What Editing The Lord of the Rings Taught Me About Commercial Editing and My Career

Hi, I'm James, the co-founder of Perrett.co. When I was seventeen, I spent most of my evenings holed up in my bedroom at my mum and dad’s, headphones on, Premiere Pro open, completely immersed in Middle-earth.

Not editing for clients. Not following briefs. Just me, my YouTube page TheHobbitCountdown, and hours of footage from The Lord of the Rings trilogy. Looking back, it was a full-blown escape. I was an introvert with a bad case of social anxiety, and editing was how I found peace — and purpose.

Those fan edits weren’t polished. They wouldn’t win awards. But they taught me more about storytelling, pacing and emotional impact than any course or tutorial ever could.

Fast-forward to now — I run a creative agency called Perrett.co. We’ve worked with brands like Au Vodka, Ross Edgley, FEBE and Gymshark, telling emotionally driven, cinematic stories. But the foundation of that craft? It was laid in those 7-minute fan videos where I tried to squeeze Frodo’s entire arc into a song by Ludovico Einaudi.

Here’s what editing The Lord of the Rings taught me — about story, music, and building a career in film.

Story Is the Skeleton. Everything Else Is Muscle.

Source: https://www.lotr.fandom.com

When you’re cutting pre-existing footage, you don’t get to rely on flashy cinematography or unique access. You get what you’re given. That’s where the real learning starts.

I wasn’t creating new scenes — I was unearthing narrative from what already existed. I had to ask: What’s the emotional spine here? What’s the core arc, and how do I reveal it without losing the viewer?

Editing The Fellowship of the Ring to “To Build a Home” by The Cinematic Orchestra taught me how to build emotional arcs from fragments. How to trim down hours of epic fantasy into something human, resonant, and personal. It forced me to think like a storyteller, not just a cutter.

That approach now defines how we handle commercial projects — whether we’re telling the story of a founder, an athlete, or a brand.

Music Isn’t a Backdrop. It’s the Blueprint.

I learned very early on that if the music doesn’t move you, it won’t move anyone else. In my fan edits, the music came first. I’d sit for hours listening to tracks, eyes closed, visualising which shots might land where. The Fellowship had that grounding warmth — hence The Cinematic Orchestra. But The Two Towers needed something with emotional lift and grit, so I went with Ludovico Einaudi’s “Divenire”. For The Return of the King, it was “Experience”.

Matching scenes to those tracks taught me how to build rhythm, tension, and payoff — long before I ever touched a commercial brief. And that feeling — when the perfect shot lands on the moment in the song — I still chase that every single edit.

Today, Perrett.co still starts edits with music. It’s not an afterthought. It leads the pacing, the tone, the shape of the narrative. That’s not a gimmick. It’s our process. Because when you let the music breathe, the story follows.

You Don’t Need a Camera to Learn to Edit

Video timeline of Ross Edgley's Yukon swim

I didn’t have any of my own footage. I had Peter Jackson’s. But that limitation was a blessing. Without a camera, you focus on what really matters: pacing, structure, meaning. You’re not distracted by gear or visual tricks. You’re forced to make something powerful with what’s already there.

I’d watch scenes over and over again to pick out the right beats — the glance between characters, the breath before the battle, the pause after a line. You start to see editing not as cutting, but as feeling.

That ability — to shape meaning from existing footage — is vital in the work we do now. We’re often handed chaotic rushes, hours of interviews, and a vague idea of a story. It’s the same challenge: Find the narrative. Make it land.

If you’re just starting out, don’t wait until you’ve got a camera or a budget. Grab some public footage, a piece of music, and start cutting. It’s one of the best storytelling exercises out there.

Limitations Create Better Editors

Back then, I didn’t know what a LUT was. I wasn’t colour grading. There was no slow-motion drone b-roll or buttery 120fps transitions. It was raw footage, Premiere Pro, and a few songs on loop. But what that lack of polish taught me was gold: You don’t need more tools. You need better instincts.

When you can’t hide behind flashy visuals or heavy effects, every cut has to mean something. I learned how to squeeze every drop of emotion out of a glance or a silent moment. I learned how to pace a 7-minute story so it didn’t feel like seven minutes.

That’s stuck with me. Even now, with a full kit list — Sony FX3, Ronin 4D, lighting setups — the story still has to work without any of it. Strip everything away, and the question remains: Does the edit move people?

Perfection Isn’t the Goal. Progress Is.

Were those early edits perfect? Absolutely not. Are they still on YouTube? Unfortunately, yes. But they were honest. They were me experimenting, learning, building taste. I didn’t know how to mask properly. My transitions were messy. But every time I watched a render and thought “Hmm… not quite”, I was sharpening the instincts I now trust with every professional project.

That discomfort — of knowing it’s not right yet — is the best tutor you’ll ever have.

You don’t need to make masterpieces. You need to make. Because the only way to get good is to get it wrong a hundred times and keep going.

Long-form Edits Build Stamina and Structure

Each of my LOTR videos was about 7 minutes long. Not epic by YouTube standards today, but for a teenager editing alone in a bedroom, that was a marathon.

They taught me how to structure. How to open with something bold, build slowly, hit an emotional climax, and leave the viewer with something lingering.

That foundation helps massively now as we cut longer brand pieces, founder interviews, and YouTube mini-docs. The same questions apply: What’s the midpoint twist? Where do we let it breathe? When do we land the message?

A great 30-second ad might get you noticed. But a 7-minute story that keeps someone? That’s where trust is built.

Your Style Comes from Your Influences — and That’s a Good Thing

I still see echoes of those LOTR edits in our commercial work. A founder video might have a slow intro with soft piano — that’s Divenire. A product reveal might hold a beat of silence before the score kicks — that’s the Helm’s Deep influence. Even in a vodka brand campaign or a fitness doc, I’m thinking about Frodo’s arc. Every brand has a journey: a call to adventure, a struggle, a transformation. You can thank Tolkien and a teenage obsession for the fact that I now try to find that arc in every client we work with. Those influences aren’t a crutch. They’re a compass.

Final Thoughts

Those early fan videos were where I learned how to feel an edit. How to use music not as background, but as narrative. How to cut with purpose. How to tell human stories — even when the characters are hobbits and the stakes are apocalyptic.

They weren’t perfect. But they were the beginning. And that beginning gave me everything I use today — not just as a filmmaker, but as a business owner, creative director, and storyteller.

So if you’re early in your journey — or even mid-journey and a bit lost — here’s my advice: Don’t wait to be hired. Don’t wait to shoot. Start with what you’ve got. Edit what already exists. And try to make someone feel something.

That’s the real magic. And that’s where it all started for me.