Directing on the Largest Construction Site in North America

When Chrome Productions approached me to direct a film for Ford, the brief was unusual to say the least. Ford were building one of the largest electric vehicle factories in the world — Blue Oval City, and the aim was to show its construction through one continuous visual journey. No voiceover, no obvious edits, just a carefully constructed flow of camera movement. We’d be moving through the site using a combination of FPV drones, GPS-programmed aerials, hyperlapses, 360 shots, and a fair bit of visual trickery in post.

A lot of the challenge was figuring out how to shoot something this big, while planning the entire thing from the UK. Luckily, we managed to get one recce in before the shoot — which turned out to be essential. It helped us map out transitions, visual anchors, and key construction moments we wanted to highlight from talking to the site managers . But even in the short time between the recce and the shoot, things changed dramatically. Roads had been poured, scaffolding and new buildings had gone up, and some areas were unrecognisable. You quickly learn that on a live construction site, nothing stays the same for long.

Being the youngest on the crew and the only Brit definitely added to the apprehension of directing something like this. There’s always pressure when you’re in that role, but this felt like a new level. Not just because of the expectations, but because of the sheer complexity of what we were trying to pull off — choreographing a continuous visual journey through a construction site so big you needed a car to get anywhere. There was no walking from location to location. Everything had to be planned with logistics in mind, and every decision carried weight.

On top of that, there was the small issue of dress code. On arrival, I was handed a checklist of US site safety regulations — steel toe-cap boots, long sleeves, full-length trousers, high-vis. Pretty standard, but not exactly what I’d packed. Most of my bag was shorts and breezy shirts, optimistically chosen for the Tennessee sun. Cue a last-minute dash to Walmart to find anything that resembled appropriate PPE. Not the most glamorous start, but a quick lesson in how “dressed appropriately” means something very different on a factory build than it does on a UK set.

Once we hit the ground filming, the real coordination kicked in. We were working with multiple drone teams across the site, including one tasked with flying GPS-programmed routes on the Inspire. We used an app called Litchi to pre-plan those paths — theoretically allowing us to repeat the same movement across days, and build seamless transitions in the edit. The reality, of course, was slightly less elegant. Litchi’s not the most user-friendly platform at the best of times, and between software bugs and changing ground conditions, the GPS shots left me with a bit of a headache in post.

Like many people, I picked up a new hobby during the 2020 lockdown. For me, it was FPV flying. What started as a curiosity quickly turned into a full-on obsession with soldering goggles, crashing quads, and trying to fly backwards through increasingly small gaps. It turned out to be the perfect prep for this job. While I wasn’t flying myself, that time spent learning the craft meant I could properly collaborate with Dave, our FPV pilot, and help shape the way we moved through the environment. It’s one thing to storyboard a drone sequence — it’s another to understand what’s actually possible.

As with all shoots, nothing went entirely to plan. The week we’d scheduled everything around was timed specifically to capture the arrival and installation of a massive overhead crane — a centrepiece moment that was meant to close the film. But the crane was delayed. It was stuck on a barge somewhere on the Tennessee River, and no one could say exactly when it would arrive. One of those filmmaking moments where months of planning meet a completely immovable object. We pivoted, reworked the ending, and carried on. It’s just what happens sometimes.

The shoot came together thanks to a team of brilliant people all pushing toward the same vision. I’d admired Quinn’s hyperlapse work for years, and having him onboard added a whole new visual layer to the project. The way he captured time passing — buildings forming, light shifting — gave the film a sense of momentum that tied everything together. A big part of directing, I’ve come to realise, is about letting go. Building a team you trust, and creating space for them to bring their best work to the table.

Post was where everything really clicked into place. Hours in After Effects spent aligning perspectives, warping transitions, adjusting speeds and timings until each shot flowed into the next without a visible seam. When it works, it just feels right — and the complexity behind it disappears.

More than anything, this project was a reminder that nothing is guaranteed in filmmaking. You can plan for weeks, storyboard everything, time your shoot to perfection… and still end up missing a crane. But that’s part of the job. Adaptability is everything. And being able to keep a cool head on set — especially on a site where temperatures are high and egos aren’t exactly small — is a skill that’ll get you further than any camera setup.