My Production Talent Pool Experience

So with the new batch of Production Talent Pool interviews looming, and some already underway, lots of people have been getting in touch asking for hints and tips.

Unfortunately, you’re asking the wrong person. I absolutely blagged my way here and am still pinching myself.

But that’s not particularly helpful.

So what I thought I’d do is outline my experience of the PTP2012 and give you an idea of the kinds of things you might be signing up for.

Background info

Let me just start by saying that I’m in no way qualified to be giving advice, this doesn’t reflect back on my employers if I say anything stupid, and your first point of call is the BBC Trainees Twitter feed, where the people who are qualified to give this kind of advice work tirelessly to help. So if you haven’t already, I would check that out and stay on top of it.

But if you are still with me and reading on, it might be useful for you to know a little bit about myself and my reasons for applying.

I was twenty-two when I applied for the scheme (and personally relate more to the Greg James  version of the song than Taylor Swift’s). I was coming to the end of university, where I’d studied English Literature and Psychology as a BA and a postgrad in Creative Writing.

Originally, I had been of the misguided opinion that there were no jobs in the creative sector other than teaching. I didn’t really know what else to do, so I’d signed up for a PGCE while still studying for my Masters.

I was prompted to apply for the Pool after one of my screenwriting classes, where someone had asked the question, “So how do we work in tv, then?” and the wonderfully dry lecturer replied, “If you want to work in telly, then you have to work in telly.”

He was really great.

So I went home, looked on the BBC website and applied for work experience at Crimewatch. While filling out the application, I saw a link for Production Talent Pool. It sounded even better than work experience as it was an opportunity to actually work on short term contracts across a number of different production roles. It was two hours before the application window closed so I filled out the application there and then, thinking why the hell not.

I was subsequently rejected for work experience but to my surprise was still in the running for the Pool. I thought it was quite an amazing feat as I literally had no experience what so ever. I’d worked in a Mexican restaurant and was juggling two other jobs in retail (trying to pay for my Masters) to try and keep myself afloat. I didn’t know what any of the job roles were, or even how a television/radio production operated. All I knew was that I wanted to work in that industry, because I liked telling stories, and I was armed with ideas. That was it.

I know there are going to be a bunch of people out there who are in the same position as me, so do not be put off by lack of experience. There’s going to be a reason why you are applying for this role, so always keep that in mind. You’ll meet a lot of people who will have more experience than you, so don’t be put off if you don’t have the gift of the gab. Remain humble, know why you’re there, and have confidence in your ideas, as they’re your currency in this crazy game.  

It was then that I regretted not spending more time on my application form, as I didn’t realise that after the initial sift and VRT’s, they’d be going back to these forms before selecting candidates for interviews. If you’re one of the folk that didn’t make it to the interview stage, I would think long and hard about going back to your application form and perfecting it .

How can I improve my application form?

·         Don’t leave it until last minute to fill out. Give it the time it needs and deserves, as ultimately this is your chance to really blow people away. And your final plea to get to the interviews… but realistically this is your chance to say exactly what your experience is, or if you have no direct experience, what you’ve done over the years to lead you to apply for this position.

·         If you’re weak on experience, maybe this is where your application is lacking. Spend this time working on things you can put down on next year’s application. Go out, make some things with your friends. Put them online, get them circulating so that people can see them. Start up a blog, get writing your opinions on things and talk about them. If you're at uni, try joining the newspaper or the student radio team.

·         You have no idea who will be reading this form so think about the language you’re using. Is there a killer, compelling idea that would blow away any member of senior management reading it?

·         If you’re looking at a job in the creative sector, realistically you should have some nifty ideas. Try to not state the obvious. When you’re asked to give an idea, try and dig a little bit deeper to find something fresh and exciting. (Oh, you have an idea about a programme about students? And how hard it is to get a job once you leave? That’s great. The 5000 other students applying definitely didn’t say the same thing. Honest.)

·         Don’t treat this as just another job form you’re filling out. Put your heart and soul into it, and hopefully it might just get you through to the next stage.

General Interview Tips

·         Look the part. Don’t wear a ridiculous t-shirt with Your Mother or some offending slogan blazoned across your chest. We don’t want to see your bum, your boobs, or your pants, so pack these all away and try to look smart.

The BBC generally has a smart casual dress code. Vicki Perrin (a member of the Production Trainee Scheme) gave me the advice – “Think what you might wear if you were meeting your boyfriend’s mother for the first time.” And I found that really helpful . I wear jeans most days, with a smart blazer in case I get called to a meeting where I have to look a little bit tidier.

