Pink Noise

At their childhood best friend Marina’s bachelorette party, nonbinary Crys tries to keep pace with the social rituals while feeling increasingly misread. As the party grows more uninhibited and old intimacy resurfaces between Crys and Marina, Marina begins testing the boundaries of their friendship and reveals that her fiancé is fine with her being casually involved with women. The admission forces Crys to confront how differently Marina understands both their gender and the significance of what they once shared.

PINK NOISE began with a question I’ve found myself asking at more than one bachelorette party: how did we decide this is how to mark the beginning of partnership? Matching outfits, inflatable props, penis cakes, and photo-ready moments. It’s fun and debaucherous, but also oddly choreographed. There’s an expectation that everyone will perform joy convincingly and on cue. I’m fascinated by the chaos of it: the way tackiness becomes tradition and intimacy gets filtered through spectacle. People are drunk and sincere and trying their best. But beneath the excess, there’s a quiet pressure to keep the mood upbeat and not complicate the narrative.

As a nonbinary person, I’ve moved through these spaces as both participant and observer. I can play along—I’ll wear the sash, I’ll pose for the photo—but I also notice how individuality gets softened in the interest of group harmony. There’s humor in that friction, but also ache. A sense of being slightly misaligned in a room that rewards conformity.

This tension between belonging and self-erasure is at the heart of PINK NOISE. Although Crys is invited to the celebration, they still feel misread. Rather than telling a simple narrative of acceptance or rejection, I want to tell a more contradictory one in which love and misunderstanding can coexist. Ultimately, PINK NOISE is about recognizing the difference between being welcomed and being chosen, and deciding what kind of belonging actually feels right.

Formally, I want the film’s visual language to mirror that experience. The weekend begins in symmetrical, coordinated compositions, then gradually fractures as Crys feels increasingly out of step with the group. Through blocking, framing, production design, and sound, the film moves from social performance toward a quieter, more subjective point of view. As the social noise falls away, Crys is left with the clarity of their own perspective.