The Moment I Fell in Love With Film
This Valentine’s Day, we’re turning the spotlight on the moments that sparked a lifelong love affair with filmmaking. For many in the production community, the journey began with a single, transformative experience — a movie that left them breathless, a childhood experiment with a camcorder, or a behind-the-scenes revelation that unveiled the magic of storytelling. These are the moments that nudged them down the winding, unpredictable road of filmmaking, where creativity knows no bounds, and every frame is a labour of love.
We’ve gathered heartfelt stories from producers, directors, and post-production professionals across the globe. From the awe-inspiring cinematic spectacles to the surreal charm of a family VHS tape, these are the films and experiences that ignited their passion and set them on a path to creating their own cinematic magic.
Grab your popcorn and settle in as we celebrate the moments that made these filmmakers fall head over heels for the art of storytelling.
Andrea Armada, creative director – Chrome UK
'Jurassic Park' (1993)
I remember the moment clearly. It was 1997, and what I considered then my ginormous feet – I had a crazy growth spurt – walked down the dark corridor of the cinema as the prelude of trailers played. My blue-striped Adidas tennis shoes squelched with every step on the sticky floor while I balanced my giant tub of popcorn, trying to find my seat. There was no better plan for me than watching a great film with a bunch of addictive cinema popcorn; I think there still isn’t.
We had started learning about the different periods of the Earth in school, and I was nerdily obsessed with the dinosaur period at the time, so imagine my face when, a few minutes into the film, a gigantic T-Rex appeared. It was the most magical moment because I remember thinking, "It looks so real!" while I looked up in awe at the spectacle. That was the moment I thought, if they can make magic happen, then I want to make magic.
Andrew Hutcheson, co-founder and EP – Voyager, USA
'The Making of Jurassic Park'
I fell in love with film thanks to Jurassic Park — more specifically, 'The Making of Jurassic Park' VHS I got for my birthday in the early 90s. I watched it so often as a kid that I wore down the heads on the tape. While I was initially disappointed to learn those weren’t real dinosaurs on screen, discovering the illusory craft that made it all feel so real left me utterly spellbound. Goodbye, dreams of being a palaeontologist. Hello, movie magic.
I devoured every behind-the-scenes feature I could get my hands on, poring over hours of commentaries and spectacles deconstructed in fine detail. Eventually, this led me to pick up a camera and recreate scenes from my favourite films with Lego, which evolved into constantly making ridiculous little videos after school with friends. I went on to pursue it as a career, first through film school and then by starting a production company, which will celebrate its tenth anniversary later this year.
To this day, I marvel at everything that goes into telling stories for the screen. Every time I step on set, I feel like a kid again.
Anita Lee, director – Entropico, Australia
'Back to the Future' (1985), 'E.T.' (1982), 'The Neverending Story' (1984), 'The Labyrinth' (1986)
Growing up with classic fantasy ’80s movies like 'Back to the Future', 'E.T.', 'The Neverending Story', and 'The Labyrinth', it was hard not to get swept up in the magic of filmmaking.
Those childhood movies are so formative, and they were always something I’d rewatch over and over again on video tape. Disney movies also left a huge impression on me. When I realised I didn’t have the technical drawing chops or patience to make it as an animator, I thought directing could better suit my personality and skills. I didn’t get to really test this out until I made my first short film under Metro Screen and Screen NSW’s First Breaks initiative for first-time directors. I remember finishing making the film and going through the post-production process and loving how each creative department added another layer to the story.
Not being remotely athletic or sporty, it was amazing to find a creative version of a team sport. I learnt so much from my first AD and editor, who were seasoned industry professionals, and they really gave me confidence in my ability to direct. Our film premiered at Palm Springs, which we attended, and after that, there was no going back! I was hooked.
Chester Buchanan, director – Entropico, Australia
'Jabberwocky' (1971)
I must have been about five or six. It was the mid-90s, so we were still taping our favourite shows on VHS. An experimental Australian series called 'Eat Carpet' became a weekly favourite. It was here that I was first introduced to Jan Švankmajer’s bizarre take on 'Alice in Wonderland'. The gradual clogging of the reels and subsequent static didn’t stop the film from being in constant rotation.
I didn’t realise until later in life how much it ignited my love for filmmaking. Its sheer absurdity and creepiness also moulded my love for the surreal and unfamiliar. To this day, I still reference his work.
Curtis Hill, director – Good Oil, Australia
VHS Lullabys
As a little fella, instead of a teddy or a dummy, I’d pick out a VHS to lull me to sleep. In the Hill House, a movie wasn’t judged by The Green Guide; it was judged by the number of bite marks on the VHS case.
Fast forward through a decade's worth of microplastic ingestion, and I’m chasing my sister around the backyard with my Grandad’s Sony camcorder, making my first-ever movie — a suburban apocalypse. I still remember the buzz of editing in the sound effects and watching it come to life. It wasn’t just like seeing behind the magician’s curtain, it was like being the magician.
