As a 100-level fresh student in Film and Multimedia Studies, everything still felt new the big lecture halls, the group projects, the way coursemates turned into instant crews. Our lecturer assigned us to produce a short film called *The Vanishing Jackpot* as the main practical for the course. He guided us every step: script feedback, shot list advice, even reminding us to stay on schedule. But the real work? All on us coursemates. Roles filled fast—someone grabbed directing (a sharp girl from our level who took charge like she'd done this forever), others took acting, camera, sound. I got behind-the-scenes. "Use your phone to record the process," the lecturer said. "Edit quick clips, post to the department TikTok. Show the making-of side." Sounded straightforward. It turned into the strangest part of the whole thing.
Shoots happened after classes, in whatever empty space we could book a lecture hall or quiet corner. No fancy setup: just borrowed lights, phones for extra angles, and pure determination. The director called "Action!" with that focused energy, and everyone snapped into it tense scenes, quick exchanges, moments building whatever the "jackpot" drama was. But the second "Cut!" hit, the set relaxed into classic coursemate vibes: jokes flying, someone complaining about the heat, makeup girl rushing to touch up the lead actress's face (just powder and gloss, nothing extra). I'd stand off to the side, phone in hand, filming the real stuff the flubbed lines that ended in laughter, the director debating a shot with the camera person, the little arguments over timing that always ended with "Okay, one more take."
The weirdest moments came when things went sideways. One evening, during a key intense scene, the main light flickered and went out—classic power issue. Groans everywhere. The director held her head, saying "We can't lose this momentum!" Crew scrambled, using phone flashes to finish. I caught the frustration turning into laughs, the quick improv fixes. Later, at home, I'd open the clips on my phone in CapCut trim the shaky bits (my hands weren't always steady hiding), add funny text like "When the light vanishes before the jackpot " slap on trending audio, and post to TikTok. Those raw snippets got more engagement than we expected classmates commenting, sharing, saying the behind-the-scenes felt more real.
Editing on phone was its own hustle: battery warnings mid-cut, redoing exports when something glitched, but it was satisfying watching messy footage turn into 15-second hooks. No laptop needed just me, my phone, and late-night focus at home.
Final screening day: the film played in class. It looked sharp good pacing, the story landed, everyone clapped and hyped each other up. The director smiled big; the lead actress (makeup still flawless) took bows with the cast. I sat quietly, phone in pocket. They saw the finished product. I knew the full picture: the power fails, the retakes, the coursemate energy that glued it together under the lecturer's guidance.
Filming behind the scenes as a 100-level felt strange like being the only one watching the illusion get built while everyone else lived it. But it showed me early: student films come from group grind, not perfection. The vanishing jackpot on screen had nothing on the real chaos we captured off it. I'd pick that phone role again no question.
