Thou Shalt Know Thy Story

Every shoot I've been on that went sideways had the same root cause. Not the weather, not the kit, not the contributor who changed their mind at 7am. It was a crew that couldn't say, in one sentence, what the film was about.

So here's the first commandment, and the one the other nine hang off: before you light anything, know your story.

What "knowing your story" actually means

It doesn't mean having a script. In documentary and factual TV you rarely do. It means you can answer three questions before the camera comes out of the bag:

1. What is this film about? Not the topic. The idea. "A police unit in Bermuda" is a topic. "What it takes to keep paradise safe when everyone knows everyone" is a story.
2. What has to change by the end? A person, a place, a belief, an audience's understanding. If nothing changes, you have footage, not a film.
3. What's the one scene we can't leave without? Name it. Then protect it on the schedule.

If you can answer those, every other decision gets easier: where the camera goes, what you ask, what you let go.

On Policing Paradise in Bermuda, the story was never just crime. It was how the police live alongside the community, tourists included. So when I followed one officer on patrol and realised she knew everyone on her beat, I stopped treating it as a patrol. It became a walk through the neighbourhood, checking in on people. I let the chats run long and stayed observational, because I was always taught the story is already there. Your job is to capture it.

Why it matters more when you're self-shooting

When I'm working as a shooting PD, I'm the director and the camera at the same time. There's no one beside me to ask "are we getting what we need?" The story has to live in my head so clearly that my hands frame for it without thinking.

On Compton Magic I shot about 95% of the series, from Compton to New York. You can't shoot a full basketball season and hope the story turns up in the edit. You need to know which moments matter so you're in the right place when they happen.

One of my first days on the job was a playoff game in Indiana. One of the shortest players on the team, and the one who'd been there longest, still didn't have a Division I offer, and he badly needed one. We knew this game mattered more to him than anyone. It went to triple overtime. He did everything he had to do to win it, and when the team headed back to the locker room, I knew my only job was to stay with him. Then his phone rang. It was Georgia State University, offering him a D1 scholarship, and the locker room erupted. I was right there, because I knew whose story that game was.

Know it, then hold it loosely

Knowing your story isn't the same as forcing it. Real people will surprise you, and sometimes the surprise is the better film. The point of knowing your story is that you can recognise when a better one walks in, because you know exactly what you're trading.

That's commandment eight's territory, so more on that later.

The one-line test

Before your next shoot, write the film in one sentence and stick it somewhere you'll see it: the call sheet, the back of your slate, your phone lock screen. If the crew can't repeat it back to you, you're not ready to roll.

Next in the series: Commandment 2, Thou Shalt Respect Thy Subject.