Looking back, I think this planted the seed to make things that have something to say. With 'Cowboys Doing Laundry', I wanted to put a softer spin on traditional masculine iconography. 'Good Health Is Contagious', the work I did for Bupa, focused on the community-building side of health — something I really believe in. At Deep See Survey, the artist collective I co-run, I dive into themes of climate and cultural regeneration.
Right now I’m working on a project set to release in March, and it’s been a lot of fun tapping into my love for the craft. Whether it’s passion, purpose, or both, filmmaking still feels like magic.
And for those wondering, streaming finally weaned me off chewing VHS.
Elliott Power, director – Love Song, USA
'The Great Beauty' ('La Grande Bellezza', 2013)
I never grew up with ambitions of becoming a director. But cinema and filmmaking have always been a part of my life. My dad showed me Katsuhiro Otomo’s 'Akira' at the age of four (to him, it was just a cartoon, so it didn’t seem inappropriate — parenting was different in the 90s).
In my late teens, I started making my own music videos out of necessity. Fast forward to my early 20s… Paolo Sorrentino wins the Academy Award for Best International Feature Film for 'The Great Beauty'. I’d never seen such elegance on the big screen — stylised cinematography, immaculate wardrobe, elevated casting. A story of a man trapped by nostalgia, that offers a glimpse into a bourgeois world completely foreign to me.
'The Great Beauty' was my gateway into Italian cinema. From there, I worked backward, discovering the masters — Fellini, Bertolucci, and Pasolini.
'The Great Beauty' always stays with me — it’s a film I constantly revisit and study. It’s a meditation on the mundane, the fleeting moments that shape life. He weaves allegory and metaphor much like a Renaissance painter, elevating the ordinary into something profound.
Sorrentino inspired me to pursue directing. People often describe my work as “elevated,” a quality shaped by my deep study of Sorrentino and Italy’s cinematic masters.
Felipe Calviño, head of production – LOLA MullenLowe, Spain
'Jurassic Park' (1993)
Two words: 'Jurassic Park'.
It may be a bit revisionist as back then, what 9-year-old Felipín really wanted to be after watching the film was a palaeontologist, but there is this one moment in the film... Laura Dern and Sam Neill’s characters have spent their entire lives in the mud, scraping shit off rocks in the hope of finding a print, a shape, anything that would help paint a picture of what our ancient world was like. All of a sudden, she turns her head, mouth agape, and taps Sam Neill’s shoulder. John Williams’ theme song kicks in… and there they are: GOD DAMN GIANT DINOSAURS roaming the land.
It was real for them. It was real for me… it was real. I get teary-eyed now, just thinking about it. And I’ll cry. Every. Single. Time.
Later, the Tarantinos, Ritchies, and Finchers of the world would turn teenage me onto the vast well of cinema and its rich, rich history. But that one moment? That right there is, for me, pure cinema magic and it’s the kind of fantasy world I’ve wanted to be in ever since and, very humbly, be a part of.
Fran Colombatti, director – Landia, Mexico
'Bedknobs and Broomsticks' (1971)
Animated movies, especially the Disney Classics like 'The Jungle Book', 'The Sword in the Stone', or 'The Aristocats' made a huge impact on me. That was my first connection with stories, characters, music — and the magic of films. But there was one in particular that challenged the logic of what I thought a movie was. I watched it for the first time on a random TV cable channel, and spent many years of my childhood wondering if I made it up in my mind or if it was real. Finally, and completely by chance, I found it in the last corner of a Blockbuster and everything came back to my mind.
It’s called 'Bedknobs and Broomsticks', and involved a crazy witch (the great Angela Lansbury), a flying bed, the Second World War, and a weird mixture of live action and animation. I didn’t understand what was going on at that time, but those images, those dialogues, and the idea of no boundaries was transcendental for me.
Genevieve Kaiser, director – Entropico, Australia
'The Killer Stench'
I was in primary school and my sister and I went to meet our two respective best friends, two other sisters who lived down the road. They’d just gotten a camcorder. It was unanimously agreed we were making a film.
It was called 'The Killer Stench', an action/drama about a fart so powerful it killed everyone in the world. As the eldest, my sister and Mel, her bestie, were obviously the directors/lead villains/lead heroes. My friend Kara and I were relegated to something akin to an extra/title holder/runner and would very occasionally get to handle the camera.
It was shot sequentially (obviously, how else would you do it?). There was no delete function, no script, and from memory a scene where I attempted to create an off-screen live ‘explosion’ foley by hitting the metal legs of a ping pong table with a racquet (which turned out to be very much in frame). There was no cable, so the only screening was an exclusive on the 10cm screen, but I’m convinced it’s some of my best work to date.
In high school, a friend and I shot its sequel, 'Return of the Stench', on a Motorola flip phone.
Hannah May Reilly, director – Infinity Squared, Australia
'Some Like It Hot' (1959)
The moment I realised I wanted to pursue filmmaking as a career came when I was 10, watching Billy Wilder’s 'Some Like It Hot' (1959) — a charming, hilarious classic.
