Most bad industrial videos were bad on paper first.
The camera work is fine. The machine looks good. But three minutes in, nobody can tell you what the video was supposed to accomplish, because nobody decided before they started shooting.
That decision is what a script is. Not dialogue and camera directions — a plan for what the viewer knows at the end that he did not know at the start.
"Our customers" is not an audience. A fleet manager, a purchasing agent, a superintendent, and a twenty-two-year-old thinking about a career in the trades all need completely different videos about the same machine.
Before you write a line, answer three questions:
A script that serves everybody serves nobody. Write four short videos instead of one long one.
The most common opening in industrial video is a company introducing itself. Founded in 1974. Family-owned. Committed to quality.
Nobody is watching for that. They are watching because something on their job is not working.
Open where their problem is. "Your crew loses forty minutes every changeover." "Half your service calls are the same three things." "You cannot find operators." Then earn the right to talk about yourself.
You have about eight seconds before a viewer decides whether this video is about him. Spend them well.
Forget three-act film structure. These videos have a simpler shape:
That works for a walkaround, a service explainer, a recruiting spot, and a brand film. The length changes. The bones do not.
The most common script mistake is writing something that reads well and shows nothing.
Two columns. Left side: what is on screen. Right side: what is being said. Write them together, and cut any line that describes what the viewer can already see.
If a sentence takes eleven words to explain the discharge path, and a two-second cutaway shows it, delete the sentence. Narration should add what the picture cannot carry — the number, the consequence, the reason.
Use the words your customer uses on the radio. Mat, grade, lift, cycle time, changeover, uptime, punch list. Do not translate them into marketing English.
And read the script out loud before anyone records it. Industrial copy is full of sentences that no human being would say. If you stumble reading it, so will the plant manager you put on camera — and he was nervous already.
Short sentences. Active voice. One idea per line.
Some of the best footage in this industry is unscripted, and forcing a script onto it ruins it.
Do not script:
For these, write the questions instead of the answers. Five good questions, asked in order, will get you better material than anything you could have written for them.
"It's kind of awkward to be in front of the camera and read a teleprompter, but they're patient. They take their time." — Abigail Helm, Chicago Pneumatic
Most of your audience will see this on a phone, with the sound off, between other things.
That has consequences for the writing:
Planning the short cuts while you write is what turns one shoot into six deliverables.
First drafts are always long. The revision is not for polishing sentences — it is for deleting them.
Read it aloud with a timer. Cut every line that does not change what the viewer knows. Cut every adjective doing work a shot should do. Then check the ending: does it tell the viewer exactly what to do next, in one sentence, without hedging?
Have somebody who does the actual job read it before you shoot. A superintendent will find the line that is wrong in ten seconds, and it is much cheaper to fix on paper than on site.
Decide who it is for and what changes when it ends. Open on their problem. Write to picture. Use the words they use. Let customers talk unscripted. Cut hard.
A script is not a creative document. It is the thing that keeps a shoot day from producing four minutes nobody can use.


