The art of pitching

In my view, pitching is not so much about convincing as it is about co-constructing. We often start with the idea that we have an offer, a proposal, something we’ve built, and that we need to “sell” it, spread it, etc. But the problem with this approach is the following: how does this project concern the person we’re addressing? What is their place in the human adventure of this project? And also, do we envision that the project could be enriched, or even transformed, by this encounter?

We might mistakenly expect to receive a “reward,” whether substantial or symbolic, after pitching: the purchase of the project, the distribution of the film, etc. But isn’t the art of pitching rather the art of establishing spaces for cooperation and mutual enrichment? This would, of course, have an impact on the project itself. To consider pitching as the starting point for deep cooperation, we must first acknowledge that the other person might enrich the project, that they are not an enemy who might, for example, steal our ideas.

The Moment of the Pitch

When we express a project in a very concise way to another person or a group of people, are we aiming for discursive perfection, with “unbeatable” arguments that make the other person want to buy the script to produce the film, for example? Or, on the contrary, are we open, based on our proposal, to co-construction, meaning allowing the other person to fully take their place in the project? A project that would become theirs as well, in a different role than ours, because every project is collective. Each actor in the project has a specific and complementary role, and every project is enriched by these collaborations.

If we fear cooperation, or if, for a particular project, we see the idea of cooperation as potentially dangerous for the project, which could distort it—something that is entirely possible and understandable, either because the project is still too fragile or because we want to have full and complete control over it—then we must realize the project alone. We must ensure that the project requires financial resources that we can mobilize ourselves autonomously, if not in complete self-sufficiency. And why not? This way, we don’t need to convince anyone, and we can do our project our way. And this can produce very beautiful things.

But as soon as we want to involve others in the project, we must work to make the collective function; it is our responsibility to ensure that the project can come to life and develop. And in this endeavor, the pitch is, in my opinion, a key step. Why? Because at the pitch stage, a pitch being very short and concise, it leaves a lot of room for the other person’s interpretation, projections, and the unfolding of their imagination about the project. Moreover, at the pitch stage, the project seems extremely flexible. Because everything can be discussed. We can change the subject of the film, the era in which the story will take place; we can modify everything at will.

But one might object: “Yes, but I’ve already fully written my script, and I’m pitching it to a producer so they can buy the rights and the film can be made. So, if talking about it concisely potentially opens the door to changes in the script itself, for me, that’s too much work, and I don’t want this producer to modify my project. I just want to convince them to finance this project, which is already the result of a lot of hard work.”

This reasoning is not grounded in reality. It’s a reasoning based on a fantasy of control, of omnipotence, meaning it’s rooted in fear. We’re afraid that the other person might distort our project. But we could see things quite differently, given that making a film is a collective exercise. There’s the screenwriter, the director, the set designer, the actors, the cinematographer, the producer—a large number of people who will work together to bring this work to fruition. This work is therefore eminently collective. The project leader, whether they are the producer, the director, or the screenwriter, depending on the type of structure, is not there to hire robots who will do exactly what they want, but rather to create a space of synergy where each person can contribute their part to the project, thereby making it much richer and more interesting than if it had been done alone. That’s the whole point of collective work.

Not Seeking to Convince, but Starting a Collaboration

So, when pitching a project, we must be ready to receive. I’m not saying let the project be destabilized by everyone’s opinions at any moment, but rather be open to receiving what, in this moment of freedom—because we’re in a highly condensed synthesis—the other person’s imagination brings to the project. The art of pitching lies in our ability to spark the other person’s imagination around the backbone or skeleton that is the project we’re pitching.

The goal of the pitch, therefore, is not to convince, but to open the door for the listener to contribute to the project. So, the key to a successful pitch, seen in this way, is not the quality of the synthesis, nor the quality of the writing or the arguments, but the sense of openness that the other person will feel and receive while listening to the pitch. This is what will not convince them, but rather inspire in them the desire to contribute their part to this project, something they might not have imagined they could contribute to before meeting us and hearing the pitch. We’re offering them this opportunity.

Pitching, therefore, is about engaging in a two-part dialectic. It’s one, two, or three minutes maximum, after which the listener will feel that they have their full place to express themselves and that we will receive, not defend, but welcome everything they have to share. This doesn’t mean saying yes to everything. It means starting a collaboration.

And this is the conceptual explanation of the effectiveness of a pitch: during these five minutes of exchange—let’s say two minutes of pitching and three minutes of discussion, after which everyone must go about their respective business—have we been in a situation of constructive cooperation, and have we already, in such a short time, taken steps together to move the project forward toward its realization, which is so motivating because it makes sense for each of us and each has been able to contribute significantly?

To succeed in pitching, of course, you need to practice. You need to regularly practice the art of pitching. But I advise against rehearsing your pitch. Because depending on your interlocutor and what you sense from them in the moment, your intuition, you might not pitch in the same way at all. Indeed, you won’t tell the story the same way to a potential producer, a potential actor, or a potential banker, because the stakes of the collaboration are not in the same place. So, in my opinion, practicing pitching means pitching very regularly on all kinds of topics and all kinds of stakes. This way, when we pitch our project to someone, it will be the first time. And you can immediately feel if it’s the first time, if we’re inventing something together, or if we’re repeating something learned. It changes everything.

Giving Shape Together, While Staying Aligned with Ourselves

Our project would be the backbone, the skeleton; how, together, we will manage to start giving shape to this skeleton: that is the challenge of the pitch. Regular practice on all kinds of topics will help us: for example, I suggest a restaurant to my friends in less than a minute, and I put this skeleton of a successful evening up for debate. I must work on openness within myself, knowing how to receive the contributions of others, which will make the evening even more successful, as everyone will have their place: the location for drinks, the restaurant, and the nightclub afterward, each bringing their best through their experience.

Giving others their full place doesn’t mean opening the project up haphazardly and confusing everyone’s roles. No, you need to be very clear about your own role. For example, you see yourself solely as the screenwriter. And you pitch accordingly. Or you see yourself as the director of the film. Well, you pitch accordingly. So, the other person, if your role is clearly expressed, won’t try to steal your role but will seek to contribute something to the project from their own place, which has been clarified by you, to contribute to the project from their position. This will immediately create a complementary dynamic, thanks to you.

So, it’s very important, when pitching, to work on staying aligned with yourself. It’s not about giving the other person space to replace you. Not at all. It’s about giving the other person their place to bring elements to the project that you couldn’t bring. For example, I’m looking for a budget to produce something. I don’t have money. The other person has money. We have different things to contribute. We’re in different positions. But if, at the start, I would have preferred to have the money to finance the project myself, and I don’t accept or struggle to accept that it’s someone else who has the money, then of course, I’ll feel cheated when that person takes ownership of the project. Because it becomes their project too. It’s no longer just mine. And that’s exactly what will ensure that the project grows and succeeds.