The final film is 5.5Gb, which is completely beyond the upload page limit. I searched Google but no platform accepts compression of files over 5gb, and can finally compress it to less than 2gb completely.
I feel so sorry for the inconvenience caused by this situation, but the only way I can think of is to upload it to YouTube and then share the YouTube viewing link, and in this way, subtitles can be translated.
So here is the link of my Collaboration Project’s final outcome.
Techno elements, Why I Added Techno Elements When Both Characters Share the Scene？
I chose to introduce techno-inspired sound elements in the scenes where both main characters appear in the same space to emphasize the shift in energy, tension, and psychological complexity. Compared to the more ambient or melodic textures used in individual character scenes, the techno sound introduces a sharper, more rhythmic layer that mirrors the interpersonal dynamics and underlying manipulation between the two.
Techno, with its repetitive beats, synthetic textures, and cold tonality, adds a mechanical and emotionally detached atmosphere. This matched the mood I wanted to create: the characters aren’t showing true intimacy or emotional connection—instead, they’re performing a role, working together in deception. The techno rhythm helps underline this sense of strategic cooperation, where every move and word is calculated like part of a game.
Additionally, techno’s urban and industrial aesthetic complements the broader theme of the film—young people living in a restless, fast-paced, and alienating city environment. When both characters are in the same space, the techno sound acts almost like a pulse of the city itself—highlighting their shared survival instinct and the artificiality of their actions. It enhances the feeling that they are not in control of their fate, but rather caught in a larger system, moving forward like cogs in a machine.
Finally, the use of techno in these moments creates a sonic contrast to the more emotional, string-based moments earlier in the film. It marks a shift from inner emotion to external performance—signaling to the audience that something has changed in the energy of the scene. The cold, repetitive nature of the sound also hints at the underlying emptiness of their scheme, contributing to the film’s darkly ironic tone.
All the dialogues of the main characters in the film were recorded live, because we wanted to retain the imperfect texture and background sound of the live recording.
the film works is so different than the Sound works, there is not that big among every version I designed and created for this film, such as reducing chords, deleting music tracks, and fading the high-frequency sound. And the final result is that each version becomes simpler and simpler.
The sound design process for this film was highly conceptual and emotionally driven. At the start, my main goal was to use sound not just as background, but as a psychological extension of the characters’ inner world—particularly that of the male protagonist. Because the film plays with the boundary between dream and reality, I knew early on that the soundtrack had to shift in tone and texture throughout the narrative. My first step was to analyze the script and visual cues to identify which scenes called for stronger musical presence and which demanded more restrained, ambient soundscapes.
The opening scene, where the protagonist searches for the green ring, became my central focus. I wanted to create a sound environment that felt both haunting and fragile—mirroring the character’s internal sense of desperation and hope. I chose to use string instruments layered with synth textures to produce a melodic but dissonant atmosphere. The strings carry emotional weight, while the processed synthesizers add an otherworldly quality. In this way, the soundtrack subtly signals that the events may not be entirely real, setting the stage for the film’s eventual twist.
As the film progressed into more dialogue-heavy scenes, I had to rethink my approach. Initially, I was inclined to continue layering textures and musical elements to maintain a strong sonic identity. However, through discussions with the director, Wentao Liu, it became clear that simplicity and space were more appropriate for many scenes. He wanted the visuals and character dynamics to speak for themselves without being overshadowed by sound. This was a turning point for me—I had to shift from “how can I make this sound better?” to “how can sound serve the story better?” It was a humbling but insightful experience that reshaped my design choices.
In the middle portion of the film, my focus shifted toward creating minimalist ambient layers that could blend seamlessly into the environment. These sounds were not meant to stand out, but to subtly enhance the pacing and emotional tone of each scene. I used low-frequency drones, urban background noise, and light reverb to add a sense of atmosphere without clutter. I also made sure that transitional sounds—the shifts between locations or emotional beats—were smoothed out through subtle sonic bridges, helping the film flow more cohesively.
Another interesting challenge was matching the rhythmic pacing of sound to the film’s editing style. In the early phases, I created a few demos that felt musically complete, but they clashed with the visual rhythm of the cuts. I had to go back and rethink timing—not just in terms of tempo, but in how long a sound should hold or fade out. This led to a more refined understanding of timing as a narrative tool. I learned to respect silence as much as sound.
