Trust Over Talent: Where Lies the Blind Spot?

Some of the toughest lessons of my life over the years have come from having to choose between trust and talent.

My romanticization of talent often made me vulnerable to scheming minds. Those final moments of experiencing a masterclass, watching someone showcase their skill and witnessing the magic they create, have often numbed my rational mind. I would shut everything else out, simply soaking in the bliss of the poetic result of skill and talent.

But like a dream, it never lasts long.

The trust built over days, months and years of creating synergy and strong camaraderie can be blown to smithereens by a single act, that often becomes increasingly vicious as subsequent ones begin to add up.

It did not really start with my film school days, but I am using that period as a reference point for the professional relevance of what I am writing about.

The most trusted gang of fellow batchmates and friends, or so-called friends, after two years of learning, laughing, bonding and dreaming together, conveniently skipped telling me about an induction opportunity at a prestigious channel, facilitated by the institute head at the time.

Our course had ended and I could not hang around waiting for a placement for very long. So, I started looking for opportunities outside.

Little did I know that this would not go down well with many. But never could I have imagined that it would also make my brothers-in-arms insecure.

Life moved on. I trusted the Almighty with His plans and moved on with mine.

Eventually, I got my break. It got me into industry circles but

squeezed me dry through underpaid and menial jobs. Slowly, things got a little better. Then a little more. And a little more.

The Transition

I became a professional director, filming multiple projects in a month and slowly building a place for myself.

The journey has been a roller-coaster ride. Along the way, I have met some remarkable talents who not only designed creative solutions but also made the final output count. People noticed. Careers moved forward. And I learned what exceptional skill could do to elevate a project.

But I also encountered another side of it.

Some would play the perfect buddy, someone who apparently shared my vision and wanted my work to take us both higher, only to later talk behind my back and undermine my skills.

I found out much later.

By then, however, I had already found my mojo with another technician. He matched my energy and enthusiasm and was willing to go the distance, pushing things almost to the point where there was no room left for improvement.

Or so I thought.

No sooner had I helped him become a producer on one of my projects than he started behaving strangely. Unfortunately, his actions became increasingly dubious as we went deeper into the filming days.

He began compromising on quality, misbehaving during and after filming, and eventually tried to sideline me completely.

In due course, I found another great talent, someone who really made my films look upmarket and chic (or so I think) through his visual treatment, framing and understanding of the image.

After just a couple of films, and at the point where I thought I had finally ticked the box of finding a good technician, I started receiving complaints.

I began noticing that he was intentionally slowing things down to increase the shift.

People from the industry would understand what that means.

Longer shifts have direct financial implications.

Yet I was smitten by his skill. I tried to overlook the warning signs and continued working with him whenever an opportunity came up.

Time passed.

Then I stumbled upon a life-changing opportunity, an international assignment offered by a prestigious production company.

But it did not come easy. The assignment came with stringent limitations on budget and resources.

My friend came on board, and we looked forward to taking on the challenge and delivering something outstanding.

Things, however, did not go as planned.

The local line producer failed to deliver what had been promised, and we had to return without filming. There was a mess all around, and my friend's department was not spared either.

Confusion, frustration and mistrust followed.

Back home, we were asked to file a report. I detailed everything point by point. I also requested my friend to corroborate my account, particularly his dissatisfaction regarding the non-availability of lights and lenses.

To my surprise, he backed out.

He said he had received everything he had requested.

That shook me.

At the core of most of the arguments, moments of tempers flaring and instances of rejection, his department had stood out until the very end.

And yet, when it came time to stand by what had happened, he chose not to.

By then, I had begun understanding what I now recognise as an inherent flaw in myself — I kept overlooking the significance of trust even after spotting the signs.

Such was, and perhaps still is, the effect that strong talent has on me.

And this was not an isolated incident.

There had been many more, involving many different individuals.

There was the old friend who became my undocumented partner and conveniently poached my client while I was away on an international assignment. The production of that very project had been given to him on my recommendation.

He quietly returned to base and executed the film for the client, keeping me uninformed until the very end.

He did the same with several other projects, where I was not only kept out of the loop but also deprived of rightful remuneration. I had tried to help him by accommodating late payments and absorbing overbudgets.

He chose convenience over righteousness.

He could, at the very least, have shared a token amount in recognition of all the effort I had put in.

But he didn't.

What made the relationship work for all those years anyway?

In hindsight, I think I know.

His talent.

He had an exceptional ability to manage difficult challenges, allowing me to focus on the creative aspects of an assignment. We made a great team.

That is where the trust grew.

And because the creative partnership worked so well, I kept the commercial side of our relationship completely informal.

Eventually, that informality backfired.

After all these experiences, I thought I had learnt my lessons.

Only to realise that I had almost fallen into the same trap again.

But this time, I was wiser.

Strong paperwork and proper documentation covered most of the soft spots that could potentially become trouble. Experience had taught me to anticipate. My gut feeling made me act.

I began building a safety net before anyone could pull another stunt on me.

And then the stunt was pulled.

This time, by a producer who was also the director of photography on one of my recent projects.

Impressed by his enthusiasm and our previous association, I agreed to take up a project at a low budget. I was hoping to see him weave his magic once again.

Instead, I was surprised and, to some extent, shocked by misleading explanations around the commercial aspects of the project and the appointment of unskilled technicians, particularly within his own department.

Later, something similar happened during post-production.

The editor impressed me with his skill. He was genuinely talented.

But he would hold the project to ransom more often than not, asking the studio owner to comply with his conditions before proceeding.

I bonded very well with him.

But somehow, the trust never fully developed.

This time, however, I was cautious at every step.

And that, perhaps, was the real change.

I was finally acting on my instincts more strongly than before.

I was no longer getting completely blinded by talent.

I now understand that talent and trust are not interchangeable.

Talent can create impact.

Talent can elevate ordinary work into something exceptional.

Talent can make you overlook things you would otherwise never tolerate.

But when trust is missing, that balance can become dangerously tilted towards talent.

And the cost can be much greater than a failed collaboration.

It can damage the work.

It can damage your reputation.

It can damage relationships.

And above all, it can damage something far more difficult to rebuild, your confidence in your own judgement.

Perhaps the lesson was never to choose between trust and talent.

Perhaps the lesson was to understand that talent without trust is a liability, no matter how strong the result may be.

And that sometimes, the most important talent to recognise is not the person standing beside you.

It is your own ability to recognise when something does not feel right and to have the courage to act on it.