at the end of the beautiful rainbow (trout)

tales from the car ride to my dorm

November 2023. It was the last scheduled shoot day. Principal photography had finally wrapped. Everything with filming the previous two days had gone south. One setback after another, until finally, the stress had succumbed. My world came crashing down; the thin veil of confidence from the first time director had finally torn. I had a visceral nervous breakdown. In the thirty-minute car ride back to my dorm, I felt every conceivable emotion. It was a cathartic, messy, and much needed breakdown.

the trout, one year out

December 2024. By the time of publishing this blog post, it would be one whole year since My Beautiful Rainbow Trout had been “completed.” I say “completed” in quotes because the film was always incomplete in my eyes. Missing is the whole second half of the film, the turning point of the film, and what the entire story was building up to. What’s presented in the abridged version has always been a compromise to a complete film, cut due to time. I told myself I would complete the film after the semester had finished, but my motivation had started to run dry. Days became weeks, weeks became months, and soon, I would have already graduated college.

something changed

July 2024. I was fresh out of college. I decided now was the best time to finish the film. Significant progress had been made to the film’s final version, and a clear-cut plan for completing the film had finally started to take shape, but something felt wrong. Despite the numerous cuts and temp sequences, second opinions, and reassurance from my most trusted film friends, nothing I produced during this period felt correct. Something had changed. I had changed.

me as the rainbow trout

December 2023. Hour sixteen in my thirty-four-hour journey to finish the film before the senior showcase. The room reeked of body odor, half-eaten Taco Bell, and artificial fruit flavoring from energy drinks. I had stolen two pillows from the production center lobby, one dark yellow and the other olive green. I turned off the lights and lay on the floor of editing room nine. The light from my laptop monitor illuminated the tiny home I had made for myself. My body sank into the floor. I am reminded of the countless nights I spent rendering projects throughout my childhood. I could picture a younger version of myself sleeping on the worn-out blue couch in my home living room. The sounds of my laptop fans are on full blast. The only things illuminating the space were a small red incandescent prayer light and my computer monitor. It was an uncomfortably digital off-white light, cold enough in color temperature to mess up one’s circadian rhythm and keep one up at night as if the excitement of seeing a final render wasn’t enough of a reason to stay awake. I felt an immense nostalgia—a warmness in the cold editing room. My heart ached. I became the rainbow trout. That was me on the screen.

the end of a chapter; the start of nothing new

December 2024. It feels right to end this chapter of my life by publicly releasing My Beautiful Rainbow Trout. No more delays, no more promises of a final cut, no more abridged version, just the film as it is right now. No real significant changes have been made since the abridged version of this film, aside from a final sound mix done by the talented Gustavo Nome, an updated color grade, and some minor tweaks with the edit.
I personally want to thank you all for supporting me throughout this process and my silly little journey as an artist. This is the end of this chapter and the start of nothing new.