By the end of the process, the final sound design consisted of a carefully balanced structure: a rich, emotionally layered introduction; a restrained and immersive middle section; and a final moment that subtly revisits earlier motifs in a more subdued tone. This arc mirrors the story’s dream-to-reality progression, making the sound design feel cohesive and meaningful. While I started the project thinking about individual scenes, I finished with a clearer vision of how sound can create narrative continuity and emotional depth across a full film.
No music before flipping the mirror Buildingup comes in and it’s weird Continue to start the pathos Stop at the mirror 4:32-4:48 phone call part with PS drum beats, stop when the male lead speaks
9:30 removed when the driver pees Violin stuck, use less violin
After 10:50, the gun is thrown out, no/become simple, emotional change
Thigh touching part, the change of tone is obvious, the irony is aggravated, now too serious
Music after 10:10 is retained, the previous music is discarded
4th, 5th Part Comparison of the heroine before and after turning the mirror, Before: Enter the emotion (start acting) After: Start to get into the play, the music starts to change to make the audience believe, the story of being ‘Pick-Up Artist’ begins, mainly natural Emotion: tragic feeling The contrast between the audience and the protagonist, the audience knows, but the protagonist is acting.
Tips: The melody is borrowed from 1st, the strings effect is added in 4th, 5th, so that the audience feels familiar, less drums After the drums, you can start tying people
1st part, door closed during ‘Room Cleaning’2nd part, the actor is stealing, found the green ring finally3rd part, 2 main characters first appear together in a room (under same space), and discuss with Bold Action they are going to do4th part, the actress is calling the black cab driver (drum kit part)5th part, the actress is gazing the mirror and noticed the actor (her boyfriend) then6th part, mirror transition, the actress and the actor are simulating a robbery7th part, the actress is seducing the black cab driver8th part, the black cab driver is resisting the main the couple, and the pistol fell off then
Guðnadóttir’s score is characterized by deep, sorrowful string lines that mirror the protagonist’s isolation and slow unraveling. The cello, often used alone, becomes a vessel for unspoken psychological trauma.
While our film is set in a very different cultural context, the emotional isolation and suppressed frustration in Joker parallels the conditions of many Chinese working-class youth. I adopted a similar approach—using strings not as romantic instruments but as tools to express psychological heaviness.
Trainspotting, Soundtract
The soundtrack of Trainspotting embodies youthful defiance and existential emptiness. “Born Slippy” in particular captures the duality of euphoria and desperation that underpins the characters’ drug use and aimless rebellion.
I structured part of my soundtrack around a rising techno rhythm that never climaxes. This reflects the “gambling” lifestyle where the win is always just out of reach. Like the characters in Trainspotting, my characters pursue a kind of freedom that is always on the horizon, never fully real.
Aphex Twin & Caterina Barbieri
Aphex Twin’s fragmented, unpredictable compositions and Barbieri’s hypnotic modular sequences both challenge traditional musical form. Their work often feels like a brain thinking out loud, fluctuating between order and chaos.
Their approaches helped me develop a non-linear, emotionally ambiguous sound language for my film. Where the narrative logic of the story fractures (due to the dream twist), I let the sound become unstable—sometimes beautiful, sometimes jarring.
From Barbieri, I borrowed long-evolving synth patterns that create trance-like immersion. From Aphex Twin, I took the courage to let my sounds glitch, break, or “misbehave”—mirroring the characters’ unstable sense of agency and control.
In designing the sonic environment for our short film—a surreal, darkly comedic story where a young couple cheats a taxi driver only to reveal it was all a dream—I was drawn to references that captured psychological instability, urban alienation, and the emotional weight of class anxiety. These reference points not only shaped the texture and structure of my sound design but also deepened my understanding of how sound can embody themes of aimlessness, deception, and fantasy. By weaving together techno synthesisers and strings, I aimed to reflect the inner worlds of China’s working-class youth living under pressure, stuck between survival and delusion.
Uncut Gems, Daniel Lopatin
Lopatin’s score is a masterclass in building tension through synthetic textures. It avoids traditional emotional cues and instead uses looping, layered synths that create a sense of breathless forward motion. The music never gives the listener relief—mirroring the protagonist’s gambling addiction and desperate lifestyle.
This chaotic, claustrophobic aesthetic resonated with our film’s themes of risk, obsession, and fantasy as escapism. I borrowed Lopatin’s technique of using layered arpeggios and pulsing synthesisers to reflect how my characters mentally spiral through the idea of “one big score” that will fix everything.
