February, 2026.- In a world saturated with images, Todd Heyman seeks what others ignore: the heart beating behind every script. With a career that began in the spotlight as an actor, Heyman has translated that vulnerability and empathy to the other side of the camera, becoming a director who doesn’t just instruct his talent but speaks their very language. For Todd, directing commercials is not a task of technical execution, but a process of “falling in love” with the material. Whether narrating a tense rattlesnake showdown for FedEx or a life-changing story for TheMatch—a campaign that not only won Clios but saved actual lives by boosting donor registries—his approach is rooted in finding those seminal moments that rearrange our emotional DNA.
In this exclusive interview with Roastbrief, Todd Heyman breaks down his methodology for marrying epic cinematic scale with nuanced, intimate performances. Influenced by the great classics that shaped his youth and gifted with a literary sensibility that views every treatment as a personal essay, Heyman invites us to understand that the most effective advertising is that which dares to be vulnerable. From using “astrological curiosity” to give three-dimensional life to his characters during casting, to his reflection on how great stories—like the Bible itself—have endured for their ability to reflect the tumultuous and soaring nature of human existence. Discover why, for this filmmaker, true mastery lies not in the grandeur of the shot, but in the ability to reduce the friction between the screen and the viewer’s soul, turning every second into an indelible memory.
1. The Actor-Turned-Director Advantage: Your journey began as an actor before moving behind the camera. How specifically does that experience manifest in your directing style today? What are you able to see, feel, or communicate with talent that a director without that background might miss?
Knowing the language of an actor helps me dramatically on a fundamental level. Understanding what motivation, sense memory, and script breakdown mean — and communicating that familiarity — gives me an entrance into a dialogue that other directors might not be able to access. It forges trust immediately, because talent knows I’ve been in their shoes.
That gives me a particular empathy for auditions and rejection, which shapes my approach from treatment to execution. I spend more time on backstory, developing the character beyond “Woman pushing baby stroller.” On my last project, an actress was heading out of casting when she turned and said, “I love that you gave this character three-dimensional life.” I’d started by naming her in the treatment — apparently rare — and calling her a “heart-on-her-sleeve Scorpio.” The actress lit up: “I know this person. She’s in my life.” That all stems from my time in front of the camera.
2. Finding the “Beating Heart”: You’re described as someone who finds the “beating heart” of every story, whether it’s a Visa/SEC mashup or a FedEx rattlesnake showdown. Walk us through your process. How do you extract profound human emotion from a commercial brief that isn’t inherently emotional?
There are seminal moments in every life that seem to rearrange our DNA by how deeply they resonate. Some are predictably titanic — a first kiss, a wedding, a race won, a job lost. But others are smaller in scale yet echo throughout a lifetime: the wild attraction you feel for the stranger across from you on the subway. The cold raspberry-lemon tang of sorbet on your tongue on a sweltering day in a foreign city.
When I look at a brief, I seek out those moments and visualize how to make them sear into a viewer’s memory the way they seared into mine. They’re always there, whether the agency realizes it or not. It’s my job to find them and usher them forth. I’m also a big mush — combine that with being a lifetime student of story structure, and I think I’ve got a pretty good radar for what’s going to strum at your heartstrings.
3. The Literary Sensibility: Both you and Michael Karbelnikoff spoke about bonding over literature and the “muscle of riveting narrative.” How does a literary, text-based sensibility translate into visual storytelling? Does it affect your script analysis, your shot design, or your collaboration with writers and creatives?
A text-based sensibility is simply a nose for good story. I’m a lifelong student of narrative — I’ve had an eternal romance with its power. A great story can spin your life around. Mirror your heartache and illuminate a rainbow beyond it. Show you darkness and shove you onto a raging river of adventure. All the advice in the world doesn’t hold a candle to a story that delivers it through arresting narrative.
I’m not a religious guy, but that’s exactly what the Bible is — whether you take it literally or not, there’s a reason why it’s a best seller. It’s a dense pack of rockin’ stories that reflect how tumultuous and soaring life can be. Every visual story is seeded in a written one. It’s a map. And if you’ve read an infinite number of those maps, and you’re as much of a nerd about the moving image as I am, you develop a good eye for how the collision of the two might result in something magical.
4. Balancing Sweeping Scale & Intimate Performance: Your work is noted for marrying “cinematic scale with intimate, nuanced performances.” How do you technically and emotionally balance these two poles on set? Do you approach the wide, epic shots differently than the close, character-driven moments?
I often equate scale with importance. It’s probably not fair — plenty of smaller, intimate stories have affected me deeply. But the movies that rocked my world when I was younger, like Jaws, ET, and True Romance, all captured the feeling that big shit was going down. A domino effect in motion, and here are the people caught in it — their shame, their fear, their lust raging — because their world is blown up, and the only question that matters is: what are they going to do about it?
They say the best acting is reacting. Same is true of great story — features, TV, brand film, or spot. Here are the crazy circumstances: a sheriff who’s a city guy, afraid of water, stuck on an island, facing a man-eating shark on the Fourth of July. Let’s see what he does. Let’s get intimate with him when no one’s watching and when he’s fully exposed.
Scale and intimacy make great partners. Like any healthy contradiction, they create spark. I compose wide and cinematic first — establishing the world, creating importance in the viewer’s mind, letting the actor save their energy for later. Then I work with them on the emotional engine of the scene, and when they’re ready, we push in — opening the privileged window into how this person is truly experiencing their world.
5. The Personal Essay & Emotional Intelligence: Your recent personal essay for The Hollywood Reporter, connecting 9/11 and the Palisades fires, revealed a deep literary and emotional intelligence. How does this personal, reflective practice inform your commercial work? Do you bring that same vulnerability and introspection into your creative process with brands?
I love this question because it spotlights a facet of commercial-making that rarely gets one: the treatment. The best treatments are never just a technical exploration of approach — they’re a window into the heart of the filmmaker themselves. You asked earlier how I get to the beating heart of a story, and the genesis of that process is the blinking cursor that taunts me when I start to write. That little flashing minion stares back, whispering in its own morse code: “What’s at the heart and soul of why you care about this, Todd?”
I can access my emotions fairly easily — I cry at cereal commercials — but make no mistake, you have to find a way to full-on fall in love with the project, or the agency and client will feel your apathy, even a tiny tinge of it. Like any love affair, you have to dive in with every fiber of your being, knowing there’s a 66.6% chance you’ll get your heart broken. You have to mine your passionate connection to the material and express it eloquently — ideally unforgettably — weaving it like a scintillating thread through the entire treatment and ultimately the project itself.
6. Measuring Impact Beyond Awards: Your PSA for TheMatch earned a Gold Muse/Clio and, more importantly, “measurably impacted the donor registry and saved children’s lives.” How did that experience change your definition of success as a filmmaker? What does “impact” mean to you now when you evaluate a potential project or look back on your body of work?
I’m no trust fund baby, so this guy has to pay the bills. And as I mentioned, I always find something to connect with in every project. But lately I’m seeing the law of attraction turn its gears my way — the ones that really churn my emotional butter (how’s that for impact?) tend to find me anyway. Celestial matchmaking at its finest.
Occasionally the universe pairs me with something like TheMatch — golden-hearted projects that are literally saving lives. I love a good action-based narrative, and a little fire gets lit inside me for twisty stories with punchy reveals you never saw coming. There’s real joy and enrichment that comes from the products and services those spots showcase. But not much trumps knowing your skills contributed to saving a child from cancer. That he’ll make JV basketball. That she’ll go on to college. That he’ll fall in love and invent a new renewable energy that changes the way we all live our lives — in some tiny way, because of you. How do you beat that?
