He never succeeded in creating the groundbreaking, visionary Netflix series that had once been promised to the world. Yet, in the aftermath of his failed endeavor, what he did manage to produce was something quite different: a glossy coffee-table book — a curious artifact standing as both a relic of ambition and a symbol of a stalled dream. This peculiar turn of events became a prominent point of discussion on Tuesday, when Peter Friedlander, a former Netflix executive, appeared in court to testify about the ill-fated science fiction venture known as “White Horse.”
According to Friedlander’s testimony in a packed federal courtroom in downtown Manhattan, the series, which had once been positioned as a bold, futuristic epic exploring humanity’s relationship with artificial life, devolved into a notorious Hollywood debacle. He recounted to jurors how, at first, he had been genuinely astonished — even “blown away” — by the early visual material director and producer Carl Rinsch presented, only to find himself in subsequent months desperately trying to track Rinsch down for updates that rarely materialized. Friedlander, whose impressive tenure at Netflix included overseeing major hits like *House of Cards* and *Orange is the New Black*, described his repeated but “unproductive” attempts to obtain meaningful progress reports. Meetings that were meant to clarify the production’s trajectory often ended abruptly, with Rinsch departing before matters could be resolved.
Despite the scale of its ambition and the millions invested, Rinsch ultimately failed to complete even a single episode of the show. Federal prosecutors now allege that behind this creative collapse lay something far more nefarious: a pattern of deceit and financial misconduct. The prosecution contends that Rinsch defrauded Netflix of approximately $11 million, diverting the supposed production funds toward extravagant personal expenditures — including luxury vehicles like Rolls-Royces, speculative bets on cryptocurrencies, payments related to his divorce, and even top-tier custom mattresses.
In contrast, Rinsch’s legal defense has portrayed the chaos as a misunderstanding rooted in artistic turbulence rather than criminal intent. His attorney, Michael Arthus, opened the defense’s arguments by characterizing his client as a “creative genius” — a deeply imaginative yet overextended artist who struggled under the triple burden of simultaneously directing, writing, and producing the ambitious project. Arthus argued that Netflix failed to provide the necessary structural support that such an ambitious creative undertaking required, and that the matter amounted to a contractual disagreement, not a fraud case.
Perhaps the most bizarre incident described during Friedlander’s testimony occurred during a May 2020 meeting at the Four Seasons hotel in Beverly Hills. There, instead of the long-awaited footage, Rinsch presented what he deemed his only tangible product: a lavishly designed coffee table book. This book, Friedlander explained, contained meticulously produced, high-gloss photographs documenting the months of shooting completed during 2019. The series itself, however, had not advanced beyond those early stages. Rinsch, according to Friedlander, appeared convinced that this glossy compilation would impress Netflix executives — a belief that, in hindsight, reflected how disconnected the director had become from the actual goals of the production.
By way of context, Friedlander — who would later go on to join Amazon MGM Studios in September — explained that he had personally championed “White Horse” back in 2018. He was captivated by Rinsch’s independently created footage that presented a startlingly vivid vision of a future in which humanlike artificial beings, after breaking from their creators, forged their own complex society. Friedlander told the jury that he was “truly blown away” by the creative scale of the concept and the unprecedented visual style, remarking that “the visuals were something that I had never seen before.” On that basis alone, he decided the project merited Netflix’s backing.
Principal photography began in 2019, and Rinsch’s ambitions grew almost boundless. He sought to film in a constellation of international locations — from Budapest, Prague, and Berlin to Brazil, Kenya, Mexico, and Uruguay — aiming to give his science-fiction world a tangible, global authenticity. Yet, Friedlander testified, early signs of trouble appeared quickly. He worried that Rinsch had neglected to hire a line producer — a crucial managerial figure responsible for coordinating the logistical and financial complexities of international shoots. This omission, he said, was “troubling,” as he knew firsthand how extraordinarily difficult it was to coordinate multi-country productions without dedicated supervision.
Then came what Friedlander described as an alarming turn of events. In September 2019, while shooting was underway in Budapest, he received an email from Rinsch warning that the “budgets have exploded.” The director insisted on two options: either Netflix allow him to produce only half the originally agreed number of episodes or provide a substantial infusion of additional funds to sustain production. Friedlander, unsettled by the message, recognized the need to “go under the hood” and evaluate precisely why and how the production costs had spiraled so far out of control.
As he recounted this before the jury, Rinsch — tall, with long hair and dressed in a carefully tailored blue suit — fidgeted with his tie and buttons, scribbling notes while appearing simultaneously restless and attentive. At several moments, he leaned forward, seemingly absorbed in Friedlander’s account. When U.S. District Judge Jed Rakoff interjected with a light-hearted remark, Rinsch broke into laughter, briefly cutting through the courtroom’s otherwise tense atmosphere.
Friedlander and a fellow Netflix executive soon traveled to Budapest to confront the situation directly. On October 11, 2019, they met with Rinsch, toured the production set, and reviewed raw material shot in Brazil and Uruguay. Yet even these in-person conversations failed to yield clarity on the mounting costs. Friedlander testified that midway through the discussion, Rinsch once again left before the meeting concluded. A follow-up session the next morning proved equally fruitless — another “unproductive” encounter ending with Rinsch’s premature departure.
When the Budapest shoot eventually wrapped in November 2019, there was, in Friedlander’s words, “no plan” in place to continue filming in the other planned locations. Still, Netflix and Rinsch exchanged a flurry of emails in the months that followed, attempting to devise a path forward and preserve the project’s viability. This culminated in an agreement, reached in late February 2020, in which Netflix wired $11 million to Rinsch’s production company under the condition that the funds be applied exclusively to finishing “White Horse” — covering filming costs, essential overhead, storyboards, and related production needs. To ensure accountability, Rinsch was required to deliver a weekly “assembly,” meaning a rough cut of the evolving series composed of unedited footage.
Fate, however, intervened once more. Within weeks of that new arrangement, the COVID-19 pandemic ground the entertainment industry to a halt, extinguishing any realistic prospect of resuming large-scale international shoots. Nevertheless, Rinsch assured Friedlander via email that he was continuing to develop the project in isolation. But when the parties met again in May, the only tangible evidence he provided of progress was that same coffee-table book. Friedlander admitted to the jury that he found no assurances of actual continuation — the production appeared frozen in time. By the fourth quarter of 2020, Netflix formally wrote down the entire cost of “White Horse,” effectively classifying the once-promising series as a total loss. What had begun as a daring artistic enterprise had ended as a cautionary tale of unchecked vision, financial collapse, and the blurred boundary between genius and recklessness.
Sourse: https://www.businessinsider.com/netflix-peter-friedlander-testifies-director-carl-rinsch-fruad-trial-2025-12
