone of previously underrepresented people.
One of the most compelling aspects of the documentary is this idea of public-access television being a new medium for Americans to exercise their free speech. With an “anything goes” philosophy at its center, public access was constantly challenging the limits of free speech, and it’s insightful to see how this began a whole new era of First Amendment interpretation. This documentary thoughtfully frames the censorship attempts while also showing how the content was shedding a light on the changing values of the city.
At times, however, the documentary feels like it is trying to both do too much and too little. While it covers the free-speech tension, its acknowledgement that public access equally created a new platform for hatred is merely a footnote. Shadrack Smith covers a wide range of topics, each genuinely important and fascinating, from LGBTQ rights to post-desegregation racial tensions. Some are explored in depth, while others feel like they are introduced only to be left behind. And although it may make sense to center on the prevalence of pornography, given how central it was to public access’s legacy, the repetition occasionally feels redundant. It is one of the few instances where I could imagine a film working better as a docuseries, probably because it already feels somewhat episodic.
Stylistically, I appreciated that the documentary relies entirely on archival footage. The decision to avoid showing contemporary talking-head interviews is refreshing and reinforces the film’s commitment to letting the past speak for itself, although it may have relied a touch too much on the audio of such interviews, and it can occasionally be confusing to figure out who is speaking. Even so, the footage it uses captures an incredible side to New York, filled with larger-than-life personalities who are funny and endlessly entertaining.
While part of me wishes the film had concluded with more commentary on public-access television outside of New York, or what it looks like today, it works well as an informative glance at the past. The subject itself is endlessly compelling, and the documentary succeeds in making the viewer reflect on just how strange, creative, and wonderful people can be when given a platform to express themselves freely.
Hannah Tran
Hannah Tran is a filmmaker, writer, and friendly neighborhood barista from Las Vegas. She graduated from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas in Film and English and is currently working on her first feature film. In her spare time, she can be found attending film festivals, running a local book club, and, of course, devouring as many movies as possible.