I didn’t wear jeans to my interview because I didn’t feel I was giving off enough of the 'I'm a total professional, employ me' vibe I was desperately trying to convey. I wore a pair of grey trousers, a black top and a nice blazer.  It didn’t make me stand out, but I felt comfortable and that was my priority for the day. It’s hard to pitch yourself as a responsible and diligent human being when you’re worrying about your boobs falling out, or that your thong has disappeared up your bum.

·         Do your research. Watch, listen, and form ideas on current output. Consume as much media as possible, be up to date on who’s who, and the latest reviews. What’s been doing well? What’s not performing as great as we thought it would? Why? Can you see a gap in the market? Do you have an idea for the next big thing?

Good or bad, you need to be thinking about this stuff and forming ideas. Be aware of public opinion. Don’t absolutely slate something into the ground to a point of non-redemption, as I find that generally doesn’t go down well with someone who’s just made that programme. The interview panel aren’t your mates from down the pub, so have some tact, but do engage them in an engaging conversation about current programmes.

·         Stay on point. I’d never pitched an idea in my life before this interview, as I generally clam up in social situations. However, the fact that I genuinely felt I had awesome ideas for the programme brief gave me confidence which probably got me through. I didn’t drift away from the subject matter, and I could talk and defend my ideas against criticism. I’d already considered how others might view my idea, which allowed me to work on the weaker parts and improve them.

·         Don’t slam anyone down to try and make yourself look better. It generally doesn’t have that effect. You just look like a bitch. And people probably won’t want to work with you. Treat everyone as a valued member of the team and genuinely listen to their ideas. Four heads are better than one, so don’t just pretend to listen.

Your idea isn’t the only idea. It might not even be the best in the group, but that’s ok! If someone else has an idea you love, then roll with it. Collaborate, have an input. Put it to the test, how will others view this idea? How can you, as a group, make it better? Because this is what television and radio is. It’s a team effort! Make sure that the idea you are putting forward is one you’re putting forward because it is strong, not just because it’s your own.

·         Finally, get on social media. Useful people to follow are:

       Simon Wright - Talent Exec at the BBC.

       Don Kong - Trainee Schemes Co-Ordinator at the BBC

       BBC Academy Trainees - The BBC Academy Trainees feed who update opportunities and post job opportunities.

       The Unit List - An amazing resource where production jobs are posted and advertised. Really good to gain insight into the industry and apply for jobs to build up your portfolio.

       Telly Talk - Television networking evening talking all things telly.

My Experience on the Production Talent Pool

I applied for the Cardiff intake and was accepted on to the Pool in June and had my first job in August. It was a day’s work as a Runner on Proms in the Park, Caerphilly. It was a fantastic experience. Music wasn’t a specialist area of mine, but after this one day’s work I seemed to be getting further calls to work in areas of music because that was the only experience I then had on my CV. I didn’t mind this, as much to my surprise, I loved it. I did a further week’s running on the Leeds International Piano Competition, which gave me a crash course in running. I even had the opportunity to work with presenter, Suzy Klein, who recently won a Sony. Following this, I had another weekend of work on Choir of the Year, which was a similar experience. Totally amazing, and loved my life.

Then I had to leave the pool because I was offered a position on the Production Trainee Scheme.

But worse things have happened… (If you’re not familiar with the Production Trainee Scheme, it’s your golden ticket into production, and I’m clinging to mine for my life. I went from having no experience to working on shows like Casualty, Wizards Vs Aliens, Doctor Who, Radio 4 Interactive and joining the Events team, where I’ll be working on things like Glastonbury. All in a less than a year.)

So good luck with your interviews!  If you have any other questions feel free to contact me on twitter. I’m also speaking at the next Telly Talk event (tickets can be booked here, all in aid of Mind Charity) and if you’re serious about a career in television this is definitely worth attending if you can. You’ll have the opportunity to chat to people far more experienced and knowledgeable than myself.

Good luck, be confident, and hopefully I’ll be meeting some of you in the future! I’ll be looking forward to it.

White Lies and Green Screens

Sometimes you have to lie.

I mean, not all the time. And not about big things. But socially.

Sometimes.

It’s just easier. Or politer.

Or sometimes even god damn essential.

It’s a bit like watching green-screen. You know that what you’re seeing isn’t actually happening, it was all super imposed in some studio somewhere, but for the purposes of what you’re watching, it just helps to further the story along quicker if you see a man flying through the air on a dragon than explaining exactly how he got to Mordor. 

