I once commissioned an opening film for an event. The usual process — budgets, concepts, treatments, shoot schedules, all locked. The film included candid live-action shoots at various locations across India, including Delhi train station, with actors wearing beautifully designed masks. I’d never worked with this agency before, but they had a reputation and had consistently produced good work. I entrusted them with the project and didn’t plan to direct any part of it. That’s the whole point of getting good people — people who know what they’re doing.
After the shoots were supposed to happen, I started asking to review the film. Messages took time to be replied to, usually in an apologetic tone. “Sorry, in London now. Will set up a time soon.” Followed by silence. The event was 2.5 weeks away. Another reply: “Sorry, in New York. Back in town soon.” Another few days of silence.
It is now 1.5 weeks before the event. After numerous rounds of chasing, I finally received the first cut.
There was no live-action. No actors at Delhi train station. Instead — London and New York footage, 3D animals imposed on street scenes.
Did the audience like it? It didn’t matter. I was the client. We agreed on something that wasn’t delivered.
A few weeks later, a mail arrived: “We’re back in India now, so thought I’d share the invoice. It’s attached here.”
Should I pay?
A second situation. An ex-agency senior art director hired for campaign work. He took the brief, Google and Pinterest searched images — a mix of clip-arts, illustrations and stock photos — patched together a layout, and presented it as a campaign visual route. His defence: “I have to use available images to help construct the visual ideas. Once the client approves, the actual visuals will be redesigned via photography or proper stock purchase.”
Full marks for curating a mood board. But an assortment of images is not art direction. A well-thought campaign is not a Pinterest board. To him, his part of the deal was done.
A third situation — a studio hired to deliver a first cut on Wednesday. Missed Wednesday. Missed Thursday. Missed Friday. No updates unless chased. I built a buffer and promised the client a first cut on Friday, then had to postpone to Monday. By then I’d already engaged a second studio at higher cost — one week of production work compressed into two days — to finish the film as a backup.
The first studio assured me they’d fix the problems by Saturday morning. On Saturday evening, I received a decent cut from the second studio. Silence from the first. On Sunday noon — the first cut finally arrived. By then, the second studio was already working on revisions so we could send it to the client that evening.
In one of the rare situations in my experience — the first studio didn’t invoice. “We overestimated our capabilities and messed up on timelines. It’s our fault.” This is rare. People are usually adamant about being paid for work done, regardless of whether it was of any useful value to the buyer.
If they had asked, I wouldn’t have wanted to pay. But I would have paid.
The confession: there are times when I, as the buyer, have been tempted not to pay. A film I didn’t sanction and couldn’t reject. An art director who justified his mood board as a completed deliverable. A studio that forced me to spend extra on a second agency to save a client relationship.
In all three cases, the work didn’t meet what was agreed. In all three cases, the right answer is still to pay.
Here’s why.
Going to a restaurant, ordering the recommended dish, discovering it’s the worst meal of your life — you can’t tell Gordon Ramsay his lobster pizza was terrible and walk out without paying. You walked into his restaurant. You ordered from his menu. It was your choice.
Now it’s his decision. He can waive the bill because his kitchen had a bad day. He can offer a substitute dish. He can give you a voucher to come back. He might just want the money. If so — swipe the card. Leave a review if it makes you feel better. And move on, however unwillingly.
The deal was made. The deal applies.
Recently, there was an outcry on social media to cancel an agency for refusing to pay an illustrator. Some friends reached out asking for my take.
I don’t know both parties, and I don’t know the exact details. But I read the situation as — an illustrator who had managed project timelines badly, and an agency that was furious about missed deadlines and had probably faced awkward, embarrassing situations in front of a client. Perhaps they had even spent extra money on a Plan B because Plan A was going nowhere.
Should they have paid? Of course. It was a deal gone bad.
Which brings me back to Gordon Ramsay. You walked into his restaurant. You ordered from his menu. The lobster pizza was terrible. You still can’t walk out without paying.
It’s now his decision — waive the bill, offer a substitute, give you a voucher, or just take the money. If he wants the money: swipe the card. Leave a review if it makes you feel better.
Then move on, however unwillingly.