While watching yesterday’s Super Bowl halftime show with Bad Bunny commanding the stage and cameras sweeping and spinning with precision, I couldn’t help but think back to another Super Bowl entirely.
Ten years ago, I was at Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara for Super Bowl 50. Same venue. Different version of me. I honestly don’t even remember what teams were playing at this point, which probably tells you everything you need to know about my relationship with football. What I do remember vividly is the halftime show.
Coldplay. Beyoncé. Bruno Mars. Fireworks. Pyro. The kind of spectacle that makes your chest vibrate even from outside the venue.
I was seated in a designated section of the stadium where we were instructed to hold up colored placards at very specific moments to create large-scale images for the broadcast. These card stunts are carefully coordinated elements of live broadcast production, designed primarily for the television audience rather than in-stadium spectators. Somewhere, millions of people watching at home saw a perfectly timed visual.
In the stadium, I was busy watching something else entirely.
The cameras.
Camera operators sprinting into position. Cranes gliding just above above the action. Entire crews moving in tight choreography of their own. It felt less like attending a concert and more like observing a film shoot unfold in real time.
At one point, I realized I had missed the exact moment I was supposed to lift my card. Somewhere in the giant image meant for television viewers, there was probably a small, very noticeable hole. That feels about right.
Even though the performers were physically right there – Beyoncé and Bruno Mars larger than life – the show wasn’t really for us in the seats. Nearly every beat, angle, and cue was oriented toward a single, roaming camera on the field.
It was impressive. It was powerful. And oddly, it felt distant.
Watching this year’s halftime show from my couch, I felt more connected. I saw what the directors wanted me to see. I experienced the spectacle as it was designed to be experienced.
It made me realize how similar this is to film.
Movies can be massive, communal, larger-than-life experiences, but they’re designed for audiences who aren’t physically present. The intimacy comes not from proximity, but from intention. From framing. From choosing exactly where the audience is meant to look.
So which is more thrilling? Being a tiny spectator inside a massive event, or being the intended viewer of a carefully constructed moment?
I’m still not sure. But I do know this: sometimes the most meaningful seat in the house isn’t the one closest to the stage. It’s the one the story was built for.
What about you? Have you ever been at something incredible, only to realize it was meant for someone somewhere else?
Leave a Reply