Beginning part: looking for the green ring

test.1

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.

Notes

Film Editing note

Wentao Liu

Wendy shen

soundtracks

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

Notes

Film Editing note

Wentao Liu

Wendy shen

soundtracks

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

References — sound design

Joker, Score by Hildur Guðnadóttir

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.

References — Sound tracks design

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.