What I Learned at Arrow Films

I’ve written previously about what I learned at Universal, Momentum and Revolver. Each role shaped me in different ways — scale, structure, commercial discipline, entrepreneurial expansion.

But the years that probably taught me the most were at Arrow Films.

When I joined in 2012, it was a small, ambitious company with serious taste and limited theatrical infrastructure. There was no established department to inherit, no experienced theatrical team to lean on. For the first time in my career, I was operating without a safety net.

It was exhilarating. And occasionally brutal.

From Structure to Exposure

At Universal, campaigns were layered. Strategy was signed off across multiple departments. If something didn’t work, the responsibility was collective. Everyone had bought into the plan; everyone moved forward together.

At Arrow, the structure was leaner and more immediate. Decisions were made in smaller rooms. Fewer people carried more weight. And when a theatrical release underperformed, the consequences felt concentrated.

That intensity was one of the most important lessons of my career. In a small independent company, there is nowhere to hide — but also nowhere to deflect. If you are leading a release, you carry its commercial result. That sharpness forces clarity.

Catching the Nordic Wave

The timing of my arrival coincided with the rise of Nordic Noir — a cultural moment shaped by series such as The Killing, The Bridge and Borgen. There was a genuine appetite in the UK for Scandinavian storytelling, and we were acquiring films that could ride that wave theatrically.

Among them were Love Is All You Need, The Hunt and A Hijacking.

Rather than treating these as isolated releases, we built an ecosystem around them. We created a Nordic Noir label. We launched a dedicated website, a newsletter, a magazine. We organised Q&As and live screenings. That eventually evolved into a two-day live event — Nordicana — which attempted to bring the entire cultural movement into one space.

It was ambitious. Sometimes over-ambitious. But it was brand-led distribution before that phrase became fashionable.

And when Love Is All You Need approached £900,000 at the UK box office, it felt like proof that audience cultivation could work — even for a distributor without traditional theatrical clout.

Festival Fever and Strategic Drift

The early successes created confidence. And confidence can blur judgement.

One of the hard lessons of that period was the phenomenon I think of as “festival fever” — the high of discovering a film at Cannes, loving it in a screening room, imagining the campaign, the positioning, the potential.

Sometimes that instinct is right.

Sometimes it isn’t.

We learned that success in one territory doesn’t guarantee success in another. A film that thrives in Ireland may not translate theatrically in the UK. Laughter in a festival screening doesn’t always equal ticket sales on a wet Tuesday night in Leicester Square.

We also experimented with more commercial-looking acquisitions — titles with recognisable names attached, such as Good Kill and The Voices. On paper, they appeared to broaden our reach. In practice, they revealed how unforgiving the mid-budget theatrical space had become.

Looking back now, many films of that scale would likely premiere on platforms such as Prime Video or Netflix. But in 2014–15, the old model was still just about holding together. We were operating in that narrowing gap.

Independent theatrical punishes drift. Step too far outside your core audience, and the margin for error disappears.

Alignment Is Everything

Perhaps the most enduring lesson from Arrow was about alignment.

In larger organisations, acquisition, marketing and distribution are layered. In smaller companies, those functions overlap. Once a film is bought, internal debate becomes irrelevant. The market doesn’t care who championed the acquisition — only whether it works.

Marketing is the most visible interface with the audience. That visibility carries responsibility, whether or not marketing shaped every upstream decision. I learned that if you are fronting a theatrical release, you must either be aligned with the strategy behind it or prepared to absorb its consequences.

That understanding sharpened me. It forced me to interrogate positioning more rigorously. It removed any illusion that marketing alone can rescue a film that has drifted from its audience or been scheduled into an impossible window.

The Market Tightens

Around 2015, the independent theatrical landscape began to harden. Competition intensified. Overlaps increased. The art-house space became more crowded and more expensive. Pre-buys amplified risk because you were committing to a projection rather than a finished film.

Some releases worked. Others didn’t.

That volatility was not unique to one company — it was systemic. But experiencing it from inside a small independent structure makes the lessons personal. When the theatrical arm eventually contracted, it felt less like a shock and more like the culmination of broader market forces.

The Human Highs

For all the commercial turbulence, there were extraordinary moments.

Working with Hirokazu Kore-eda across multiple releases. Spending a day promoting Good Kill with Ethan Hawke. Securing major broadcast exposure for films starring Juliette Binoche. Meeting Gemma Arterton during a campaign that, while commercially challenging, was creatively rewarding.

There were embassy receptions, festival screenings, live audiences, packed Q&As. There were also Monday mornings staring at numbers that didn’t justify the effort.

Both are part of the same education.

What It Ultimately Taught Me

Arrow was where I stopped being supported and started being accountable.

It taught me:

• That audience alignment matters more than taste.

• That brand cultivation can outlast individual releases.

• That mid-budget theatrical was already narrowing before we fully admitted it.

• That autonomy is exhilarating and unforgiving in equal measure.

• That exposure sharpens judgement.

Most importantly, it taught me that theatrical distribution is not just about passion for film. It is about discipline, timing, and strategic coherence.

The period didn’t end in triumph. But it provided the foundation for how I now think about independent release strategy, risk management and audience development.

And for that, I’m grateful.