Originally conceived as a short film, the project was reduced to a music video as a casualty of contradictory guidelines and selective enforcement during the world’s carefully staged contagion. Like everyone else, we waited for the reset that never came. Good times, if you squint hard enough.
These shots didn’t make the main campaign as the live red carpet demanded its due. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to murder the darlings or, heaven help me, drown these puppies.
P.C. Sreeram’s work socked me like a kick to the balls when I was a kid and now, in a world clogged with noise and hollow spectacle, the blow lands even harder.
He wasn’t interested in pretty. The man was after purpose. Every frame he conjured breathed as if the film itself had a heartbeat. The guy’s a fucking maniac with shadows, and I mean that in the most brilliant way.
I went to meet him—or rather, I made the pilgrimage to his home in Chennai, documenting the roads tracing the path and trying to hold the moment still before reverence kicks in.
He wasn’t interested in pretty. The man was after purpose. Every frame he conjured breathed as if the film itself had a heartbeat. The guy’s a fucking maniac with shadows, and I mean that in the most brilliant way.
I went to meet him—or rather, I made the pilgrimage to his home in Chennai, documenting the roads tracing the path and trying to hold the moment still before reverence kicks in.
A visual prologue to Change in Colour, the latest album by THe LYONZ.
I put together a production diary for the last music video I directed. It traces the project from the raw idea born of necessity to the final locked frame. Take what’s useful and discard the rest. It never unfolds the way you want.