Learning to Trust the Unexpected
Introduction
Photography has always fascinated me because it doesn’t simply record a moment; it changes the way we remember it. A photograph freezes time, but every person who looks at it brings a different story to what they see. That idea became the starting point for Double Exposure.
The film follows two young women who secretly investigate what they believe is a romantic relationship between their brothers. Armed with cameras and instant film, they begin documenting every encounter, convinced they are uncovering a hidden truth. But as they spend more time observing other people’s lives, they gradually stop noticing the people in front of their lenses and begin noticing each other instead.
Just like an instant photograph slowly revealing an image that was invisible only moments before, I wanted the emotions in the film to emerge quietly, almost before the characters themselves realised what was happening. More than a love story, Double Exposure asks a simple question: does love really need to fit the definition that society gives it?
Inspiration
People often ask me whether Double Exposure is based on my own experience. The answer is no. Before there were characters, before there was a script, there was simply an idea that refused to leave me.
I kept thinking about a situation: what if two people became so absorbed in investigating someone else’s relationship that they unknowingly walked into a similar one themselves? I loved the irony of that premise. It reminded me of Wong Kar-wai’s In the Mood for Love, where two people searching for answers gradually discover something unexpected about themselves. I wasn’t interested in recreating that film, but I was deeply inspired by the emotional structure behind it.
When I first began writing, I wasn’t trying to make a film about sexuality or identity. I was simply following two characters and seeing where they would take me. As someone who is attracted to women, writing two women falling in love felt
completely natural. It was simply the most honest way I could tell this story, rather than an attempt to make a statement.
As I continued writing, however, I realised the film was slowly becoming about something else. The more the characters tried to define other people’s relationships, the less they understood their own feelings. That made me wonder why we are so eager to decide what love should look like before we even understand it ourselves.
I don’t think films always need to provide answers. Sometimes they simply create a space where people can ask questions together. If audiences leave Double Exposure thinking less about labels and more about the people in front of them, I feel the film has already done what it needed to do.
The Process
When I finished Double Exposure, I realised that almost none of my favourite moments had gone according to plan.
One of the scenes I had been looking forward to the most was set at sunrise. In the script, Suming photographs the first light of the morning before throwing an instant photograph into the sea, where it drifts across the shimmering water. I had imagined that image for a long time before we started shooting. Instead, it rained all day. We stood there rewriting the scene on location because there was simply no other choice. It was probably the first moment during production when I realised that filmmaking isn’t about forcing reality to match the script. Sometimes reality asks the script to change instead.
A few days later, we ran into another problem. Every camera memory card filled up at the same time. Normally that wouldn’t have been a disaster; we could simply transfer the footage and continue shooting. Unfortunately, the only laptop we had on set had completely run out of battery. To make things worse, the card reader occupied the same port needed for charging, so we couldn’t even start transferring footage until the computer had enough power to turn back on.
The entire crew ended up waiting for almost an hour.
Eventually, one of the actors became frustrated and lost their temper.
I still remember standing there, feeling completely helpless. As a first-time director, I wasn’t thinking about whether we could finish the schedule anymore. I wasn’t even thinking about the film. I was only hoping everyone could calm down and that we could somehow get through the day together.
I’ve never been particularly good at dealing with conflict. That day taught me that directing isn’t only about making creative decisions. Sometimes it’s about protecting the atmosphere on set. People often talk about directors guiding actors, but I realised that sometimes a director’s job is simply to make sure everyone still wants to make the same film together.
There was another challenge that didn’t appear until much later.
One of the film’s most important visual details was a red scarf. In the script, Suming wears it during her second visit to the camera shop, marking the quiet moment when she finally begins to accept her feelings. Somehow, despite all our preparation, we completely forgot about it during filming.
By then, returning to the original location was impossible.
For a while I kept thinking about how to fix the mistake. Eventually I realised I was asking the wrong question. Instead of trying to recreate the missing scene, I began asking how I could express the same emotion differently.
On our final shooting day, after finishing another scene, we filmed Suming walking down the street wearing the red scarf and listening to music through a pair of vintage headphones. During editing, I dissolved this image into a close-up of Xiatiannuan listening to music through her own headphones. The transition quietly echoed the way a double-exposure photograph slowly reveals its image. Without adding a single line of dialogue, it became a new ending that expressed exactly what I had wanted to say from the beginning.
Not every accident disappeared so easily. During another scene inside a camera shop, we only had a few hours to shoot before the store opened. We thought we had plenty of time, but at 8:30 in the morning the shopping mall unexpectedly started playing background music through its speakers, even though the mall itself wouldn’t open until 10. Every line of dialogue in that scene had to be re-recorded later in post-production. At the time it felt like yet another disaster. Looking back now, it’s simply another story that belongs to the film.
When I finally watched the completed film, I realised something unexpected.
Many of my favourite moments weren’t the ones I had planned most carefully. They were the ones that only existed because something had gone wrong.
Maybe that’s one of the reasons I love filmmaking.
You can prepare for everything.
And the film will still surprise you.
What It Means to Be a Finalist
Independent filmmaking often begins with uncertainty.
When we started making Double Exposure, none of us knew where it would eventually go. We simply believed in a story and hoped we could tell it honestly. Every person on the crew devoted their time and energy to something that existed only in our imagination until the cameras began rolling.
Looking back now, I realise this film has been shaped by countless people. Every actor, crew member, and friend who offered support became part of its journey. The finished film is not only a reflection of my ideas, but also of everyone’s trust, patience, and generosity throughout the process.
Being selected as a finalist at Worcester Film Festival is deeply meaningful.Not simply because it recognises the film, but because it gives the story another opportunity to meet an audience.
For me, festivals have always been conversations rather than competitions. Every screening allows a film to leave the editing room and begin a new life through the people watching it. Each audience brings different experiences, different emotions, and different interpretations. That has always been one of my favourite things about cinema.
Looking back, I realise I wasn’t only making a film about two people learning to see each other. I was also learning how to see the film itself.
Perhaps that is what every first film really is.
If this film leaves audiences with one thing, I hope it is not an answer, but a question they continue thinking about after the credits end.
Where to Watch
Double Exposure is currently on its international festival run. I look forward to sharing it with audiences around the world as its journey continues.
Thank you for reading, and thank you to everyone who has become part of this journey.
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