Reflections from a BBC Set
- Both Feet
- 22 hours ago
- 4 min read
Recently, I had the huge privilege of spending a couple of days on the set of a BBC drama, shadowing and learning from the very bloody lovely Matt Holt while he was directing.
Being back in that world, with so many moving parts and so many people quietly and brilliantly doing their jobs, was both grounding and energising. They were so welcoming of me too, which I was so grateful for.
It reminded me why I fell in love with this work in the first place. Here are a few reflections that came up for me, from the perspective of my work with actors.
Similar themes
In the quiet moments I was able to have many gorgeous open conversations with people from all over the production.
Producers.
Camera.
Lighting.
Script.
Direction.
And again and again, similar themes came up - things they’d encountered in their work with actors over the years, and patterns that felt very familiar to me too.
About fear.
About actors not trusting themselves.
About how anxiety can take up so much internal space that there’s very little left for listening.
About ego and self-protection and what happens when someone feels unsafe in themselves.
Not in a judgemental way.
In a kind of [shrug] “this is often how it is” way
What struck me was how much goodwill exists on a set.
How many people are there to support the actor.
To help them shine.
To protect the story.
And how easily that ecosystem can be affected when any of us start to close down.
(I’ve been "that guy" too).
When that happens, people start tiptoeing.
Second-guessing.
Holding back.
And suddenly, doing a job well becomes harder for everyone.
When It Works, It Really Works
There were actors there who were just… effortless.
Ready.
Present.
Open.
Easy to be around.
Generous in their energy.
It didn’t matter if they were stopped and started.
It didn’t matter if there was waiting.
It didn’t matter if plans shifted.
They were always there.
Always ready to work.
Always professional.
Always curious.
And you could feel the whole crew breathe around them.
You could feel the room soften.
People relaxed.
People trusted.
People did their best work.
Because when an actor is like that, everything flows.
The Dance of It All
What struck me most over those days was the dance of it all.
Because everything is a dance, really.
Life is a dance.
Work is a dance.
Collaboration is a dance.
And this one was beautiful to witness.
The crew knew each other’s moves.
Who held what.
Who needed what.
When to step in.
When to step back.
There was so much care taken not to waste anyone’s energy.
Then you’d see the wave come in.
Matt sharing his vision with the DOP, the gaffer, the camera team.
That information flowing down the line.
Being translated.
Held.
The actors would get called in, stepping through it and suddenly twenty people would swoop in to see it in practice.
Watching.
Mapping the action.
Understanding the space.
Then the actors would leave again, to save energy.
And everyone else would burst into motion.
Lights.
Camera.
Props.
Sound.
Marks.
Adjustments.
Baa ba ba ba ba [Steph hums the dance]
Of course, efficiency matters.
Of course, budgets matter.
But what I felt most was respect.
For each other’s craft.
For each other’s time.
For each other’s nervous systems.
And when actors were willing to dance too - to stay open, flexible, grounded, trusting and respectful of themselves and others - the whole thing flowed.
The easier the actors were,
the easier the dance became.
“Can We Send All the Actors to You?”
When I shared what I do - the work around regulation, self-trust, listening, curiosity, presence - the response was almost comical.
“Yes yes yes yes yes please.”
“Can we send all the actors to you?”
“God, that’s so needed.”
Not because I have some magic answer.
But because what I teach is simple:
Come home to yourself.
Stop outsourcing your worth.
Trust your preparation.
Stay open.
Stay curious.
You don’t need to push.
You don’t need to armour up.
You don’t need to perform confidence.
You need to be available.
To yourself.
To your scene partner.
To the room.
To the story.
A Quiet Validation
I won’t lie - it was deeply validating.
Not in an ego way.
In a “keep going” way.
In a “this matters” way.
So much of my work happens in quiet spaces.
The studio.
The rolling hills.
The cold water.
Reminders and check ins.
Places where people can soften.
To see how directly that translates to high-pressure professional environments mattered.
This isn’t “nice extra stuff”.
It’s essential.
A Fire Lit (Again)
More than anything, the time there lit something in me.
A remembering.
Of how much I love making things.
Of how much I love being in a team.
Of how alive I feel in creative collaboration.
Whether that’s screen.
Or theatre.
Or new work.
Or training.
It’s all connected.
And I feel myself gently, clearly, pointing back towards directing and making again.
Exciting!
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