Here’s what it’s like to pitch your film idea at a festival

“Ten years ago I heard Lubomyr Mel­nyk per­form for the first time. Play­ing 40 notes a sec­ond, the 74-year-old pianist con­jures tran­scen­den­tal land­scapes and imag­is­tic visions – son­ic water­falls, cloud­bursts, and rivers of sound…”

It’s two min­utes in and I’m sit­ting across from my first meet­ing of the day. The com­mis­sion­er lis­tens thought­ful­ly amidst a hum of ani­mat­ed con­ver­sa­tions. A sense of pos­si­bil­i­ty, excite­ment, and appre­hen­sion fills the air. Time speeds up and slows down. Hearts stir. Every­one here is look­ing to find that elu­sive spark. Wel­come to the Meet­Mar­ket – speed dat­ing for cinema.

Sheffield DocFest is an inter­na­tion­al­ly renowned non-fic­tion film fes­ti­val set in the heart of the Steel City. Its sky­line is punc­tu­at­ed by chim­neys reflect­ing the city’s indus­tri­al past, though today it’s been recast as a cre­ative hub, a cru­cible for ideas. For six days Sheffield will play host to film­mak­ers, VR cre­ators, investors, and enthu­si­asts from all over the world. There’s a great egal­i­tar­i­an vibe to the scene: the same pass gets you into every film, talk, and par­ty, meld­ing locals and imports together.

Some months pri­or I’d applied to present my film, The Peace Piano, at the Meet­Mar­ket, Sheffield’s famous pitch­ing forum. Fol­low­ing an ardu­ous writ­ten appli­ca­tion, I was elat­ed to be select­ed as one of 48 projects invit­ed to come face-to-face with inter­na­tion­al broad­cast­ers, stream­ers, dis­trib­u­tors, and programmers.

In prep­ping for my pitch, I imag­ine myself as a mas­ter steel­work­er from Sheffield of old: gal­vanis­ing ideas; hon­ing my film’s struc­ture; and forg­ing a sto­ry that pos­sess­es strength, bril­liance, and mar­ket appeal. Each con­ver­sa­tion will be a quench­ing process to tam­per my vision into some­thing robust. (I’ll be hon­est with you, I have no idea how steel is made).

The event will take place in the impos­ing Cut­lers Hall – a Grade II list­ed build­ing which dates back to 1638. In this cav­ernous space, knife and tool mak­ers once met to carve up trade-relat­ed mat­ters; today it more often serves as a wed­ding venue.

I’d been asked to rank the del­e­gates I’d most like to meet in the hopes we’d match. While no one expects to seal the deal at the Meet­Mar­ket, with some 20 meet­ings con­firmed, I’m hop­ing to leave with some num­bers. Tomor­row a swathe of round tables will be filled with bud­ding suit­ors, each seek­ing the per­fect part­ner to sweep their film off its feet. Will I find life­long artis­tic romance?

The open­ing night drinks take place in Sheffield Cathe­dral, where old friends and new come togeth­er to wor­ship at the altar of cin­e­ma. Despite being a col­lab­o­ra­tive art, film­mak­ing is so often a soli­tary act. I’ve been sin­gle-hand­ed­ly nur­tur­ing my own film project for years and am struck by how life-affirm­ing it is to com­mune with oth­er sto­ry­telling her­mits. At last, here’s a crowd that not only under­stands the strug­gle but has lived it.

I feel the pull of the open bar, but after a few soft pitch­es, I tear myself away to get my beau­ty sleep. Much like the night before a first date, you find your­self won­der­ing what to wear. You want to be con­fi­dent and com­fort­able, true to your­self but also show that you made an effort.

Breath mints? Check. Arrive on time. Be a good lis­ten­er. Show enthu­si­asm. Make eye con­tact. Active­ly engage, don’t lec­ture. Read the room. Be clear and con­cise. From the time each del­e­gate sits down you have 30 min­utes to con­vince them to get into bed with you, metaphor­i­cal­ly speak­ing. I assure myself I can let my film do the flirting.

