A door can be a place, a memory, a possibility, or a loop.
In my latest short film, the red door functions as more than a physical space. It is a threshold between times, between versions of the same moment, between what is lived and what is only imagined.
I have always been interested in how cinema can hold multiple temporal layers at once — how a single image can contain a past, a present and a virtual future. The red door appeared early in the writing process, almost intuitively, as a way to visualise this intersection: a simple, everyday object that suddenly carries an emotional and metaphysical weight.
In this post I'm sharing some stills from the film and a few thoughts on how the location, the colour and the rhythm of the scenes evolved during rehearsals and filming. The door became a point of return, a place where the characters meet, miss each other, and perhaps meet again — in another time.
I'm interested in the spaces in cinema that are both real and symbolic, ordinary and uncanny. Spaces that feel like memories even when we experience them for the first time.