In the final scene, Jack Lemmon’s character, disguised for most of the film as a woman to escape bootlegging, spats-wearing gangsters, is speeding off into the sunset on a boat with a sweet but gullible millionaire, who has fallen madly in love with his female alter ego. Finally, after the millionaire spouts fantasies of marriage and babies together, Lemmon's character cracks — finally revealing that it can never work out between them because he’s... (yanks off wig) a man. The millionaire smiles, shrugs, and quips, "Well, nobody's perfect!" End credits.
While the idea of hoodwinking wealthy men has always held great appeal to me, what truly inspired me was the film’s effortless execution of such a sweet, funny, and radical (for its time) final line. It felt like a magic trick — a perfect blend of wit and heart. A delicate tightrope act that had me hooked. That seamless mix of comedy, charm, and subversion is what’s kept me captivated by storytelling ever since.
Jacob Gavin, head of production – Partners + Napier, USA
'Pilot Season'
My first career job out of college was on a reality show about aspiring actors chasing pilot season in LA. The production company had shot some 200 hours, but the network didn’t love what they saw in early edits.
The production company hoped to keep the series alive with a reshoot and hired me as a transcriber. I typed every word on those tapes, and when the new showrunner came onboard, he knocked on my office (utility-closet) door asking about what we had, story and character-wise. After spilling water all over my laptop, I offered my thoughts.
Cut to: me brandishing a shiny, new associate producer title, shooting in LA and NY, as part of an otherwise all Scottish crew. They gave me a shiny new name, too: Duncan, after an apparent doppelganger in Edinburgh. Or maybe it was for my adeptness at fetching coffee and doughnuts?
I got to work with some highly talented people, wore many hats on a fast-moving production, and I learned a ton. I shot Super 8 film that made the title sequence and I got a kiss on the cheek from a supermodel. I was smitten. With the job, that is.
James McPherson, chief production officer – Grey North America, USA
The Odeon Cinema
In my early 20s, I left Melbourne, Australia, to see the world — or at least, that’s what I told myself. In reality, I was searching for freedom, for possibility, for myself.
I landed in London and got a job working at a gay bar in Soho. Back then, being gay still carried a weight of fear and shame, so the anonymity of being so far from home made it not only possible but thrilling. Soho was vibrant and gritty — a place where you could lose yourself in its chaos of street markets, cafés, and neon-lit peep show façades. At night, I worked the bar, and on breaks, I’d slip upstairs to chat with the women working the peep shows. We talked about everything — life, love — but mostly movies. They, too, craved an escape, a way to lose themselves in another world.
One of them took me to her favourite place, the Odeon Cinema in Leicester Square, and that’s where everything changed.
It felt like a cathedral — its Art Deco façade, the grand marquee casting golden light onto the wet pavement. Inside, the scent of popcorn, the flicker of emotion in the dark. I had a rush of adrenaline. It felt like love.
I was hooked. I started going alone every week, losing myself in films like 'Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown', 'Strictly Ballroom', 'The Piano', 'The Hairdresser’s Husband', 'Cinema Paradiso', 'The Big Blue', 'Paris Is Burning', and 'Europa'. They weren’t just stories; they were portals — glimpses into worlds I had never experienced but desperately wanted to be part of.
After work, still consumed by the stories and emotions, I would stay up writing notes on each film I saw — its title, director, language, and country of origin — and tape the movie ticket next to my notes. I still have that tattered old book today. I’m digging it out of storage right now as I write this, and though it's falling apart — with ripped pages and faded ink — it was my first production journal, though I didn’t know it at the time. It was my way of trying to understand how something so intangible — an image on a screen — could make me feel so deeply.
Looking back, I realise that was the moment I stopped just watching films and started dissecting them — not just feeling them, but understanding how they were made, who made them, and what else they had created that I had to see, discovering directors like Mike Leigh, Pedro Almodóvar, Jane Campion, Giuseppe Tornatore, and Baz Luhrmann. Somewhere between those screenings and scribbled notes, a career in production started to take shape — long before I ever stepped onto a set.
Little did I know that years later, I would find myself working in the casting department of Baz Luhrmann’s 'Moulin Rouge'. The connection was so clear in hindsight — those nights in the cinema, my obsession with storytelling, the feverish note-taking. This was always where I was meant to be.
Jason Blanc, director – Diamond View, USA
'Jurassic Park' (1993)
My first ‘I love film’ moment was seeing 'Jurassic Park' for the first time — as it probably was for most who experienced Steven Spielberg’s genius first-hand. Then as a teenager, I saw 'Inception' by Christopher Nolan, and for the first time, I realised: that’s how I want to tell a story. The way that movie made me feel, I wanted to chase that feeling for the rest of my life.
When I went off to college, while I always wanted to be a filmmaker, I didn’t think I could be successful at the time, so I started school in computer science instead. But for one class, I had to make a video for another project I was working on, and ended up putting more effort into the video than anything I had ever made for class. That was a clear sign and wake-up call that video making was what I really wanted to do since it was almost chance; production doesn’t really come with many computer science classes. I enjoyed the whole process from start to finish and changed my entire career trajectory from there.
Kaius Potter, director – Entropico, Australia
'The Moment of Creation'
From a young age, I travelled the world with my camera always in hand, documenting my friends surfing, skating, and playing in bands. From making a surf and skate film shot in Indonesia, Japan, New Zealand, and India, to touring across Australia with a band, I was learning filmmaking on the run and making more than my fair share of mistakes.