As part of my pitch, I’ve brought along a pair of noise-can­celling head­phones, and invite each del­e­gate to close their eyes and expe­ri­ence Lubomyr’s music for them­selves. I’ve been film­ing people’s numi­nous reac­tions to this music for years so trust the process, but how will financiers respond?

Luck­i­ly every­one is game and agrees to lose them­selves in the music – no easy feat in a crowd­ed hall. I come to savour these moments, a chance to take a sip of cof­fee, com­pose myself, and qui­et­ly con­fer with pro­duc­er Aimara Reques who sits beside me, a recent addi­tion to my team.

As if admin­is­ter­ing an ink-blot test, I ask them to reveal what the music made them see: ​“Soar­ing above clouds!”, ​“Immersed in colos­sal waves!”, ​“Under­wa­ter dancers!” ​“Yes!” I reply breath­less­ly, ​“and my doc­u­men­tary fea­ture intends to cre­ate a sen­so­ry expe­ri­ence of feel­ing, liv­ing, and breath­ing that son­ic world, Lubomyr’s life, and his legacy.”

It’s thrilling to have an answer for every ques­tion asked of me, or bet­ter yet, to active­ly engage with indus­try pro­fes­sion­als about a sto­ry I’ve held in my head for so long. I’m in full flow. The com­mis­sion­er leans in, ​“Why now?”

“In these dark times, we need uplift­ing, expe­ri­en­tial films like this,” I say. ​“More­over, Lubomyr – born a Ukrain­ian refugee – longs to return to his coun­try to bring the heal­ing pow­ers of his music to his com­pa­tri­ots at the time they need it most.”

I hit play on the siz­zle, excerpts of scenes to show­case my film’s poten­tial and the scale of its ambi­tion. If some­one is going to invest they want to see what they’re buy­ing into. While I wax lyri­cal about the cre­ative, some del­e­gates want to get down to brass tacks: ​“What’s the sto­ry? What’s your unique access? How much?” I counter: ​“What excites you about my project? How can you help me cre­ative­ly realise it? How soon?”

A bell rings 30 min­utes into the meet­ing sig­nalling the end of the encounter; the del­e­gates stand up and move to their next table. ​“Remem­ber me!” I whis­per, hop­ing there was enough mutu­al inter­est to war­rant a sec­ond date. The ener­gy mounts with each rota­tion. Walk­ing to grab my sev­enth cof­fee of the day, I observe my fel­low par­tic­i­pants nav­i­gat­ing their own con­ver­sa­tions; reveal­ing vul­ner­a­ble glimpses of their true selves; each coura­geous­ly seek­ing a relationship.

Being con­stant­ly engaged is exhaust­ing, espe­cial­ly when it per­me­ates beyond the mar­ket. At the Nation­al Geo­graph­ic par­ty – gasp­ing for red wine – I inad­ver­tent­ly get talk­ing to a stream­ing com­mis­sion­er. She asks what I’m pitch­ing. Tak­ing a deep sip, I begin again, ​“Ten years ago…”

While I yearn for cin­e­mat­ic love (or to leave Sheffield with a nov­el­ty over­sized cheque), I’m delight­ed to be embraced by every per­son I speak to; heart­ened by the oppor­tu­ni­ty to con­sid­er future part­ner­ships; and excit­ed for the next steps. Do I send fol­low-up mes­sages imme­di­ate­ly or leave it three days?

As the last day draws to a close, the hall is filled with min­gled emo­tions – delir­i­um, curios­i­ty, and even bit­ter­sweet­ness. Friend­ships bloom, rela­tion­ships ignite. The Meet­Mar­ket is over. We emerge from the great hall and I reflect that emo­tion­al con­nec­tions can be forged even in the briefest of moments, a whirl­wind of bound­less poten­tial inher­ent in every interaction.

(And to all the financiers read­ing this, ​“Call me!”)