‘Public Access’ Review: A Serviceable Primer of Free-Speech Television Fails to Capture Its Bizarre Spirit

Authenticity may be “dangerous and expensive,” per Tina Fey, for those itching to bask in the harsh spotlight of mainstream celebrity. But it’s still precious currency to creators determined to find an audience at all.

Long before the internet rendered it possible for anyone with wifi to have their voice heard, the first wave of “electronic democracy” was public-access television, a first-come, first-served platform for strangers to communicate with the general public — or, more accurately, anyone savvy, curious, or bored enough to tune in. David Shadrack Smith’s archival documentary “Public Access” charts the medium’s history in the heart of New York City, where the world’s first channel debuted in 1971. On the far reaches of the television dial, authentic self-expression reigned supreme, free from the confines of commercial standards and practices.

With the help of extensive contextualizing voiceover from ex-Manhattan Cable Television staffers and principal artists, “Public Access” shuffles through a bunch of programs in roughly chronological order to epitomize the medium’s uninhibited identity. “TV Party,” ex-Factory member Glenn O’Brien’s ramshackle talk show co-hosted by Blondie’s Chris Stein and directed by Amos Poe, shone a light on New and No Wave culture and gave viewers the first glimpse of Jean-Michel Basquiat’s epigrammatic artwork. “The Grube Tube,” an unfiltered live call-in show for eccentric Manhattanites, and “Squirt TV,” a pop-culture round-up hosted by a teenage Jake Fogelnest out of his bedroom, exemplified public access’ handcrafted spirit — how anyone could be on television and reach like-minded outsiders.

“Public Access” illustrates how a social mandate from the Federal Communications Commission to serve local community interest eventually metastasized into a venue for genuinely outré programming. Smith correctly pinpoints the inception of consumer-grade technology and the rise of punk rock in New York as reasons for public access’ cult-like success. The copious unscheduled airtime on Manhattan Cable Television’s two channels (Channel C and D) indulged the hunger for “alternative” media, where New York was ahead of the curve. The oft-surreal and sexually and politically progressive voices from the downtown underground saw mass media as a new cultural vanguard destined to be conquered.

A throughline about censorship quickly materializes in “Public Access.” A classic First Amendment fight between labor and management was born with video artist Anton Perich’s “Mr. Fixit.” The network quickly moved to censor a transgressive sitcom parody where soon-to-be-Ramones-manager Danny Fields tries to cure a TV repairman’s hemorrhoids by sticking a lightbulb up his ass. In response to questions of “appropriate” content, Manhattan Cable created Channel J, a “leased access” channel where airtime slots weren’t free, and producers were permitted to sell advertising. In other words, against the initial non-profit ethos of public access.

Adult programming subsequently proliferated on Channel J. “Midnight Blue,” a thrice-weekly show where “Screw” magazine founder Al Goldstein “reported on the frontlines of the sexual revolution,” aired alongside “Emerald City,” a news and variety show dedicated to gay culture. Straight and gay pornography was aired, albeit clumsily censored by the network. (Frequent, absurd debates over how long genitalia could remain on screen were conducted by management.) With Channel J, Smith illustrates that the anything-goes nature of public access was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, misogynistic content slipped through under the banner of sexual permissiveness, but on the other, sincerely informational material regarding post-Stonewall gay life and the AIDS crisis also had a home.

The oddball footage in “Public Access,” featuring the famous and obscure alike, ultimately belies the film’s insipid infrastructure. “Public Access” too quickly falls into a monotonous rhythm as its episodic, box-checking structure emerges, with each show it profiles receiving roughly equal focus and treading approximately the same territory. By the time Smith gets around to the anti-commercial activism of “Paper Tiger Television” and the reggae-themed “Rockers TV,” “Public Access” has long since worn out its welcome. Worse, the well-sourced public access clips start to unproductively bleed together

Smith — a former producer for “National Geographic Explorer” and a veteran of travel and lifestyle docuseries like “Taste the Nation with Padma Lakshmi” — also bites off more than he can chew by attempting to make “Public Access” an all-encompassing historical primer. The film’s first half successfully dovetails certain obvious social markers with the rise of public access; by the second half, Smith awkwardly gestures towards MTV co-opting public access aesthetics and the popularity of “Wayne’s World” as evidence of the medium flirting with mainstream popularity. Later, in between highlighting “The Robin Byrd Show,” he clumsily delves into public access surviving mayor Rudy Giuliani’s gentrification campaign and Congress’ (ultimately unsuccessful) bipartisan push to restrict adult programming via an opt-in cable system. The film’s tedious narrative structure ultimately serves as an ill-fitting clothesline for a survey of cultural history.

Most damningly, Smith stubbornly adopts a conventional approach to decidedly unconventional material. Editor Geoff Gruetzmacher occasionally adopts a “sampledelia” mixtape approach to the abundance of footage, flipping between straitlaced and avant-garde clips with delirious abandon to simulate the experience of actually watching the programming. Most of the time, though, “Public Access” formally reflects a bland 101-style synopsis that would neatly fit alongside the dozens of cookie-cutter documentaries that clutter streaming libraries. (The film’s opening teaser would neatly serve as a Netflix preview.) The rib-poking voiceover, which might as well have been accompanied by talking-head interviews, repeatedly underlines the groundbreaking quality of public access in a way that suggests the audience might forget. “Public Access” frequently does a disservice to its actual material, which sits at the nexus of community service and avant-garde art, by having its sound and imagery constantly restate one another.

Near the beginning of “Public Access,” rock ‘n’ roll photographer Bob Gruen, who filmed numerous CBGB’s performances that aired on the channels, explains how the Portapak camera he used to film his wife giving birth glitched at the moment when the doctor held up their child.

“The funny thing about the video machine,” he explains, “is that it’s somehow sensitive to emotions. When things get exciting, the machine gets excited.” The same thing can be said about the narrowcast programming on public-access television, which, at its best, vibrated with sui generis excitement that predated and forecasted the early uncharted territory of the internet. “Public Access” might satisfy curious individuals interested in the era (or possibly those who simply want to scan clips of classic pornography), but a documentary about alternative mass media ideally should have an authentically alternative sensibility. The film never gets excited. Instead, it tells you about excitement.

Grade: C+

“Public Access” premiered at the 2026 Sundance Film Festival. It is currently seeking U.S. distribution.

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