It started as a selfish pursuit, a way to see the world while figuring out who I was and what I wanted to say. The moment that changed everything was when I stopped just observing and started creating, weaving my imagination into my work, finding the most powerful way to tell a story and realising the endless possibilities that I could create.
Karim Zariffa, director – 1stAveMachine, UK
'The Work of Norm McLaren'
During my time in university studying graphic design, a single moment reshaped my path entirely. One of my professors, Jean-Philippe Fauteux, introduced me to animation, video, and short films. When he shared the works of Norman McLaren, I was captivated. McLaren's groundbreaking ingenuity from the 1930s — using experimental techniques to bring images to life — opened a new creative dimension for me. After six years immersed in graphic design, this discovery shifted my career trajectory.
McLaren’s influence, even decades after his time, inspired me to experiment with techniques like stop motion, seamlessly blending my mastery of static frames with the dynamics of motion and time. This evolution led me into directing, primarily in TV commercials, where my background in communication and advertising played a pivotal role. Though I never formally studied filmmaking, Jean-Philippe's introduction to the National Film Board of Canada’s legendary creators fuelled my self-taught journey.
Today, as an accomplished director, my work remains deeply rooted in the visually driven aesthetic I cultivated during my graphic design years — proof that passion and experimentation can be as powerful as formal training.
Kid Burro, director – Madre, USA
Another Tomorrow
Even though we were in college for marketing, we made sure to squeeze in a video presentation every chance we got, regardless of the subject. It was during our thesis project that we decided to make a 'real' short film. We knew nothing about how to make that happen, but skipping over some lucky breaks, we ended up landing a very good and famous actor for our film. It was one of those 'a friend of a friend of a friend in my synagogue knows this actor' situations, and it paid off.
The short had a scene where the character realises he had been wasting his life drifting by without making meaningful decisions for himself. He was about to kill himself, but bizarrely, he felt happy because it was the first decision he was making for himself. It was bringing some sort of peace and sense of accomplishment to this character, and the scene involved him crying while feeling happiness at the same time.
We directed him to the best of our abilities, and he seemed very comfortable with it. As soon as we said “action” and watched him act, it was the first time in our lives we saw one of our creations come to life. It took the talent of a professional actor to make us truly savour the incredible feeling of ideas taking real form and the power of bringing imaginary beings to life. From that moment on, we decided to pursue that for a living.
Lester Jones, director – Photoplay / Playtime, Australia
Saturday Morning Music Videos
Saturday mornings watching music video shows back in the UK gave me the bug. Watching some of the most heralded contemporary directors build their reputations in music videos, a medium that allowed for bold experimentation, was incredibly inspiring to me, especially the visionary approaches of Jonathan Glazer and Spike Jonze.
Jonathan Glazer’s videos, like Radiohead’s 'Karma Police' and Jamiroquai’s 'Virtual Insanity', felt like short films — moody, cinematic, and deeply atmospheric. His meticulous style carried into films like 'Sexy Beast' and 'Under the Skin', where he continues to push boundaries with bold, thought-provoking storytelling.
Spike Jonze, on the other hand, brought energy, humour, and surrealism. His work on The Pharcyde’s 'Drop' and Fatboy Slim’s 'Weapon of Choice' (with Christopher Walken’s unforgettable dance) showcased his ability to turn music into a visual playground. His later films, like 'Being John Malkovich' and 'Her' maintain that same sense of wonder and originality.
What’s most inspiring is how both directors have never stopped innovating. They transformed music videos into an art form and carried that same creativity into feature films, proving that striking visuals and bold storytelling can resonate across any medium. Their work continues to challenge, surprise, and inspire.
Lisa Mehling, president and owner – Chelsea Pictures NY, USA
'Lady and the Tramp' (1955)
For me, film has always been about stories and voyages that transport. 'Lady and the Tramp' was the first movie I could say I truly loved. Next, 'The Wizard of Oz', which I saw when I was seven — it was totally visceral. I was both enchanted and truly terrified, and even now, when I hear the Wicked Witch’s laughter or the sound of the marching guard’s boots, I’m transported right back in time.
But true love hit in 1989 when my dad took me to a special director’s cut screening of 'Lawrence of Arabia' at the Schubert Theatre in LA. Meeting my dad outside and walking into such a grand place, I remember so clearly my dad offering up a condensed history of the West/Middle East to frame it all up. The epicness of that music and cinematography, and how Peter O’Toole just owned that character — "the trick is not minding that it hurts." I have been hooked on film ever since.
Lizzy Born, director – World War Seven, USA
'Singin' in the Rain' (1952)
The VHS that played on repeat in my household was 'Singin’ in the Rain'. I’m sure the plot went over my head back then, being that it was a movie about the rise of filmmaking during the advent of the talkie. But the plot hardly matters with Gene Kelly on screen. It’s his athletic precision and bewitching charm that carries the story.