It’s the same with lying.

“Kelsey, did you borrow my dress/eat the last cookie/ accidentally drive over my motor-bike?”

I’m not going to return the dress (if it suits me) and confessing to my crime won’t bring the cookie or the crumpled motorbike back. So I just further the story along by saying no and changing the subject so that life can return back to normal.

Except this method doesn’t always work at job interviews. Especially not when the job you’re going for is totally out of your comfort zone. And definitely not when someone is asking you if you know what “metadata” is.

I was at Broadcasting House, London, being interviewed for a possible placement at Radio 4 Interactive.

“Er, no.” I said, clearing my throat. “I do not know what… um, microdata, is.”

“Metadata.” The man said promptly, as it began to dawn on me that I was probably going to be sacked from the placement before I even got the job. “Do you use facebook?”

                I nodded.

                “Tweetdeck?” Nod.

                “Tumblr?” Nod.

                “So you use the internet quite a lot then?”

                The butterflies in my chest began to relax as I realised that maybe I hadn’t blown it. While I’d never, ever, consider myself a computer whizz, I do have a wide range of experience in social networking sites. For a bit of a strange reason. And it’s kind of a weird thing, for both parties, so I’ll just come right out and say it.

                I’ve been talking to an online stranger for ten years.

                It’s not like I’ve purposely been keeping track of the time, but those are the facts.  And once you get the weirdness of the situation out the way, it’s really quite refreshing.

                We were both blank, faceless strangers. We didn’t know the first thing about each other – he could have been stereotypical-fifty-year-old, child-grooming-paedophile, and I could have been eighty-seven-year-old-crazy-cat-lady. Suddenly, our real lives actually became the most interesting thing that we could learn from each other.

There was nothing to be gained from slipping in a few social lies – like I was a size ten, not a twelve, or that I didn’t understand the fundamental principles of algebra, and instead used my maths lessons as hourly therapy sessions with my best friend to talk about boys. Instead, all I actually wanted to say was the truth.

                And I mean the whole truth.

                Because there comes a certain freedom with talking to a stranger, and once I’d started, I could hardly stop.

It all came tumbling out.

I talked about my relationships, which haircut I was getting, what possessed me to date my ex’s, who I didn’t like at school, why I thought Carrie Bradshaw should have got with Aiden, not Big. Even my grandest, most carefully thought out life-plans to foster troubled teenagers when I became a grown up and save the whales with Greenpeace (which is almost the same as being a Trainee at the Beeb, right?).

                He talked about music, and books, and the girls he liked. He was fifteen and in love with a girl called Alice who wouldn’t give him the time of day, but whose hair he said smelled like peaches. It was great because when I turned fifteen and began dating myself, this thing called the mobile phone had really taken off. My online metaphorical big brother was no longer confined to the computer. I remember once being mid-date and sending out a frantic text saying:

“Quick! He’s asking which bands I like, what do I say to sound impressive!?”

 I then awaited an instant response from my internet pal, while I flicked my hair in the poor boy’s direction, which I’d rubbed peach scented bubble bath on (the only peach thing I had) before leaving the house.

“Greenday, Muse, Pearl Jam. Probably not The Dixie Chicks or Tatu. Though Tatu are ace.”

                There were plans to meet, of course. We both went to university, and discovered what it meant to have independent freedom, student loans and endless summers. Sadly, both our lives took us to separate corners of the globe and some years into the friendship, I mentally closed the door on the possibility of meeting.

We didn’t need to.

Instead, we remained content with our interactive world. We had Hotmail, Facebook, MSN, Bebo, Skype, mobile phones, webcams and keyboards – who says communication is dead?

                If anything, with the advancement of technology came the broadening of our friendship. I remember my excitement when his sister won a webcam in a dancing competition, which meant I could finally put a moving, albeit pixelated, face to the person I spent so much time typing to. We had hours of fun trying to understand each other’s accents when we both picked up computer microphones, as he’s Irish and I’m Welsh.

                When we both finally grew up and left the comfort of uni, got jobs and found we could no longer stay up and talk all night about random crap, naturally we didn’t speak as often as we had done when we were teenagers. Msn had died, and like most others we moved into the land of Facebook messaging to keep track of each other’s mile stone life events.

                Which is why I was so shocked when I got a message, not long after my Interactive placement interview:

“Hey, guess what! I’m coming to England. What do you think, would you say it’s about time we met?”

               

It was like a ton of bricks to the face.

