HOW TO GET HIRED FOR A JOB YOU'VE NEVER DONE

by Jeff Fisher

My living room looked like the inside of a UPS truck.

Movers were coming Tuesday. I was leaving for a shoot in Chicago on Wednesday — a thriller that had its own set of complications, including the fact that until very recently, it had a different director. This job came in the middle of moving and I had a lot of packing to do. And at the moment, plenty of production hurdles I needed to help solve.

Meanwhile, a friend of mine went out to dinner on a Friday night with a producer on a football movie that had suddenly lost its director. Three filmmakers were already in the running. My friend, being the awesome human he is, pitched me hard over the meal.

Within 30 minutes of that dinner, one of the producers called. Would I be interested in reading the script? Could I Zoom with the eight producers about this movie…on Monday?

Before we go on, full disclosure: I am not what you'd call "a football guy."

My honest relationship with football: I loved going to games at the University of Florida, but that had much more to do with funneling beer and tailgating than anything happening on the actual field. More recently, when my football loving friends would high five over a first down, I didn't have the cojones to pipe up and ask "Uh, mind talking me through exactly how you get a first down?" I'd pump my fist and probably enjoy the commercial breaks a bit more than a game I didn't really understand.

But my answer to that producer call: Absolutely. I'd love to. Yikes.

YOUTUBE TUTORIALS ABOUT FIRST DOWNS…AND OTHER HUMBLING EXPERIENCES

The script arrived by email. I read it at the kitchen island of a half-packed condo.

Honestly, the script was pretty intimidating. I knew I had real work ahead — I would need to understand this world well enough to make a movie that delivered authentic action for the fans who live and breathe the game, while also pulling in everyone else who just needed something to believe in. But I'd been intimidated before in my career. Pushing through the fear had served me before. I knew two things: this had the bones of a genuinely great underdog story, and I had about 48 hours to re-invent myself as that football guy.

I opened Apple TV and started renting movies. Friday Night Lights. Any Given Sunday. Rudy. Rocky. Remember the Titans. The Blind Side. Jerry Maguire. I re-watched them all that weekend while packing, studying how they shot the action, how they made non-fans care about the game, how they built emotional stakes inside the sport.

In between, I called a close friend who had been in the camera department on Friday Night Lights to find out how they actually shot the games — the difference between the documentary-style some movies used versus, say, the more stylized, hyper-kinetic way Any Given Sunday tackled it. (No pun intended.)

I was also watching a lot of YouTube tutorials. About first downs. While bubble-wrapping. Side note: In case you need a reminder, moving kind of s*cks.

The TV that wasn't packed yet was running at all times for those two days. It went like this: football movie, wrap a (dish, frying pan, picture frame), seal a box, change packing tape dispenser, track Cuba Gooding Jr.'s character arc in Jerry Maguire in a Moleskine notebook. Repeat. You get the picture.

I also wanted to pull together a pitch deck for the Zoom. I tried squeezing in a Canva tutorial re-watch between trips to Home Depot, but I was starting to spin out. I called a great Production Assistant I knew to get some help laying out the images and copy…very grateful he answered the phone.

By Sunday night, most of the place was packed and I felt like I knew what my take was.

The Blind Side — or really any of those films — wasn't just a football movie. It's a movie about family, loyalty, and second chances. The football is the arena. The heart is in the characters. I wanted visceral, authentic action for the fans who live and breathe the game — and genuine character depth that would pull in everyone else. I wanted to give audiences something hopeful.

That was my take. Now I just had to sell it to eight people.

EIGHT PRODUCERS ON SCREEN. FORTY BOXES OFF SCREEN.

My condo’s general theme of “cardboard box” did not exactly scream hire me. There was one clean corner of my home office that could plausibly suggest that a professional human being lived here. I moved my computer. Framed out the trash bags. Gave my dog a 30-minute bone.

Eight producers on the call. Deck ready. Notes just off screen. And one goal: do not be the only one talking.

Before I started my pitch, I asked each producer to share why they loved this story. I genuinely wanted to know — and by the time it was my turn to speak, I was talking to people whose passion I already understood.

Here’s the thing about pitching a genre you’ve never tackled before: you can’t just say “trust me.” You have to show them evidence from your existing work that the skills transfer.

In the original script for my last movie The Stranger in My Home, the daughter played field hockey and that opened the movie. No offense to field hockey enthusiasts — but I grew up loving movies like Can’t Buy Me Love and Bring It On (which I’m sure peels back the onion of this story a bit more). I thought our opening sequence needed something with more energy. I made my case to the production company executives — who were skeptical, worried about budget and logistics — and eventually got the change approved.

The sport became cheerleading. I got to work for the third time with awesome choreographer Bonnie Story — whose credits include the High School Musical films. We shot a sequence with a mix of great dancers Bonnie knew and actual current National Collegiate Cheer champions. The crowd on set was cheering at the stunts. Athletic, cinematic, feel-good — and a lot of wow.