There’s one scene, technically the movie within the movie, where Gene’s character is performing a dance number in the musical rendition of his previously failed film. (If this sounds convoluted, it is.) He spots a woman across the bar. Transfixed, the people around them fade away. The woman (Cyd Charisse) wears a white dress with a long veil that is lighter than air. Wind machines lift it into the sky behind her. The two of them prance over waves in a glorious pink world. Her dress wraps around him as they drift across the pink — it is the stuff of dreams. It expresses yearning in the most powerful way. It is a technical feat that still overwhelms me.
Seeing that world as a kid made fantasy seem important and tangible, and worthy of pursuing.
Marie Archambeaud, EP – HAMLET, France
Filmmaking's Radical Sensitivity
When I look back, I realise I fell in love with radical sensitivity in filmmaking at a young age. Directors like Cassavetes, Antonioni, Sciamma, Vinterberg, and Godard captivated me with their uncompromising visions — artists so free from constraints that their raw emotions could hit in the heart.
That feeling was the point that led me into this industry. A desire to help, to bring people closer to those raw emotions that make life unpredictable and an exciting adventure.
Through cinema — and even, at times, advertising when it’s smart and ambitious — you can gather people in front of a screen and make them say “Okay, this is changing who I am.” Sometimes on a deep level, sometimes with fun, but always with passion.
Matt Genesis, director – Late Shift, USA
Doing What Felt Right
I moved to LA right out of high school and started my career dancing professionally. I would often get hired as a sort of freestyle speciality act on music videos, TV shows, and tours.
Growing up, I always had a camera on me and used it to critique my performance and improve. I was on set for a music video and ended up becoming fast friends with the director. I was invited to tag along on a low-budget fashion shoot — pushing a wheelchair as a makeshift dolly, being a human light stand, and carefully handing him lenses. In between setups, I shot a little BTS footage and shared an edit with him. I could see in his eyes that he wasn’t all that impressed until the last shot of the edit.
He asked, “Why did you think to do that?” I had no idea and replied, “It just felt right.” He nodded, “Do that on every shot.” Before that moment, I had no idea that people actually made films. It was like all of my artistic interests could be found in one place and I was hooked. I set up my first music video shoot with friends and I haven’t stopped since.
Matteo Pecorari, integrated producer – DUDE, Milan
Citroën and Grace Jones
I was born in 1979. Working with so many young people makes me feel like an old grandpa sometimes, but there is a bright side. I had the opportunity to watch the 80s commercials as a consumer, when the advert break was the entertainment in a sea full of crappy TV sitcoms and game shows. One of those that got my attention was the Citroën ad with Grace Jones. It was bold, strong, and ironic — proof that great advertising doesn't always need technology.
I think it was easier to make interesting ads back then; there was more freedom and less shame in working for advertising — even for great artists. I’ve never thought about becoming a director, not enough creativity in my veins. I’m a Capricorn, so I decided to try with production.
As for today, I think people in the industry should feel proud and responsible for setting communication standards. We all have blue days, where we question the value of our work. Luckily, one day my husband reminded me that even if people don't understand what we do, they’re still affected by the quality we add to our work.
Mike Lobikis, head of sales and EP – Partizan, USA
A Formative Immersion in Filmmaking
At 16, I landed a PA job on a small independent film starring Martin Landau. I already knew I wanted to dive headfirst into filmmaking, but this experience erased any doubt — there was nothing else for me. It wasn’t just the craft that hooked me; it was the intoxicating energy of a set in motion.
During breaks, Landau, cigarette in hand, would share stories about working with Hitchcock on 'North by Northwest' and Tim Burton on 'Ed Wood'. I spent time in the kitchen with Jerome, the chef flown in from LA, helping prep meals and soaking in the camaraderie of a crew bound by a shared creative mission. And then there was the set itself — a flawless orchestration of lights, cameras, and movement, all working in perfect harmony.
That was the moment I knew: filmmaking wasn’t just an interest. It was my future.
Mike Ware, director – Highdive, USA
Becoming an Injury-Induced Connoisseur
My love for filmmaking actually starts on the football field, of all places. My sophomore year, I suffered a career-ending injury that had me on crutches for almost a year. To pass the time, my family got me Netflix, back when they shipped DVDs. It was all I could do. Lay on the couch and watch movies. I became enamoured with the likes of Tarantino, Nicholas Winding Refn, Kurosawa, and the like. But what really captivated me was always the behind-the-scenes featurettes, showing how they made it. I told myself, “I can do that” and then decided that the second I could walk, I’d pick up a camera and give it a go. I did, and have been in love with it ever since.
I’ve been lucky to have produced five feature films with world-renowned talent, a sports docu-series, and a handful of commercials, yet no matter how much I do, I always get nervous and excited every time I step on set.
Nitram, director – HAMLET, Belgium
The Sorcery of the Neighbour's Camera
Growing up, I had a neighbour with a camera — no plastic toy, no disposable gimmick, but a mystical device that, to me, held pure magic. One day, he showed me a trick: film someone snapping their fingers, cut to an empty frame, and boom — disappeared. It wasn’t Hollywood blockbuster VFX, but to my 7-year-old self, it was pure sorcery. From that moment, I was hooked. I needed to capture all the surreal images swirling in my head.
