9 min · May 14, 2026
How a lighting technician rewrote what’s possible on a moving film set
On a film set, nothing stands still for long. Cameras move. Actors shift positions. Light changes by the minute. And somewhere behind it all, there is a quiet, constant demand: power must follow everything.
Todd Lapp has spent thirty years working inside that moving system. As a head lighting technician in film and television, his job is not just to create light, it is to make sure it exists exactly where it is needed, at exactly the right moment, without delay.
“Everything we do depends on it,” he says.
If a light fails, a scene stops. If a monitor goes dark, decisions stall. And when a production involves hundreds of people, delays are not minor inconveniences; they are costly, immediate, and visible.
For most of his career, solving that problem meant cables. Heavy, sprawling networks of them, running across streets, through buildings, around obstacles. Or generators, large, loud, and fixed in place.
It worked. But it was never elegant.
To understand what changed, you have to understand how things used to be.
Power on the set was centralized. You brought it in, distributed it outward, and hoped it reached everywhere it needed to go without getting in the way. In controlled environments, that system held.
But film sets are rarely controlled.
They move into forests, across neighborhoods, into private homes, onto streets where nothing can be disturbed. They involve stunt sequences, tracking shots, and unpredictable camera movements.
“You don’t always have the luxury of plugging in,” Todd says.
And even when you do, cables come with their own problems: trip hazards, setup time, and visual limitations. In high-end locations, they become something else entirely: an intrusion.
“You’re trying to respect the space,” he explains. “Don't take it over.”
So the industry adapted. It experimented. Built custom battery rigs and improvised with equipment never designed for that purpose. It was functional, but it was never simple.
The shift didn’t begin with a grand decision; it began with a need.
Todd and his team were already experimenting with battery systems; large, industrial units capable of powering entire sections of a set. But those systems came with their own constraints: weight, scale, and limited mobility.
What they needed was something different: smaller, faster, and easier to deploy. Something that could move with the scene. “We wanted something handheld,” he says.
That search led him online, where he compared options, checked availability, and looked for something that could meet the demands of a professional environment without adding complexity.
That’s when he found Jackery. Not as a replacement for everything, but as a solution for something very specific.
At first, the applications were simple.
Powering monitors. Charging devices. Supporting small control systems when the main power wasn’t available. But on a film set, nothing stays small for long. Because once a tool proves useful, it gets pushed further.
And further.
In a typical Jackery Explorer 3000 Pro review, you might read about output capacity, battery life, or portability.
Todd talks about movement. “The biggest thing is mobility,” he says.
Not having to plan every cable route. Not having to build power infrastructure before a scene can begin. Not having to stop and reconfigure when the camera shifts direction.
Instead, the system moves with the production.
You place it where you need it. Use it. Pick it up. Move on.
And in an industry where time is measured in minutes, and sometimes seconds, that difference matters.
The real shift came during more complex shoots: A stunt sequence, a specially built vehicle, and cameras mounted in motion.
The kind of setup that, in the past, would have required extensive planning, custom rigs, and a network of solutions working together. Instead, they did something simpler: they secured a Jackery unit inside the vehicle.
“That’s how we powered everything,” Todd explains.
Lights. Audio systems. Communication tools. All running independently, without cables trailing behind, without external dependencies.
In another setup, a camera car followed behind, powered by a separate unit. allowing real-time communication between vehicles, live adjustments, and full mobility.
What once required careful choreography became something more fluid.
There is another detail, less technical but just as important: silence.
Traditional generators are not subtle. They hum, vibrate, announce their presence in every take.
Battery systems don’t. “It’s quiet,” Todd says.
And in filmmaking, silence is not just a convenience; it is a necessity. It allows for cleaner audio, fewer interruptions, and more flexibility in how scenes are captured.
It changes not just how power is delivered, but how the entire environment feels.
Over time, Todd’s setup expanded.
An Explorer 3000 Pro for greater demands.
An Explorer 2000 for mid-range applications.
An Explorer 1500 for flexibility.
Multiple smaller units, Explorer 240s, are distributed across the set.
Each serves a purpose. Each fills a gap.
And together, they form something larger: a modular system that adapts to whatever the production requires. “You always need more,” he says, half-joking.
But it’s true. Because on a film set, demand is never static.
What started as a technical solution has begun to influence something broader.
How sets are designed, how locations are chosen, and how productions think about sustainability.
There is now pressure, both internal and external, to reduce environmental impact. To minimize noise. To limit disruption. Battery-powered systems play a role in that shift. “We’re trying to hit 60% sustainable power,” Todd explains.
In some cases, his team reaches even higher, not by replacing everything, but by rethinking what is necessary and what isn’t.
The effect is subtle at first: fewer cables, less setup time, and more flexibility.
But over time, those changes accumulate: they allow for different kinds of shots, movements, and storytelling.
Directors can think more freely. Crews can respond more quickly. And what once felt like a limitation begins to feel like an advantage.
At the end of the day, most viewers will never notice any of this.
They will see the finished scene: the lighting, the movement, the performance. Not the system that made it possible.
But for Todd, that’s the point. Power, when it works correctly, disappears; it becomes part of the background.
Reliable. Available. Unnoticed.
And in an industry built on illusion, that might be the most important role it can play.
Because sometimes the most significant change is not what you see on screen, it’s everything that no longer gets in the way of making it.