                My interactive, non-existent person wanted to meet.

It’s one thing talking to a stranger online, but it’s definitely something else to have them step out of the computer and sit down next to you. Even though I always knew, deep down, there was a person at the other end of my keyboard rants, I just kind of…

Forgot…

After all, all I’d had in front of me was a screen.

                How much do screens remember about personal details you might have disclosed over ten freaking years? I’d told him practically everything! Things I just wouldn’t tell someone who was sitting next to me!

And besides, what if he really was a fifty year old paedophile and this was all some kind of weird, elaborate ten year scam to try and groom me?

No. That wouldn’t be right – I’m twenty three, for Christ’s sake.

At least I could prove I wasn’t an eighty year old cat lady…

                Oh god.

                He’d definitely know I wasn’t a size ten.

It turned out that his sister, Claire, was moving to England for a short time on a job placement, and so he was coming over to lend her a hand lugging her stuff. Coincidentally, it happened to be the very same week I started my new placement at Interactive.

                For the first time ever, we’d be in the same spot of the globe at the same time.

We decided to meet in a crowded pub.

(OK, it wasn’t actually the plan to meet at the pub... they gave me a meeting point and I couldn’t find it, and in the end I took so long they ended up ducking into the nearest pub and waiting for me there. But if I were talking to you face to face right now, this is a fine example of a white lie I would tell in order to move the story along…)

At first, when I couldn’t see them, I thought it was game over. I’d either missed them, or he’d seen me, realised I was some kind of loon and jumped on the next flight home.

It turned out he was standing at the bar, right next to me.

“Wow…” I said, totally shell-shocked. “You’re in 3D!”

My friend of ten years, who I’d never met.

I’d say that was pretty much the weirdest moment of my life.

Ever.

He introduced me to his sister Claire and for a few awkward minutes no one really knew what to say. After all, there wasn’t much ground we hadn’t already covered in ten years. We pretty much knew all there was to know about each other. Would launching in to a conversation about my life seem strange? How much would he remember?

                Should I mention the weather or something?

                “How’s work?” he asked, politely.

                “Oh, it’s er, great!” I said smiling.

                “What do you do?” asked Claire, who genuinely looked interested.

                “It’s er,” I began to fumble, “computers…”

                There wasn’t much more I could say. The guy opposite me had listened to me drone on about how useless I was at technology for the best part of a decade. He was far more qualified to be talking on the subject than I was, and we both knew it.

                For a moment, I thought my deepest fear had come true. That by meeting him, we’d somehow ruin the friendship.

                “That’s cool,” grinned Claire.

                That’s when I realised that Claire probably knew nothing about my life. She was safe ground to talk to! Like a normal person! We could have a great ‘getting to know you’ conversation in this nice little pub, whereby, neither one knew anything about the other. Fantastic!

                Except, I kind of did know a little about hers…

But that was also weird. So, for the sake of social normality, I would pretend.

                “Yeah it is!” I beamed. “What are you studying at university?”

 

A few beers on and conversation was flowing. All the worries I’d had about meeting my friend had totally disappeared. They were both normal, actual people, and I was enjoying my night. So much so, that I began to tell them about an incident that had happened earlier that week, where a friend-but-not-friend of mine had been unfortunately sacked from her job.

                “Yeah, it’s such a shame.” I sighed. “It’s so difficult to find anything these days, I feel really sorry for her…”

                I trailed off. My internet friend (who I’ll refer to as Adam, now that he’s a real person) had a funny look on his face.

                “Gosh, that’s terrible.” said Claire, and I nodded sympathetically.

                “She’s a great girl though, so I’m sure she’ll find something…” I said shrugging my shoulders and gazing for a moment, as if I was thinking of her terrible plight.

Adam began to snigger.

                “Hey…” I said, puzzled. “What’s so—“

                “Kelsey, she’s a ghoul!” he laughed. “You can’t stand the girl!”

                My mouth hung open for a moment as I began to remember all the conversations I’d had with him. Every time she’d ever backstabbed or wrong footed me. All the things I’d said about the horrible, snidey, cow.

                Shit.

                “Hey, and I always meant to ask you,” he said, rearranging himself to face me. “What about that time…”

                Oh god.

                He remembers.

                He remembers it all…

I mentally tried to scan through everything I might have ever said to him. Drunken student nights, where I’d come home and poured my heart out about some boy who didn’t love me. Sober days, where I was being rattled by boys who I didn’t love, and everything in between. There had to be some safe topic.

        I changed the subject fast.

