At this year’s LA Shorts International Film Festival, renowned cinematographer Yuanhao Zhang returns for his second official selection, following his work on Desert Inn. This time, he steps behind the lens for Across From, a tense, slow-burning drama about a young Chinese immigrant in Los Angeles whose night spirals from awe to danger inside a wealthy mansion. Directed with a minimalist restraint, the short is a masterclass in how controlled cinematography can heighten psychological unease—an effect Zhang achieves through a meticulous interplay of framing, light, and movement.
Zhang’s cinematographic approach in Across From distinctly separates the two worlds of Mei’s modest apartment and the landlord’s lavish mansion. In Mei’s home, Zhang employs a wealth of foreground elements to frame her within literal and metaphorical “boxes,” visually emphasizing how she is trapped by the harsh realities of tuition fees, rent, and financial strain. Reflecting on his lighting choices, Zhang explains, “We chose a warm-green color palette to evoke the grimy, artificial glow of a 24-hour convenience store or any place that feels worn down and neglected. The high-contrast tungsten lighting suggest a space where cockroaches and rats might scuttle in the shadows, surviving off the crumbs left behind. Visually reinforcing her position at the bottom of the social ladder.” A poignant shot in the film shows the landlord toying with a caged bird that Mei keeps. Zhang says, “That cage is a metaphor for Mei’s situation — financially trapped, powerless, and at the mercy of others.” When the landlord pushes open Mei’s door, the exterior light floods the frame with an overexposed white, “forcing Mei to squint against a harsh sunlight that invades this damp, moldy room — just like her harsh reality.”
In stark contrast, the landlord’s mansion symbolizes upward movement and privilege. Mei ascends a slope and steps up grand stairs to enter the home, visually representing her climb into a different world. At the film’s end, Mei walks down a bridge toward her own home, with the illuminated downtown Los Angeles skyline looming in the distance — a powerful metaphor for the divide between wealth and poverty just “a bridge apart.” Zhang explains, “Inside the mansion, we used a continuous long take at 60fps instead of the usual 24fps, creating a smoother, almost surreal flow. The framing is wider, the lighting soft and natural, mainly mimicking sunlight pouring through large windows. We brought in five high-powered lights to simulate this daylight indoors, so every corner of the space feels bathed in warm sun.” He adds, “This bright openness contrasts with Mei’s discomfort — she’s used to hiding in shadows, so the mansion’s brightness unsettles her.”
Zhang’s camera movement is restrained but precise, often allowing the actors to move within a locked frame rather than chasing them. When movement does occur—such as a slow dolly-in toward a character—it is almost imperceptible at first, drawing the audience deeper into the character’s state of mind without breaking the film’s quiet rhythm. “In a story like this, you don’t need the camera to shout,” Zhang explains. “You want it to listen—really listen—to the silence between people.” This philosophy is evident in his shot design, where every frame feels like it has been given time to breathe.
Color grading becomes an invisible but potent storytelling layer. This collaboration is especially noticeable in the mansion scenes. Working closely with the post-production team, Zhang kept the palette muted, with earthy mid-tones and desaturated highlights, punctuated by sudden warm bursts in key emotional beats. “We didn’t want the color to ‘announce’ itself,” Zhang notes. “It should feel like the mood changed before you realized why.” This approach lends Across From a visual consistency that supports its tonal shifts without distracting from the performances.
With Across From and Desert Inn both making their mark at LA Shorts this year, Zhang cements his reputation as a cinematographer who thrives on atmosphere-driven narratives. His work resists flashy technique in favor of deliberate, emotionally resonant choices—whether it’s letting a shadow swallow half a frame or holding just long enough to catch a character’s unspoken truth. In a festival often dominated by high-concept spectacle, Across From stands out as a reminder that the most gripping tension can live in the smallest of rooms—if the camera knows exactly where, and how long, to look.
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