Lopatin’s ability to sonically reflect urban pressure and mental breakdown inspired me to move away from emotional melodies and instead embrace disorientation and overload as narrative tools. I used fast, repetitive synth motifs that grow increasingly unstable as the characters’ dream develops—suggesting their reality is slipping.
Enter the Void, Thomas Bangalter et al.
Gaspar Noé’s film stands out for its fluid transitions between consciousness, hallucination, and memory—achieved in part by deeply immersive, often disorienting sound design. The soundtrack uses slow, sweeping bass tones and heavily processed ambient textures to dissolve spatial boundaries.
This approach inspired the sound design for the dream-reality blurring in my film. Rather than marking the dream with obvious cues, I subtly introduced reverb-heavy textures and irregular tempo shifts that destabilize the perception of time and space.
I used low-frequency drones, reversed synth tails, and granular processing—techniques I observed in Enter the Void—to reflect a dream state that doesn’t feel magical, but rather uncanny and unresolved. This parallels how my characters’ fantasy is seductive but ultimately ungrounded.
The filming process for our short film was both challenging and rewarding. Our production was relatively small-scale, but it required careful planning, coordination, and adaptability—especially since we were working with limited equipment and time constraints. The story, which takes place mostly in and around a taxi, demanded creative problem-solving in terms of location, lighting, and shot composition.
We began with several pre-production meetings to storyboard the scenes and finalize the script. Wentao, the director, was responsible for shot planning and character direction, while I contributed ideas related to how sound would interact with visual elements. We discussed pacing, transitions, and the emotional tone of key scenes to make sure the cinematography would leave space for sound to play a meaningful role later in post-production.
One of the most logistically difficult parts of the shoot was the taxi scene, which formed the core of the narrative. Filming inside a moving car brought technical limitations, such as camera placement and ambient noise, but also inspired some interesting framing choices. We used both handheld and fixed camera angles to create a sense of tension and unease, aligning with the film’s darkly humorous tone. Since much of the story is set within this confined space, we experimented with close-ups and off-screen dialogue to build psychological pressure.
Although Wentao led the cinematography and direction, our collaboration extended into small but important decisions during the shoot. For example, in transitional scenes where characters shift from dialogue to silent thought, I offered input about how these moments could be enhanced through quiet or ambient sound, helping us decide when to hold a shot longer or leave a space for audio to carry the emotion.
Overall, the filming process required a lot of flexibility. Some scenes were restructured on the spot to adjust for lighting conditions, actor availability, or continuity errors. These improvisations were sometimes frustrating but ultimately improved the natural flow of the narrative. It was a valuable reminder that film is not a fixed plan but a living process that evolves through collaboration and experimentation.
Throughout the film, we paid close attention to light and shadow as storytelling tools. Many interior scenes are shot in low light, often with a single directional source like a desk lamp or passing streetlight. This intentional dimness evokes a sense of urban loneliness and economic instability—paralleling the themes of the film. Shadows cast across the characters’ faces create moments of concealment and ambiguity, reinforcing the idea that they are constantly negotiating between deception and self-deception. In one particularly effective shot, the protagonist’s face is half-lit, suggesting a tension between moral uncertainty and psychological vulnerability.
Framing and composition were also central to the visual language of the film. We often positioned the camera at oblique angles or from slightly distanced perspectives, intentionally avoiding overly polished or symmetrical shots. This gave the film a raw, observational quality that mirrors the unglamorous reality of the characters’ lives. In contrast, dream-like moments—such as the ring-search sequence—featured slower camera movements and a more centralized framing, creating a slightly surreal atmosphere. This shift in visual tone subtly cues the audience into the dream-state without using obvious visual effects.
We also made deliberate use of negative space in our shots. Empty areas in the frame, such as blank walls or out-of-focus backgrounds, serve to emphasise the characters’ emotional isolation. This was especially effective in scenes where dialogue was sparse; the emptiness around the actors echoed the silence in their internal world. The urban setting, while minimally shown, is always felt—through confined interiors, cramped environments, and the suggestion of a city just outside the frame.
Overall, the visual design of the film worked in harmony with the sound to create a coherent emotional and thematic experience. Rather than relying on overt dramatic visuals, we chose to suggest emotion through subtle framing, lighting, and reflective surfaces. These choices helped immerse the viewer in the uncertain, anxious world the characters inhabit—where every action, whether real or imagined, is driven by hope, survival, and illusion.