Of course, I was seven… But I made a plan (read: begged, saved, and gently annoyed every adult) until I could buy a mini DV camcorder. That’s when my family’s peaceful existence took a turn. My grandma? Suddenly an action star. My dad? Pretty decent participant in a sci-fi epic. My friends? My guinea pigs, starring in everything from fake horror movies to espionage remakes. I experimented, I failed, I learned. And without even realising it, I fell hard for filmmaking. No dramatic “I always knew” moment — but just a small camera, some bad jump cuts, and an obsession that never left. Turns out, love at first sight exists… even with a camcorder.
Perry Bradley, director – Film Construction, New Zealand
A Second-Hand Camera and Portable Recorder
Falling in love? Or just messing about. In my case, it was both. Two items set me on my path to directing. When I was 12, one of my big brothers spotted a second-hand Pentax Spotmatic, a 35mm stills camera, and offered to split the cost with me. Around the same time, my other brother returned from travelling with a Panasonic Take ’n Tape portable cassette recorder — a 70s gem and a gift just for me. Suddenly, I had the tools for both image and sound.
Our living room became my experimental studio. I projected slide shows, added soundtracks, recorded songs off the radio, and layered narration. I cut up magazine photos, added text, and pieced together intricate sequences. Each project pushed me further, and I found new ways to tell stories.
That messing about became the theme for my career. In time, it led me to directing — working with cameramen and editors to bring stories to life. Decades later, I’m still playing with images and sound. The gear might be better, but the messing about goes on and on!
Philip Hunt, creative director and studio partner – Studio AKA, UK
Super-8 Film and the Single-Frame Button
I’m a maker at heart. I studied design and always liked film, but it wasn’t until I discovered animation at art school that I fell in love with it. I thought I’d be a model maker, crafting single, still moments in time. But everything changed when I found the single-frame button on a Super 8mm camera while filming a mediocre sculpture. Frame by painstaking frame, the figure sparked into motion — and I felt the thrill of bringing the inanimate to life.
I was never drawn to simply recording the world in motion. What now inspired me was the chance to create my own worlds — tactile, unique, and built with care and intention.
Animation allowed me to blend sight, sound, and emotion in ways that transcend passive observation. If writing transcribes the pictures in your mind, then animation transforms those same ideas and images into something tangible, emotive, and alive. It’s an art form that reaches beyond the physical, evoking empathy and connection.
What keeps me rapt is animation’s endless possibilities. It’s a catalyst for empathy — making me laugh, cry, and explore perspectives no other medium offers. What’s not to love?
Quinn Katherman, director – PRETTYBIRD, USA
'Outrageous Fortune' (1987), 'Death Becomes Her' (1992), and 'A League Of Their Own' (1992)
At a young age, I watched three films on repeat: 'Outrageous Fortune', 'Death Becomes Her', and 'A League Of Their Own'. These female ensembles were among the very few I had access to via my local video store that offered mostly instructional farming videos.
But within them, I found strong, brave, funny, weird women with debatable likability. They weren’t just hot. They weren’t just mums. They were flawed, fully formed people with problems and drama and jokes and red hair! These performances and the storytelling imprinted on my still-developing amygdala and made me an insufferable, middle-aged child.
I treated playdates like casting calls where I'd direct kids to act out scenes from these absolute canons of cinema. While this didn’t make me very popular, it did lead me to ask the most important question you can ask when watching or making something: “Who are you in this?” Bette? Meryl? Geena? There are no wrong answers in these films.
Fortunately, I now have lots of friends (two or three at least) and a job where I get to make stuff that makes people feel stuff, which makes my friendless childhood hardly a thing I constantly think about.
Rebecca Archer, producer – Nexus, UK
Discovering Animation
I fell in love with film, primarily through animation. Growing up, these films were a constant in my life, and I quickly realised it wasn’t just the stories that hooked me — it was the artistry. The ability to blend art, music, and narrative felt both exciting and impressive. As I got older, I discovered different styles of animation, which opened up a whole new world — one that felt more fluid, organic, and emotionally complex. The attention to detail in every frame and the depth of storytelling completely blew me away.
I’ve always been drawn to art, and in studying it, I naturally gravitated toward filmmaking. Animation had always fascinated me, but I didn’t truly understand how it was made until I started experimenting with it during my foundation year at college. That was when everything clicked, and I realised this was a path I wanted to pursue professionally.
Eventually, I earned a masters in directing animation, where I also discovered a passion for production. Being involved in every stage of filmmaking — from concept to completion — and working with so many creative minds kept me connected to the industry in an incredibly exciting way. I haven’t looked back since.
Renee Williams Royal, president of Test Tube Productions – Chemistry, UK
The First Film Shoot
I fell in love with film when I interviewed for my first job in advertising. I was invited to a large shoot to meet with my prospective boss. Watching all the incredible work that goes into making one shot really intrigued me. Before this, I had no idea how many people, talent, and work it took to accomplish what we watch on film. From the PAs making sure that talent got to set on time to the director who planned every detail in that singular shot, I was hooked on being part of the action. I realised then that I wanted to be an integral part of making creative visions come to life.
