Ellen Crane

Ellen Crane

Head of Independent DirectorsLondon, United Kingdom
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Ellen Crane

Ellen Crane

Head of Independent DirectorsLondon, United Kingdom
About me
I'm Ellen, an experienced agent for film directors working at OB Management, heading up our roster of independent talent. Outside of OB, I freelance as a script reader for BBC Films and run an online platform called Seed which is dedicated to celebrating storytelling.
Projects
  • Elizabeth McMullen
    Elizabeth McMullenShe’d lost everything, that night when the sky was lit with dancing sparks and her childhood home roared up in flames. Afterward, at the precipice of the hole in the dining room, she took in the silk oyster drapes, tattered. The mahogany table that had hosted many a family gathering, broken. The golden wallpaper, dark and curling with the cruelness of the fire that had claimed him. A part of her would remain in this house with the white carpet, a sooty shadow, yearning. Light would try and try
  • Seed.
    Seed.Seed is a community dedicated to celebrating storytelling. Each week, three people from the creative industry are selected to write a ‘seed’ inspired by one image. In other words, three people are asked to interpret the story within the frame. Who are the characters? Where is the story set? What is the bigger picture? The image is then posted three times on Seed’s Instagram and website, captioned with the different interpretations, alongside crediting the three writers and the photographer.
Projects credited in
  • Ellen Crane
    Ellen CraneEvery Friday he would be there. Nursing a pint of stout while hidden beneath the thicket of suited bankers welcoming in the weekend. He was never easy to spot. An unremarkable face in an unremarkable crowd. Some assumed he were one of them, but most looked straight through him. An act of entitled ignorance that he quietly appreciated. For he was not interested in their raucous conversation, he preferred to study the edges of a situation. The furtive glances, the fleeting hands coupling between a
  • Ellen Crane
    Ellen CraneCal waited under the flickering glow of the diner, his ears pricked to the wind, awaiting the sound of Johnnie’s tires against the rough gravel. The suburbs of Louisville echoed banality. Each summer day blended into the next, an endless cycle of biking, burgers and exploring the abandoned Bletcher Estate at nightfall. 11:54. Cal sighed. Johnnie was a no-show. Suddenly, the silence was broken by a deafening shriek. Cal crept to the disabled toilet and hesitantly swung open the door. He did
  • Ellen Crane
    Ellen CraneHis name sweetened our tongues like the fleshy mango ripe from the evergreen. As our patron, he would visit the orphanage once a month and we would feverishly gather around his earthy feet, enchanted by his tales of faraway lands such as Ghana, Yemen and Mozambique. He would teach us silly phrases in Mandarin and ask after our humble adventures, humorously tutting at the state of Azari's grazed knees. And then, in a fleeting flash, he would be gone, and we would spend our days playing beneath th
  • Ellen Crane
    Ellen CraneHoneysuckle fragranced the air, while sun-kissed grass danced under a bleached sky. The smell of roasted rhubarb seeped through the oak panelling, while deft fingers graced the keys of the grand piano. The pitter-patter of tiny toes raced across the chalked patio, embraced by soft, sanguine skin. Twelve years later, I step out of my car as dusk descends, cradling Oscar in my arms. The house lies empty, yet her sonata still hums in the pale breeze, accompanied by the crickets who applaud her enc
  • Ellen Crane
    Ellen CraneDespite Hector’s flaws, he is a fine artist, thought Josephine. His vibrant, visceral paintings make for competitive auction, yet she notices a raw, untamed edge to his expression. An undercurrent of private pain only communicated on the canvas... and occasionally with a whip of the wrist. Josephine studies her husband. The handsome veteran she once nursed to health still appears but a mystery. The wounds have now healed yet blood still seeps from his paint brush. Today, disguised as amber, mag
  • Ellen Crane
    Ellen CraneKayden clung to his grandmother as she approached the open casket. Hesitating, Gloria reached out to feel Ray’s skin, tracing her finger along each aged imperfection, threaded together like a tapestry timeline. She thought of the two hundred people who had attended her brother’s funeral, discounting the many fans who had flocked the streets of New Orleans to pay their respects. Gloria had always championed Ray’s tenacity, even in the early days when the music bore him scars of injustice. Yet, on
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Work history
    BBC logo
    BBC logo
    Freelance Script ReaderBBC
    London, United KingdomFreelance
    On a freelance basis outside of my full-time commitments at OB, I read new material for BBC Films and write script reports.
    Seed. logo
    Seed. logo
    Founder & CuratorSeed.
    London, United KingdomFreelance
    In my spare time, I run an online platform called Seed, a community dedicated to celebrating storytelling. Each week, three people are selected to write 'the seed of a story' in less than 100 words, inspired by one image. In other words, three people are asked to interpret the story within the frame. Who are the characters? Where is the story set? What is the bigger picture? The image is then posted three times on Seed’s Instagram and website, captioned with the different interpretations, alongside crediting the writer and the photographer. If you would like to contribute to our community, please contact hello@thestoryseed.co.uk
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Skills
  • Advertising
  • Film
  • Design
  • Indesign
  • Photoshop
  • Creative Writing
  • Visual Research
  • Treatment Writing
  • Script Reader
  • Script Development
Education
    University of Leeds logo
    University of Leeds logo
    BA (Hons) Cinema & PhotographyUniversity of Leeds
     - Leeds, United Kingdom
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