As a runner on a film or TV production, “you are, and there is no point kidding yourself, the lowest of the low”, says Tom. “Nobody knows your name, nor do they care to ask. You will be asked to get coffees, lug around kit, even clean toilets – and if anyone higher up senses a whiff of disdain, you’re on your bike.”
Tom is 25 and has been working as a runner – the term given to entry-level positions on TV and film productions – for the past six months. It can be a creative and fun job: “One moment, you’re scrambling to fix a broken JCB that’s in the middle of shot; the next, you’re racing to track down someone cutting a tree in their garden, desperately pleading with them to stop so you can continue shooting the intimate scene.”
On the other hand, he says, you might spend all day standing in one spot telling members of the public they can’t walk into shot, and being abused for it: “It is important not to think about how you wasted 90 grand on an education to do a job a signpost could do.”
Working in film and TV may sound glamorous, but the life of a runner can be anything but, as underlined by the actor Richard E Grant in a recent interview. Asked who were the least-appreciated people on a film set, he replied without hesitation: the runners.
“[They] are paid the least amount of money, they are the youngest, they get there at five in the morning, they are the last to leave – and if anything goes wrong they get shat on from a dizzy height,” said Grant, citing the experience of his own daughter Olivia.
It’s an all too common tale, judging by the dozens of Guardian readers who have shared their own stories of working as runners. While some say the job is demanding but rewarding, others have dispiriting tales of long hours, poor or no pay, bullying or sexual harassment.
“It was not uncommon to find the drama runner crying in the stationery cupboard,” says Sean, of his time working on a hugely successful recent drama series. “The managers of that department would publicly berate runners in front of everyone if they ever made a mistake or couldn’t keep up. Many producers and managers see it as a rite of passage: go through the fire and you can make it in TV/film.”
“For the most part, people were nice to me and the demands weren’t too ridiculous,” says James Moriarty, who has since worked as a TV editor on The Traitors and Dancing on Ice. As a runner, alongside many lowly errands, he was also able to use equipment out of hours to teach himself editing. “Although I did once have to go and pay a producer’s drug dealer one night – that was eye-opening to say the least.”
Mark recalls “getting screamed at by a 50-plus-year-old producer for incorrectly spreading Marmite on his toast”. Josie was told to water a plant on a manager’s desk while they watched, given a colour chart with exact instructions on the acceptable colour of their tea, and sent to buy lunch urgently for 60 people – and carry it back on her own. Carl says he suffered “verbal abuse and groping (by both men and women, some of whom worked in front of the camera)”, and was regularly “made to feel incredibly small in front of large groups of people, which was always the worst part for me”.
“I was expected to work relentlessly long hours and would cry in the photocopying room,” says Hamish of his “harrowing” time working on a comedy drama. “I gave a producer a cup of tea without a spoon and he said: ‘Will you get me a spoon or should I stir it with my cock?’ A production assistant gave me five seconds to clean folders off my desk and then pushed them all off on to the floor.”
Most did not want to give their real names: “Please, please, please keep my name out of it,” wrote one respondent. “This year has been dire for us in the industry and my career will be ended if this comes out.”
Can the treatment of junior staff on film sets really be this bad? Philippa Childs, the head of the broadcasting union Bectu, says: “I think it is pretty widespread.” With a toxic mix of tight deadlines, squeezed budgets and big egos, film sets too often excuse bad behaviour as part of the creative process, she says.
Short, transient contracts can allow the worst offenders to move on without accountability. “And inevitably, freelance runners, because they’re at the bottom of the food chain, probably get the worst of all worlds.”
The industry says it is aware of the problem and is taking steps to address it. Broadcasters and stars have voiced support for a new body, the Creative Industries Independent Standards Authority, which hopes to embed best practice across the sector and offer independent advice to those suffering maltreatment. The BFI has published detailed anti-bullying, harassment and racism standards, and this month announced a pilot programme of resources and training to help productions treat staff fairly and legally.
Some former runners who have stayed in the industry say there are signs of improvement. “I do think the landscape is changing, there’s more safeguarding and requests from broadcasters to the production companies to take better care,” says Sean, who is now an assistant producer. “I see a lot more responsible producers who went through the fire and decided that that isn’t what they want others to go through – myself included.”