Roxanne Halley, director – Eric, Tom & Bruce, Australia
'Singin' in the Rain' (1952)
I’ve always been a huge musical nerd thanks to my mum, who got me watching them from a young age. The one that really stuck, and made me fall in love with film, was 'Singin’ in the Rain'. The dancing and songs were larger than life, but what really fascinated me was the behind-the-scenes world of making 'talking pictures'. The old-timey stagehands lugging sets, the melodramatic acting, the stressed-out director and the soundstage bell ringing — it felt like a secret world only for the initiated, a buzzing hive of creativity, energy and huge personalities.
To this day, I absolutely devour any film about filmmaking — 'The Disaster Artist', 'Sunset Boulevard', 'The Fall Guy', 'Ed Wood'. But the moment the love affair became real was my first time on a major set, working as a casual in the art department on the US series 'The Leftovers'. I was part of something big, in boots and a toolbelt, lugging set pieces, one of them. I’d finally made it into that hidden world. That was it. I was a goner.
Ruganzu Howard, director – Epoch Films, USA
'Raise The Red Lantern' (1991)
Growing up, I was always into movies as entertainment. One Sunday, when I was around 17, I came across 'Raise The Red Lantern' on our local PBS station. I didn’t know anything about 1920s republican-era China, or Chinese history, but I found myself transfixed by this seemingly mundane and quiet tale of palace intrigue. I was drawn in by these sights, sounds and elements that were another culture’s history.
The story and performances were subtle, layered and immersing — so much so that by the time credits began to roll, I had forgotten myself entirely — that I was in fact not the bride of a wealthy Chinese merchant and my fate was not Songlian’s. I’d seen plenty of movies before that, but why did I – an American Black man – understand and sympathise and even see myself in a Chinese woman born one hundred years before me on the other side of the earth? I realised the metamorphic power of the medium.
Ryan Patrick, director and EP – Picture North, USA
Disney World and Universal Studios Sound Stages
Growing up in Florida in the 90s, I had an unusual film education: I was spending my weekends and summers looking around the sound stages at Disney World and Universal Studios. The theme parks back then were obsessed with demystifying movie magic — pulling back the curtain on short films they made for the parks. It transformed filmmaking from this distant Hollywood idea into something tactile and achievable.
Like many, 'Indiana Jones' and 'Star Wars' also provided that initial spark. And later, discovering Michel Gondry, and Spike Jonze through the Director's Label DVDs revealed what was possible in short-form storytelling. But it was that early, intimate exposure to the craft at theme parks that really shaped my perspective.
The final piece clicked into place in high school when I discovered Adobe Premiere. I'd vanish into the software for entire weekends, emerging dry-eyed but increasingly confident in my grasp of how editing worked. I even started negotiating with teachers to accept video essays in place of written papers — which many, somewhat surprisingly, embraced.
Those countless park visits and late-night editing sessions did more than teach me filmmaking — they wired me to tell stories. Every shoot still feels like I'm sneaking behind that theme park curtain, looking for a bit of that magic.
Sam Huntley, director – The Gate Films, a Tag Company, UK
'Star Wars' (1977)
I could lie and say that the moment I fell in love with film was when the camera freeze frames on the boy as he walks along the beach at the end of 'Les Quatre Cents Coups' (although I do love that moment), but as a kid of the 80s, my love of film undoubtedly began in a galaxy far, far away…
The opening credits, the lightsabers, the sound effects… Han, Chewie, Vader. Everything about it seemed so different to anything that had come before and I would watch it on repeat as a kid.
There’s so many memorable moments, but the scene that always used to transfix me was when Luke Skywalker is stood staring out at the sunset with the two moons, just as the music swells… So if I had to pick one moment, that was it.
Other classics like 'E.T.', 'Indiana Jones' and 'Back to the Future' would also go on to capture my heart, so George Lucas and Steven Spielberg were definitely the architects of me falling in love with film. But 'Star Wars' is where the romance first blossomed.
Sebastian Hill-Esbrand, director – Entropico, Australia
Those First Skating Videos
I was a proper little prick. The Black kid who ran with the goth skater kids. We were broke, wore skinny jeans, and skipped class constantly. We couldn’t afford skate gear, so our only hope was getting sponsored by the local skate shop. But we had no camera.
Then I met Blunt, my best and worst mate. His stepbrother was given a pocket-sized digital camera for Christmas. We weren’t exactly welcome to borrow it, so we asked for forgiveness, not permission.
One day, we wagged school and caught the train to a skatepark three hours away to film my final clips. I boardslid a rail, snapped my ankle, and, too scared to go to the hospital, limped home on public transport.
I learned to edit on a cracked Sony Vegas while healing. I cut my sponsor-me video to 'Come on Eileen' and remember rewatching it a gazillion times, combing through for imperfections.
In many ways it’s never really stopped, I’m still that same 15-year-old ratbag burning the midnight oil — combing through the edit for imperfections.
