My Biggest Lesson: Keith Otter

After a short lived career as a professional soccer player and failed kids TV presenter, Londoner Keith decided to embark on a far more sensible career as an advertising creative. While working at some of advertising’s most prestigious agencies, Keith helped to shape some of the world’s biggest brands, winning almost every award known to advertising kind along the way. After nearly twenty years of cricket, jellied eels, chimney sweeps, and Morris Dancing, he decided to head for sunnier climes and new challenges on the “other side of the pond.”

Since arriving at Intermark, he has raised the already high creative bar, helping the agency gain recognition from Cannes Lion, One Show, Communication Arts and The Webby Awards. Keith can often be seen slumped at his computer with a tear in his eye, not because he is missing home, but because of his team West Ham’s horrendous form.

From my collection of work/life experiences, the one common theme that emerges is that my biggest lessons have always come from my biggest mistakes. And, oh boy, I’ve made some real humdingers throughout my career - and continue to do so. But on a positive note, I’ve viewed each one of those mistakes as a learning opportunity, and fortunately, some of those lessons did stick.

For brevity, and your sanity’s sake, I won’t prattle on about all my faux pas; I’ll keep it short and highlight just one big mistake, and the lesson I learned from it.

So, here’s how it played out. It was the mid-nineties, and I thought I’d hit the jackpot. I was a junior art director on my first major shoot with a full head of hair (yes, it was a long time ago), and I was lucky enough to have my idea bought for a TV spot for a major car brand.

I was standing there in one of the world’s biggest and most famous sound stages, the Albert R. Broccoli 007 Stage at Pinewood Studios, UK. I was shooting with one of the fanciest directors of the day and was transfixed as various members of the crew were expertly busying themselves, fussing, tweaking, and making final adjustments to our massive set.

This manufacturer had a great range of vehicles, all covered by the same impressive warranty. The idea was to have all ten models stacked on top of one another to form the shape of just one car. This construction was then covered with a massive silk cloth to hide the fact that it was multiple vehicles. The voiceover would further misdirect the viewer by implying that there was a warranty so prestigious and so rare, it could only be for one elite car. Then, you guessed it, low and behold, the cover would be removed to reveal it was, in fact, for a full range of everyday cars.

However, and this was a big however in my mind, our carefully constructed stack of vehicles didn’t quite make the shape of a car. In fact, it just looked like, well…ten cars stacked on top of one another, or just a hideous mechanical blob. But what did I know? Everyone else was so experienced and knew what they were doing. Surely, this was just my novice perspective, and the experts knew better. I left it to the experts and kept quiet.

At the end of the day, everyone seemed pleased with the way the shoot went. People were high-fiving each other, and many celebratory beers were drunk. Editing, once again, went smoothly, but still, I had that nagging horrendous mechanical blob-like image stuck in my head.

Finally, it was time for the client to view the first cut. The account men bowed and fussed around them as they ceremoniously entered the editing suite. Speeches were made as to how great everything looked and how proud we were of the work. The play button was hit, and the thirty seconds flashed by, followed by silence - a deafening silence. The play button was hit again, and again, and again. We waited for our pat on the back, but as you’ve probably already guessed by now, it was a dagger to the heart that came instead. 

“It looks nothing like a bloody car!” was our client’s reaction, followed by a few other expletives. He was a blunt and honest man. And, as soon as it was said, like that kid who declared the emperor was wearing no clothes, the rest of the crowd unanimously followed suit. The whole thing collapsed like a house of cars. It was a horrible mess.

After many apologies, backpedalling, model making, SFX, and a small reshoot, everything was the way it should have been originally. People seemed genuinely happy, and the spot was almost the way I saw it in my mind’s eye. 

Since then, cars have aged, as have special effects, TV formats, and styles. Now, just two things remain from the whole experience, an old beta tape stored in my closet and a big lesson learned: Never be afraid to open your mouth and ask questions.

Nowadays, I have no shame and am not afraid to ask the most blindingly dumb questions, and, more often than not, those dumb questions aren’t as dumb as they seem. They turn out to be quite smart. So, don’t hold back, don’t be embarrassed, ask away, and never assume that things will be ok if you’re not so sure yourself.