The Format Fallacy: Why My Résumé Doesn’t Need Housewives on It

By Rick Van Meter  Alan Smithee

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Breaking News: Budgets Don’t Care What Network You’re On

I’m getting real tired of hearing, “We’re looking for someone with experience on [insert latest Bravo show here].”

As if the budget on Housewives spends that much differently than the one on BBQ Brawl or the crew on Million Dollar Listing mysteriously works in half-day increments while sipping LaCroix in soft lighting. Spoiler Alert: They don’t. Money is still math. Schedules are still a pain to create. Crew still eats at lunch (usually), and bitch about lunch (always).

I get it, to some degree, you want a creative producer who’s done the same format before. But line producers? We’re logistics junkies. We live and die by spreadsheets, breakdowns, and union rules. The DNA of our job doesn’t change just because the host swapped a chef’s coat for a ballroom gown.

A crisis on Housewives might be an emotional meltdown. A crisis on BBQ Brawl might be a grease fire. Either way, I’m the guy figuring out who’s covering the insurance deductible and whether we can make our day.

The Beginning (Or, How I Faked My Way Into Playboy)

My first job out of college was with Playboy TV. I wish I could say it was part of a master plan, but really, I just faxed in a résumé and hoped for the best. (Fax machine: ancient tech that made loud noises and smelled like hot toner. Ask your parents.)

The job posting was for a production manager. I was a PA. So I did what every confident, broke 20-something would do: I faked it. My PA credits became production manager credits. My roommates became “references.” I even added “Proficient in MovieMagic Budgeting & Scheduling,” a program I’d never touched.

Somehow, I got the interview and when the guy I was replacing asked if I knew how to fix a header in MovieMagic, I guessed right. Ten minutes later, I was hired.

And just like that, my career began, powered by film school, caffeine, and the kind of confidence you only have when you don’t yet know what fear is.

The Business Today (Or, The New Art of Pretending)

These days, it’s harder to fake experience but easier than ever to fake enthusiasm. Everyone’s expected to radiate passion, even when you can feel the network quietly drafting the email that says they’re “passing for now.”

The real trick isn’t faking excitement it’s finding the courage to keep saying yes when everything around you screams no.

The “fake it till you make it” era has evolved into “manifest it till someone Venmos you a deposit.” Back then, we lied about knowing MovieMagic. Now people lie about loving meetings.

The industry just rebranded pretending — swapped suits for sneakers and started calling it “authentic storytelling.” But the stories that get made are still the ones that test well, and the passion that gets praised is the kind that fits the budget.

Crew calls are earlier. Budgets are thinner. Everyone’s “so excited,” which is code for “exhausted but terrified to look replaceable.” I used to fake my way into the business. Now I improvise my way through it. Same skill, different era. At least when I faked it in ’99, you had to earn it — you had to fax it in.

What Line Producers Actually Do

People think line producers just manage money. Nope, we manage meltdowns disguised as logistics.

We’re the ones who answer the call when:

• The director wants a techno crane on a bridge half its size.

• You find out your central location is a trap house.

• A PA hits a bear while driving your talent to the set.

• The producers decide they want to build the world’s largest Bloody Mary and dunk their host in it for a Guinness World Record.

• After 10 months of production, your show is canceled, and YOU get to fire everyone.

• You need the NY bystander to stop screaming, "No Blood for Oil" during a take, and that turns out to be him being put into a full "Hannibal Lecter" getup, put into a paddy wagon, and arrested. (My apologies to the two NYC Officers just trying to have their dinner that night.)

We’re first in, last out, and usually holding a walkie, a credit card, and always having a minor panic attack. Line producing is what happens when control freaks learn to improvise.

The Math of Madness

Budgets don’t care if the show’s about billionaires, bakers, or bachelorettes. The math is the same:

“We’ll make it work” = We definitely won’t.“

It’s in the budget” = It was, until lunch.“

Can we fix it in post?” = Please send caffeine.

You live in spreadsheets so long that you start calculating life in crew hours. A latte becomes half a PA’s meal penalty. That location fee could’ve bought you another shoot day. Do you really need to repaint the red barn a deeper shade of red for $30 thousand? That talent private jet during Covid? Half a seasons budget on fuel alone.

But we do it because that’s the job, building the parachute on the way down, then convincing everyone it was the plan along the way.

Why I Still Love It (Even When It Doesn’t Love Me Back)

I’ve spent 25 years making chaos look coordinated. Fixing every shoot that shouldn’t have worked but did, that’s the high.

I don’t fake résumés anymore, but I still fake calm when things explode and confidence when they don’t. And the real truth is, I don’t have to fake the love. I still love this business — even when it ghosts me for someone with a Real Housewives credit.

So, to anyone hiring: no, I haven’t line produced Million Dollar Listing. But I’ve built shows from dust, made a lot of people rich in the process, kept productions alive through hurricanes, COVID, and celebrity “creative input.” If I can do all that and more then trust me, I can handle your reunion special.

Rick Van Meter is a film and TV producer running a blueberry farm in the Catskills. He’s still hung up on Hollywood — the ex who broke his heart, never calls back, but somehow keeps showing up in his dreams. To contact or hire Rick, you can reach him at NoEgoFilms@gmail.com.