Written by Shoval Tshuva
Atonement (2007)
As a filmmaker, I see storytelling as a way to evoke emotions, challenge perspectives, and spark conversations. But with this power comes a responsibility—especially when the work explores themes or visuals that may be distressing for some.
Trigger warnings are not about diluting art or spoiling narratives; they’re about creating a safe space for audiences to decide how, when, and if they engage with a story. A well-crafted trigger warning isn’t a limitation—it’s an invitation for everyone to connect with the work on their own terms.
This topic has been on my mind since a recent conversation in a filmmakers’ group chat. Someone had recommended The Brutalist, mentioning it included a graphic assault scene. A member of the chat shared how they rushed out of the theater because it was too much for them to witness, and they felt compelled to warn others. This led to a debate: one side emphasized the necessity of trigger warnings to allow viewers to prepare, while others worried that warnings risk spoiling the narrative.
As I listened, I couldn’t help but reflect on my dual perspective—both as a filmmaker and a survivor of sexual assault. On one hand, I understand the desire to preserve the raw emotional power of a story. But on the other hand, I know how devastating it can be to stumble upon a depiction of trauma without warning.
I’ve experienced it firsthand. I vividly remember watching The Last Duel, a historical drama I was drawn to for its impressive cast. I always loved historical narratives and a friend of mine suggested we will watch it together. I didn’t know that the film would center on an assault. Sitting in that theater, holding my breath, I was completely unprepared. Later, the friend I saw the film with remarked, “Can you imagine if I’d brought a friend who’d been assaulted to this movie?” I stayed silent. I hadn’t yet shared my story. That night I didn’t sleep.
Trigger warnings don’t spoil the art—they offer a chance to prepare. It’s not about shielding viewers from discomfort but about allowing them to engage with difficult truths in a way that feels manageable.
When I made my film Funky, which explores themes of healing after sexual assault, including a trigger warning wasn’t just a choice—it was a necessity. Even though the film doesn’t depict the assault explicitly, I wanted survivors to feel protected, to know I was thinking of them as they entered the story. At the same time, I structured the narrative to evoke how trauma feels: sudden and unanticipated. Including a trigger warning didn’t detract from the film’s power; it enhanced the audience’s ability to engage with it meaningfully.
The debate around trigger warnings often positions them as a binary: either we protect the art or the audience. But it’s not an either-or situation. Trigger warnings, when thoughtfully crafted, respect both. They acknowledge the emotional weight of trauma while empowering viewers to choose their experience.
As creators, our goal is to connect, not alienate. A trigger warning isn’t a concession—it’s an act of care, a bridge to understanding. For survivors, it can mean the difference between feeling ambushed and feeling seen.
At its core, storytelling is about empathy. By recognizing the impact of trauma, we create space for healing and growth. And that doesn’t dilute the art—it strengthens it.