Last year, we had the opportunity to take on one of the most ambitious projects we’ve worked on at Benco. In partnership with Sourceability, we set out to tell a global story — one that reflects not just what they do, but how consistently they do it, no matter where they are in the world.

I’m scrunched in the back of a minivan as old Benin City funk plays through the radio, the AC struggling to cool the packed van. My nausea rises as our Nigerian driver, Osas, swerves around potholes and dodges people darting into the street selling snacks and water.

A military officer sits beside me in a green uniform, a matching beret, and an AK-47 slung across his chest. He’s here to keep us safe and guide us through roadblocks across the city. He must be sweltering in that uniform—but I guess the locals are used to the heat.

I’m traveling with a group of five other Americans as we make our way to visit the home of a young boy in the Access 2 Success (A2S) program. It’s our first time outside the gates of the hotel or the youth center. We’re about to meet Jothan and his family.

Why audiences trust peers more than brands — and how to show that visually

We’ve all felt it.

You open a social app to catch up with friends, see what people are up to, or kill a few minutes—and you’re immediately surrounded by marketing. Social platforms didn’t start as advertising channels; they started as places for human connection. Over time, brands followed attention into these spaces, not because audiences asked for more ads, but because people were already there. That shift matters. When marketing shows up in an environment designed for social interaction, the content that earns trust isn’t the loudest or most polished—it’s the content that feels human.

For most brands and organizations, video isn’t the problem.

The problem is what happens after the video is made.

Great videos are launched with energy, shared a few times, and then quietly disappear — without clear data, without measurable impact, and without contributing meaningfully to long-term goals. This is where AI can change the equation, not by replacing creative work, but by turning video into a system.

After months of planning and preparation, we’re thrilled to share that Sticks & Holler — our Appalachian dark comedy TV pilot written and directed by Willie Simmons and co-produced by Stoop Kids and Benco Productions — has officially wrapped principal photography!

In his book Ogilvy on Advertising, David Ogilvy wrote about the selling power of testimonial commercials. To him, having a real person, or a convincing actor, speak persuasively about a product or service could shift brand perception and drive sales. Decades later, marketing has evolved in almost every way. Social media dominates attention, short-form video is king, and consumer trust is more fragmented than ever.

In film making, camera movement isn’t just a stylistic choice—it’s a language. A fluid tracking shot, a slow push-in, a swish pan —all these motions speak to the viewer, guiding their attention, shaping emotion, and enhancing meaning. For artists and filmmakers, understanding how and why to move the camera can be as important as the script or the performance.

At its best, movement feels invisible—so seamless that the audience doesn’t notice it, only what it evokes. But behind every great moving shot is intent.

So… Let’s break down the reasons behind camera movement.

In the world of Severance, nothing is accidental—not even the camera angles. The hit Apple TV+ series created by Dan Erickson and directed in part by Ben Stiller is a masterclass in psychological storytelling. With its eerie tone, minimal dialogue, and sterile corporate aesthetic, Severance doesn’t just tell a story—it constructs a world. And at the heart of that world-building is framing.

In a bookstore in Asheville, North Carolina, I stumbled upon a coffee table book that pulled me deep into the kind of world I often find myself chasing in movies and art—Futuria: Art of the Sci-fi Age. It’s a curated collection of illustrated universes imagined by digital artists using tools like Photoshop, Procreate, and Blender. The book is structured around three “portals,” or visual genres: the neon-drenched chaos of Cyberpunk, the weathered desolation of the Post-apocalyptic, and a more clinical, utopian Artificial future. For me, the first two hit hardest.

In an age where attention is fleeting and audiences are increasingly immune to traditional advertising, the most effective brand stories are the ones that don’t feel like marketing at all. They feel like cinema. And not just any cinema—but the kind that stays with you, that dares to be gritty, intentional, and emotionally resonant. The kind of storytelling A24 has mastered.