We caught up with the brilliant and insightful Keith Wilhelm Kopp a few weeks ago and have shared our conversation below.

Alright, Keith Wilhelm thanks for taking the time to share your stories and insights with us today. It’s always helpful to hear about times when someone’s had to take a risk – how did they think through the decision, why did they take the risk, and what ended up happening. We’d love to hear about a risk you’ve taken.

​​A few years ago, at the start of the pandemic, I found myself at a crossroads. I had spent years directing short films and working as crew in the film and TV industry. Alongside my longtime writing partner, Laurence Guy, I had been fortunate enough to pitch for development funding on a large-budget feature film. We spent years creating visuals and pitching the idea to production companies. While some showed interest, they ultimately felt backing filmmakers who had not yet shot a feature was too great a risk.
I felt stuck. I realized that if I wanted the creative career I had been working toward, I needed to take a risk myself. After talking it through with my wife, we figured out a small amount of money we could put towards making a low/no budget feature film. (I can’t say exactly how much, as the film is still circulating.) I brought the idea to Laurence, and we decided to approach the film in a unique way: we would reverse-engineer the project, building it around the resources we already had access to equipment, a network of willing crew, and friends who could lend props and set dressing.
From there, Laurence and I focused on themes and stories that felt like a natural evolution of the short films we had made before. When the first lifting of lockdown was announced in the UK, we moved quickly, writing five drafts of the script in six weeks. I remember thinking, given the uncertainty of the world at the time, that this might be the only chance I ever had to make a feature film.
We spent our limited resources wisely — investing in insurance, cast fees, and securing dynamic locations. Over the course of nine intense days, we shot an 85-minute feature film, which would become Translations.
In the end, taking that risk on myself and the people I had trusted creatively for years paid off. Translations secured a limited theatrical run, received great press coverage, and was picked up by the streaming platform Fawesome. The decision could easily have ended in disaster, I didn’t have a financial safety net, but by putting faith in my passion, craft, and collaborators, I achieved more than I had thought possible. Even better, this film has now helped me move forward with developing my next feature.

Keith Wilhelm, love having you share your insights with us. Before we ask you more questions, maybe you can take a moment to introduce yourself to our readers who might have missed our earlier conversations?

I’m a filmmaker, specifically a director of scripted feature films, though I hope to expand into television in the future. Feature films have always been my passion and my preferred medium. I’m drawn to stories about romance, family dynamics, and the everyday moments that reveal who we are. These have mostly been dramas, though lately I’ve been moving into comedy dramas where humor and pathos sit side by side.
I grew up a blue-collar kid, moving all up and down the I-5 corridor in the Pacific Northwest, with Vancouver, Washington as my final home base of my childhood. Seeing stories unfold on the big screen was one of the first ways I found to understand the world around me. In high school, I discovered my love for storytelling through drama classes, performing in plays, and thanks to a very trusting teacher, getting a video camera put into my hands during a visual communications class. From that moment, something just clicked.
After high school, without a clear path to film school and without scholarships, I joined the Army. A recruiter convinced me the G.I. Bill could be my ticket to something more, and they were right. After my service, I moved to the UK, trained in film, and began to work in the industry.
Over time, I found the kind of stories I wanted to tell and developed my own visual language. Filmmakers like Ingmar Bergman, John Cassavetes, Sarah Polley, and Noah Baumbach shaped my sense of what cinema could be — deeply human, raw, full of lived in complexity.
After releasing my first feature film, Translations, I feel like I’m entering a new chapter. More opportunities are opening up, and I’ve learned that staying positive in an unpredictable industry has a way of bringing the right people and projects into your orbit.
What sets my work apart is my commitment to intimacy, both in storytelling and on set. I’m passionate about creating a space where actors feel safe, trusted, and truly heard. Shaping performances together is one of the most rewarding parts of filmmaking for me. I believe the most powerful scenes often come from those small, honest moments that can’t be forced — only nurtured.
I’m proud of the fact that my path wasn’t traditional. No shortcuts. Just persistence, collaboration, and an unwavering belief in the power of storytelling. When you work with me, you’re getting someone who leads with authenticity, listens deeply, and cares about creating films that feel as real and alive as the people watching them.

We often hear about learning lessons – but just as important is unlearning lessons. Have you ever had to unlearn a lesson?

When I first started directing, I immersed myself in every resource I could find — books, interviews, masterclasses. While a lot of that information was helpful, I eventually realized something no one really tells you: there are as many ways to direct a film as there are directors. What’s often presented as “rules” are really just preferences or methods that worked for someone else.

Take directing actors, for example. There’s a wealth of material on technique, some of it very granular, and while it can be valuable, the reality on set is often simpler. You cast actors because they already embody the role, and your job becomes more about occasional redirection than micromanagement. What works for one scene or actor may not work for another.

The broader lesson I learned is that mastering any creative craft starts with learning from others, absorbing everything you can. But at some point, you have to let go of rigid instruction and enter a phase of experimentation. That’s where real growth happens: through trial, error, discovery, and the guidance of peers and mentors who help you sharpen your own voice.

What can society do to ensure an environment that’s helpful to artists and creatives?

In my view, one of the most impactful ways society can support artists and creatives is by offering time, attention, and genuine engagement. Sometimes, that support isn’t financial, it’s simply showing up, listening, and responding thoughtfully. When an artist pitches an idea, whether they’re asking to use a space, seeking collaboration, or hoping for investment, even if you can’t say yes, taking the time to hear them out and offer constructive feedback can be incredibly valuable.

That feedback might be practical: helping them frame their mission more clearly, pointing out gaps in an investment pitch, or offering insight into how best to approach someone in your network. For instance, if they’re hoping to partner with a researcher for a VR project, your guidance on how to communicate their vision in a way that resonates with academia could open doors. Or if they’re developing an independent feature film, your notes on what’s missing from their funding proposal might help them secure support elsewhere.

These small acts, lending time, showing kindness, and offering thoughtful responses, help build a creative ecosystem where people feel encouraged to take risks, refine their ideas, and keep going. When artists feel seen and supported, even in small ways, it fosters a culture where creativity can truly thrive.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://kwkopp.com
• Instagram: @keith_wilhelm_kopp

Image Credits

Fred Reed, Mike Marchlewski, Mark James, Howard Mills, and Ross Wilson