The point: I had proof. I showed those eight producers exactly how I shoot dynamic athletic action — the angles, the energy, the storytelling inside the movement. The Stranger in My Home wasn’t out yet, but that sequence did some heavy lifting. It seemed to land.

It was actually going well. Better than I hoped.

Then, at the very end: “Before we go — tell us your favorite NFL team.”

Okay. Um. Do I guess? Do I pick a team and accidentally insult one of the eight producers staring at me through a screen?

Here goes: “It might not be the most popular answer, but I’m from South Florida, and I’ve got to stay loyal to the Miami Dolphins.”

Now — if they had pressed me for anything beyond that, I would not have been able to tell them much more than Dan Marino used to be their quarterback. A very long time ago.

But I caught some luck: two of the eight producers were from Miami. They liked that answer. Whew.

HOW TO PITCH A MOVIE DURING YOUR LUNCH BREAK

They wanted another meeting. This time: story notes on the script. Ideas for how I’d make it better, elevate it.

By this point, I was already in Chicago prepping the thriller — location scouting, casting, fast-moving schedule. The production had set me up in an apartment building with a co-work space at the bottom acting as the production office: one of those open-plan WeWork situations with little soundproofed phone booth pods for private calls.

When I got word they wanted the story notes meeting, I had to do three things simultaneously: generate the notes, figure out how to make the movie feel less dire and more like Rocky, and find a window in a prep schedule that did not have many windows for Zoom calls that didn’t have to do with that movie. So I scheduled it over my 30-minute lunch break before a location scout.

I slipped into one of those phone booth pods with my laptop. Ten producers on this one. I pitched them my vision for the script — how I’d restructure it, where I’d find the heart, how we’d shoot the game sequences — from a booth the size of a closet, while my crew ate Sweetgreens twenty feet away.

My deodorant was, uh, put to the test.

THE CALL

I was about midway through the Chicago shoot when it came.

From the top two, I had become the director they wanted.

Oh — and they needed a page-one rewrite of the script. Due exactly 28 days after I wrapped the Chicago production.

I had pitched them a detailed structure for how I’d change the story, so I had the blueprint. I just had to finish one movie, fly home, unpack my life into a new place, and execute the rewrite. No sweat.

The first call I made was to my friend David — the awesome friend whose dinner pitch had gotten my name in the room in the first place. I thanked him up and down and we celebrated over the phone.

RUDY-ADJACENT

I did the rewrite.

And then something happened that I did not see coming.

Off the strength of that rewrite, I got hired to re-write and direct another sports movie. This one about lacrosse.

The idea that I am apparently finding a career as a sports movie director — the guy who spent his college weekends significantly more interested in the tailgate than the game, who bubble-wrapped his dinner plates while watching YouTube tutorials about first downs, who told eight producers he was a Miami Dolphins fan and prayed no one asked a follow-up question — both astonishes me and makes me feel a little, well...

Rudy-ish.

THE TAKEAWAYS (BECAUSE YOUR MONDAY MORNING ZOOM IS COMING)

→ Do the prep. No matter what. The movers are coming. The timing is terrible. You’ve never done this genre before. Push through anyway. At minimum, you walk away knowing you gave it your best shot — and that matters.

→ Show, don’t just tell. Find the evidence in your existing work that the skills transfer. I’d never shot football — but I had shot cheerleading for The Stranger in My Home, and I could show exactly how I approach athletic, cinematic action. Find your equivalent.

→ Make it a conversation. Asking those producers to share their passion before I pitched was one of the best decisions I made. You learn more, you connect more, and you give the room a reason to be on your side before you’ve pitched a single idea.

→ Know what your real skill is. Mine isn’t football. It’s storytelling. It’s finding the heart inside the action and the character underneath the competition. Know what yours is — and lead with it.

→ Let yourself be scared. The script scared me. The pitch scared me. The rewrite deadline scared me. Scared is not a stop sign. Scared means it matters. I’d been scared before — and pushing through had served me.

→ Don’t let down the people who vouched for you. My friend sold me hard at that dinner. That’s not a small motivation. It’s a very human one. Use it.

The goal isn’t to walk into that room perfectly qualified. The goal is to walk in fully prepared.

And if you can, know which producers are from Miami.

Jeff Fisher is a director and writer whose credits include Paramount Pictures’ “The Stranger in My Home” and “The Image of You,” Hallmark’s highest-rated film of the year “My Christmas Love,” and reality hits spanning from “The Simple Life” to “Keeping Up With The Kardashians.” Visit www.jefffisherdirector.com to see his work and www.reeltalkwithjeff.com for more industry insights. @jefffisher_insta

Facing your own Monday morning Zoom — a pitch, an audition, a meeting for something outside your comfort zone? I offer one-on-one coaching and consulting sessions at reeltalkwithjeff.com. Reach out — let’s get you ready.

#Sports #FilmDirector #Hollywood #Pitching #FootballMovie #BehindTheScenes #IndieFilm #CareerAdvice #JustMakeIt #Underdogs

Use the code REELTALK25 for $25 off any service.