        “So,” I said, trying to compose myself. “How are things with…”

Adam’s face began to flush. He looked over at Claire, as if they were sharing something.

        Wait a minute… was there something he wasn’t telling me?

        Claire began to look amused. That’s when I twigged. She was as much his personal lie detector, as he was mine. Because I guess in life it’s natural to want to edit stuff, to try and make ourselves look better. We do it all the time. We gloss over the crap stuff about ourselves, like the fact we look great in a dress because we’re wearing four pairs of spanks. It’s human nature to want to present our best side – like saying we eat a healthy fruit breakfast every morning, and not mentioning that it’s just a banana muffin from Starbucks.

But all that disappears when you’re with someone who knows you really well. When you’re out with your best friend, or your sister, or this random bloke you’ve been chatting to online…

Well, maybe not quite.

But still, it was a pretty weird situation to be in – sitting around a table, where no one could lie. Not even little ones about people you have to pretend to get on with, even though you secretly think they’re a bit of a numpty.

 

I met up with Adam and Claire for a few days after that first meeting at the pub, until I finally had to go back to my job. Claire had stayed at home to watch the final minutes of Doctor Who (I'd dutifully pointed out which scenes had been greenscreened, having worked on the show), while Adam walked me to my bus.

                We carried on chatting, like we were friends of old, until we got to the bus stop.

                Normally we’d end the conversation with a ‘Speak soon!’ or ‘I won’t be online tomorrow, so catch you later!’ But there was no ‘See you soon” in this relationship. Who knows whether we’d ever actually see each other again? What do you say?

                I was wondering how to end things, when Adam turned to me and said “Do you mind if I ask you a question?” My stomach did a little flip as I ran through all the things he might say –

                This was weird. Do you think it’s better if we don’t speak anymore…?

                Did my disguise fool you? I’m really a mass murderer…

               Why do you tell people you’re a size ten? When you’re blatantly…

“Uh, nope, ask away!” I said nervously.

“We’ve said a lot of things over the years,” he said, looking at me. “Not all of it, that great…”

That’s when it fully hit home that he did really remember everything. Even if over the course of us meeting, he’d been too polite to say anything. When I was a teenager, I was my own harshest critic, and I didn’t make life easy for myself. I knew there were things that I’d said that just wouldn't normally talk about, that I haven’t told anyone. The kind of thing you can only really say to a faceless stranger. And even then, they’re not things I’ve ever said out loud. They’re just things I’ve typed into the nether of cyberspace. And at the same time, I realised how lovely it was of him to have taken the time to get to know me, to remember all these silly little things, for all these years, and still want to meet me.

“Are you happy?” he said, looking at me.

My mind swirled. There were a million things I was happy about. I have a great job, a great family, a wonderful boyfriend. I was happy that I wasn’t still trying to struggle on as a size ten trapped in a size-much-larger’s-body. I was happy that every time I got off the tube and began the walk home to my little flat in London, I see the skyline of canary wharf and think how it hardly looks real. Like it’s just been something green-screened and dropped in. Like it’s not part of my life. It takes my breath away, every time, without fail.

It’s the kind of thing people ask all the time, without really caring what the answer is, yet somehow, it was one of the most personal, honest questions anyone had ever asked me. The kind of question I usually relied on using my keyboard to answer for me while I hid behind a computer screen.

But there was nothing there for me to type on, or click, or anything. For all our wonderful technology today, there was no telepathic machine so that he could find out the answer. Somehow it was like as if he’d asked some kind of taboo question by asking it out loud, and I couldn’t help but wonder whether things would be the same, that we wouldn’t share things with each other now that we had met face to face.  

Even still, it was a question that required an answer. I nodded my head, just as my bus arrived.

“Yep,” I said. “I’m honestly, really happy.”

"Good." he nodded, and I got on the bus.

I waited until we turned around the corner until I pulled my mobile out of my pocket and opened up a Facebook message.

“I wasn’t always happy though, and it took me a long time to get here. So thank you, for always being there for me, no matter how weird it was.”

The truth was, I didn’t know how the meeting had gone. Perhaps the whole weekend, Adam and Claire had just been passing the time with me. Behaving politely, telling little white lies just because it was easier.

 Politer.

Or even god damn necessary.

It wasn’t until I received a message back in a familiar online font:

            “That was the weirdest thing I had ever done…that was weird, right?”

And that's when I knew that our wonderfully weird and unconventional friendship would be just fine.

In fact, we've already started making arrangements for our next meet up, in March 2023.