BTS: Tim van Someren on directing the World Cup Opening Ceremony

The 2026 FIFA World Cup drew in an audience of billions worldwide.

As the director for both the opening and closing ceremonies, Tim van Someren delves into the behind-the-scenes craft that goes into shaping the live broadcast, to bring the thrilling experience of the ceremony directly to audiences back home.

When I was 19, I saw a live studio gallery for the first time and became obsessed – more than the screens, the mics, and the buttons, it was the buzz that drew me in.

I had obtained, through nepotism and luck, an internship at MTV Europe. My assignment was the daily live show MTV’s Most Wanted, and I remember entering the control room on my first day. It was chaos, but it was calm. The director guided the crew on talkback through the music, games, stunts, and interviews with the steady demeanour of Ed Harris in The Right Stuff. More than 30 years later, I’m still chasing that buzz and channelling my inner Ed Harris.

The live director’s role is to pull a team along with them; tens, sometimes hundreds of crew need to know exactly what they should be doing moment by moment. Sometimes, that dance is adaptive and reactive – at a live music gig or a sports event, you react to the action and build your narrative as it happens. But at tightly choreographed shows, the coverage should be equally choreographed; each second onscreen needs to be pre-planned and practised, so that the viewer sees precisely what they need to see to understand the action, experience the emotion, and get the context.

The World Cup Opening Ceremony was the latter. I had to plan the coverage of an event that wouldn’t even exist until a few days before transmission, and execute it flawlessly for a live audience in the billions.

We start with camera positions. FIFA’s Host Broadcast Services (HBS) issue the match coverage camera plan to us in April, and I select which cameras we use for the ceremony, so that those operators can be scheduled to attend our rehearsals.

Of the 40+ HBS cameras, I select 17: long-lens cameras at eye level to capture performers’ details; Steadicams for immersive action and flexibility; main gantry cameras for wide and clean frontal close-ups; Spidercam for dynamic movement; helicopter for context, scale, and the finale roof-pyro. To these, we add five more cameras just for the use of the ceremony: another two Steadicams – they are the workhorse of these events; and three extra-long lenses in positions to cover our unusual triple-stage set.

So now we have 22 cameras. The challenge is to work out what they should each be pointing at and when.

I start working closely with the creative director, Carlos Navarrete-Patiño, to break down the shape of the ceremony. He and his team provide WIP animatics of the mass-cast choreography. The design team provide me with a 3D model of the stadium so I can position virtual cameras within the Azteca. I start to receive first drafts of the music, the spine of the ceremony upon which everything hangs.

On the surface, the task is simple; for any moment, choose a camera and describe the shot and its duration. Once that shot is done, choose the next shot. Repeat three or four hundred times. But each shot needs many questions answered:

What’s the subject? A key performer? A cutaway? A wide shot?

Have I understood the staging? Is there pyro or other SFX?

Is there something I should avoid? The next performer being set in, for example?

Which camera sees that subject? What lens does it have?

Can the operator execute that shot? What was their last shot? How much time to repo? Is their workload too high for live reliability?

I have to collate the abstract information and work out the real-world physics of the show at every moment.

With a first draft camera script, I travel to Mexico City to see the “put-together”, where the ceremony is staged on a football pitch at a local college. Now I can spend time on the ground with Carlos and the choreo team, making sure I have the right moments captured in the right way.

I also meet with the headline talent’s teams – Shakira, J Balvin, and Burna Boy all have ideas about their coverage. I go to their hotels, watch their rehearsals, and create a shooting sequence for each that integrates our camera work with their choreography.

Five days before the show, we have the first of two camera rehearsals in the Azteca. The challenge is that we are the first test of the OB rig in the Stadium; nothing has been used yet, and we face some technical hitches. Our RF cameras (the Steadicams) are not sending a picture, and there is a problem with the radio talkback. We are starting with Shakira and, as her performance is entirely on Steadicams, a meaningful rehearsal is looking unlikely. But, with all hands on deck, the tech teams find a workaround to get us up and running.

After that first run, the refining begins in earnest. I spend more time with Shakira in her hotel ballroom, and also an afternoon with J Balvin in the stadium’s car park – any spaces where they can run their performance and I can work with their creatives.

We head to our second rehearsal two days before the match. But just as we are starting, some nearby lightning storms mean evacuating the pitch for a little while, leaving several hundred mass cast, camera ops, stage managers, and international music stars sheltering in the stadium’s tunnels for an hour or so. After that, it all goes beautifully.

Finally, it’s match day. But behind the scenes, we aren’t without drama. Chris, our Vision Mixer – literally the person who puts the show on air – wakes up with dreadful food poisoning. A heroic effort from him and the production medics, and a decent nap in the production office, gets him through the show, just about.

Two minutes before transmission, we lose all radio comms. So, our pitch-side cameras, the stage managers, the effects technicians, and our show caller have no way to speak or hear on the main circuit. There are some backups, which means the show could run, but I can’t speak to any cameras or hear the show call.

At this point, a certain fatalism kicks in: don’t worry about what you can’t do, worry about what you can. I start thinking about alternate shots for some moments, protecting the Steadicams for the bigger sequences, while my AD, Laura, is WhatsApp-ing the Show Caller for some clues about when (and if) the show might happen.

With seconds to go, comms returned (thank you, Riedel tech department!) and we sail on as if nothing had happened.

The reality of live directing is finding the balance between conflicting forces. You must get everyone to be ultra-prepared, so they can execute their role whatever the circumstances. But you have to be ready to improvise and adapt. Equipment and people don’t always do what they’re meant to, or outside forces can take control. Those months of planning mean I have a 3D image of the show and the cameras for every moment in my mind, and I can usually find a way to adapt to most problems.

And then, beyond just covering the action, as a director, you want to add to it – give drama, scale, colour, and context.

If you get it right, 1.5 billion people will love the show and, if you get it perfect, they won’t even notice your work.