Sam Cadman: Man in a Van

I was once with a fantastic director of photography when he told me how he worried it would all end… in van, on a motorway, rushing for the airport.

It was the morning after our shoot and the van we were in had that familiar post-production hush, a mix of euphoria and despair, as the driver swerved from lane to lane, keen to get us to Cape Town International on time.

I took a moment to think about what that DP had just said, catching the driver’s red, watery eyes in the rear-view mirror, and quickly began to see his point – of all the complicated and potentially dangerous things we get to do in this business, it’s most likely the hungover sprint for the airport, with a runner still coming down from the night before, when it’ll come to a sudden end.

Indeed, a large part of advertising seems to take place in a van, for production at least, and I’ve come to realise there’s a set of unspoken social codes and common practices, well beyond making sure you have your seatbelt on, that one would be smart to follow.

As a director, the first and most important thing to get right is where to sit - the given is Front-Passenger - and if in any doubt, that’s always the choice to make. Done with unflinching confidence, it has the immediate appearance of looking like you know what you’re doing (a huge relief for everyone) whilst minimising the risk of getting car-sick, which is absolute director suicide (you can literally see the loss of respect roll across everyone’s faces with the first utterance of asking the driver to slow down or even open a window).

Sitting further back in the van, however, is sometimes an important team-play. In fact, occasionally it’s even critical, especially when morale is wavering or your directing ability is under serious scrutiny. Squeezing to the back of the van with crew or creatives is a top-tip for artistic reconnection, honest conversation and making sure everyone enjoys supper.

And if you’ve got to do it, evening time is certainly the best when journeys are short and the panic-inducing claustrophobia created by back windows that only open a slit, is softened by the glass or two of rosé you downed before departure. Drivers tend to follow particular traits too – in LA they’re silent, muscled, middle-aged Teamsters; in NY they’re young film students on the up; in London it’s usually Addison Lee. 

Conversation on the road tends to drift quickly away from production details and it’s amazing how candid people you’ve only just met can soon become. It’s kind of like a mobile Big Brother house, before you know it an institutionalization has set in that you haven’t felt since your last school trip and everyone is sharing their most heartfelt and honest thoughts, patchy assessment of international news and strong, yet totally un-researched political views.

People have told me about their impending divorce, serial infidelities, one time even a guy shared photos of the birthday party he’d been at with US mass-murderer, John Wayne Gasey.

I love all this banter, especially when you’re whizzing through a city you’ve never shot in before, fresh off the plane, excited about the possibilities of the job ahead. It’s an important part of the bonding process and at times I feel as if I’m in a band on the road or a gang of pirates heading out to see, all in it together, to the very end, even if that’s nothing more than a 30-second TV spot with some possible 15-second lifts for online.

So whilst it’s true I often think of that DP's candid words, especially when a few years ago, in a van driving back from Liverpool to London, we all fell asleep, the driver included, but for now… long may it continue.