May 15, 2025

How Time Passes on a Film Set

Keno writes about the differences between a job on a movie versus a regular nine to five, and what this might mean for workers.

Originally published May 8th, 2025.

After graduating from university, I was pretty short on career options and ended up back in my hometown of Tokyo. On a whim, I emailed a couple production services companies asking if they were in need of runners, and a few weeks later I was on set for my first feature job.¹ Because I'm bilingual, I was very lucky and was hired frequently by production managers staffing freelancers for English-language coproductions, and I ended up doing work on movies and TV for around four years.

This was my first exposure to the working world. Being a production assistant, the notion of a working day all seemed very nebulous—the time I got to my job and left was in theory dictated by a call sheet handed to me at the end of the day. But there were no guarantees that the listed 'wrap' time entailed that I'd be going home. One of my worst experiences working on set involved weeks shooting nights.² Because the director and the cinematographer hated each other, instead of compromising on anything, they decided to just shoot as much coverage as possible to have options to work with—the ultimate 'let's fix it in post' situation. There was barely a framework of a schedule to work with, and there was no indicated wrap time on our call sheets. As a result, for myself and the rest of the crew, it was a welcome relief when the sun would start to rise, as it meant that we had to go home. I quickly came to understand that the commodity of work was the time we devoted to keep these shoots running.

For desk workers and others who work a traditional nine to five, the notion of time in the workday is fairly straightforward. One can reasonably expect that their workday will reliably start at the same time every day, and they'll leave the office at the same time in the evening. The workday on set, on the other hand, is particularly unique, being by its nature more flexible and unpredictable. I'm no expert, but I'd say that a schedule for filming on a big-budget shoot will generally be based on a couple key factors: talent (actor) availability, location availability, and time of day. After being presented with the script and other key bits of information, the location managers and production staff on a shoot will play a kind of logistical puzzle, where they try to plot out a schedule to shoot as efficiently as possible. If you're lucky, you'll have the relative luxury of working in a studio, where the lighting is completely controlled and the space is dedicated to the production all day. If you’re unlucky you're out on location, where you’re bound by the rise and fall of the sun, the weather, and how many hours you have to shoot before being kicked out. But say you haven't been able to stick to the schedule, and you aren't able to use the location after today—this usually means that everyone's sticking around for a few extra hours and accumulating overtime to get the job done.

These demands often result in long, unpredictable hours—a survey by the UNI Global Union of film workers from 22 countries found that they work on average at least eleven hours a day, noninclusive of the additional one or two hours of prep and wrap before and after shooting. Further, unlike office work, film work is for many, extremely physical: you have to run from place to place and often carry heavy machinery or equipment. I once worked as a costume assistant on a shoot and I was shocked to discover how much of a workout it was to carry piles of wardrobe for actors and drag rails across uneven terrain for long distances.

These pressures don't account for the shaping of time beyond one's hours on set either. Working long hours means that you have less time and energy for the other obligations required to keep your life together; commutes and life obligations (in the form of just the basics like sleep, cooking and eating, and exercise) need to be done to ensure you're able to make it to work the next day safely. And for many, particularly women, care work is also a non-negotiable responsibility. Added together, long hours, little sleep, a high-stress workplace, and irregular hours form a toxic concoction, exacerbating a number of health conditions resulting in shorter lifespans—literally robbing workers of time in the form of how long they have to live. As such, while working in the film industry is a desirable, glamorous endeavour to many, I'd argue that working below-the-line is in many respects more similar to blue than white-collar work. I say this not to ignore the privilege associated with these competitive jobs, but rather to express their similarities in terms of their relationships between the body and time.³ So film production ends up becoming pulled between two overarching ideological issues: the first being capitalist production, in which the workers' time can be purchased through an employment contract, and the other being artistic fetishisation, in which the best version of an artwork can be produced only through patient, considered processes. The persistence of the latter isn't helped by fanboys who salivate at the thought of exacting directors like David Fincher or Stanley Kubrick who could often do upwards of fifty takes a shot. I think workers lean into dynamic as a coping mechanism as well; I remember bragging about the longest days I'd worked on set and comparing 'records' of hours worked with my colleagues—which, in retrospect, is deeply fucked-up behaviour.

I think those who haven't worked on a set often underestimate just how much of a logistical and leadership role a director is. In my view, a good director is as much a good leader and manager as an artist, and directors who are conscientious are always the ones who are the best to work with. This isn't to say that it's not okay to be an exacting artist whose creative process takes a long time—I love Fincher movies because of (or in spite of) his approach! But unlike more individual pursuits like painting and writing, filmmaking necessarily involves a team, so one's creative process has real-time impacts on potentially up to hundreds of other people.

Clearly, the industry is not at a place to have resolved these tensions for workers. I quit working in the film sector when I burned out. The long hours to fulfil capitalist ideals under the pretense of making great art wasn't worth it to me, along with many others who've left. Of course, it's possible to make movies without considering one's responsibilities to their crew. But for the sake of the craft, I'd argue it seems like a more sustainable approach in the long run to protect your employees and their time, so they remain energised instead of immiserated.