Trevor Clarence, director and editor – JOJX, South Africa
The Ads That Felt Like Home
Growing up in South Africa, we didn’t really have our own TV shows or films — unless you count the news, but as an 8-year-old, I did not. Back then, almost everything on TV was American. The only time we saw anything set in our world with decent production values was during the ad break, which made those 30-second films peculiarly integral to our culture.
We lit up when we saw ourselves in the young men and women engaged in the struggles of — finding gum with ‘just-brushed freshness’. While American kids were repeating cool catchphrases from 'Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles', we were repeating cool catchphrases from home insurance spokesmen (I almost wrote spokespeople, but they were definitely spokesmen). Our playgrounds rang with children singing jingles about household cleaning products. I loved ads.
Then one day, I was at breakfast in a hotel in Cape Town when I saw a kid grabbing a bottle of ketchup and joyfully belting out the catchphrase from one of my first commercials. My heart swelled. I felt complete.
Verity Snow, content producer – Amplify, Australia
When Books Come to Life On-Screen
My love of film started with books. Stories and characters first imagined in my head, then reshaped and immortalised on screen. Ken Kesey’s 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest' harrowingly living on as Jack Nicholson. Lewis Carroll’s 'Alice in Wonderland' and the rabbit hole of re-imaginings. Roald Dahl’s 'The Witches' and those disgusting long fingernails.
Some adaptations never quite satisfied. 'The Chronicles of Narnia' — my Mr. Tumnus existed far from Disney’s.
At university, I studied English Literature, screenwriting, and adaptation. My professors were novelists who had seen their text translated for screen. I still remember Giles Foden’s lecture on 'The Last King of Scotland'. How historical fiction further complicates the contract with the audience.
Once, the narrator lived in the book. The reader owned the film rights. Now? Smaller screens. More narrators. Adaptations born from algorithms.
Virginia Woolf called cinema a lesser art. In 1926, she wrote, "Cinema has been born the wrong end first. The mechanical skill is far in advance of the art to be expressed."
I wonder what she’d think of TikTok? Of AI? A century on, are we still lagging behind the mechanics?
Adaptation is why I was drawn to produce. Bridging treatment and content, guiding how stories are told. And my love of film is still rooted in words.
In the conversation after the credits roll. In reading the review on the bus home.
YONG Mun Weng, integrated producer – Mullenlowe Singapore, Singapore
'Before Sunrise' (1995)
My film awakening started pretty late, studying communications in college. Having only known the sciences for most of my early education, my world was completely changed. I spent so much time catching up on films I’ve never had access to before, and life was never the same since.
The feeling I got from first watching 'Before Sunrise' (how appropriate for Valentine’s Day) is one that stays with me til now — how a film can appear so mundane and visually restrained but is absolutely brimming with emotional intensity. It made me realise how good filmmaking is fundamentally about empathy. Whether in scripting, casting, directing, art and wardrobe, music — the audience only really connects to what they are watching when every choice is made with respect and a genuine understanding of the human condition.
Michael Papavero, editor – Abandon Editorial
'Rushmore' (1998)
My dad has everything to do with my love for film. He had me watching Kubrick, Coppola, Allen, and Ashby long before I fully understood what I was seeing. Of course, he had to do some live editing, muting F-bombs and fast-forwarding 'awkward' scenes, but that early exposure made me fall in love with movies. It also probably made me a bit of a nightmare to take to the theatre since I always shared my opinion, and 12-year-olds aren’t exactly known for their tact.
The first film that really hit me personally was 'Rushmore' by Wes Anderson. I had grown up on the classics, but this was the first time a movie felt like it was really speaking directly to me. The mix of timeless visuals and modern storytelling was unlike anything I’d seen. Every detail, from Anderson’s framing and production design to his use of music, felt so controlled, yet incredibly whimsical. That contrast jumped out at me, like I imagine 'Harold and Maude' did for my dad’s generation. I still get chills at the 'Ooh La La' needle drop in the final scene – such an amazing moment.
'Rushmore' is a constant reminder to me that the best art always comes from a place of true personal vision. You have to trust that there’s an audience out there who sees the world the same way you do – and when that happens, it’s pure magic.
Noah Kistler, director – kaboom
The Power of Raw Emotional Truth
Movies were my primary obsession from a young age. I watched everything – silent classics, new releases, obscure international gems, and big Hollywood blockbusters. While many left their mark, I was most drawn to the raw emotional truth certain filmmakers managed to capture on screen.
Think of Gena Rowlands falling apart in John Cassavetes’ 'A Woman Under the Influence', or Travis Bickle’s isolation in 'Taxi Driver'. Or the way Paul Thomas Anderson shows broken people desperately searching for connection in films like 'Hard Eight',' 'Boogie Nights' and 'Magnolia'. These stories were often uncomfortable – even ugly – but they showed characters whose inner worlds spilled out in messy, sometimes dangerous ways that felt deeply human.
It didn’t matter if it was shot like a grainy handheld documentary or lit like a Hollywood fairytale, what mattered was the vulnerability beneath the surface. In a world where we often hide our true feelings, these films show the raw, chaotic beauty of being human. That’s what made me fall in love, and that’s what keeps me coming back.
